Reporter’s notebook: Filmmaker finds his voice, unexpectedly

Posted on September 14, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

Emily Anderson and Mark Utter at Bread and Puppet Theater. Photo by Joseph Gresser

copyright the Chronicle 8-22-2012

by Joseph Gresser

GLOVER — Mark Utter knows that his inner life is vastly different than his outward appearance might suggest. He wants everyone else to realize that as well, and with the help of his friend, Emily Anderson, Mr. Utter is on his way to achieving his goal.

Mr. Utter visited Glover Thursday evening August 16 along with Ms. Anderson to give a presentation about I Am In Here, a film that he wrote, and with help from a successful Kickstarter campaign, has seen through filming. A big crowd filled the ballroom at the Bread and Puppet Theater’s farm.

Ms. Anderson lived at the farm for years as a member of the theater, and during that time she and I became good friends and performed together frequently.

Since then, she has moved to Burlington where she works for VSA Arts, and directs the Awareness Theater Company, a group she describes as “a dynamic theatrical group composed of people with and without disabilities.”

It was through that work that she first met Mr. Utter, and because of his persistent insistence, began working with him.

Mr. Utter does not speak easily and is prone to make broad and hard to interpret gestures. For much of his life he was not recognized as being the intelligent person he is.

Now, by using a computer keyboard and taking advantage of what is known as facilitated communication, he has proved a most eloquent advocate for himself and other overlooked people.

As Ms. Anderson gently holds his arm at the elbow, Mr. Utter, types out words slowly with one finger. His progress is not linear, he misses his aim often and has to go back and retype to get the word he wants.

Sometimes, he glances up at the screen and smiles at what he reads, before continuing his writing. Even a casual observer has to marvel at Mr. Utter’s patience. It is very clear that his mind runs far more quickly than his slow hand can move.

Ms. Anderson afterwards said Mr. Utter has told her that her touch helps him focus and wards off his otherwise uncontrollable gestures. She said that she will gradually move her hand up his arm until it just rests on his back. In time, perhaps he will not need her help to communicate.

Already, he doesn’t need the projector. He has an iPad configured so that his typing is rendered into audible speech.

As the audience entered the ballroom, Thursday, a short statement written by Mr. Utter was projected on the screen above his head.

“No so long ago people thought the most advanced way to deal with the dreadfully strange members of our society was to put them away. Twenty years ago Vermont closed its institution but Vermont, along with the rest of the world, is still adjusting to those wretches returning. The task at hand is for everyone to surrender their wishes for perfection and embrace our different ways of being human.”

These paragraphs serve as a kind of manifesto for his current work, but do not define his ultimate ambition. Right now, Mr. Utter is concentrated on finishing his film which, in the form of a tantalizing snippet he previewed for the puppeteer audience.

In the one scene he showed, Mr. Utter goes to a film with a friend. As his companion orders two tickets to what from the title is a particularly gruesome horror film, snickers erupt behind the pair.

There stand a couple of snarky teenagers. The girl mocks Mr. Utter saying that he is a “retard” who should not be allowed to attend an R-rated film.

This is the kind of insult that Mr. Utter’s difficulties with spoken language once forced him to endure. But in the world of the film, Mr. Utter has a secret weapon.

“A wonderful actor plays my mind,” Mr. Utter types. And Paul Schnabel does present a wonderfully idealized portrait of Mr. Utter.

The two men stand together with crossed arms as Mr. Schnabel booms, in a way that Mr. Utter can only dream of doing, “You are wrong. I am old enough to be your father.”

Mr. Utter found his voice unexpectedly. He had taken a class in facilitated communication and didn’t see there was much in it for him.

Then he saw a film, Wretches and Jabberers, which portrayed the travels of Larry Bissonnette and his friend Tracy Thresher.

Mr. Utter knew both men and was interested to see that they used facilitate communication in their artistic endeavors. Ms. Anderson worked with Mr. Bissonnette, whom she had met while working with the GRACE program, and Mr. Utter decided he would like to work with her as well.

As Ms. Anderson recalls it, Mr. Utter “sort of inserted himself in my life.”

“I asked her for so long I almost gave up,” Mr. Utter said.

Knowing that he was not a speaker, Ms. Anderson asked Mr. Utter to write a couple of lines for a play she was producing for the Awareness Theater Company.

From there, Mr. Utter was on his way.

“I wrote short blurbs first and then decided to go through a day in my life and filled it with the real facts with some humor,” he told the crowd at Bread and Puppet.

Much of the cost of the funds were raised through Kickstarter, a website that helps bring artistic projects to the attention of a wide audience, and allows people to make small contributions to help them succeed.

In the interest of full disclosure I was one of the many contributors to the project. Ms. Anderson and Mr. Utter are still looking for more people to contribute to the project.

The film is scheduled to premiere in Burlington this October.

After that? “My wish is to address love in my next movie,” Mr. Utter said.

When asked by Ms. Anderson to expand on that comment, he said, “I feel love is a thing wanted by all and experienced by few and it need not be so.”

After Mr. Utter’s presentation I spoke with him for a few minutes. Ms. Anderson explained that I write for the Chronicle and asked if he had anything to say to the residents of Orleans county.

Mr. Utter thought for a moment and slowly typed out:

“Oh people of Orleans I look forward to sharing our movie with you and talking about all the ways we can effect changes in how people interact with each other.”

contact Joseph Gresser at: joseph@bartonchronicle.com

A walk along Newport’s Main Street on Labor Day 1942

Posted on September 14, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

by Norman Rioux

copyright the Chronicle 8-29-2012

Photo of Main Street in Newport from the Richardson-Cartee collection, courtesy of Scott Wheeler and the Vermont Northland Journal

In 1942 at Labor Day, America was not yet even one year into World War II. As a ten-year-old fourth grade student about to enter Belle Coan’s class in West School, I wandered along Newport’s Main Street seeing and greeting, killing time, and doing a lot of window shopping. I left my Outlook Street home, came down the Prue stairs to West Main Street, waved at Annie Brooks on her front porch, admired Bob Clement’s well-mown lawn, and hurried by the Prouty’s wall.

A bully in the eighth grade had attacked me in front of that wall the previous spring, and even a few months later it still was a scary spot for me.

Helen Foster, the piano teacher, was going into her apartment. Inez Miller’s Oldsmobile with number plate 111 was pulling out of her driveway. (I knew she had to be important, quite aside from the Prouty and Miller connection, because how could one have a number plate as low as that without being a somebody?)

