Earlier this month, Stephani and Michael celebrated their one-year anniversary. Their wedding at Lareau Farm Inn in Waitsfield was incredible. Looking back at these photos, I remember what a beautiful fall wedding they had, complete with pumpkins, fall floral designs and an outstanding bridal party champagne spray. Their guests ate American Flatbread pizza and drank beer around the fire pit. Stephani and Michael chose my photography and video combo package, which meant we captured every special moment from their day. Afterwards, I produced and edited two films for them, using footage captured by Shawn Cimonetti. All the photos below were shot by Cat, but Andrea DiMedio did a fantastic job as the second photographer. Check out their wedding photos and films below!
This week marks the end of the school year for my first grader and preschooler. As days have become weeks and weeks have become months, we find ourselves mostly outside. This week, we explored Shelburne Pond and the land near our house. We talked about how we will use our voices to speak up for change and how people around the country and around the world are also speaking up for change.
Everywhere we looked, we saw metaphors in nature. On Saturday, we found a snakeskin in our backyard. We think it belongs to the snake we spotted days earlier slithering around the shrubs. My first grader explained to my preschooler that snakes shed their skin through molting. Online research told us that snakes are symbols of rebirth, transformation, immortality and healing. They shed their skin so that they can both grow and also get rid of the parasites attached to their old skin.
Near Shelburne Pond, we found a turtle carrying its home on its back. Its shell provides both shelter and protection We were carrying an enormous backpack stuffed with everything we might need for our outing, so we could relate.
We even found a frog at the pond and talked about its life cycle, and its ability to change so masterfully that it becomes unrecognizable from its earlier tadpole self.
We caught up with our bird friend in the backyard, who has made a nice life for itself in our birdhouse, with the freedom to come and go as it pleases. We believe this chickadee is creating a nest to lay eggs.
Nature has a way of turning over, of shedding its skin, of changing. I’ve been thinking about the bird eggs and hatchlings we will likely witness soon. In order for a creature to be born, it must first shatter and dismantle the very thing that has been its source of protection. An egg can’t hatch unless it breaks.
Watching the Vergennes Memorial Day Parade every spring is one of our family traditions. When we lived in Vergennes, we would walk to the parade with my daughter Remy’s toy ride-on tractor in hand so she could watch the giant tractors roll by while sitting on her own mini version. Last year, my son, Bo, sat on that same tractor during the parade. We have both created memories and also started to relive similar experiences every year at this parade — which is held to remember and honor those we’ve lost.
This Memorial Day, the parade was canceled. We decided to fill the void by doing something new.
Bo on his mini tractor at the Vergennes Memorial Day Parade 2019
Our family created our own mobile parade, riding our bikes and rollerblades on the Burlington Bike Path. It was the first week since mid-March we ventured into a more public arena. We went early and the path it was mostly empty. The beat of the parade was replaced this year by the sound of wheels on pavement. We pulled over at North Beach to look at the lake, staring out at the infinite space of possibility.
We have wandered off the map of predictability. With a calendar of cancellations this summer, there are no go-to events for us to fall back on. Autopilot is out of order. There is both sadness from that loss and relief that there is space now for something new.
Remy on her rollerblades on the Burlington Bike Path this Memorial Day 2020
I once did a project called “Passenger-Side Stories” — a collection of drive-by photos I took while riding shotgun. The images include oddities, like a mannequin on a bicycle, and slice-of-life moments, like four-wheelers racing alongside the road. It’s amazing what you can capture and connect with in the blink of an eye from the car window.
This week — the eighth in quarantine — I was reminded of this project. The week began with the distant sounds of sirens. My heart skipped a beat as they quickly grew louder. I worried something had happened to one of our neighbors. We opened the front door to see fire trucks and police cars streaming by, waving and yelling Happy Thursday! to our neighborhood. Relief and tremendous gratitude washed over us, and we joined the chorus of cheers. The sounds of sirens and honking brought reassurance this week.
My daughter’s good friend, Matilda, turned 7 and her mom planned a drive-by birthday party. She drove Matilda to friends’ homes, where they held up signs, waved and cheered. We live across from Matilda’s aunt, uncle and cousins, so there was a surround-sound celebration at our stop with handmade signs, bells and presents that we slipped into her trunk. Still, I know my 7-year-old, Remy, and 3-year-old, Bo, wanted to run up and give her a hug. It felt strange keeping our distance.
The next day we met up at a parking lot for a birthday parade for Remy’s classmate, Adara. We held handmade signs out the window and cheered and honked as we drove by Adara and her family, who were standing on the sidewalk with balloons. Then we returned home and just the four of us had a festive marshmallow roast in our backyard.
The week ended with a parade of teachers and administrators from Remy’s school, Chamberlin Elementary. Dozens of them drove the length of the entire school bus route, honking and yelling students’ names out their windows. My kids stood on the lawn, waving.
These drive-by parties and parades made a big difference this week. It was amazing how connected we felt, in the blink of an eye, to friends, classmates and teachers. All it took was seeing them in person — albeit 15 feet away and through a car window — instead of just online.
At first, I wondered whether the “Stay Home, Stay Safe” order would be like living inside our own personal snow globe, amid an extensive collection of neighboring globes. My 7-year-old, Remy, and 3-year-old, Bo, immediately embraced the change, donning an impressive rotation of masks, capes, crowns and costumes. They were more prepared for creating their own new realities than I was.
As two weeks ticked by, I found myself giving a moment of gratitude one afternoon to the fence enclosing our backyard. It gave me 30 minutes of freedom as I let the kids run wild outside. When I saw them next, they were covered in mud. Life was unraveling. It was a Tuesday, and all the normal rules had been shredded and thrown in the air like confetti. But instead of cleaning up the mess, all I felt like doing was admiring the chaos and letting things unravel further.
By week three, we were rediscovering our own house, digging deep into the closet corners. We unearthed things we hadn’t seen in years — my 1998 Rollerblades, a kite and an Irish cap that my husband, Ross, brought back into his daily wardrobe. Windy weather one afternoon meant Ross could give that kite flight again. He raced through the backyard, intermittently dive-bombing the children, until it finally soared.
By week four, Remy and Bo had started digging through the recycling, looking for treasure to beautify their tree fort. I watched them hand off piggy banks and miniature furniture to one another. They spent days decorating the fort with pipe cleaners, ribbons and tea sets. Then they announced they would be permanently “moving out.”
That same week I started taking advice directly from the swamp next door. I thought about how it takes in toxins, churning them over like a giant strainer and purifying the water. It squeezes the best parts out of bad things — a perfect example of what to do when life gives you lemons.
On week five, we took a shortcut home from our neighborhood walk through a tunnel of trees. We talked about how trees track time through growth rings that are permanently logged into their layers. The harder the tree’s winter, the tighter the growth ring. We decided to track our time together with a quarantine time capsule that we buried in the backyard to unearth in exactly one year.
As our world has slowed down, we’ve grown more aware of the other living things inside our invisible snow globe. Remy is sharpening her bird-watching skills. Every day, she tracks the new family that moved into the birdhouse from her tree fort, peering at them through binoculars.
She wants to bring more bird families to the backyard, so she and Ross constructed a new birdhouse out of wood scraps and recycling. The kids collected moss and leaves to put inside — a complimentary bird nest starter kit.
It looks like we’ll be in the garage this week, divvying up leftover scrap wood to make more birdhouses. Bo wants a few scraps to construct an outdoor ant house. Everything else we find is for the birds.
