#maple syrup comes from spring court

[highlordofkrypton]

I’m glad to see I’m still on the reasonable side of the fandom 👌 Except for @velarisdusk YOU’RE ON THIN ZAMBONI-ED ICE, PAL 🫵

[highlordofkrypton]

Because not enough people know that maple syrup is harvested in the Spring, not autumn. It’s an educational post 😊

Why did I come on here to see y'all making posts about Tamlin and maple trees?

Drop the explanation 🤨

@highlordofkrypton YAMATE TAMLIN IS CRAZY😭😭

[tessa-liam]

Marabelle

Chapter 3 - Falling

Book: Choices - The Royal Romance, an AU series 

Series Premise: An American teenager from New York City is introduced to the world of a small European country and its society of royalty, nobles, and commoners. How will her life story be transformed? Will this new adventure bring her happiness...or regret? 

Catch Up: Marabelle Masterlist 

Main Pairing: Liam Rys v F!OC (Sophia) 

Other Pairing: Maxwell Beaumont x M!OC Daniel 

All characters belong to Pixelberry, except Sophia Taylor, Bethany Beaumont, Melanie Smithson, Tyler Gregson. 

Rating: M*🔞Warnings: this series will have NSFW material, crude language. Not Beta’d: Please excuse all errors. 

Category: Alternate Universe/on-going series/angst/fluff 

Words: 2149, Read 10 minutes 

- 3 – Falling

Chapter summary: Marabelle is settled in her new home at the Beaumont stables. Sophie starts to prepare for the start of the social season that begins with the Beaumont Bash. 

Music Inspiration: The Climb - Lucy Thomas (Sophie’s FC) 

Falling - LeBlanc And Carr

A/N1: This is my submission for Choices March Challenge @choicesmonthlychallenge @lovealexhunt Prompts, Sunrise, Talking to Animals & art commission/moodboard     #choicesmarchchallenge 

A/N2: This is my submission for @choicesflashfics Week #25, Prompt #3 - "I haven't laughed like this in a long time."

A/N3: Bethany Beaumont, Maxwell’s mother, is originally from the US; is Barthelemy Beaumont’s 2nd wife. Annabelle Beaumont (deceased) was Bertrand’s mother. 

A/N4: Melanie Smithson is a love interest for Drake. Tyler Ericsson is Prince Liam’s personal assistant. 

A/N5: Social season in this AU series refers to a traditional period in the spring/summer for royalty and members of the court to take part in balls, dinner parties and charity events. 

🐎🐎🐎

Beaumont Estate

“Good morning, Auntie Bethany.” Sophie sing-songed as she entered the huge country kitchen of the Beaumont estate. 

“Morning, sweetheart, you are up early this morning.” 

Sophie nodded, kissing her aunt’s cheek. “Breakfast smells so good! What are we having today?” 

Maxwell smiled, already seated at the table, “my favorite...blueberry pancakes with maple syrup and bacon.” 

"mmmm...sounds good!" After pouring herself a cup of coffee, Sophie took a seat at the table across from her cousin as the waitstaff began to set down breakfast plates of food. 

“So, Sophie, tell me what happened yesterday? Maxwell mentioned that you found a horse.”  

“Yes, I did!” Sophie was beaming. “Oh Auntie, she is beautiful! Her name is Marabelle, and she is a retired Derby winner. She is black with white socks and has a star on her forehead.” 

“That’s so exciting, my dear! Maxwell tells me that she will be arriving this morning with the other horses that Bertrand bought yesterday.” 

“Drake and Melanie should be arriving very soon. I think I will get changed now to get ready to go help.” Maxwell finished his coffee and stood up. 

“Are you coming out to see the horses, Mom? "

“Oh, definitely, but I’ll let the horses be settled first, though. I don’t want to get in the way.” 

“Sophie, I will see you outside.” Maxwell grabbed one more piece of bacon and winked at his cousin. “I know Sophie won’t wait!” 

Sophie giggled at his comment. “Try and stop me, Max.” 

Bethany paused and looked at her niece, noticing the look of happiness and sparkle in her eyes.  

Unbeknownst to Sophie, Maxwell had already mentioned to his mother that it was Prince Liam who had arranged for Sophie to ride Marabelle for the first time.

“What’s that look for?” Sophie asked her aunt, noticing her grin.

“I am delighted that the boys found the horse for you so quickly. And, I hear that a certain ‘gentleman’ also had a hand in the find?” 

Sophie blushed furiously, “Yes, well, actually...” 

She hesitated, then blurted out, “It was Prince Liam.” 

Bethany looked pleased and patted her niece’s hand, “Well, that’s certainly a nice surprise. Prince Liam must think very highly of your riding skills to suggest a prize winning champion for you.” 

"I was thinking of thanking him with a small gift. I could present it to him the night of the Bash."

"That's a lovely idea, my dear."

"Auntie Bethany, for the Beaumont Bash this weekend, I am not sure what I should wear. Talking to Bertrand, he says to wear a formal ballgown. When I asked Max, he said to wear a party dress. 

What do you suggest?" 

"First of all, you will look lovely in anything you choose. Second, if I had to choose between the two dresses, I would choose the party dress. It looks more modern than the traditional ball gown." 

"Max invited the princes, shouldn't I dress more formal?"

Bethany chuckled, "No dear, I am pretty certain that the princes would prefer a more casual evening. I tell you what. Tomorrow, I am taking you up to the Capital to find your dress. We can pick up a gift for Liam as well."

‘...I may not know it 

    But these are the moments, that 

    I’m gonna remember most, yeah 

    Just gotta keep going...’ 

🐎🐎🐎

It was an hour past sunrise, as Drake maneuvered the long horse trailer into the driveway and then through the side gate of the Beaumont Estate grounds. Stopping alongside the horse stables, he texted Maxwell to come out and unlock the doors for the new arrivals. 

Unhitching the trailer door, Melanie stepped up into the long horse trailer and entered the main compartment. Upon seeing Melanie, many of the horses started to whinny. 

“It’s all right, this is your new home,” she spoke soothingly as she walked down the row of horses. Melanie loved talking to animals, especially the horses; she understood that they were social creatures and could display a wide range of emotions. They were definitely anxious, at the moment. 

“Good morning, Mel,” Maxwell, wearing casual jeans, jacket and boots, called into the trailer as Drake followed in after him. 

“Beaumont, there you are; I just messaged you.” Drake tapped his shoulder and began to also prepare the horses for their transfer to the stables. 

“Morning, Max,” Melanie called back, the horses nickering softly. 

“My two stable hands are ready for them.” Maxwell stated and started to help Drake. 

“Perfect Max, thank you.” 

The stable hands entered the trailer and began untying the horses from the railings. They led each horse inside the stable and settled them into their individual stalls. 

🐎🐎🐎

The Tavern Beer Garden, Capital 

Later into the evening, Bastien had positioned two royal guardsmen discreetly inside the beer garden, well before Leo and Liam were set to arrive. 

Drake and Rashad, already sitting at a table, watched as a black SUV rolled to a stop at the entrance of the beer garden. As Leo and Liam stepped out of the vehicle, Bastien approached them, “Your Highnesses, please follow me.” 

Leo didn’t waste any time in ordering a double scotch as soon as he sat down at the table. Liam greeted Rashad with a handshake, while Drake slid a cold beer over to Liam’s seat. 

“Why so wound up, Rys?” Drake looked over and questioned Leo with a smirk.   

Can you say M..M..Maddy?” 

Leo scowled back, clearly annoyed at his comment, answered, “Don’t go there, Walker.” 

The less time Leo had to think about Madeleine the better. Since she is betrothed to Leo, and rumors were circulating that King Constantine was planning to relinquish the throne sooner than expected, Madeleine had become unbearably obnoxious. She felt that she was more than ready to assume the role of Queen now and made a point of reminding anyone and everyone in the Kingdom that would listen to her.

Liam shook his head, knowing that his brother was agitated, and rightly so. His father’s announcement to his sons last week that he was gravely ill was a shock. News of his potential early abdication explosive. The tension of having to face an arranged marriage for Leo, palpable. 

“So, Liam, will you be attending the Beaumont Bash this weekend?” Rashad asked, trying to change the direction of where this conversation was going. 

Leo glanced at his friend, silently thanking him for correctly reading the room. 

“Yes, let’s see what Bertrand and Max have planned for this year,” Liam confirmed. 

Both Princes Leo and Liam were expected to attend, since King Constantine and Queen Regina were stepping back from some royal duties, letting the princes represent the monarchy.

 “I am assuming that you will be attending this year? I know that your father has asked Regina for assistance in finding you a marriage match.” Liam questioned grinning. 

Sighing, Rashad nodded yes. His parents were adament that he take a partner this season. “I hear that there are several new faces joining the social season this year. Anyone interesting?”  

Smiling knowingly, Drake joined the conversation, “one of the young ladies caught Liam’s attention yesterday. Isn’t that right Li?” 

Liam’s smile was huge, as he remembered his day with Sophie on the trail at the polo club and horse ranch, when she asked...

'I bet you’re used to putting everyone else first.'

'And why would you say that?'

From the short time that they had talked earlier, she already had an accurate insight of him. She asked about his thoughts and feelings, showing a genuine interest. They were having a heartfelt and sincere conversation. She had just met him! 

Gathering his thoughts into words, he began... 

“I have never in my life met anyone like her. We connected on so many different levels.  She is incredibly sweet, interesting funny, and had a great sense of humor. I could talk to her for hours. ‘I haven’t laughed like this in a long time.’” 

Rashad chuckled, “well, that answered my question.” 

Liam nodded, looking delighted, continued. “Sophie was more concerned about why the horse she was riding was startled that morning at the ranch, than about herself; she was fearless. 

...and when she found out about me being a prince, it didn’t change anything for her. 

‘No one’s ever seen me as just...me. No one’s ever listened to me the way she did.’ 

She brings a new, fresh and exciting perspective to everything.

…and her eyes, I could stare into those beautiful blue eyes forever! She is absolutely gorgeous, inside and out.” 

As Leo listened and watched his brother speak, he remained silent. He mentally erased his current thoughts and ordered another drink.

🐎🐎🐎

Beaumont Stables 

Drake and Melanie had already left to drive the trailer back to the horse ranch.

Maxwell was speaking to the stable hands when Sophie entered the stable to see Marabelle. 

"Hi guys, good morning," Sophie greeted.

"There she is, ready to ride Marabelle?" Maxwell smiled.

"Yes, yes," Sophie exclaimed, excitedly.

The stablehands led Sophie into the stall where Marabelle was standing.