One of the Landrys was standing in the bay window of their living room waving at me, and Helen Burdick, as usual, was in her front window of number 99 apparently reading. I was tempted to go up the two flights of stairs to rap on Iva and Toots Conley’s door on the third floor because they had known me since I was a toddler living on the ground floor at 2 White Place, just behind their building. Iva had a beautiful collection of very old things in her apartment, including wallpaper that she had removed from its original home and brought to her apartment. Even for a ten-year-old, its beauty and theme was quite enthralling to say nothing of all the old toys that she had collected, which I could play with in that childless home. But I didn’t have the nerve, so I continued past the Tydol Station on the Third Street corner.

The St. Germaine ladies were sitting on their front porch — weren’t they always, except in winter? Nobody seemed to be stirring at Dr. Emmons’ house, the courthouse clock had the wrong time as usual, and I glanced across the street to see Benware’s Furniture and the Armory. On the previous Thursday, I had stood in front of that Armory watching husbands and wives, boyfriends and girlfriends, mothers and fathers and sons all embracing and hugging before they boarded the Greenwood Bus that would carry them off to war as draftees or enlistees. Even as a kid, I knew that for at least some of them, it would be the last time they ever saw their loved one alive. That memory when, 70 years later — thinking of Austin Beebe, Raymond Blake, basketball games played by Newport High School — I pass by the same armory, still haunts me. On that 1942 day, Gene Bryant, the chief of police, was walking down the steps on his way to solving some very minor crime, the theft of coins left in the milk bottle, for the Palins to collect when they delivered their product, perhaps.

The post office was by far and away the most classic building on Main Street, then and now. On that day it would, of course, be closed for the holiday. The same Bob Clement whose lawn I had admired would not be dispensing stamps that day, nor would Mr. Skinner be post mastering, nor would Winston Hunt be running the elevator, one of three lifts that existed in Newport 70 years ago. The other two were in the Hotel Newport and the Orleans County Memorial Hospital on Longview. When I would go to my dad’s customs office on the second floor, probably much to the consternation of Mr. Hunt, I would march into Win’s elevator and peremptorily demand, “second floor, please,” as if a ten-year-old were not healthy enough to climb one set of stairs.

Molly Williams’ Amoco station appeared to have a new coat of very dark green paint. The Goodrich library, the second most imposing structure on Main Street, was closed for the holiday, but I spied Laura Stone looking out the window from the reading room, probably there to do some chore which required the peace and quiet she demanded from her patrons but didn’t always succeed in achieving. I popped downstairs to Alberghini’s basement to buy a pack of Wrigley’s spearmint gum for a nickel. I caught proprietor John peering through his very thick eyeglasses at a piece of paper money, asking the customer, “Is that a five, Bill?” The aforesaid Bill assured John that it was indeed a five, and got back the proper change. Passing Mr. Brochu’s barber pole which led to his basement parlor under the Treasure Shop reminded me that I was supposed to get a haircut before school resumed the next day, but luckily I had managed to avoid that nuisance. The latest novels and gifts were on display in the Treasure Shop window. That particular season they were featuring an historical novel that one of my pals told me had a very racy section in it which his parents had forbade his reading. He, and subsequently I, were determined to get our hands on that book somehow, but, of course, we couldn’t afford to buy it. The going price for the hard book copy was $1.98, and at 25 cents a week allowance it would take eight weeks with absolutely no other expenditures to save up that much, assuming that they would have even sold it to me.

Hamblett’s store and bakery was open even though it was Labor Day. They had recently expanded to combine space with the adjoining building. Their business phone hung on the wall between the two parts of the business (Newport 404 was their phone number). Anyone, without as much as asking permission, could pick up the phone to make a call, and one of the operators at the switchboard over at the National Bank would ask, number please. I decided to call Dean (193) Burns to see if he wanted to ride down on his bike from Raymond Avenue to join me. Nobody answered. He was probably at the Methodist Church on Third and Summer Streets, practicing the organ. I decided I’d check later.

The Royal Café was open, doing a lot of breakfast business, and Frank Curran, holiday or not, was in the little squeezed up building where Western Union functioned. Across the street, Montgomery Ward was closed for the holiday as was Grant’s and the American Clothing Company. Joel Needleman’s parents owned the clothing store, and he and I had spent many hours at 25 cents an hour in the basement of that building, now a Thai restaurant, making up cardboard boxes for use in the business. Stores like L.J. Needleman’s kept their help for longtime careers like Ken and Wayne, Isabelle and Eglantine. I was surprised to see that True and Blanchard was open; perhaps they were having a sale. Mr. True, well along in years, was still alive and living in his house on the corner of Third and Prospect Streets, but Jay Carr was truly running the store these days. Their bargain basement was a place to shop in Newport in terms of great prices for great merchandise, a true mercantile institution on the street. The door to Phelps’ Pharmacy on the corner of Central Street was ajar, and if Dean or Joel or Bruce or David had been with me, I could have gone in to spend a nickel on one of their super cherry cokes. Phelps’ Pharmacy was, of course, a drug store, and both Molly and George, mother to David and Anne, were pharmacists. Much later on, both of the children also became pharmacists, and it may well have been that they were the only pharmacy in Vermont where mom, dad, and the two children were all in that profession. However, for me at ten years of age, the nickel cherry cokes were the real deal, but I couldn’t go in by himself to occupy a booth, and counter seats seems reserved for the local tradespeople because young folks never sat in one of those seats. I was always amused when Gertrude Albee would write in her Locals column in The Daily Express that a Mr. and Mrs. Box from Salem, Massachusetts, were visiting their daughter and son-in-law, Mr. and Mrs. George Phelps at 9 and one-half Third Street. It was the combination of the fame and notoriety of the Witch City and the surname of “Box” which, so very British, got me every time.

