At the beginning of BCL14, we shared with students these words from poet Mary Oliver: “Attention is the beginning of devotion.” All semester long, we encouraged them to pay attention–to the interconnected systems that make up our city, to the passionate and expert words of our community partners, to the ways in which Burlington is both thriving and struggling, and to one another. When we spend time deeply observing a place, animal, or a person, the result is that we often grow to love them; their intricacies, gifts, strengths, and flaws become dear to us.
This semester, students earning Honors read the work of three writers who embody Oliver’s statement, and who give us windows into the landscapes and beings to which they have given their careful attention. We listened to an interview with botanist and writer Robin Wall Kimmerer, who reveals the wisdom of plants, and suggests that we humans have a great deal to learn from them. We read a profile by essayist Amy Brill about a Queens bodega, and how it served as a community hub and the site of her coming of age. Finally, we listened to an interview and read the poems of Ross Gay, whose writing explores the abundance of joy that is always around us.
The following essays and poems were inspired by the writers we encountered this semester, and they include profiles of three particular Burlington landmarks, as well as poems with joy, a key BCL value, as their central theme. Each piece asks that we pause to study our surroundings and community–whether a city park, a butcher shop, our friends’ faces, the many details that can be observed along the trail up a Vermont mountain, or a shared garden. In doing so, we just may find ourselves deepening our devotion, and learning how to best take care of the places and people we love.
Big Trucks, Better Memories – Harper Kenney
June 8th, 2014: I am six years old, and I woke up on what is my third favorite day of the year (behind my birthday and Christmas, of course), darted out of bed, and went to wake up my parents. I remember a faint grunt of my dad saying “It’s 7:30 am, go back to bed,” before he rolled back over into an even deeper slumber. I spent the rest of the morning bouncing around my room. 10 o’clock hit, and my mom walked down our stairs and said, “It’s time!” I was almost jumping for joy, and after we walked out the door, I skipped up North Avenue towards the police station. As we rounded the corner, I could see the big orange Electric Department truck, and the gleam of sunlight on the freshly polished big fire truck. It only made me want to run even faster towards them. The sound of laughter, the delightful aroma of the hot dogs on the grill, the faint whiff of a new car smell (or new truck smell): that was the absolute magic of Big Truck Day. I ran alongside all the trucks I could touch, and massaged the shiny metal surface with my fingers.
Big Truck Day is still probably a huge day for other kids who are at the appropriate age, but definitely not as much as it used to be. My best guess is that many parents might view Battery Park as an “unsavory environment” at the moment, and they absolutely would not be wrong. The Battery Park I grew up with and loved is a husk of its former glory and self. What used to be the crown jewel of the Burlington outdoor scene is now a graveyard of needle caps, Natty Daddy cans and cigarette butts. The city uses it as a venue for concerts, fundraisers, and various community events, but the next day you wouldn’t be able to tell at all. Throughout my younger years, besides Big Truck Day, I spent a great deal of time at Battery Park, as it is near my house, and it has everything a kid could need: a playground, Beansie’s bus to get French fries, Simon’s right across the street to get a soda pop or candy. Battery Park also contains a beautiful overlook of the harbor of Lake Champlain, and you can see all the way across the lake to the Adirondack Mountains.
I always walk through the park to get to work. The smells of unwashed clothes and secondhand smoke fill my nose, and I even smell those scents on the playground. The playground, which is supposed to be a hub for children to play and enjoy themselves, smells like cheap beer and body odor. It’s a very sad story and sight to see, but it is the unfortunate reality that the lack of housing and addiction epidemic has brought to what was once the most beautiful park in our town. I hope that we will see better days there, something that can only come from the community that we have worked so hard to create and uphold. While there is no overnight solution to solving Burlington’s complex problems, there are steps we can take to bring back this special shared space. The first is to stop ignoring that there are problems that exist within it. I am hopeful for change to come to the Battery Park I know and love, and am eager to enjoy a creemee from Beansie’s on a bright summer day in the future.