"Hey girl! Come here," Sophie cooed as she stroked Marabelle's neck.

Marabelle nickered happily in return, nuzzling her cheek.

"Come on then, let's get you saddled up. We're riding today."

🐎🐎🐎

Sophie rode Marabelle down to the winding stream, that was adjacent to the vineyard of the estate.

Memories flooded back of her time with Liam.

'We walked together hoping forever, please don't let go of my hand,

cause I'm falling, woah, I'm falling in love with you'

⚜️using my tag list, please let me know if you would like to be added or removed

[exhausted-archivist]

Canonically Suggested Foods and Ingredients

Updated: 2023/12

As of now, this list is updated with everything found in media released as of Oct 2023.

Like the original, this contains all ingredients that exist in Thedas and are either mentioned, referenced, or suggested in someway but are not explicitly mentioned as being eaten. Though there is little to suggest that they wouldn’t be.

For Other Food Posts

Dishes, Sauces, and Sides

Drinks

Raw Ingredients

Prepared Ingredients

Food and Drink Master Post

Disclaimer

Though real life plants may be listed here as edible, it is for fictional use only. This is not intended to be used as a reference nor guide for what plants are edible or safe to eat. Please do not use it as such.

Dishes

Boiled Cabbage

Posset - In the terms of a cold dessert made from thickened cream and commonly flavored with lemon. As we see, the medicinal alcoholic drink mentioned in The Last Court.

Sponge Cake

Chocolate Sponge - Mentioned by Leliana in dialogue with a runner.

Raw Ingredients

Edible Plants, Fruit, and Vegetables

Edible Plants

Aspen - The inner bark is sweet and starchy. It is edible both raw and cooked, it can also be dried and ground into flour. Some aspens have edible catkins as well.

Beech - The young green spring leaves can be cooked as greens. The inner bark, once dried, can be turned into bread flour.

Birch - The inner bark can be dried and used to make bread flour. Strips of the inner bark could be eaten raw or boiled like noodles. The sap was edible directly from the tree or boiled down into a slightly sweet syrup.

Cactus

Cattail

Clover

Lotus - Both the roots and the large seeds are edible when cooked. However, the seeds can be eaten raw.

Maple - Along with the sap, the inner bark of maple can be eaten cooked or raw. The seeds and leaves are edible as well once boiled.

Northern Prickleweed - Young prickleweed shoots can be eaten raw, cooked, or pickled.

Palm - Heart of palms are eaten as well as palm oil.

Pine - Aside from pine nuts, the pine pollen, pine cones - only the females, may be eaten once shelled and roasted. Pine needles are used for tea or chewed on for the juices, and the inner pine bark can be dried and ground as flour, used to thicken soups and stews, cooked like spaghetti, or eaten raw. The sap is high in vitamins a and c and has been used to fend off scurvy in the past. The sap can be used as a tea in the spring.

Fir Pine

Stone Pine - Produce large pine nuts that make them easier to eat and forage for.

Red Cedar - The inner bark can be dried and ground into a powder, treating scurvy and acting as a nutritious ration added to foods.

Seaweed

Spruce - Spruce tips, spruce needles, spruce tree cones, and the inner bark of a spruce tree.

Thistle

Water Lily

Wild Flowers

Cosmos

Daisy

Dog-rose - The rose hips and flower’s petals are used to make teas, preserves, jellies, and pickled relishes.

Elderflower

Gorse

Hollyhock

Lilac

Marguerite

Orchid - The dried corms (tubers) are used to make hot drinks.

Pansy

Peony

Poppy

Snapdragon

Sunflower

Tulip

Wysteria

Willow - The inner bark can be scraped off, cooked in strips like spaghetti, dried and ground into flour, or eaten raw.

Wormwood

Fruits and Nuts

Berries

Blackthorn Berry - also known as sloe berries or sloes.

Rowan Berries - Bitter berries that can be cooked to make jelly or used as flavoring.

Bradford Pear - This small variety of pear comes from a rather foul smelling tree. The pears can be used for jellies, ciders, and hand pie. (Ferelden)

Citron

Melon

Nuts

Acorn

Hognut

Walnut

Black Walnut - Used to make syrups and liquors.

Seeds

Sunflower Seeds

Sour Grape

Grain

Flax

Flax Seed

Herbs

Elfroot

Bitter Elfroot

Gossamer Elfroot

Sage

Winterberry

Vegetables

Artichoke (Orlais)

Animal Byproducts

Dairy

Butter

Horse Butter

Sheep Butter

Cheese

Donkey Cheese

Horse/Mare cheese - Cheese made from milk of a horse.

Sheep Cheese

Curds

Milk

Donkey Milk - High in nutrients but low in fat, it can be used as a milk replacement for infants when mixed with a bit of cow/goat cheese to add fat to the milk.

Mares Milk - Milk from a horse, it can be used as a milk replacement for infants.

Sheep Milk

Whey

Eggs

Crocodile Eggs

Duck Eggs

Goose Eggs

Gull Eggs

Partridge Eggs

Peafowl Eggs

Pigeon Eggs

Quail Eggs

Turkey Eggs

Turtle Eggs

Fish/Seafood

Clam

Crayfish

Jellyfish

Octopus

Shark

Squid

Sturgeon - The source of caviar.

Insects

Cricket

Locust

Meat

Badger

Bear

Donkey

Elk

Fox

Frog

Gazelle

Lynx

Marmot

Moose

Mountain Goat

Otter

Raccoon

Squirrel

Wolf

Poultry and Reptiles

Albatross

Crocodile

Eagle

Goose

Grouse

Gull

Lark

Owl

Parrot

Peafowl

Ptarmigan

Turtle

Miscellaneous

Fat

Goose Fat

Rendered Bronto Fat

Rendered Nug Fat (Orzammar)

Maple Syrup

Marrow Bones

Lamb

Ox

Prepared Ingredients

Plant-Based

Almond Milk

Olive Oil

Rice Flour

Rose Water

Sources:

(If you want to find the direct links or page numbers, check out the Wiki's Food and Ingredients page.)

Primary Sources:

Dragon Age: Origins (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: Awakening Dragon Age 2 (Base and DLCs) Dragon Age: The Last Court Dragon Age: Inquisition (DLCs + Multiplayer)

Books:

Dragon Age Tabletop RPG Core Rulebook Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Blood in Ferelden Dragon Age Tabletop RPG: Game Master’s Kit: Buried Past World of Thedas Vol. 1 World of Thedas Vol. 2 Dragon Age Official Cookbook: Tastes of Thedas Dragon Age: The Stolen Throne Dragon Age: The Calling Dragon Age: The Masked Empire Dragon Age: Last Flight Dragon Age: Tevinter Nights

Short Stories:

Short Story: Paying the Ferryman Short Story: Riddle in Truth

Comics:

Silent Grove

DAO

Codex entry: The Frostback Mountains

Codex entry: Ghilan'nain: Mother of the Halla

Armor: Clamshell Plate Armor

Item: Figurine Item: Grand Oak Acorn

Item: Love Letter

DAII

Codex Entry: Elfroot

Codex entry: The Qunari - Asit tal-eb

Codex entry: Viscount Marlowe Dumar

Junk List: Stuffed Parrot

DAI

Codex entry: Andruil’s Messenger

Codex entry: Correspondence Interruptus

Codex entry: Hard in Hightown: Chapter Ten

Codex entry: A Nutty Affair

Codex entry: The Perendale War

Codex entry: Vir Dirthara: A Flowering Image

Item: Carved Cricket Charm

Item: Eagle Feather Charm

Item: Fox’s Pendant

Item: Grouse Feather Charm

War Table Mission: Dance with the Dowager: The Allemande

War Table Mission: Smash

The Last Court

The Arrival of the Divine

Glass

The Heartwood Feast

The Hounds

A Plea for Sanctuary

A Swift Stream

Wanna support this blog? You can check out my ko-fi.

[northcountryschool]

March 27, 2020

Photo: The view from Balanced Rocks. Credit: Exec. Director Todd Ormiston.

As the first week of our online classes comes to a close, we would like to thank our community members for their patience as we work through this learning process together. While we have transformed our normal ways of teaching and learning, the education of the whole child remains at the core of all we do. Over the next few days, we will be soliciting feedback from parents about the current format of the online classes as we seek to improve the system that is currently in place. Spring is such an incredible time at North Country School, from hands-on learning outdoors in warmer weather to maple sugaring to lambing season, and we deeply miss having the whole community together to enjoy it.

In addition to the weekly blog, we are excited to launch a new "Connecting with Our Community" learning and activity series next week, which we hope will help keep us all connected at this difficult time. (See the footer below for more info.) 

For over 80 years, our students have been challenged and inspired by the rawness of the mountains that surround us. Living in this environment gives children a deeper understanding of the rigorous beauty of nature and the delicate balances and life cycles that define life on our planet. Immersion in nature can have a healing quality, and so, we hope that you and your family are able to spend a little time outdoors while at home together.

Slowly but surely, the last vestiges of snow will begin to melt in the Adirondacks, the trees will begin to bloom, and soon, wild shades of green will enliven the mountains. We hope that the promise of spring will inspire and reassure our community of our collective resilience. We will all get through this together.

As we are learning in our own lives, the distance created by being separated from a community can feel isolating. Know that we are here to support you and your children through these challenging times. Please don't hesitate to reach out with any questions, suggestions, or concerns. 

Note: Our campus is temporarily closed to all students, with the exception of the 21 international students who remained here during spring break, rather than returning to their home countries during the early stages of the outbreak. These students, houseparents, and faculty are staying on campus and enjoying outdoor adventures in the contiguous wilderness during this time. They have been and will continue to practice social distancing, as well as CDC approved safety and prevention protocols.

OUR COMMITMENT TO CHILDREN

Top: Garden Manager Tess holds seedlings. Middle 1: Head of Kitchen Paulette Peduzzi prepares food. Middle 2: Local sweet potatoes for dinner. Middle 3: Jenny works from campus. Bottom: Nurse Jess Jeffery and her son, Wyatt. 

Life at North Country School looks different than it did earlier in the year, but our commitment to caring for our students and one another has not changed. Each day the adults on campus work to ensure that our community and the children that live here are cared for, happy, and healthy. Garden Manager Tess has been busy in the greenhouses starting seeds and tending to the plants that will nourish us through the rest of the year, both in the dining rooms and in the Teaching and Learning Kitchen for our Edible Schoolyard program. Head of Kitchen Paulette, along with other members of the kitchen staff, moved to campus earlier in the month to ensure that everyone on-campus will have access to delicious food full of healthy, wholesome ingredients. 