After passing the pharmacy, I glanced down Central Street where I had lived until 1938 when we moved to Outlook Street, to a house which had just been vacated by a shoe salesman named Tony Pomerleau who was moving on to Burlington to seek a bigger and better career. I guess it would not be presumptive to say that he succeeded. Central Street was kind of unusual because while it bore a name implying some kind of greatness it was, and is, about one block long. However, in that one block were the Handy’s of ice house fame, the IOOF Hall, the Daily Express building, the Reid’s Bricmanor Hotel, the Kenerson, Reese, and Cass families (in that order), the vacant lot, and Dr. Somers’ (then deceased home/office), now occupied by his widow and their two children, Joyce and Homer. The doctor’s space in the back of the house at number 37 had been converted into an apartment by Dorcas, and it was there that my family and I lived from 1935 until 1938, enjoying the company next door of Winsome and Earl Lewis — who also had a pharmacy on the Main Street — their two children, Carolyn and Jeanne, and Grandpa Jones, Win’s elderly but still very eccentric father. Beside them was a Mr. Hellman who managed the Burns Theatre, and on the corner of Eastern Avenue was Dr. Gilman, a chiropractor. At that time, I had no idea what a chiropractor did, but the honorific of Dr. in front of his name was enough to impress me. The other side of Central Street had Myrtle Lamphere, the Moloneys, the Williamsons, Norma Carder, Josie Centerbar, Sisco’s dry cleaning, and later on the building to which Gladys Carr moved her cosmetology shop after renovation, but that all took place much later than this Labor Day in 1942.

I decided to take the risk of crossing Main Street at the Central Street corner to gain a little sunshine because the southern side was in the shade, passing Penney’s, Endicott Johnson shoe store, Cy Searles’ jewelry emporium, and the Crawford block. Dr. Crawford was one of Newport’s three dentists (S.W.F. Hamilton, Perry Fitch, and Dr. Piette) but he and his wife, Shirley, operated a furniture store called Newport Home Supply on the first floor of their block on the corner of Lane Avenue. It was where my parents purchased for me my first bicycle. (It later on became the A&P where one was allowed, on a limited basis, to actually pick off the shelves what one wanted to purchase instead of instructing a clerk what it was by name and waiting while he or she went to retrieve it and brought the item to the counter. It also had the first frozen foods department in Newport (all Birdseye products).

My mother, who had a sense of fashion herself, said that red-haired, beautifully coiffed Martha Needleman had the best taste in women’s clothes in the state of Vermont. She and her husband, Ed, across Lane Avenue from the Crawford block, owned and operated a clothing and shoe store which could best be described as a skinny city block long and an extremely skinny quarter of a block wide, crammed with first class merchandise which Martha had hand picked on her frequent trips to the garment district in Manhattan. As I walked by their store I remembered a telephone call to my mother of just two or three days earlier.

“Gladys? This is Martha Needleman. I just got back from New York, and I found a perfect dress for your high waist problem, and I bought it just for you. It’s a rust color, which is perfect for your skin type. When can you come in to see it?”

It’s no wonder with that kind of service 70 years ago that there is still a Needleman’s almost exactly where it sat so long ago.

I crossed back over Main Street again, gaining the corner where Louis Desautels managed the Orleans Trust Company next to Joe Bonneau’s men’s clothing store. Cheek to jowl with that business was Abe Arkin’s shoe store which had another one of those long, longtime employees, Shelly Gardner. They also had the only x-ray foot machine, which allowed you to look at how your feet were encased in a new pair of shoes that you were contemplating to purchase. It was spooky but fun to buy shoes at Arkin’s with that machine. I walked by Bly’s Pharmacy, the National Bank, the Antetomaso’s fruit store, and back up to Central Street, remembering that since Wheeler’s Cut Rate drugs across the street was open I could have bought one of their ice cream cones which had pre-packed rectangular shapes of ice cream placed in the cones instead of scoops, but, alas, their store was so small that I had fled right by it without noticing.

Perhaps I was ten years old, perhaps there was a new war just starting, perhaps rationing and hardships, scarcities, and even death of loved ones was all in the future between 1942 and 1945, but all of those were in the unknown. To a ten-year-old, the future is limited to tomorrow, the past is just yesterday, and as a little boy growing up in Newport, even in war torn years, life was as good as it gets. My compadres now are largely in their 80s, if they are even still alive. Whatever we may have achieved in our individual lives, aside from the personal talents we may have brought to the altar, lies, in my opinion, in large measure to old Newport, the smallish city by the beautiful waters. I walk that Main Street in memory every day of my life.

For more free articles from the Chronicle like this one, see our Featuring page. For all the Chronicle‘s stories, pick up a print copy or subscribe, either for print or digital editions.

Vermont Trappers Association holds annual rendezvous

Posted on September 14, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

A stream of black powder sparks follows the ball out of Gilbert Patnoe’s flintlock rifle. The Fletcher marksman was one of many black powder enthusiasts who tested their skill at the trappers’ rendezvous Saturday. Photo by Joseph Gresser

by Joseph Gresser

copyright the Chronicle 9-12-2012

BARTON — The Vermont Trappers Association’s annual rendezvous, held at Roaring Brook Park here Saturday and Sunday, brought out trappers from all over the state. They swapped stories, shopped for lures and scents, and gathered information.

One group spent the day testing their marksmanship with black powder rifles, many of them flintlocks.

In what is Floral Hall during the Orleans County Fair, a man wearing a green Vermont Fish and Wildlife Department shirt stood at a table behind two mounted cats. One, rounded and built low to the ground, stalked with bared teeth. The other, leggy and lean, peered alertly with its big front paws perched on a mossy rock.

The shorter of the pair was a bobcat, the taller a lynx. The man was Chris Bernier, a Fish and Wildlife Department scientist.

Fish and Wildlife Department scientist Chris Bernier stands between a pair of mounted cats at the Vermont Trappers Association Rendezvous Saturday. The one to his left is a lynx, distinguishable in the wild by its tail’s all black tip. To Mr. Bernier’s right is a bobcat, whose tail flashes white as it runs through the woods. Photos by Joseph Gresser

A steady stream of trappers waited to speak with Mr. Bernier about lynx, which have been making an appearance in the area.

The cats are more often found farther north, Mr. Bernier said, but Vermont is part of their peripheral habitat. An individual lynx can travel long distances, he said, pointing to a map of Maine. There, a study of radio tagged lynx showed one female roamed over 300 miles, he said.

The lynx is designated by federal authorities as a threatened species. Now that their presence in Vermont has been officially noted, Mr. Bernier said, the state is obligated to protect them, something it would want to do in any case.

Mr. Bernier emphasized that the Fish and Wildlife Department is not planning to put any new rules in place right now. The state does plan to study the numbers of lynx and set a population baseline.

With that tool it will be possible to determine over time whether the presence of the cats is a short-term phenomenon, or if they will be a permanent part of Vermont’s wildlife community.

Mr. Bernier said the study can then be repeated in ten years to see if the lynx population is the same, larger or smaller.

