Fitting In

One of the parents who often helps chaperone my son’s sixth-grade class sent me some digital photos of him today from their Chinese New Year celebration at the art gallery in the village. (In case you hadn’t heard, we are now Year of the Dog.)

Which reminded me that I had never thanked her for the photos of him she sent back in October, from the class rock climbing expedition. (They get around, these students.) Those pictures arrived not long after my arrival in the state, I wrote her in an email of apology, explaining that at the time I was too disoriented to reply, as I had no idea what I was doing here.

Actually, I said, it’s now 3+ months later, and I still can’t really figure out what I’m doing here.

She wrote back and said that moving to a new place is often difficult, then offered this advice about being a true local: “Here’s a tip about being in Vermont: everyone rises at the crack of dawn and does yoga outside in subfreezing temps on their compost piles. Now you know, you will fit right in!?

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