While Paulette and Tess have been busy working in the kitchen and gardens, students and houseparents have been caring for our residential spaces, ensuring that those houses continue to truly feel like homes and provide a place to relax, work, and play. Our campus is also home to our two wonderful nurses, Jess and Shannon, as well as their families, and we are grateful for the thoughtful and compassionate care they provide to our students and faculty each and every day. 

CREATIVITY AND CONNECTION

Top: Caroline reads to her English class. Middle 1: Melissa’s “first day of school” sweater. Middle 2: Larry teaches Earth science. Middle 3: Sierra teaches photography. Bottom: Edible Schoolyard teacher Elie makes a pizza for a “What’s Cooking on Campus?” lesson to send to families.

NCS has always been a school committed to dynamic, place-based, and hands-on learning. For our dedicated faculty, the move to online teaching demanded creativity and flexibility, but those core values remain the same. Teachers have been hard at work tackling that challenge, making sure to support one another and share resources in the process. 

 This week, English teacher Caroline read aloud to her 4th- and 5th-graders from The Ugly One, by Leanne Statland Ellis, while 8th-grade English teacher Melissa donned her trademark “first day of school” sweater before holding the first online class with her students. Earth science teacher Larry ran his class on erosion forces using a projector to view the group and engage in discussion. Sierra talked her photography class through their first lesson, helping them brainstorm ideas for individual creativity and thoughtful collaboration. As part of our efforts to engage with the greater community, and to reach families that are together in their own homes, Edible Schoolyard instructor Elie baked up some tortillas and a pizza to prepare for his first weekly “What’s Cooking on Campus?” lesson. Each Wednesday on our Facebook page, Elie will be posting recipes and cooking tips as resources for those cooking at home. “What’s Cooking on Campus?” is part of our new Connecting with Our Community series. Find more information on that series at the bottom of this post. 

A PLACE TO PLAY

Top: Sweety makes a snowball. Middle 1: Playing sit down ball in the snow. Middle 2: Jessica ice fishing. Middle 3: Playing badminton in the WallyPAC. Bottom: Dean of Students Bryan Johansmeyer and his family build a snowman.

Access to the outdoors, exercise, and play have always been core values in the North Country School community, and their importance has never been more clear than during these challenging times. Our adults and students are still spending much of their time outside, and the fresh snow this week created the perfect playground for snowball fights, snowman building, and games of an NCS favorite pastime, sit down ball. Other groups took walks down to the lake for some afternoon out-times of ice fishing under bright blue skies, and when the temperatures dipped back toward freezing, groups took advantage of the spacious Walter Breeman Performing Arts Center (WallyPAC), setting up a badminton court that has been a favorite after-dinner activity this week. 

NCS AT HOME

Top: Faculty child Ella attends a Zoom class from her on-campus home. Middle 1: Eighth graders attend a synchronous class online. Middle 2: Sixth grader Brian attends English class from home. Bottom: Sixth grader Samantha makes homemade ravioli from home.

Homes look different across our community, but those living both on and off campus have found ways to engage with one another even when they can’t meet face to face. Whether on the North Country School campus in Lake Placid, like 8th-grade faculty child Ella, or spread all around the world like much of our student body, those in the extended community have found creative ways of connecting to their teachers and classmates, often by sending updates of their time spent at home. This week we received pictures of 6th-grader Brian attending a synchronous English class with his teacher, Jack, from the comfort of his Connecticut home’s living room. Day student and 6th-grader Samantha sent photos of her family preparing homemade ravioli and baking tiramisu cake using recipes and skills she’s learned in her years of Edible Schoolyard class at NCS.

SIGNS OF SPRING

Top: A tree frog on campus. Middle 1: Fred helps collect maple sap. Middle 2: Spinach growing in the greenhouse. Bottom: Moss peeking through the snow on campus.

While our day-to-day lives may have changed significantly in the recent weeks, we on the North Country School campus have greatly appreciated that the changing of the seasons has continued moving forward like clockwork. All around us, the snow is melting and new green shoots are pushing out of the ground. The maple sap is flowing in our sugarbush, and we have already boiled that sap down into many gallons of sweet maple syrup for use in our dining rooms throughout the upcoming year. Our greenhouses are filled with tiny seedlings and young plants stretching toward the sun, and we are already harvesting some of our first greens of the season. Soon our sheep will begin their lambing season down at the barn, and the once tiny baby chicks have started looking like adult chickens. In this challenging time, observing these beautiful and normal moments, and seeing reminders of the resilience of the natural world, have been both a comfort and source of optimism to us here at NCS. 

We hope that you and your loved ones are staying safe and healthy, and that your communities are caring for and supporting one another. We will continue to update you about our community from our mountain campus throughout this time, and encourage you all to reach back out to us as well. 

CONNECTING WITH OUR COMMUNITY:

Mondays: Check our Facebook page every Monday for a video from our School Counselor, Lauren, on tips for getting through this challenging time.  

Wednesdays: What’s Cooking at NCS and Camp Treetops? Our Edible Schoolyard instructor, Elie Rabinowitz, along with other community members, will provide simple recipes and cooking resources you can use to cook delicious meals at home with your families. Check it out on Facebook and on Tumblr.

Fridays: Check our Facebook page every Friday for a video featuring a Japanese mini-lesson by teacher Meredith Hanson.

Saturdays: The NCS Saturday Night Activity- Teacher Larry Robjent will be hosting a fun activity similar to the Saturday night activities usually held on campus each weekend with students. Participate live from home with your own families! Check it out on Facebook.

For more information about the #ThisWeekAtNCS blog, contact Becca Miller at bmiller@northcountryschool.org.

For general school information, call 518-523-9329 or visit our website: www.northcountryschool.org

[matrixsss]

OH FUN FUN FUN! I LOVE THIS

My guesses:

Spring Court Mythology

Spring Equinox

Flower Prince

Spring Court Creatures

Dark Spring

AU

Polycule

Tamlin's Warband

Heritage

Bite

Sprouts

Artisan

Performer

Family

Flourish

Change

And I have one additional guess, but this is me spreading the agenda that MAPLE SYRUP comes from Spring.

A little Suriel told us that you all are looking forward to getting the 2025 Tamlin Week prompts and we are here to deliver.

In The Suriel article above, all fourteen prompts (two per day) are hidden within the text. Let’s see if our clever Tamlin community can come together and uncover the hidden themes. We’ll also give you a hint: some prompts have combined wording.

Let us know in the comments what you think it is! We’ll be keeping an eye on your progress and adding to the tally 😉

We’ll reveal the official prompt list in one week.

PROMPTS UNCOVERED: 0/14

Below the cut, you will find a text version of the article for easier readability.

CHANGING SEASONS PROMPTS THE BEGINNING OF SPRING PREPARATIONS

By THE SURIEL

Artisans from far and wide have been seen crossing over into the Spring Court to prepare for the upcoming celebrations. As is tradition, and part of the Court’s Great Mythology, every Spring Equinox, the Great Rite must be performed by High Lord Tamlin. It is also tradition to spend the entire week before showing appreciation for all the Flower Prince has done for his people (and for blessing our eyes, oh yes). Creatures and faeries from every corner of Prythian are invited to worship the Mother and feed the powers of our land.

I remember when I was but a little fate-mite, a whirling ball of magic rolling across the land. Prythian was not as it was today, especially in this flourishing Court. Once upon a time, in Dark Spring, we begged the Mother for forgiveness in hopes not to be annihilated on the spot. Shout out to my brother, the Turiel. You were the worst, and I’ll always remember that.

Where was I? Oh, yes.

Over the course of the coming months, we expect the Spring Court to change and flourish right before our eyes. We expect a mass migration of celebrants, some hoping to secure lodging before all the inns are booked up, and the molehills are overflowing with guests. 

We’d also like to clarify in light of last year’s spy debacle that the human was not a from an alternate universe, but just a quirky new addition to our handsome High Lord’s polycule alongside Feyre, Lucien, Rhysand, Elain, Nesta, Azriel, Cassian, Beron, Eris, Jurian, and many more. For legal reasons, we are magically bound to say that it is possible that these famous faces may only share platonic relationships with High Lord Tamlin.

We’re also looking forward to this year’s performance from Tamlin’s warband. We are still reeling from the addition of fire breathers—what a beautiful way to integrate Spring Court emissary Lucien Vanserra’s heritage. 

If you or anyone you know is planning to spend your free days in Spring, The Suriel is continuously updating our collection of High Lord sightings. There can never be enough portraits of Tamlin’s glossy golden hair, his rippling muscles, and don’t you just want to take a bite out of his luscious chest—Sorry, sorry, our sprouts, we are getting ahead of ourselves, but sharing is caring, after all.

Stay tuned for more updates on Spring Court, and our favourite High Lord, Tamlin!

THE SURIEL is a Prythian Publishing Prize winner for several centuries in a row. They have been reporting the nation’s hottest celebrity news since the beginning of time, long before the lands had names. They currently reside in the Spring Court. If you have tea to spill, and for any advertising requests, sacrifice your freshest chicken in the Western Forest. The Suriel also responds to scenes of egging Beron’s house.

[dontfeedthebabytigers]

You’ve Got So Much Heart: Chapter 6

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The warm scent of blueberries and butter drifted through the silent halls of Wayne Manor, and in the epicenter stood Alfred. He worked in the kitchen, a clean apron around his neck, and perfectly round pancakes on the griddle before him. To his left, a stack of pancakes stood in a tall tower along with strawberries, bananas, and bacon. When he spoke, he seemed to talk to the room.

“You can come down from there now, Master Dick.” A smirk played at his lips when his grandson dropped from the vent and sat deflated at the round table in the corner of the room. Even before, Dick always seemed more inclined to eat when he wasn’t in the gold encrusted dining room.

“How long?” Dick asked in the same quiet tone he always used on the days he felt up to speaking. He still wore his cotton pajamas; the softest thread counts that money could buy.

“I’ve been aware of your prying eyes for last ten minutes. How long have you been waiting in the ventilation, might I ask?”

Dick smiled, a glorious sight. “Fifteen.”

“Alas, you have deceived this old man once again.”

“Don’t lie, Alfred.“ Bruce said as he entered the kitchen wearing slacks, a button-up, and a blue sweater. He took his place next to Dick and the table, and had to stop himself from running a hand through his ward’s hair. The morning felt like one pulled from his memories, warm and ideal. “You haven’t been an old man once in your life.”