“We don’t want to put regulations in for creatures that might not be here in ten years,” he said.

Most of the best lynx sightings have occurred in Essex County, according to a map that Mr. Bernier brought with him to the rendezvous. But they are seen elsewhere in northern Vermont.

The mounted lynx had been shot in a Newport henhouse.

“Feathers were flying everywhere,” Mr. Bernier said, and in the confusion the chickens’ owner shot to protect his flock without realizing it was a lynx that was raiding the coop. No charges were filed against the shooter.

To one trapper, who wondered what he should do if he accidentally caught a lynx in one of his sets, Mr. Bernier advised, “Take a photo, free the lynx, and call the game warden.”

The trapper looked dubiously at the size of the lynx mount, and said he would be more likely to call the warden first and let him free the trapped cat.

Mr. Bernier told other curious trappers that they’re not likely to see lynx in southern Vermont. The cats subsist on snowshoe hares, he said, and are almost always found near their favored prey.

Lynx favor snowy areas and are well designed for that environment. Mr. Bernier pulled out a sheet of photos showing lynx tracks in the snow.

The oversized paw prints appeared to be less than an inch deep in the powder snow of a Maine woods. Mr. Bernier said he was wearing snowshoes when he snapped the pictures and still was standing in snow up to his waist.

One is most likely to see lynx in the winter. An easy way to tell them from their more common cousin, the bobcat, is by looking at their tails. The lynx’s appears to have been dipped in black ink, while the bobcat’s is dark only on the top. As the bobcat moves, an observer will see its tail flashing white.

Mr. Bernier said the lynx is leggier than the bobcat, but noted that his mount was slimmer than most of its species — hence its ill-fated trip to the henhouse. While lynx will feed opportunistically on mice, rodents and other creatures, they are rarely seen apart from hares, he said.

In Vermont history between the 1700s and the 1960s, only four mentions of lynx show up in the records, Mr. Bernier said. “In 1998 we started getting a spattering of sightings,” he said.

Now fish and game scientists are trying to get a handle on how widespread the cats have become.

Forester Luke Hardt of Irasburg told Mr. Bernier that he thinks he’s seen evidence of lynx in the Albany area. He said he was out surveying a sugar bush and as he returned to places he had flagged he spotted what he thinks were lynx tracks.

Mr. Bernier said it’s quite possible. “Cats are very visual,” he said. It’s very likely that they would be attracted to investigate the pennants blowing in the breeze.

Mr. Hardt encouraged Mr. Bernier to survey Albany and Lowell for lynx.

He expressed interest but said he needs to have access to a large area of land, and get the landowners’ permission to do the work.

Essex County is easier, he said, because of the large amount of federal land and because Plum Creek, a major landowner, is also is willing to allow access to its property.

Mr. Bernier also fielded other questions, many about an entirely different cat — the mountain lion. He said his office is on track to receive about 100 reports of mountain lion sightings in the state, many, but not all, of which are probably accurate.

“If they were all good sightings, we’d be overrun with mountain lions,” he said.

Mr. Bernier said the mountain lion that got killed on a Connecticut highway last year showed that the large cats can be found this far east. He pointed out that DNA testing showed that the Connecticut mountain lion had traveled 1,500 miles from the Black Hills of South Dakota.

He said he doubts there are currently any breeding pairs living in Vermont. Were they here, he said, he would expect to see more concrete signs, such as road kill or killed domestic animals.

contact Joseph Gresser at joseph@bartonchronicle.com

For more free articles from the Chronicle like this one, see our Featuring pages. For all the Chronicle‘s stories, pick up a print copy or subscribe, either for print or digital editions.

Stanstead: where granite, steam power and history converge

Posted on September 14, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

Third generation sculptor Slavoljub Marjanovic moved from Sarajevo to Canada during the war that tore apart the former Yugoslavia. Wearing a breathing aparatus, he applied the finishing touches to the capstone of a clock tower that will honor Henry Seth Taylor, a Stanstead resident who built and drove a steam-powered automobile in 1867. Photos by Joseph Gresser

by Joseph Gresser

copyright the Chronicle 9-5-2012

STANSTEAD, Quebec — Stanstead is a granite town, one that lays claim to the title of granite capital of Canada. It is a community with pride in its history.

These two characteristics combine at a small plaza near the Stanstead border station. There, a fountain plays as a backdrop to two granite markers: one honoring the town’s main industry, the other paying tribute to a little known automotive pioneer, Henry Seth Taylor.

Later this month a 14-foot-tall clock tower will be added to the plaza to commemorate Mr. Taylor’s achievement.

The tower, almost entirely composed of Stanstead Gray granite, was designed by Guy Cloutier. On Saturday morning Mr. Cloutier stood in the parking lot in front of the Granite Exhibit and Museum of Stanstead.

Around him were piled blocks of granite donated by local businesses and a number of craftsmen, all hard at work.

Dave Dubois stood before one of the stone blocks, which rested on a pair of low metal trestles, and with a seeming lack of effort, tapped line in the stone with a broad chisel and small sledge. After he went over the line a couple of times a chunk of stone an inch or two think separated itself from the rest of the block and fell to the ground.

Mr. Dubois, having done the coarse portion of his work, proceeded to chip off flakes of granite as he whittled the stone to its proper dimensions.

Eventually he pulled out a tape measure and laid it across each diagonal.

“See that, 36 and one sixteenth, 36 and one sixteenth. How’s that for square?” He asked no one in particular before working his way down the vertical edges, squaring them off too.

Not far away stood Rock McCutcheon, a man whose name accurately suggests a family connection to the granite business. He and his brother and sister actually run the stone cutting firm that his father founded — Granit J. McCutcheon, Inc.

Mr. McCutcheon used a pneumatic chisel to cut the name of Stanstead’s three villages, Stanstead, Rock Island and Beebe, into a piece of stone that will sit near the base of the tower.

The speed with which Mr. McCutcheon does his precise carving presents a strong contrast to the length of time that his work is likely to survive.

Slavoljub Marjanovic is another who was raised into the stone trade. A third-generation sculptor originally from Sarajevo, Mr. Marjanovic now plies his trade in the U.S. as well as Canada.

For the memorial clock, Mr. Marjanovic was given the assignment of creating what Mr. Cloutier calls the hat, a granite pyramid with a stone sphere balanced atop it.

Mr. Cloutier said he got the design from the ornamentation of one of Stanstead’s public building, an old Customs house on the Canadian side of Maple Street.

