A Vermont philosopher

This picture doesn't have much relevance to this post except that these lillies were growing along the roadside near Burlington. This weekend we were going to visit the birthplace of President Calvin Coolidge, but changed our minds so I didn't have anything to blog about. I don't think you care much that we cleaned our floors and our apartment! I decided that you might enjoy a few words of wisdom from one of my favorite Vermont philosphers--the author Robert Newton Peck.
Peck's first book, A Day no Pigs Would Die is one of my favorites. We taught it for a few years to middle school kids. I also loved his books about his friend Soup. I saw the author at a young writer's conference several years ago and was impressed by his down home wisdom. The book takes place in Vermont and I wondered just where in Vermont his family lived. I remembered that Rob attends the Rutland County Fair, I went to the website to see what I could find and found a wonderful essay by Peck. His wisdom impressed me.

Here are some of the fun gems I found:

It was years later when somebody pointed to a large building and said, "That's a library." I didn't believe it, because in Miss Kelly's little one-room school, we all knew what a library was. Not a building. It was a board. A three-foot-long shelf in the corner, a plank, upon which sat our few precious worn-out books. According to custom, we washed our hands before touching them.
So there we sat in her school, soldier straight, learning about people like Mark Twain and Calvin Coolidge, and Ty Cobb and Charles Lindbergh and Booker T. Washington.
We were the sons and daughters of illiterate farmers, millworkers, and lumberjacks. Some of the folks, in town, called us uproaders. And we called them downhillers. But I knew they could do what I had me an itch to do.
They could read.

Writing is not showing off with big words. Nor is teaching. The dearest rabbi who ever lived, a Nazarene carpenter, preached of little things in common terms . . . loaves and fishes, a camel passing through the eye of a needle, a mustard seed. Tangibles.
Stuff, not abstracts.

Ain't it just peachy that the fools of the world hold their own annual festival. It's called New Year's Eve. And if you climb into your car on 31 December, and venture out on a highway, you'll be the biggest fool of all, especially in some flimsy Japanese car.

Cowboy America is positive, prosperous, and pleasant. More than a difference of geography, I see it as a difference of attitude. I live in Florida. Driving a car, one time, I entered a northeastern state, and noticed an official roadside sign which "welcomed" me to its border. It read "Conviction Means Loss of License." In contrast, as a motorist enters a particular southern state, the sign reads "Drive Friendly."

"Wish not for apples. Grow strong trees."

Speaking of chores, work is a solid thing to believe in. Vermonters usually do. Granite folk on granite land. Much like their statues in village squares, they are the granite sentries of liberty, standing free.

Our favorite philospher so far is our janitor friend, Connie. She's educating us about Vermont. Her favorite phrase is: Oh well. They aren't from Vermont. For her, Vermont is God's country. She recently talked Garth into wearing his cowboy hat and shirt so she could see a "real cowboy". Life is good. This is Vermont.