Back when Bruce was Dick’s age and Alfred had been in his forties, they would play catch together when his parents were at work and the chores had been done. They could play for hours without Alfred tiring. Even when Alfred was in his seventies, he did the same for Dick. Bruce would watch them from his bedroom window. Alfred would chase Dick around as the boy laughed his head off, and he would catch him with ease when Dick launched himself on Alfred’s frail shoulders. His health would always stay at the forefront of Bruce’s mind. He didn’t think that any of them were ready to lose Alfred anytime soon.

“I know you think me young, Master Bruce. However, I believe my knees would care to disagree with you.”

Dick’s eyes widened by a fraction and he pulled out the chair on his other side. He pointed at Alfred and then the seat.

“How kind of you, Master Dick. Ut, I must get a head start on cleaning the East Wing.”

The boy patted the seat of the chair, urgency brewing in his eyes. “Please,” he whispered, slightly louder than before.

Few things were rarer than Dick asking for something. When he had asked his first question, Dick had hidden from them for three days. Damian had been the one to find him, shaking and clasping his neck as he begged for kindness. He had told them about being fitted with a shocker collar at first like a disobedient dog. Bruce had to excuse himself from the conversation and went to the forest just outside of the grounds to kick a tree. Had he gone on the streets in such a rage he might have broken his one rule. Even though he had been covered in splinters and cuts, Bruce knew that a tree could take his hits.

There was no denying Dick unless necessary because of the lengths the Court had gone to make him a drone that would operate without question. To deny him would cause more harm then a late start on dusting the unused rooms would ever bring Alfred.

“I don’t suppose there is any harm in a late start.” He sat down next to Dick with graceful ease. “Now, how many pancakes would you like, Master Dick?”

Two fingers resulted in two large blueberry pancakes being plopped down on his plea and drowned in maple syrup. Dick went to work on his breakfast while his father drank the coffee Alfred had provided. After a few bites, Dick stopped eating which made Bruce’s stomach drop. Dick hadn’t eaten much yesterday, and he couldn’t afford to get any skinnier. But Bruce soon found that his worries were misplaced. Dick grabbed two pancakes and set them on Bruce’s empty plate, and he did the same for Alfred’s.

Bruce hadn’t even thought about getting himself food, but Dick noticed everything. Now, if only Bruce could get Dick’s excellent observation skills aimed towards his own needs. That would be fantastic, but they were a long way from Dick noticing his own hunger. Last month he hadn’t even noticed he had been stabbed, or he had and he never told anyone. Bruce still didn’t know which was the bigger issue.

“Alright, alright, I can take a hint.” He took his fork and started cutting up his pancakes. When he got a bite in his mouth he looked at Dick for approval. Dick smiled at him in a way that told Bruce that his ward thought that he was being ridiculous. Bruce could tease all he wanted, but there was no denying the relief he felt knowing that Dick was feeling well enough to speak and act even slightly like a child.

There also wasn’t too much complaining he could make about being forced to eat his breakfast like a child. The pancakes were delicious.

"How are preparations for the Gala, Alfred?” Bruce asked.

“As planned, sir. Master Dick, will you still be in attendance, or should I contact Mister Kent if you would rather spend the night there?”

Dick stared forward and a small wrinkle above his nose portrayed his hesitance in joining the family for their Spring Gala. The event landed near his birthday, and, as Dick was learning to handle himself better around crowds, Bruce broached the idea of announcing Dick’s place in the family as Bruce’s newest ward. The fact that the Gala’s main goal was to proclaim Dick as the Wayne Family’s new ward had been withheld from the guests and press for when Dick need to pull out at the last-minute. But they all knew that Dick wanted this, and he need to feel like he was part of something. Maybe then he would stop being so afraid that Bruce would kick him out after he made any mistake.

  “I want to go.” Dick said, his voice a bit stronger. “I need to. It’s time.”

Bruce looked down at his ward, strong in the face of well-deserved fear, and he felt proud. “Then it’s time.”

“They lapsed into familiar silence that was a normal guest at meal times, the only sound being the clink of silver on china. At the end of their meal, Alfred gathered their plates and cleaned them off.

As Alfred got to work, Bruce settled deeper into his chair. He nursed a near empty cup of coffee. Today was looking out to be a good day if he felt  awake after only one cup, usually he needed three before he felt like a human. He looked at his son who inspected the strawberry in the palm of his hand. At this point, Dick had probably known how many seeds were on the berry, how much it weighed, and how to use it as a weapon. Maybe one day he would get to the point where he ate berries before he could think how to hurt someone with one.

“It’s your day, Dick.” Bruce said to distract him from the strawberry in his hand. “What do you want to do?”

Dick shook his head. “No, our day.”

“I see. How about a compromise?” Bruce proposed. “A movie? Anything as long as you choose.”

Dick thought hard, and he still phrased his choice like a question. “Scooby Doo?”

“Deal.” He held up his hand and grinned when Dick high-fived him with a smile. “You should go get dressed, then we can work on your assignments.”

Dick’s expression turned sour at the thought of the reading assignments Alfred had given him.

When Dick came to live with them after his parent’s deaths he had been in the beginnings of his education. Bruce and the boys helped Dick, once an eager young learner, further the work that his parents had begun. But the Court didn’t need Dick to read, they needed him to kill, and his studies were abandoned.

“You skipped them yesterday, and if we do them today Alfred might make us cinnamon rolls tomorrow for breakfast instead of cereal.”

“I like cereal.” Dick said, indignant.

“More than you like cinnamon rolls?”

He sighed. Dick knew he had fought a losing battle once cinnamon rolls were brought up. “No.”

“Then we better get started. Go ahead, I’ll meet you in the study.

After Dick made a show of  sulking away, Alfred gave Bruce a glance. “He’s doing well today.”

“He is for now.” Bruce ran a hand over his face and leaned back in his chair. “Be ready to catch any signs that he’s getting worse. The last thing we need is for this weekend to become a disaster.”

“I’m sure Master Damian would agree if he were here.”

Bruce nodded. “Before he left, Damian told me that Dick noticed Cobb’s been more daring with his surveillance this year. That’s why Dick was so spooked yesterday.”

“I see.” An unmistakable strain pulled at Alfred’s tone as he scrubbed the plates harder than necessary. “Could it be that the Court is reforming?”

“Anything is possible with the Court.” Bruce stood and began helping Alfred with the drying. “It could be entirely possible that Cobb has gone solo, or that he just has more free time to stalk a child. There are too many unknowable factors.”

“Yes, they have done a remarkable job of covering their tracks over the years.”

“Don’t remind me, I’m still going over that compound that Dick led us to.”

Alfred hummed. “Still no luck on that front, I assume.”

“They covered their tracks well, but an organization as large as the Court would be bound to overlook one detail. I’m getting close to finding their fatal flaw too.”

Alfred yanked the glass Bruce was drying out of his hands, along with the dish towel. “You’re leaving streaks.”

Bruce watched the man who raised him drying the crystal in a meticulous fashion. His eyes drifted to the age spots that littered Alfred’s wrinkled hands.

“I should have taught you better.” Alfred said as he handed Bruce the now clear glass.

“You did the best you could.” Bruce had been far from an easy child to raise, and Alfred probably never thought he would have to raise him in place of his parents. He did all that he could, and nothing more. Bruce would have never asked him too, because the one thing Alfred couldn’t do for him was bring them back.

“Bruce,” Alfred said. “When you get to my age you will realize you could have always done better. You just have to get there to see that.”

Where is this coming from?”

Alfred pulled the plug out from the sink. “I don’t believe that I have to tell you, Master Bruce.”

He didn’t. Bruce knew the longer he researched the Court and continued pushing them around that they would strike against him. Losing Bruce wasn’t something that Dick could handle--- not to mention if his brothers were killed. Neither of them could make it through that.

“If you could do it all differently, what would you do?” Bruce asked.

“I can’t answer that question.” Alfred said, pulling his apron off. “Do I wish you had never picked up the cowl and saved yourself from the destiny of an early death, of course. But your life is no longer your own. Without the Batman, Damian wouldn’t exist, Tim would have grown up neglected, Jason would likely be dead, and young Dick would have had all the humanity stripped from his heart. Those boys wouldn’t have lives without you. I couldn’t be prouder.”

“But?” There was always a condition to everything.

Alfred felt his chest rattle as he sighed. “You have always put your body, heart, and mind on the line to protect others from the world. I simple worry that one day the world will ask for too much, and I don’t think that I am ready to see your funeral quite yet.”

[highlordofkrypton]

I also require a formal acknowledgment of Autumn Court’s propaganda towards the ownership of Prythian’s ambrosia.

High Quality maple syrup comes from the hard work and dedication of High Lord Tamlin and his people, also the alliance between the Spring maple trees who allow us to suckle at their teat for sweet, sweet goodness.

I would like to publicly apologise to @highlordofkrypton for all my wrongdoings.

You see I have been mistaken in my analysis that THE GREAT MAPLE SYRUP belonged to the Autumn Court and I have since realised the gravity of my mistakes. THE GREAT MAPLE SYRUP actually belongs in the Spring court with our lord and savior Tamlin. What I have done is stereotype the GREAT CANADA and its inhabitants, which is very wrong.

So I hereby apologise;

I am very very sorry and am reflecting on my mistakes. I promise to never make the same mistake again.

I pray you can accept my apology

[toldnews-blog]

New Post has been published on https://toldnews.com/world/united-states-of-america/robert-mueller-cyclone-fani-kentucky-derby-your-friday-evening-briefing/

Robert Mueller, Cyclone Fani, Kentucky Derby: Your Friday Evening Briefing

1. President Trump had a “very productive talk” with President Vladimir Putin of Russia. They spoke on the phone for an hour.

In a pair of midday tweets, Mr. Trump, pictured above at the White House today, said that he and Mr. Putin discussed the “Russian Hoax” among other topics. The conversation was their first since the release of Robert Mueller’s report, which found that “the Russian government interfered in the 2016 presidential election in sweeping and systematic fashion.”

The phone call appeared to be an effort to turn the page on the entire affair.

Meanwhile, House Democrats are trying to revive talks with the Justice Department over a subpoena for the special counsel’s full, unredacted report. Representative Jerrold Nadler, the Judiciary Committee chairman, gave the department until Monday to respond and said his committee would proceed with a contempt of Congress vote if the two sides could not agree.

2. The U.S. economy got another boost.

The country added 263,000 jobs in April, another month of robust growth and a fresh sign that recent fears of a slowdown were overblown. The unemployment rate was 3.6 percent, the lowest it has been in half a century. Here’s what it all means. Above, a job fair last month in Miami.

Booming jobs and low inflation — this wasn’t supposed to happen. Our senior economics reporter writes that using data from a few decades in the middle of the 20th century to set policy in the 21st might not be such a good idea.