He translated Mr. Marjanovic’s French as the sculptor spoke of his early education.

Mr. Marjanovic said his father used to take him to the quarries in the former Yugoslavia to show him the qualities granite from different areas of the quarry have.

That from the lower reaches of the quarry, Mr. Marjanovic explained, is denser that the stone that lays closer to the surface.

In those days, Mr. Marjanovic said, his father would pick the block of stone he wanted to carve.

“He would hit it with a hammer. When it rings like a bell, good. When not, he won’t touch it.” Mr. Marjanovic recalled.

Today, he said, one must work with the stone that is provided and make the best of it.

Mr. Marjanovic’s skill with granite and marble has brought him some interesting assignments.

He said he has done work on the Massachusetts State House and carved columns and the piece above the column for one of the libraries at Harvard University.

When a the façade of a building near the World Trade Center in New York City was gouged by a falling girder on September 11, 2001, Mr. Marjanovic said his skills were called on to marry the new and old stone work.

Mr. Marjanovic has a 26-year-old son who he is training to work in stone. But the sculptor said he is not sure yet if his son will follow the family trade.

Like Mr. Marjanovic, Mr. Cloutier has been affected by changes in the granite business. He said he started out drawing designs for monuments, a job that has largely been taken over by computers.

Today he does some design work, but also spends a couple of days a week working as a substitute teacher for the Derby Elementary School in Derby Line. The monument project has been in the works for 15 years, for a while it was put on the shelf but it was recently revived.

He pulled out a folder and turned to his rendering of the column. A stack of 11 granite blocks stand on a base that includes the stone carved by Mr. McCutcheon. Seven of the blocks are rough cut, while four have smooth faces into which are sandblasted the words “Place Henry Seth Taylor.”

The sandblasting was done by Mr. Dubois’ cousin, Reg Dubois, who worked in a shorts and a T-shirt. He began by taking pieces of rubber backed with a sticky substance and carefully adhering it to the stone.

Letters were cut into the rubber, and Mr. Dubois gently removed the area that was to be cut into the stone. Once that was done he filled a tank with about 35 pounds of fine, white sand.

Mr. Dubois connected the tank to the air compressor that also ran Mr. McCutcheon’s chisel and donned a canvas hood with thick plastic windows. Pointing his sandblasting tool at the stone he quickly cut into the stone as a miniature sand dune gathered at his feet.

When all the letters were finished to his satisfaction, Mr. Dubois took spray paint and, without removing the mask, blackened the newly cut inscription.

At least one portion of the project was completed before Saturday. Mr. Cloutier pointed out a hollow box made of black African marble. The clock face, he said, would be mounted inside the box.

Mr. Cloutier said he had hoped to make the entire monument using local stone, but found that he would need darker granite to contrast with the white clock face.

He said that the town will spend only $5,000 or $6,000 on the monument, which he estimated would cost $80,000 if everything had to be paid for.

Mr. Cloutier also explained what made Henry Seth Taylor worth memorializing. The Stanstead resident invented a steam-powered car in 1867 and drove it around the area.

“Unfortunately, he didn’t invent brakes,” Mr. Cloutier said, and the car went out of control on the hill near his fountain and crashed into a building. According to the inscription on that monument it may have been the first automobile accident in Canadian history.

Mr. Taylor jumped and survived, but he gave up his automotive ambitions and consigned the wreck to his barn. Rediscovered in the 1960s, the pioneering automobile today has a place of honor in the National Museum of Science and Technology in Ottawa, Ontario.

Not all those working Saturday were there to pay tribute to Mr. Taylor. Andre Parent was occupied in engraving a forest scene into a monument-size block of granite.

Mr. Parent used a power tool to cut through the polished surface of the stone, using his own drawing as a guide.

He had a simple explanation as to how he came into his occupation. “I was born in town here, and I’m naturally artistic. I just fell into it.”

Michel Bornais, on the other hand, is trying to move a little out of his current occupation.

The chef-owner of Resto-Crêperie Le Tomifobia in Beebe, is also a part-time sculptor.

He offered to work in public, Mr. Cloutier said, and was provided with space and a piece of stone.

His hair covered in a red bandana and wearing a large set of ear protectors, Mr. Bornais alternated between a power saw and hammer and chisel as he cut away at his stone.

“I’ve been a chef for 30 years. I’m trying to quit to do something else. Something I like.”

contact Joseph Gresser at joseph@bartonchronicle.com

Nocturnal animals damage Albany cemetery

Posted on August 28, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

Marcel Locke inspects damage created by animals peeling back dead turf in the Albany cemetery each night. Photos by Bethany M. Dunbar

by Bethany M. Dunbar copyright the Chronicle 8-22-2012

ALBANY — Skunks or raccoons are being blamed on nightly episodes of tearing up the grass at the cemetery in Albany Village.

“It’s a crying shame,” said Marcel Locke, who is helping the cemetery caretaker, Waldo Potter, try to address the problem.

“If we could get some people in there to turn this over, and then we’d get some rain, we’re all set,” he said. He is looking into getting a work crew from a prison as voluntary help. Mr. Locke has gone back many mornings himself and turned the turf back over, right side up. But the next night there’s just more damage.

Mr. Locke said he believes the problem is created by skunks eating grubs, which are easier to get when the ground is this dry — so dry that the grass is dead in large patches.

“This is a sandy loam soil, and it dries out very quickly,” he said. “The roots are dead. There’s no root system left.”

He added that Albany doesn’t have money to hire anyone, and water is so low in the village that he doesn’t see how they could water the grounds.

“All of our resources are low on water,” Mr. Locke said. “Our springs are low. The worst part is that there is no money at all.”

The cemetery is about five acres, and shaded patches still have some green grass and are clearly exempt from the damage. Low spots that seem to be a little wetter also still have green grass. They have not been disturbed, but large sections of the cemetery have been dug up. Huge chunks of dead turf are peeled back and small paw prints are visible in the dusty earth. An occasional grub can be seen, and Mr. Locke said he’s seen grub holes the size of his thumb (which is a good-sized thumb).

Doug

Reporter’s notebook: Condor recovery is a long-term project

Posted on August 22, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

This young female condor’s head has not yet turned orange. Photo by Katie Dunbar

by Bethany M. Dunbar

copyright the Chronicle, 8-22-2012

BIG SUR, California — In 1987, there were just 27 California condors left in the world. The last wild bird was taken into captivity — a highly controversial move to try to keep the species in existence.

