A LITERARY COLLECTION FROM VERMONT WRITERS

Dedicated to Kenneth Ronald Brown, my husband of 31 years. He crossed over on April 26, 2026. My husband was a Marine. In death, he is still a Marine. I used to say, “ex-Marine,” but there is no such thing. Once the legendary end of boot camp “Crucible” is conquered and the Eagle, Globe and Anchor is pinned to your lapel, you are a Marine until the end of time. In September of 1998, Parris Island arrived in Ridgewood NJ when Ken took a part-time job as a crossing guard at a c

July 4, 2026 Dear KC, Gosh it’s been a long time. Rich and I have been wanting to write for a while now, but as you might imagine, we’ve been busy. However, we heard that you have been experiencing some challenges lately and wanted to let you know you are in our thoughts. Hearing about your recent troubles has resulted in our reminiscing about how the three of us met and how our relationship grew to be as strong as it is now. Goodness, it was so long ago. I was an 18-year-old

I am grateful for home, sweet solitude, memories, pets, food three times a day (a bit more during the holidays AND my birthday) my town, a car that starts, clothes on my back, hair on my head, what is left of my family and friends in various stages of coming and going. Exercise, what I still have of my health, laughter, books, insight, notebooks, shoes, shampoo, kindness, dark chocolate, just enough money, watches, soft socks, smooth-writing pens, brakes, air conditioning in

Two lads holding onto a double sized tarp, pulling it up over the top of two fully loaded hay wagons when the wind picks up. Those boys fight hard and win, until the wind grabs the tarp as if to yank it and billow it up and off the wagon. The boys do not give up. Meanwhile, a tractor is out in the field chasing windrows that are running faster than the tractor hauling the baler can keep up with. Fully powering the tractor, means the baler is going top speed. The driver looks

I dread hay season. Every part of my being shutters at the thought of beginning another summer of haying. But on the flip side of that statement, I have some great friends down there that join me. I have a red-tailed hawk that has joined me every year for many years now. His name is Falcone and he glides by and comes in for lunch that I prepare for him as I rake the hay up and expose his feast. He is my best friend in the hay field. I also have my barn swallow friends that ci

Why do writers write? It’s an intriguing question with as many different responses as there are writers. Some writers seek a private revelation, a detailed examination of their experiences and internal responses. Such memoirs may be shared with the world or with a limited audience or not shared at all. Other writers may have urgent information, feeling a compulsion to make that information known. This motivation frequently takes the form of an essay. Essays aim to deliver fac

Every Week We Laugh On April 26th, 2026, my husband died, and I returned to my seat on the roller coaster of grief. From here, I can slip through the days while gazing out at the world without anyone looking in, especially during moments when tears blur my vision. I am self protective and quiet, watchful and aware. Grief carries contradictions. I hold emotional opposites: I am hungry/I don’t want anything to eat; I want companionship/I want people to stay away; I want to go f

On Sunday, October 1, 2017, 867 people were shot by over 1,000 rounds of gunfire while attending a music festival in Las Vegas. Sixty of them died. Emergency support services were overwhelmed. All available medical personnel were called in but there were not enough to care for the shocked and bleeding victims who witnessed the murder of friends, spouses and strangers while holding their own deaths at bay. It was the deadliest mass shooting in United States history. All this w