3. One of the strongest storms to batter the Indian subcontinent in decades has made landfall.

Cyclone Fani lashed the coast with wind gusts of more than 120 miles per hour, the equivalent of a Category 5 hurricane. India and Bangladesh evacuated more than a million people each from coastal areas. Here’s how they did it.

The storm is expected to weaken and move toward Bangladesh tonight. But there were already reports of destruction, like above in Puri, India, and possibly deaths. We’ll continue to have live updates here.

In other international news, new details in the Sri Lanka Easter Sunday attacks point to a more active ISIS role than previously thought. Some Sri Lankans are furious that multiple warnings went unheeded.

_____

4. Floridians gave ex-felons the right to vote. Lawmakers just put a big obstacle in their way.

In November, voters approved a groundbreaking ballot measure that would restore voting rights for up to 1.5 million people with felony convictions. But the Republican-led state Legislature has approved a series of sharp restrictions that critics say are meant to undermine the voters’ will. Above, former felons registering to vote in January.

Under the new proposals, which now head to Gov. Ron DeSantis’s desk, thousands of people with serious criminal histories would be required to fully pay back fines and fees to the courts before they could vote, effectively pricing some people out of the ballot box.

_____

5. Federal authorities have rarely invited outsiders into their secure facilities on the border — until now.

Our reporter and video journalists went inside the Border Patrol’s latest attempt to handle the migrant influx: a 40,000-square-foot tent encampment, built over the past 13 days just east of McAllen, Tex., to house newly arriving migrants in the Rio Grande Valley.

The tent camp is opening along with a similar temporary structure in El Paso, built at a combined cost of $37 million.

Separately, it can be difficult to come of age in the borderlands. Seven young women told us their stories.

_____

6. Weekend pancakes may never be the same: The future of maple syrup is at risk.

A growing body of research suggests that warming temperatures linked to climate change may significantly shrink the range where it is possible to make maple syrup. Warm weather can hurt syrup production because the process depends on specific temperature conditions.

And it is already having an impact. In 2012, maple production fell by 12.5 percent in Canada because of an unusually warm spring. Above, syrup being bottled in Ontario, where the decrease was even more drastic: 54 percent.

How does your diet contribute to climate change? Take our quiz to find out.

_____

7. Yes, that’s an ostrich running with an extra set of wings.

How avian flight first evolved is one of the biggest controversies in paleontology. So scientists in China strapped artificial wings to a young ostrich and took it out for a run.

The ostrich did not fly. But as it ran, flapping was evident, and sensors measured a small amount of lift. Eventually, the researchers proposed, the dinosaur’s descendants would have harnessed this trait and taken off from the ground for the first time.

In other esoteric animal news, shrimp from five U.K. rivers have one thing in common, according to a new study: cocaine. The drug’s source remained a mystery.

_____

9. And now for your viewing pleasure.

She’s the secretary of state and he’s a struggling journalist. The improbable, yet perfectly paired, Charlize Theron and Seth Rogen play old friends who find love in “Long Shot,” a charming (and a bit vulgar) romantic comedy. “It’s an adrenaline shot of pure pleasure to the genre’s failing heart,” our film critic says.

For some weekend binge-watching, our TV critic reviews “Tuca & Bertie,” a buddy/birdy comedy from a producer of “BoJack Horseman.” The feminist friendship comedy is funny, haunting and visually surreal, our critic writes.

In need of a new book? Here are 14 books to watch for in May.

_____

10. Finally, April showers bring May flowers (or something like that).

It has been a very wet spring in New York, and when a hard rain descends, the whole city feels it. Traffic comes to a standstill, strangers huddle under a shared awning, and inside-out umbrellas litter trash cans.

We rounded up some of the most arresting images and had a sound artist who has worked on “Roma” and “Stranger Things” match them with short soundtracks from across the city. Take a look and a listen here.

Have a cozy weekend.

_____

Your Evening Briefing is posted at 6 p.m. Eastern.

And don’t miss Your Morning Briefing. Sign up here to get it by email in the Australian, Asian, European or American morning.

Want to catch up on past briefings? You can browse them here.

What did you like? What do you want to see here? Let us know at briefing@nytimes.com.

[tchildrensguide]

Protesters take to decry Department of Family and Children Services after child deaths that are recent

Where are you ever seen a payphone about Northeast Ohio still? …

Captured on News 5 surveillance camera : A wanted man led federal police on a high-speed pursuit down Euclid Avenue Monday morning. In the video, you can see a vehicle go zooming by. Then police speeding after him are roughly five seconds afterwards shown by a flash. …

Yikes. Facebook’s shares tumbled that data company Cambridge Analytica, that had links to Donald Trump’s Democratic campaign, reportedly accessed info. …

Facebook’s shares tumbled on information that data company Cambridge Analytica, that had links to Donald Trump’s Democratic campaign, reportedly accessed information from roughly 50 million Facebook users.

The Cuyahoga County Board of Health is identifying individuals who might be at risk of contracting the illness after coming in close contact with the pupil. …

The era has already been increased in Cleveland and Columbus. …

Security concerns are still top-of-mind at Beachwood mall.

“People yelling, yelling, ‘Gun!’ And nearly trampling each other this up escalator.”

Janet Maistros talks on what it was like to get through that situation. …

A lawsuit was filed in Miami-Dade Circuit Court against the companies involved with the design and building of the bridge. …

Students returning from spring break to Florida International University held a minute of silence Monday to honor the six people killed in the collapse of a pedestrian bridge that was likely to become a campus showcase.

“Some countries have a very, very difficult punishment — the ultimate punishment. And, by the way, they have much less of a medication problem than we do,” Trump said. “So we’re going to get to be quite strong on penalties” …

President Donald Trump’s plan to fight opioid medication addiction involves harsher penalties for drug traffickers, including the death penalty where appropriate under present legislation, a top government official said. It is a destiny for drug traders that Trump has been highlighting openly in recent weeks.

Heavy snowfall and 40 mph wind gusts are headed this way. Get the latest winter storm update from Meteorologist Jeff Tanchak around Unwired. …

Paramedics believe the officers played a crucial role in saving the woman’s lifestyle. …

THE SAP IS FLOWING It is Maple Syrup period in Ohio’s Amish Country. Gene Wintersole photos. …

Save the Date: Celebrate Earth Day at the Zoo with family fun and unique programming!

Presented by Northeast Ohio Regional Sewer District

Party for the Planet EarthCleveland Metroparks ZooCelebrate Earth Day at the Zoo with family fun and unique programming.

Presented by @[115134564376:274:Northeast Ohio Regional Sewer District] …

Cleveland Metroparks Zoo is much more than a place to view wild animals. Come experience the miracle of the animal kingdom! Know more, here: …

Join us in the job fair, TODAY! The job fair is free and open to the General Public, and will probably be held in Cleveland Metroparks Zoo’s Stillwater Place out of 11 a.m. to two …

from Childrens guide http://www.the-childrens-guide.com/protesters-take-to-decry-department-of-family-and-children-services-after-child-deaths-that-are-recent/

[daemonvols]

Chapter One

The Newborn

      He summoned me by Post-it note! Derek Zanger came into my house in the dark of mid-spring night, used my pens and sticky-notes and slapped his summons in the middle of my computer screen.

    I don’t know what made me want to hurl my Eggo waffle at the screen more. The summons itself (about as welcome as a traffic ticket), knowing that arrogant bloodsucker swept into my house in the (excuse the expression) dead of night to leave me a note, or knowing I had to obey the summons. Maybe all of the above, and I came within a curse word of having to clean maple syrup out of my office keyboard as I read this in loopy, nineteenth-century lawyer-script:

    “Farmer – south gate, 9:30 p.m. You will be there.”

    I should explain. My job, according to the contract renewed with a member of my family since 1840, is to “care for, maintain the peace of and do all towards the good and well-being of the residents of the Sayresville Cemetery” etc., etc. I don’t know if the founders considered the undead to be residents, but in a somewhat technical, legal sense they are. Ergo, to use the legalese, obeying a summons from the oldest vampire in the place landed squarely with two undead feet into my job description.

    And so, on that mid-April night, just after sundown, I watched from a hundred feet away as Derek stood centered in the wrought-iron arch at that entrance of the cemetery waiting to “instruct” the newborn vampire.

The ritual did not begin well.

Derek had “secured” another expensive business suit and dress white shirt for the occasion. Probably courtesy of the hospital executive found dead in his tidy-whiteys in his back yard in Liverpool three days before. Derek wore his thick black hair slicked back from his high-cheek boned face, and I would bet he had only that week scored the solid gold, aviator-style, framed eyeglasses from yet another affluent victims.  Still, he did not look happy.  He had not planned for, nor wished for, another addition to his flock of nearly two dozen vampires. And yet, here he was, waiting at the south entrance for the most-recently buried but far from dead resident of the CPF.

And Ambr’ Cadwallader was once again in his face.

I was a tad late and too far away to get much of the argument, but no one could mistake Ambr’s signature whining. Derek, his face already taut with annoyance, spat out his replies. He waved her away with his long-fingered hand, but she did not move. Finally, his right hand swept up and across his chest to backhand her in hopes of shutting off the relentless whine. But he paused. Ambr’ did not flinch most of us would. She leaned in with a half-smile, her face tilted to one side, inviting the blow that would probably break open her undead cheek.

“Get away from me,” he snarled. He turned his back to her.

Ambr’ stood seconds, perhaps minutes before she accepted that he would not turn back to her. She stomped back to the rest of the “family” in their divisions.

    The six Old Guards (undead for at least a century) waited in the shadows around the headstones in Section H to the south This is  the burial site for World War I and II soldiers who wanted no part of Arlington; I think there is two or three deserters in there, if certain ghostly gossips are to be believed. The twelve mid-termers (undead for more than fifty years, but less than a century), including Ambr’ who had resumed her nightly visual adoration of their leader from afar, guarded the matching arch at the north entrance. These “elders” of the CPF undead community all kept a close watch on the hill that is Section A of the cemetery grounds, each one wanting to be the first to spy the newborn. Finally, the six newbies (50 years or less on the “night shift”) paced Section C.

In this section of the cemetery, the rumor runs that section was so named because most of the folks buried there died in the 1800s of cholera. This is factually not true. According my family records, most of the choleric bodies were burned, but still the story brings in a lot of curious visitors.

We all waited for what seemed too long a time. Immortal or not, it was past the vampires’ feeding time. The natives, as they said if “they” talked about the undead, were growing restless. Some of the midtermers were panting and all were on high alert. The newborn was not going to sneak past Derek and drag this out any longer. They’d pounce and feed on the unmannerly bloodsucker first.