Two years later my daughter was born. Katie Ann Dunbar always had a fascination with dragons, and that seems to have translated into a scientific interest in birds. Armed with a bachelor’s degree in psychobiology, she helped with bobolinks in Vermont and falcons and other raptors in California.

Those experiences led her to Big Sur, where she is working to help condors make it on their own.

Despite all our human efforts, the birds are still extremely rare — due mostly to problems created for them by people. Fragments of lead bullets are their biggest threat. Another problem is plastic trash scraps and bottle caps.

There are currently about 400 condors in the world, half of them in captivity. The captive breeding program is working, and condors have been reintroduced to the wild. Some are raising chicks the old-fashioned way, on the edge of a rock cliff somewhere.

There are condors in California, Arizona and Mexico.

In July, my sweetheart, Jim Bowes, and I had the incredible privilege of getting a good look at these birds ourselves when we visited Katie.

One day we got to go with Katie to where she perches on a cliff opposite the nest, watching through a high-powered scope as the wild condor mother nuzzles its chick lovingly. These birds are enormous. The baby chick, covered with gray down, is 19 pounds.

Under ideal circumstances, condors can live to be 60 years old. They keep their mates and are extremely social. The wild flock has an easily seen hierarchy when eating. The matriarchs and patriarchs are first. Kids wait their turn.

These birds, when fully grown, have a wingspan of nine and a half feet. Seeing one in flight, skimming through the fog overhead, is a breath-taking experience. Native Americans revered a legendary thunderbird, which some believe was a condor or an even larger relative of it. It’s easy to see why. These dramatic birds make an impression.

Condors’ wings are mostly black with a white pattern on both the top and bottom. They have a feathery ruff around their necks, and adults have orange bald heads. They eat only carrion, and the bald heads come in handy for keeping clean while tearing the meat from something dead.

Katie’s employer is the Ventana Wildlife Society (VWS). Founded in 1977, VWS is a nonprofit with a mission to restore wildlife and educate the youth of central California. VWS relies heavily on interns and volunteers. She is an intern and has just accepted a second six-month stint.

The VWS helped bring back bald eagles. The group also worked to help songbirds and monarch butterflies and to restore habitat. The small team does workshops and classes for youngsters, and older students can apply for an eco-experience — a one-day or overnight experience with the California condors.

Jim and I had our own personal eco-experience while visiting. Katie took us up to the VWS base camp for the night. The base camp is high on top of a mountain overlooking the ocean, in the middle of an 80-acre property — the condor sanctuary.

The land in this area of the country stops abruptly at the ocean’s edge. It makes for some incredible views of the ocean from the cliffs with rocks and narrow beaches below. Highway 1, which winds around the edges of the cliffs, is in itself a tourist destination.

The camp is 20 miles up a tiny, winding one-lane dirt road perched on the edge of the cliffs. There were four locked gates to go through.

My daughter seems perfectly comfortable driving the F-150 up this lane with a frozen dead calf carcass in the back of the truck. She is also fine in eight-lane traffic to Los Angeles, where injured birds are treated at the zoo.

The calf carcass, provided by a neighboring dairy farmer, is lead-free food for the condors. This is part of what the VWS does — provide the birds with a source of food that won’t make them sick. In order to keep the wild birds from associating food with humans, this is done under the cover of darkness while the condors roost nearby. In the morning they can be watched, through the scope, while they have their meal.

The VWS has a flight pen where an injured bird is staying right now, and another one perches on the pen, offering some company? Or Katie thinks maybe it is taunting its friend.

All the 70 birds in this wild flock have been captured at one time in their lives, in order to put tags on their wings and small tracking transmitters, so they can be identified from far away. Part of Katie’s job is tracking the birds to make sure they are all moving around normally. If one stops moving for too long, she and her colleagues will look for it to make sure it’s all right.

The birds still sometimes die from lead poisoning, which happens if they eat a fragment of a bullet that might be in a carcass or a gut pile that a hunter left behind. Something I didn’t know: A lead-based bullet loses 30 percent of its mass on impact with the animal. Tiny fragments scatter through the meat, which is a hazard not only to the big birds but also to humans who eat meat shot with lead bullets.

As a precautionary measure, they trap each bird once or twice a year to test their blood for lead. If high lead is found the bird is sent to the Los Angeles zoo for treatment. Chelation treatment takes one to three weeks of daily injections. Chelation is a chemical process similar to what is done with children who get lead poisoning.

Sometimes a bird requires surgery to get a lead fragment out of its guts.

One of the missions of the VWS is to get hunters to switch to copper or other non-lead bullets. Although eating copper is not good for you either, copper doesn’t fragment the way lead does. The VWS provides free boxes of copper bullets to hunters in the condors’ range, and reports that 93 percent of hunters surveyed said the copper bullets worked just as well.

In condor country, lead bullets are banned, but some hunters still use them out of habit.

Another hazard for the birds is trash. Condors in the wild eat bits of seashells and feed them to their chicks, to aid digestion (probably for the same reason chickens peck the dirt) or possibly for the calcium. A small piece of plastic, broken glass, or a bottle cap seems like a seashell, and they eat them and feed them to the chicks. The chicks can’t digest this stuff. Their stomachs fill up with it, and they can actually starve to death. So the VWS checks the chicks every so often, taking them down from the nest to do blood tests and palpate their stomachs to feel for odd shapes.

If a condor chick is full of plastic and bottle caps, it goes off to the zoo for surgery. It can’t go back to the wild until it’s grown up. Then it has to learn how to be a wild bird all over again. It will be matched with an older mentor bird.

Despite these issues, condors are definitely doing better than they were. The goal of the recovery program is two flocks in the wild of 150 birds and 15 breeding pairs each.

According to Return of the Condor, The Race To Save Our Largest Bird From Extinction by John Moir, a 2004 forecast by researchers at Stanford University predicts that unless things change, about 10 percent of the 10,000 bird species on Earth will go extinct by the end of the century. An additional 15 percent will be so drastically reduced they will “no longer be ecologically significant.”

What are the consequences of these drastic losses of biodiversity? No one knows, but it won’t be good.

Katie Dunbar watches a condor mother take care of its 19-pound chick. Photo by Bethany M. Dunbar

During our visit with Katie, I read the condor book as quickly as if it was a suspenseful novel. It’s well-written, telling the story of the people who have devoted so much time and energy to saving these birds, and the stories of the individual birds as well. John Moir is an award-winning author and science writer who lives in Santa Cruz, California. The book was published in 2006, so it is up to date.