Four Poems On Joy – Amelia VanDriesche
Joy
It’s the fruit picked fresh from the tree and tangy juice running down your chin,
as the sun shines down on your back, so hot you forget it’s winter back home.
(Joy is a trip to California where an orange tree grows in my cousin’s backyard.)
The smell of ocean air mixed with the laughter of children fleeing the waves,seagulls circling in the search of leftover picnic scraps.
(Joy is the coast of Maine with family for a summer weekend getaway.)
It’s the silly chaos of cousins after a long time apart,
(Joy is Grandma’s house over the summer, filled to the brim with family.)
It’s a big unafraid smile on a beautiful day, or the hug of two best friends,
Where love is so intertwined between the two young girls because they are platonic soulmates.
(Joy is my best friend who I have not seen in a while.)
A wagging tail combined with a stinky breath,
Happy if you are around and even happier when you have treats.
(Joy is my dog Jake and his never ending love for everyone.)
It’s dancing around a fire as the sky changes clothes and the taste of cake eaten with others, a song sung at so many different pitches you forget the correct one.
(Joy is a birthday party.)______________________________
Woods Again
I’m in the woods again.
Trekking slowly,
Because I never see the birds.
Chickadee,
Goldfinch,
Downy Woodpecker,
when I’m hurrying.
I always take my time,
Snap photos of ferns,
Moss,
An overturned log becoming home to new life.
It’s these small things that go unnoticed,
I always try to capture.
The light growing brighter,
The closer I get to the alpine zone.
I’m in the fairy woods now,
I send a silent hello,
In case they are hiding nearby.
Cloudy with moments of sun peeking through,
Warm and bright.
The breeze plays more and more with my hair,
Until I make it to the bedrock,
Older than I will ever be.
Walking down the narrow trail,
Lined with tiny conifers battered by time,
I sink down onto a fallen log,
Surrounded by lichen so delicate you can’t even touch the stems,
I take a deep breath,
Filling my eyes with the view,
Lake Champlain,
My valley,
And farther away,
Across the lake,
the Adirondacks,
It’s always worth the work,
The heavy breathing and water breaks on logs,
Once I get to the top.______________________________
Happiness vs. Joy
I’d say I’m happy more often than not.
I’ve trained myself to see the good in people after all.
But why is it hard to decipher joy from happiness?
Chocolate cake eaten on my birthday,
Jumping into ice cold rivers that send shivers down your spine.
I’m happy when a friend says she passed a test,
And I’m joyful when I finally get something right.
I’m happy when my cousins come to visit,
And I’m joyful when I bake brownies just right.
I’m happy when my parents are proud of me,
And I’m joyful when I see my best friend again.
But it’s hard to tell,
And I think they go hand in hand,
That’s the only answer that makes sense.
I guess I’m just a joyful person,
Who tries to put her best foot forward again and again.______________________________
Taking Moments
Yesterday I took a moment outside the cafe,
And watched people walk by.
You would think upon seeing me,
Tea in hand,
I was at peace,
And you are right.
But I also find joy in taking moments to just be,
And to watch the world go round,
People walk dogs,
Children play jump rope and hopscotch,
Teens giggle over hot gossip,
Parents connect over huge thermos mugs on park benches as their kids play,
A runner pauses to catch their breath and stare at the sky,
College kids walk to class and move their heads to music only they can hear,
My friends make their way through the crowded sidewalk,
See me and want to know everything,
Strangers cross paths and never know the one is right next to them,
Seagulls dip in the wind because it will rain tomorrow,
Cherry trees bloom and petals fall like snow,
A chubby squirrel struggles up a tree and a cat lurks in bushes,I find joy in watching other beings find their own joy.
The Butcher Shop – Finn Mintzer
Who would have thought that I would spend so much time at the same place Burlington dads go to get BBQ supplies? It started with the Sunday trips with my dad to get steak and drinks for the friends we were having over, before the renovations, when it was still a dimly lit wood-floored shop, with a crawl space hatch that was always open. Then it was the after school runs with my friends when we felt like millionaires with our $20 of birthday money. All the way to now, when it’s the perfect place to get some affordable, quick food before a game or a night out. Everything happens at Bessery’s.