    “Where the fuck is he?” hissed a newbie. “I’m starving!”

    “Language!” an Old Guard named Tessa tutted.

    “And you suck, old hag!”

    “We all suck, young man. That’s how we feed, or did you forget?”

    “Shut up!” Derek snapped. He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets. We all tensed. If he started pacing, that meant the newborn would suffer. All undead eyes and one living pair of eyes fixed on the hill.

    Now, the initiation process for each newborn vampire in the CPF is about the same. Or it has been the six times I’ve been summoned to “maintain the peace”. The newborn, in this case a man, sleeps for two to four days after being made by one or more vampires. Call it a gestation period; vampires are no more “made” immediately than humans are born spontaneously. Nature simply does not work that way. And it’s not an exact thing because, like the living, vampires “mature” and get hungry at different rates and hunger is what brings them up out of the ground. He claws or shoves or does whatever has to be done to disinter himself and starts the long trek. Up the broad backside of the hill flicking off the dirt and grass, over the crest and, flinching at the electric light, down the steep face of Section A to face Derek.

    It’s not something any newborns look forward to doing.

    If I think about it, it might have been easier to for a newborn to bolt in the early days. In the early spring of 1840, the a group of well-heeled men proclaimed themselves Board members and bought a hill and two acres from the back forty acres of Edmund Polehouse’s farm. They liked the hill because it swept up majestically with an oak tree at the top and promised to be The Spot for the best of society to rest eternally under ornate headstones facing the main thoroughfare of Mansfield Road. No walls or fences, no hedges and no neighbors.

    Time, grave-robbing and kids gathering to smoke dope, of course, has changed all that. Nowadays to the south there is a line of generic shrubbery between the cemetery and the owner of the Ace Hardware store’s yard. My family’s house and the garage housing my grandfather’s late 1990s tank of a Chrysler cut off the north end. The Polehouse family sold more and more of their land until the whole forty-two acres became the CPF, with a busy state highway now stopping any westbound traffic.

    And in front of Mansfield Road to the east we now have the brick wall. I don’t know if it originally had white mortar or any mortar when it was built in 1888, but the current Board has taken great pride in modernizing it to resemble a two-hundred foot loaf of red brick bread, held together with pinkish tubing.

That was the location I was assigned to crouch and observe.

    A hiss of excitement heralded the new arrival.

    The newborn this night was in my grave site record books as Ian McNulty, aged fifty-two when he “died.” Coming down the hill, he looked older: thinning brown hair, at least a two-piece set of luggage under his watery blue eyes and a droopy, basset-hound expression. The story from the police who found him was that he had only moments earlier left a spray-tanning salon before he was “attacked” and bled out.  

What the police report does not say is that two of Derek’s mid-termers, Helen and Nestor, were hunting at the strip mall and thought it would be fun to make a newborn vampire. They chose this guy. They also told anyone who would listen that the spray tanning solution gave them a hell of a buzz. Good for them, not great for their progeny.

Ian’s relations buried him in the same suit, down to the blood-stained dress shirt he’d worn to work that day. His skin had been orange from the tanning solution when Helen and Nestor “made” him, so the paling of the skin that comes with joining the undead had turned his skin a milky, pale orange. Think Dreamsicle.

    “Ian McNulty!” Derek pronounced in a voice as loud as if he’d swallowed a bullhorn.

    Ian flinched. His legs appeared to go soft. “What the f - ? Yes, that’s me.”

    “Come to me and receive my instructions.” Derek spoke as if he addressed a court of law, which he had done before his death a hundred and twenty-two years ago. A few of the mid-termers snickered.

    “Hell, no! I mean, I’d really rather – shit! – not. Fuck it!” His head snapped to one side. He reached out as if to grasp something, then jerked his hands back.

    Derek strode over to him and shoved the newborn to his knees. “Shut your mouth and obey me!” Ian held up his orange ice cream hands in surrender. Derek yanked the newborn’s head the same side that bore Helen and Nestor’s marks. He bared Ian’s neck and bit hard. Ian whimpered. How much Derek drank depended entirely on how angry he was. And he was furious, so, as I said, the newborn suffered. He writhed and sobbed and cursed, but did nothing to stop his master.

Derek shoved Ian back onto the grass when he had finished. Derek looked startled and almost smiled at first. Apparently, the tanning solution did offer the predator a nice buzz. But Derek shook his head and resumed his scowl. He leaned down until he was pointy nose to Ian’s softer, rounder nose.

    “This is my abode,” he hissed, spraying Ian’s face with his own blood. “You obey me. You hunt where I say and when I say. You kill when I say and you let live when I say. If you do not, I will end you.”

    Helen and Nestor shifted their feet. They’d heard the same threat two days ago when Ian had been buried and the truth was known. “Ending” is very messy, very painful.  I had to replace the gravel along two paths towards Sections G and F the last time Derek tore the head off one of his “family.”

    Derek leaned down until he was nose to nose with Ian. “Do you understand, Ian McNulty?”

    Ian’s head twitched to one side. “Y-yes – shithead!”

    “What did you say?” Derek demanded.

    “I said yes. Faggot!” Ian’s tongue snaked out.

    Nestor and Helen looked around with wide eyes. This was not looking good for them and their choices were reduced to two: run back to their resting places or bulldoze through the newbies and over the wall. Nestor stepped on my foot, then jumped two feet back into her when I yelped. They both fell back against Ambr’, who glared at me as if it were my fault her worship of Derek had been interrupted.

    Derek did not seem to hear us. He stared at Ian. “What is wrong with you?”

    If the pole lights did not deceive my eyes, Ian was crying. “Tourette’s Syndrome. Shit! Had since I was a kid. I can’t always stop it. Hell no, I can’t!”

    Some of the newbies tittered. Derek turned to glare them into silence. Several of the Old Guard yawned out loud. Some checked their watches, waiting for dismissal.

    “Go hunt in Jamesville,” Derek said. He brushed off his sleeves and hands as if touching Ian had dirtied him. “And kill whomever you take.” Ian was up and scuttling towards the arch without a second command. “Helen and Nestor!”

    Everyone froze. Ambr’ licked her lips. The newbies actually quivered with hope of an easy feed.

    Derek turned to face them. “Helen and Nestor, you made this newborn. You are responsible for him.”    

Many a pair of vampire shoulders sank in disappointment when he waved the rest of them on their way to hunt and feed.

The mid-termers and newbies made it a point, once they were on their way to Derek and the south arch, to shove me this way and that. But they always shoved past me, or tried to knock me down when I stood in or near their path. I used to think they were showing me a rough kind of affection, acknowledging me as part of the “family.” Sometime later, I realized they were being jerks. And “maintaining the peace” did not allow me to shove back.

    “Grace Farmer.” Derek stood in front of me. He’d crossed the hundred feet between us in less than a second. I jumped a little in surprise, but I could look up into his black eyes without fear. I knew too much about him.

    Specifically: Derek Zanger, scion of a wealthy family in Old Virginia, born circa 1850, where he grew up rich and spoiled. He attended a New York university where, on paper, he studied law, but, in truth, he majored in gambling and alcohol. Somewhere in between poker hands and bottle after bottle of bourbon, he married and had three children.

    There’s nothing in the records that indicate how or why he came to the melodramatic and clichéd crossroads of repenting his evil ways. All I found relevant in the local archives of the time was a poster board advertisement of a religious revival out by one of the Finger Lakes hosted by the Reverend Julius Belcher. I also found a daguerreotype of Belcher online: large best describes him from a massive head, bushy hair on top and beard below large eyes, a long narrow nose and very thick lips. Along with the image I found only a single article on his “ministry.”  Seems to have consisted largely of travel, impromptu sermons and mass baptisms in local waters. And all of the above at night because, you guessed it, Belcher was also a vampire. Go figure.

As for Derek, it has taken me six years and the kind of cajoling and flattering that makes me puke thinking back on it to get him to tell me the story of his “making.” He related it in approximately these words:

Anxious to reunite with his rigidly pious wife and his three children, Derek went out to pray, repent and be baptized in the bitter cold waters of the lake.  He was not the only sinner thirsting for redemption that weekend in September 1893, mind you.  The newspaper reports counted over a hundred people coming to the tents, donning white baptismal robes and entering the lake waters to be baptized by the muscular and very hairy preacher. But Derek was the only “found sheep” who “died” that night.

    Reverend Belcher held him back from the mass baptisms, saving the “Best” for last. Considering the time of year and how cold that lake can get, the burly and very hairy minister had to have super-human endurance to last the two hours of standing waist-deep in freezing water and plunging nearly a hundred white-robed people into those waters before he beckoned Derek to come to him.

The hirsute Belcher took Derek in his thick arms. “The last indeed be first,” the preacher announced to all on the shore. He lowered Derek under the cold waters and repeated, “The last shall indeed be first. My first.” He raised the shivering sinner and clutched Derek to his chest. Then Belcher bit into Derek’s neck.

Derek would never admit to making a sound or thinking a thought as Belcher sucked him dry. But he would admit to feeding with high delight on Belcher’s blood and then of the first wet old woman Reverend Belcher could catch. As for her side of it, Derek described the woman’s agonies as if he were describing the swatting of a pesky mosquito.

Beyond this point in the story, he has been very tight-lipped (not a pleasant picture, given his bulging canine fangs). The most that he will say of what followed his transformation would be to curse his stingy wife for burying him in such a cheaply-made pine box in Section B of the “fashionable” cemetery of the day in Sayresville.

Thus vampirism came to the CPF.

Since he had no elder to initiate him, Derek invented all the rituals along with the rules to sustain what he liked and the procedures for eliminating what he didn’t. So far, the procedures hadn’t included eliminating me. I grew up believing he viewed my family and me as something useful, if distasteful.

    “Grace Farmer. Or should I say, Baumann?” I’ve heard that in literature vampires have attractive, almost erotic smiles. These authors never met this vampire. For all his luxurious black hair and high, olive-skinned cheek bones, Derek still had Ian’s blood ringing his lips and that smile looked like bad clown makeup. I felt queasy.

    “It’s been Farmer since the sinking of the Lusitania and you know it,” I said, crossing my arms.

    “How do you like our new arrival?”

    I watched Helen and Nestor try to steer Ian through the gate. His legs were still weak and Nestor had to keep yelling at him, “Keep your fucking tongue inside your fucking mouth!”

    “He’ll never hunt on his own,” I said.

    Derek frowned. “Why do you say that?”

    “First, he’s on the timid side. Second, he’s got what are called complex tics including his choice of language. He’ll send rats scurrying with those shout-outs, not to mention any humans that are still conscious.”