Another place to get more information, if you are interested, is the VWS website: ventanaws.org.

You might see some photos of a young woman who grew up in West Glover and graduated from Lake Region Union High School on there.

contact Bethany M. Dunbar at bethany@bartonchronicle.com

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Eagle Point wildlife refuge dedicated to Michael Dunn

Posted on August 14, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

Megan and Miles Goldsmith of Burlington take turns observing a nesting osprey visible through spotting scopes. The children and their mother, Gail Rose, are neighbors to the newly created Eagle Point Wildlife Management Area formed out of the Michael Dunn property in Derby, Vermont. Photo by Richard Creaser

by Richard Creaser

DERBY — Michael Dunn’s generous donation of 457 acres on Eagle Point in Derby was celebrated Friday morning. Mr. Dunn, who died in 2007, donated the land to the federal government as a stipulation in his will. The town of Derby appraised the Eagle Point property at $2,092,600.

As generous a bequest as it was, its value to the natural community exceeds the land’s price tag. With a unique mixture of wetlands, agricultural land, pasture and forest, the Eagle Point property provides critical habitat to dozens of rare and endangered plants and animals. Placing the land in the public trust also ensures that future generations of Vermonters and visitors will retain lakeshore access as well as the ability to enjoy the wildlife resident therein.

“What we’ve always loved about Eagle Point is how undeveloped it is,” neighbor Gail Rose said. “The fact that Mr. Dunn sought to have it preserved ensures that the quality of the experience will remain.”

Ms. Rose and her family bought one of the lakeside cottages that formed part of the original property. As an owner of the northernmost of the cottages along the east side of Lake Memphremagog, Ms. Rose expressed her pleasure at having the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service as her new neighbor.

The Eagle Point property is the newest addition to the Missisquoi National Wildlife Refuge based in Swanton. Although overseen by U.S. Fish and Wildlife, the property will be directly managed by the Vermont Department of Fish and Wildlife through a unique partnership.

That partnership was created owing in part to the unusual nature of Mr. Dunn’s bequest. He had stipulated a deadline of September 1, 2010, for transfer of ownership to the federal government. If the federal government failed to take ownership by that deadline, the property would be sold, with the proceeds going to support the Museum of Modern Art in New York City.

The Vermont Land Trust entered the picture working alongside the estate’s trustees, Community Financial Services Group. Normally, the Land Trust purchases a development easement which protects the property, Vermont Land Trust President Gil Livingston said. Given that the land was being transferred to the federal government, however, this was not possible.

“Our role in this was as a facilitator,” Mr. Livingston said. “We put together the partners and got the dialogue going. This was a challenging situation but the ultimate outcome was so great it was a challenge we gladly accepted.”

As the agents for Mr. Dunn’s estate, Community Financial found itself in a position trying to weigh Mr. Dunn’s wishes against bureaucratic process. For example, though federal wildlife refuges do not typically permit overnight camping, Mr. Dunn insisted that primitive campsites be provided for the enjoyment of canoeists on the Northern Forests Canoe Trail.

“This was one of the most challenging estates we have ever handled,” said Janet Cartee of Community Financial Services Group. “But I couldn’t help but be excited about being part of the process.”

Under ordinary circumstances, federal land acquisition is a long and slow process. Because of the rigid timeline, the government had to move far faster than it normally would, Sue McMahon said. Ms. McMahon is the deputy chief for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s Northeast Region.

“Getting the job done in a year was like a light year in the federal bureaucracy,” Tom Berry of Senator Patrick Leahy’s office acknowledged.

Wide-ranging support from Vermont’s Congressional delegation, the Vermont Agency of Natural Resources, and local, state and town representatives enabled the project to pass through an expedited process, Mr. Berry said. The end result was the creation of a joint conservation effort that protects a unique habitat, Vermont Fish and Wildlife Commissioner Pat Berry said.

Though the refuge is still a work in progress, Missisquoi National Wildlife Refuge Manager Ken Sturm extended his thanks to the Student Conservation Association (SCA). The SCA helped to develop the trails and amenities that will make the refuge a visitor attraction.

Students in the SCA program are young people with an interest in conservation, Gary King, spokesman for the SCA said. Their involvement in this project highlights the fact that America’s young people do take pride and ownership of the nation’s precious natural resources, Mr. King said.

Michael Hickcox, a longtime friend and neighbor of Mr. Dunn, spoke warmly of the efforts taken to fulfill Mr. Dunn’s final wishes. His belief that the land should be preserved was widely known among his friends and associates, Mr. Hickcox said.

“It’s hard to think about Eagle Point without thinking about Mike,” he said. “This is exactly what Mike had in mind for it. When the farmhouse was torn down it was very poignant but very beautiful at the same time.”

That powerful connection was what made Friday’s ceremony so appropriate. In honoring Mr. Dunn’s generous gift, the state and the nation acknowledge Mr. Dunn’s enduring love of the land, Mr. Livingston said. Though Mr. Dunn was a Canadian national, he expressed his appreciation of the United States by making this unique gift. Mr. Dunn also bequeathed his property on the Canadian side of the border to the province of Quebec, Mr. Livingston added.

“He deeply appreciated this place and honored Americans by making this particular legacy,” Mr. Livingston said. “It’s a spectacular outcome.”

At the conclusion of Friday’s dedication ceremony, Mr. Sturm unveiled a bronze plaque that will be placed on the property acknowledging Mr. Dunn’s generous contribution. That plaque will evermore honor a man who loved the land so deeply that he ensured it would be preserved for the enjoyment of future generations.

contact Richard Creaser at nek_scribbler@hotmail.com

Bernie Henault of Island Pond lived a life of advocacy

Posted on August 1, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

Bernard Henault of Island Pond.

by Paul Lefebvre

copyright the Chronicle August 1, 2012

MONTPELIER — As a one-legged fellow, Bernie Henault had a long stride: a stride that carried him through the doors of one social agency after another in the Kingdom and into the State House committee rooms here in the state’s capital.

Perhaps it was fitting and most appropriate then that the last tribute paid to Bernie was in the cafeteria where politicians and lobbyists mingle over lunch and pitch issues.

“He spent a great deal of his life roaming through these halls and that’s the reason why we’re meeting in this cafeteria,” said Sharon Henault, Bernie’s wife and partner in working for the poor and those who must cope with a physical disability.