From the cheap snacks and endless fries that end up being eaten by everyone, to kids going on their first dates, and even the countless fights that happened because it was off school premises, it was a middle schooler’s nirvana. We would fill the nearby racks with our bikes, then sit at picnic tables that never had enough seats for everyone. It was close enough to the school and to my house that my parents would let me go by myself with friends. Even though it was just a small glimpse of freedom, it felt like everything to us. We would call each other on our landline phones and make sure to be there at the exact same time.
The staff hasn’t changed much over the years, from the grumpy owner who is actually kind at heart, to his daughter who’s grown out of her “my dad owns this place” attitude and is now a kind person who will take over the shop someday. They know me as the kid who comes in to pick up an order for my whole family. The owner gives me some throwaway joke like, “You must really be hungry, eh?” I’m amazed they’ve been able to stay open for as long as they have. There have been two cars that crashed into the building, both of the accidents being displayed proudly in the pictures that hang on the wall above the register. They supplied two 70lb pigs for our roast down at Crescent Beach that took hours of prep with my dad to be ready, just to have to leave after a phone call from my sister, saying her arm felt “loose” (we later found out she broke it earlier in the day). I can’t walk in there with my dad without the owner trying to sell the place to him, even though it will never happen. It was the perfect gathering place during the coronavirus pandemic because you could order, eat outside in the sun, and then bike wherever you wanted to go afterward. It was the place I went when I needed a pick-me-up after failing my first driver’s test because of running through a yellow light.
My barber told me he used to live above it. I have friends who work there now, and friends who won’t go in after getting kicked out for being too loud. It’s different for everyone, but no matter who you are, there’s something for you. To me, no matter how much the place changes, from a butcher shop, to the short time period when they decided to be a convenience store, to now where they are cemented as the place you order from when mom is out of town, Bessery’s will always be there.
My Roots – Kali Ali
I still remember the first time I stepped foot in this garden, a sacred place that’s been in my family since my grandma arrived in America from a refugee camp in Kenya. This garden isn’t just a place to grow plants, but is a place where nature and community thrive. Every time I go to this place I’m welcomed by the smell of fresh air and the gentle warmth of the sun on my skin. The soft buzz of insects filling my ears makes me feel at home.
Growing up, this garden was my playground. When I didn’t have a care in the world, I’d run behind a broken-down shed, squat, and pee on the grass. Although that may seem gross, I felt free in that space. It was a reminder that there I could be myself. This garden is embedded in my family history. My grandmother who came to America for new opportunities used the Intervale as a way to recreate a piece of her homeland that she left behind. Every tomato, every seed, and every root holds memories.
In the summers when we would plant many vegetables and get hungry, we would crack open small seeded watermelons and spit out the seeds, and when we needed to cool off we would spray ourselves with the hose. Mosquitos would loom over us waiting for a chance to bite. Soon after we would smell the strong scent of insect repellent.
Over the years it’s been a place for countless family gatherings, where stories and traditions are passed down. My most treasured memory is the graduation party held for my aunt. She was the first graduate college in my family and everyone was super proud. That day the garden was filled with laughter and smiles. Under the warmth of the sun, we danced, sang, laughed, and celebrated.
Not only is this garden special because of my personal history, but the connections between communities. I’ve seen hippies sharing stories, vegans in heated conversations, and Somali aunts and uncles exchanging recipes. This garden is a pure example of how communities are built on shared spaces. Growing up there showed me what a thriving community is supposed to look like.
I sometimes drive by the big steep hill off of Riverside Avenue and remember when I lugged my sister up it in a bright red wagon. Recently I haven’t been able to visit the garden. Not because I’m busy or can’t find the time, but because I don’t have the strong connection I used to have. I went once this past year with my grandmother and although some of the same people are there, they all keep to themselves and don’t interact. I wonder what this community needs that it once had before?
Burlington City & Lake Semester 