    Derek shrugged. “It’s not my problem.”

    “Will be if they’re seen and/or caught.”

    “That,” he hissed, bringing his face in close enough for me to smell Ian’s drying blood, “will never happen. I won’t have it. I will summon you to watch an ending first.”

    “Thanks, but I’ve seen enough of animals eating their own on C-SPAN. Are we done here or are there more festivities tonight? I’ve really got to get to bed. Busy day tomorrow.”

    “Is it?” He bared his teeth in another ugly smile. “Another one of your disgusting Jewish holidays?”

    “No,” I said. My neck hurt looking up at him and he was giving me a pain somewhere else as well. “Eulalie Plutarch’s funeral is tomorrow afternoon. They’re sending Varney and Trumbull to mow the grass tomorrow morning. I might, and I mean might, have time to clean up after the mowers in Section B before the funeral.  But you know those two will knock over the headstone and turn Old Sharpe loose after sundown. I’ll probably be up half the night trying to get him back in his grave.”

    Derek groaned. “You need to stake that old spook.”

    Ever the politically incorrect 19th century man. “You. Can’t. Stake. A ghost,” I said. “It can’t be done.”

    “Then pour cement under the headstone so they can’t knock it out of place.”

    I shook my head. “The Board won’t pay for that and what there are of the old fart’s relatives don’t want to acknowledge him, let alone pay for any maintenance to his grave. I’d pay for it myself, but that gets into union regs and all sorts of legal issues.”

    Derek made a noise I interpreted as scoffing laughter. The sound reminded me of a German shepherd barking. “I understand legal issues. I was a lawyer.”

    I threw up my hands. “About a hundred and twenty years ago! The law’s a bit different these days. You’d better go feed. Your mood does improve after you feed.”

    I won’t repeat what he said before he stalked off down Mansfield Road.

    I really did not care. It was after ten and I had my nightly routine to follow.

    I crossed the “skirt” of Section A to the two-story house my many-times great grandfather Jacob had insisted be part of his compensation for serving as the CPF’s first gravedigger and caretaker. The Board of Directors of the CPF has grudgingly kept up the outside of the place, replacing the original clapboards with lemon yellow siding several years ago, coughing up for three asphalt roofs over the last century and a half, mostly, I believe, because we have always refused to take the yellow sign with big black letters that read “Cemetery Office” down from the front door. Some appearances, the Board felt, had to be kept up to societal standards.

However, the rest we Farmers have had to do ourselves. The original stairs to the second floor were built right in the middle of the parlor, which led all the Farmers I have record of to make one side a sitting room with sofa, and in later generations, a television; and the other side the cemetery office with a monster of a wooden desk and old leather chair that I believe my great-grandfather Jack purchased after World War I. That is, it feels that old and cranky to my seated form.

Sliding doors beside the office lead to a tiny dining room so that the rest of the back of the house consists of a country kitchen. My grandparents updated the appliances more than ten years ago, but at least I have an island and reasonably modern appliances. I’m not complaining. For all the cooking I do, it’s more than enough.

Going back to the night of Ian’s initiation, I locked both the back and front doors    once I was inside, mostly to keep the live intruders out (Derek had once again proved I couldn’t do much about the dead and undead kind). I wound my grandfather’s old cuckoo clock, which twitters merrily on the hour, over the fire place next to my desk.

I checked that Grandma Rose’s porcelain lamp in the front room/office and kitchen sink light in the back were turned on for the night. Then I took myself upstairs to the only bedroom I’ve ever had.

    It’s not huge, maybe twelve by twelve feet with one window overlooking the driveway, garage and the CPF beyond. Five years ago, I painted the walls a snow white over the cotton candy pink my grandparents chose for me when I was born. Some of the pink shows through, but it keeps the white from appearing too cold. My full-size bed is next to the door to the bathroom and I have two almost green stuffed chairs that belonged to my great grandmother Rivvy with an end table and lamp between them in one corner.

    The best feature of my room, I must say is the shelf that is four inches deep and sits atop the wainscot along three of the walls. I have filled every inch of those shelves with my romance novel collection.

    How many do I have? I have no idea, but I don’t read anything else. When one falls apart, and sadly they do, I bury it in the back yard, then, after a week, I replace it or find another at the used book store down on Egret Road.

    That night I changed into a T-shirt that I believed I would never wear outside but liked too much to throw away and began my hunt for a good read.

    I half-muttered, half-chanted the Shema as if Grandma Rose still sat next to me listening as we faced the blue-black sky studded with start out the north window towards the CPF. Then I fell asleep on top of my covers after reading half way through an old favorite, His Arms Around Me.

[paul-doyle]

From The Hills Of Northern Vermont, Bill Lee, Pitcher-Philosopher, Still Plays A Full Schedule

By Paul Doyle/The Hartford Courant

July 8, 2001

CRAFTSBURY, VT. - On a sunny afternoon in June, the Craftsbury town common is virtual Rockwell.

On one side of the common, a church sits atop the hills of northern Vermont. On the other side, children play in a schoolyard. A white gazebo stands on a sprawling lawn that is framed by tree-lined streets.

Amid the quaint New England scene, Bill Lee is on a roll. Holding a beer in one hand, wearing knee-high rubber fishing boots, a black T-shirt and cargo shorts, Lee sits on a folding chair next to the gazebo and recites his thoughts on everything from baseball in Cuba to life in Vermont. His references range from Ernest Hemingway to Buckminster Fuller as he sprinkles stories with anecdotes from his pitching career.

The man who calls himself a Roman Catholic Buddhist is very much in the moment, losing himself in his stream of thoughts.

That seems to happen when the camera is rolling. And on this day, a crew of documentary filmmakers that recently followed Lee on a trip to Cuba is filming him. The Boston-based crew is producing a film about Lee for PBS and is interviewing him in the town he has called home since 1988.

Leaning forward, sipping his beer and talking about Cuban culture, Lee speaks in front of a hand-held camera and a boom microphone. The scene seems surreal, yet no one stops to watch. Cars and trucks rumble past the common and no one slows to catch a glimpse of the gathering.

``The cameras just keep coming,'' says Lee's estranged wife Pamela, who is home while Bill holds court on the common. ``Same drill all the time. He takes them to the common. They film him at the baseball field. He might go to my daughter's school. Never ends.''

Current Events

It has been 19 years since he wore a major league uniform and even longer since he was entertaining New England sports fans as a member of the Red Sox, but Lee won't fade away. Every so often, his name appears in the news and he is ripe for a quote. The latest instance was the arrival of Don Zimmer's biography; Lee accused the former Red Sox manager of throwing the 1978 season.

When Lee reappears on the pop culture radar screen he reminds the world why he is such a compelling figure. An ex-jock who refuses to give up his game -- he continues to play baseball and softball (as a pitcher, DH and first baseman) in barnstorming games and senior leagues all over Canada and the United States -- Lee is still among the most intelligent and literate professional athletes.

Lee, 54, divides his time among several spots. Craftsbury (population 1,000) is home, but he can just as easily be found staying with friends in Florida or several spots in New England, or he could be in Montreal, western Canada, Washington State, California, Mississippi or Arizona. Camping, visiting family, playing baseball, signing autographs, giving interviews -- it's the nomadic life he has seemingly lived since he first donned a Red Sox uniform more than 30 years ago.

``I'm a man on the move,'' Lee says.

The beauty of Lee's life is its unpredictability. Each morning, he talks baseball on a Montreal radio station. Each Thursday, he tapes a baseball-related show for a Montreal TV station. On any given day he is speaking to sports reporters from all over the country, spewing his thoughts on the game.

But his depth of knowledge appeals to a diverse audience. How many former athletes attract a writer from The New Yorker and a film crew from PBS in the span of months?

Only Lee.

Spend a day with Lee and it's easy to understand the interest from the mainstream and literary media. You will hear rants about everything from the Red Sox to Vermont's civil union law. You will hear his philosophies on life as you tour the farms and rolling hills of northern New England. You will hear off-color jokes and watch an aging New England celebrity move among his neighbors without a hint of pretense.

But don't mistake this for an average day in Lee's life. There is no such thing.

In the morning, Lee spends a few hours with the PBS crew before returning home. He bickers with Pamela, whom he married in 1982 and is in the process of divorcing. He feeds his rooster and chickens, he attempts to complete a few household projects, he runs errands and he watches his daughter play tee ball.

He is pensive and serious. He is lively and gregarious. He tells jokes and stories and plans his next trip.

``This is home,'' Lee says, ``but I'm a nomad. This is my New England base. Catch me here or I'm off. There's always a game somewhere.''

Shopping With The Spaceman

As Lee enters a supermarket in Morrisville, which borders Craftsbury, heads turn. Shoppers stop, gaze at his boots and smile. A teenage girl who apparently knows Lee razzes him and asks if he's expecting a flood.

``Haven't you heard?'' Lee answers. ``The floods are coming. I'm ready ... are you?''

Inside the store, Lee stops at the bank and deposits a check. All five tellers are transfixed on Lee, who jokes about his shorts and boots and his search for someone to groom his lawn while he is on the road.

``Any of you girls interested?'' Lee says.

In four days, Lee will be playing in a baseball game in western Massachusetts before flying out of Bradley International Airport, bound for Winnipeg. He will spend about a month playing in a senior baseball league and living with his girlfriend in Calgary.

Lee says he must have enough money to last through July, since he's not sure when he will return to Vermont. When he receives a slip from the bank teller, Lee winces and studies his account balance. He stares at the ceiling, raises his index finger and recites numbers.

He closes his eyes and smiles.

``Cool,'' Lee says. ``More money than I thought. I'm all set. Maybe I can buy myself a new pair of pants.''

The bank tellers, hanging on Lee's every word, burst into collective laughter.

``You should stick with the boots ... very flattering,'' a teller says.

Pushing his carriage toward the produce aisle, Lee turns and waves. The bank tellers are rolling their eyes and shaking their heads.

``Those are my girls,'' Lee says. ``They love me.''

As Lee walks through the supermarket, he talks about his upcoming week in Craftsbury. Alternating between his various home projects and his pickup basketball games, Lee realizes he has busy week.

His primary concern: finding someone to tend to his home while he is away, since Pam will be moving to Georgia with their daughter Anna, 7. The divorce will be final in a matter of days and Lee will retain the Vermont home, which he built on 14 acres of land 13 years ago.

The divorce has been brewing for over a year, but it is now imminent and Lee will be forced to visit his daughter in Georgia. At home, Pam indicates Bill's schedule is a problem -- he is almost an absentee father because he is away so frequently.

His wayward life contributed to the end of his first marriage. As his career was winding down, Lee and his first wife, Mary Lou, separated in 1981 and she eventually moved to Mississippi. While Lee was living in Montreal, New Brunswick and eventually Vermont during the 1980s, his three children -- Michael, Andy and Caitlin -- were in Mississippi.

His grown children now live in Mississippi, California and Washington. He has a grandchild in Spokane, where Michael lives, and his aging parents live in the San Francisco area.

``I try to make a loop,'' Lee says. ``I'll be out in Calgary with my girlfriend. We'll spend a week in Spokane and see my grandson, we'll head down to my parents for a week, then I'll see my daughter and eventually be back up in Canada. I see everyone.''

Now, Anna will be in Georgia -- another state on the itinerary.

Simplicity Pattern

Through all of the traveling, Lee rarely stays at hotels. Many of his expenses are covered by organizations that ask him to speak or sign autographs, so his out-of-pocket expense is not great.

Which is necessary, since Lee prides himself on simplicity. He has a pension from baseball and derives income from his TV and radio appearances in Montreal. He also runs a fantasy camp in Florida each spring and is continually in demand for appearances throughout New England.

Just two weeks ago, he made an appearance in Bristol and played in an afternoon game at Muzzy Field.

``I'll go anywhere,'' Lee says. ``And I've never overcharged.''

But even with the various sources of income, Lee is not living an extravagant life. He says he earns just enough to live, and boasts of his self-reliance. He taps maple trees and sells the syrup. He saves scraps of wood and makes his own baseball bats. He raised his own chickens for food and often rants about living a life that has little impact on the environment.

After finishing his shopping -- steaks, a bottle of red wine, some Ben and Jerry's ice cream -- Lee squeezes his 6-foot-3 frame into a reporter's rented Toyota Corolla and is off to his next stop.

Why the compact car when he owns a perfectly functional Pathfinder? Lee says the Toyota burns less fuel and is better for the environment, so he sacrifices comfort for his principles.

``Any little thing we can do for the earth,'' Lee says. ``Nothing wrong with this car. It doesn't take a lot to make me happy. I'm a guy who doesn't need a lot. I really am.''

Yankee Mind-Set

Inside a store that sells farm and lawn supplies, Lee immediately notices an employee wearing a Yankees hat. Lee is also taken by the cage of chickens, which cost a mere $1.25 each.

``Give me two of the meat birds,'' Lee says.

The boy with the Yankees hat grabs a box and opens the cage.

``Which ones?'' he asks.

Lee is leaning against the counter and smiling. His grin widens and his eyes flicker.

``The ones with the big legs and no brains ... and the little Yankees hats on them,'' Lee says.

Lee bursts into laughter. He repeats the line and even asks where the little Yankees hats are as the kid pulls the chickens out of the cage.

``It keeps going, doesn't it?'' Lee says. ``It never ends. It all comes back to the Yankees. You can't make this stuff up.''

Back in the Corolla, more jokes follow. The punch line for one involves the resemblance between Yankees fans and various parts of the human anatomy.

Lee says he never tires of the rivalry between the Red Sox and Yankees. When Zimmer's book arrived in the spring, the calls to Vermont came from all over the country. Reporters were looking for a response from Lee, named by Zimmer as the one player he would never invite to his house for dinner.

First, Lee said he wouldn't go to Zimmer's house because he had no interest in seeing 1950s furniture.

Later, he said Zimmer was secretly working for the Yankees in 1978. Zimmer, Lee said, threw the '78 season and is now being repaid by George Steinbrenner as an employee-for-life with the Yankees.

Lee says he doesn't hate Zimmer. He says he has no respect for Zimmer as a manager and still harbors anger about being passed over during the stretch run of the '78 season.

But the private Lee is far more thoughtful than the flaky persona he projects for the sports media. Many of his outrageous quotes are thought out and he will defend them with compelling argument, but he admittedly says things for effect.

``I'm honest,'' Lee says. ``I'm an open book. But I've always been a good interview because I read a lot. I'm well-versed. I know what I'm talking about. I like giving my opinions and stirring it up a little bit. Nothing wrong with that.''

While he continues to fan the flames of the Yankee-Red Sox rivalry, he is really more tied to Montreal than Boston. He is visible throughout New England, but he has virtually no relationship with the Red Sox and jokingly said he was distraught when the team did not invite him to the recent 100th anniversary celebration.

He does, however, have a cordial relationship with Red Sox general manager Dan Duquette. He says Duquette has always been friendly -- or as friendly as he is capable of being.

``I think he's a little weird,'' Lee says. ``You know, he cuts his fingernails when you sit with him. He does this weird, bizarre stuff. His behavior is, like, strange. He kind of reminds me of Nosferatu, kind of a vampire-type guy. Like he comes out at night or something. A New England, Stephen King character. Just kind of weird.''

In the 1970s, Lee shook the baseball establishment when he said he sprinkled marijuana on his pancakes. Turns out, he was joking.

He compared Billy Martin and George Steinbrenner to Nazis. He went AWOL when the Red Sox traded his friend Bernie Carbo and he left the Expos when they released Rodney Scott.

And recently, he called Graig Nettles a Neanderthal.

``It all comes back to the Yankees,'' Lee says over lunch. ``I mean, that's my life. Look at the stuff that happens. The kid with the Yankees hat? It was too easy. It's just my life.''

Political Animal

Lee is very much at home in Vermont, a state that balances the traditional values of New England farmers with the radical politics of aging hippies. This is a state that elected socialist Bernie Sanders to congress and was the first to sanction same-sex marriage.

As Lee drives through Morrisville and Craftsbury, he points out the ``Take Back Vermont'' signs along the road. The signs represent the more conservative, anti-civil union faction in the state.

``Here we have the homophobic idiots in the state,'' Lee says. ``These are the people who live in trailers and vote for Bush because they think they'll get a tax break. Bush doesn't care about these people. Why don't they understand that?''

In 1988, Lee ran for U.S. president under the Rhinoceros Party banner in Canada. His platform: No borders, because the earth is a one-celled organism. And he was opposed to guns and butter (``They'll both kill you.'').

His political views are a reason he will probably always keep his home in Vermont. While he is constantly on the move, he loves the serenity of life in the mountains.

Lee's home was built on land donated by his friend Scott Reed, whom he met at a fantasy camp in the late 1980s. When he recently separated from his wife, Lee spent many nights at the Reed home just down the road.

As Lee brags about the benefits of living in Vermont, he also acknowledges that he will probably be spending less time in the state when his ex-wife and daughter relocate. For all of his bluster, that thought stops him in his tracks.

``I'll need a New England base,'' Lee says. ``But things will be very different. We'll see what happens ... I'm not sure.''

Another Chapter

Returning to his house after his stops in Morrisville, Lee drops off his new chickens and feeds his other animals.

The house is full of boxes, as Pam prepares for her move. Frayed Bill Lee baseball cards are scattered throughout, but there are few reminders of his major league life.

Anna studies the cards and knows her father was a big league player, but Lee says his daughter is unimpressed. Still, the bond between them is obvious. When he interacts with Anna, Lee is every bit a child.

When Lee greets Anna as school ends, he joins his daughter on the swings and asks her about her day as they swing side-by-side. He is reminded about Anna's activities -- pottery class, tee ball -- and Lee seems scattered and unaware.

This is an obvious source of strain between Bill and Pam.

``Maybe if you were home more,'' Pam says.

Lee has no answer. He shrugs and slips into a pensive gaze before saying he will be sure to attend the tee ball game.

``The left hand can't understand the right hand,'' Lee says as a way of describing his relationship with Pam.

Later, as he feeds the animals, Lee says Craftsbury is a perfect place to raise a child and he wants his daughter to grow up among the mountains and trees and farm animals.

The problem is, Lee is often away. Pam says she spends half the year as a single mother and has grown tired of the arrangement.

When they discuss Anna's skills as a tee ball player, Pam makes a point of saying Bill rarely sees her games. She also chides him for unfinished household projects and for his forgetfulness.

Again, Lee has no retort. He says he has accepted that his marriage is over and he is enthusiastic about his girlfriend, with whom he will live in Calgary. They will spend time at a friend's bed and breakfast in British Columbia, they will swim in the Fairmont Hot Springs in Montana and sleep under the stars.

``It's a great life,'' Lee says.

In between baseball and camping, Lee is writing a sequel to his 1984 book ``The Wrong Stuff,'' which was nearly produced as a movie starring Woody Harrelson. Lee hated the screenplay (``Too kiss-and-telly'') and the project died. His next book will elaborate more on his career and include stories about his post-career life.

The book will have all of Lee's thoughts, from politics and philosophy to baseball. And his thoughts on baseball are not limited to the state of the major league game.

As he watches Anna's tee ball game, Lee is restless. Sprawling on the grass, his hands cover his eyes.

``God, I hate this game,'' Lee says. ``Tee ball.''

Lee says he loves instruction, but he does not have the patience for uninterested 7-year-olds. He loves fantasy camps because he teaches the game to middle-aged men who have not played since their youth. ``Building teams with people who don't know how to play,'' Lee says.

He also has no doubt he would have been a good minor league instructor because he can relate to young players from all cultures. His trips to Cuba are proof. Lee brings equipment into the country and works with players even though there is a cultural and language gulf.

``The more diversified you are, the more tools you have to make kids listen,'' Lee says. ``Yeah, I would have been a good manager and coach. But [major league] teams wouldn't touch me.''

At the tee ball game, Lee is commenting on the mechanics of the players. The swings are too wide, he says. The players should know what base to throw to, he insists.

``They're 7 years old,'' Pam says.

Lee shakes his head. When the coaches tell a player to touch the base, Lee wonders why the coach doesn't tell the player to also tag the runner.

``Why don't they teach concepts?'' Lee says. ``You can do other things. They should know how to conceptualize.''

Lee also doesn't understand the rule that requires players to move one base at a time.

``Look, they're all content,'' Lee says. ``One base at a time. David Bowie, station to station.''

After the game, Lee instructs Anna on the art of hitting. Using an umbrella, Anna takes a few cuts. She mimics the sound of a ball hitting a bat, drops the umbrella and runs away.

Lee, continuing to preach about balance and a level swing, picks up the umbrella. Standing alone near the tee ball field he takes a few swings before talking to no one in particular about his hitting.

``Hit a home run in my first [barnstorming] game in Chicopee, hit a home run in my first senior league game, hit a home run in Cuba,'' Lee says as he walks toward the Corolla. ``I'm hitting the [expletive] out of the ball. ... Hitting's all about balance. I'm hitting better now than I ever have.''