Saturday’s potluck tribute to Mr. Henault, who died June 4, came on what would have been his seventieth birthday. A familiar figure at town meetings as well an animated talker on the streets of Island Pond, Mr. Henault was indefatigable in his advocacy for social justice for the poor and the disabled. Nor was he afraid to step outside the box.

“He was the best antidote to group think I know,” said Susan Yuan of Jericho, who served on low-income committees with Bernie.

She said he had a larger vision than most of the other committee members in that he saw that advocacy begins at home. She noted that Bernie urged other advocates to take the issues that affected their clients back to their local school boards and town meetings.

Ed Paquin of Montpelier, who once served as a state legislator in the House and is the current executive director of Disability Rights of Vermont — a nonprofit agency that provides legal representation to its clients — described Mr. Henault as a tenacious fighter for the cause and one not easy to appease.

“He was a great guy to call your bluff,” recalled Mr. Paquin, who gets around in a wheelchair.

Mr. Henault was 17 when he was struck by a drunk driver that led to the amputation of one of his legs, according to an interview he gave recently to a reporter with the Rutland Herald.

A man with an empty pant leg who relied solely on crutches, Mr. Henault was equally as passionate about education as he was social justice.

He served on the North Country Union High School Board and along with Sharon adopted two biracial girls, whom he guided on what to expect in a Northeast Kingdom public school system that historically sees few people of color.

Samantha, who is now a 21-year old single mom, living at home with her mother and going to college, recalled her public school experience as the “only girl with two disabled parents and the only mixed girl.”

Bernie, she said, taught her to feel proud that she was different, told her to hold her head high.

“He was always protective of me. Always,” she said, as she contended with a different problem in the same hallways where her father had once bent a legislator’s ear: Her two-year old daughter, Jaelyn, was acting up.

A Democrat who worked for Robert Kennedy in the party’s 1968 presidential primary, Mr. Henault was no stranger to electoral politics. He repeatedly ran for a seat in the Vermont House and, although he never won, his ardor for public service never diminished.

No doubt it was a trait that U.S. Senator Bernie Sanders admired and praised when he showed up Saturday in the closing moments of the tribute.

Their relationship dated back to the 1970s when the two worked together on low-income issues, recalled Mrs. Henault in a telephone interview this week.

“If Bernie was looking down from above I know he’d be pleased,” she said, adding that the two men were friends as well as political allies.

People who worked with Mr. Henault recalled that he had a big voice and a pointing finger when it came to advocating on behalf of his clients.

Testimonials Saturday recalled that Bernie told his clients to see themselves as differently able people, never disabled, which gave them a different outlook about themselves and the world.

More than one speaker remembered him as the person who initiated the first wheelchair, “Mini Olympics” games in the state. Or as the powerful voice who spearheaded the movement for independent living in the Kingdom.

Assertiveness was one of his traits.

“He was a guy to push you all he could if you represented the system,” noted one of the speakers.

Sarah Laundervill remembered meeting Bernie when she was teaching a class at Springfield College’s satellite campus in St. Johnsbury. Her students were making their final presentations in a course on social work. Bernie, who had come to the campus on another matter, stuck his head in the classroom to listen. He wasn’t impressed.

“You must do better if you’re going out into the community,” he told one of the students.

Afterwards, Ms. Laundervill said she made a point of engaging Bernie in a conversation, but recalled having a difficult time getting him to listen to her.

Someone in the group quickly picked up the thread of her story, saying that at this moment Bernie was no doubt up in heaven telling them how they could do it better.

“I don’t think God could get a word in edgewise,” she concluded.

People Saturday characterized Bernie as someone who was infallibly human, someone who had his weaknesses as well as his strengths. But most agreed that as an advocate he was a person who put the human in human services.

“It’s going to be very Bernie-like,” said Sharon, when she earlier characterized how she expected the tribute would play out.

“Very informal with people sitting around eating and talking.”

That’s pretty much the way it went with one exception: On behalf of the Vermont Statewide Independent Living Council, Harriet Hall presented a plaque to Mrs. Henault in recognition of Bernie’s efforts for the group.

contact Paul Lefebvre at paul@bartonchronicle.com

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In Greensboro: Cow power produced from a medium-size herd

Posted on July 25, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

Peter Gebbie checks the readings on his new methane generator. Although he admits to being slow with computers, his wife, Sandra, said Mr. Gebbie turns out to be very good with the high-tech system. Photos by Joseph Gresser

by Joseph Gresser

GREENSBORO — On Sunday morning Peter Gebbie had finished milking. The truck from the St. Albans co-op was loading and his hands were moving out to get the second cut of hay in.

But there was more for him to do. He and his wife, Sandra, headed toward a new building behind one of his barns. A sign on the door wisely warned against entering without hearing protection. Inside an engine roared.

Mr. Gebbie grabbed a clipboard and walked around the room checking readouts at various points along a complicated series of pipes.

He looked pleased at the results. “Eighty kilowatts,” he said. When they first started the generator about two weeks ago, it produced only 20 kilowatts.

When it is running at full speed the methane generator will produce 150 kilowatts of power.

Switching the generator on was the culmination of a process that began in Newport a little more than five years ago at a meeting sponsored by the state Agency of Agriculture. That meeting at the East Side Restaurant brought together dairy farmers who were interested in the process of turning manure and other organic matter into methane and eventually electricity.

At the time the Gebbies were milking 200 cows at Maplehurst Farm. The farmers who were getting into the electricity business had herds ten times the size of his.

On Sunday, Mr. Gebbie recalled that when he first started calling firms that design and install methane digesters he was turned away.

“The guys who sold digesters laughed at you,” he said, “unless you were at least a 1,000-cow farm.”

Mr. Gebbie persisted and eventually his calls started getting returned. He said that it seemed to him that the digester builders had worked their way through the big farmers and were ready to deal with someone his size.

While they were investigating the possibility of building a methane digester, the Gebbies doubled the size of their herd to 400 cows.

They were fortunate in having long before set up their barns with slatted floors through which the cows tread their manure and bedding. Gravity was enough to move this fuel into the digester, a round tank with a flexible cover.

Manure will produce methane with or without special equipment, but left to nature the volatile hydrocarbon will go into the atmosphere where it is a potent greenhouse gas.

Mr. Gebbie said he has heard it has a 24 to 25 times greater effect than carbon dioxide.

The Gebbies knew that things were going well when they saw the cover on the digester begin to balloon upwards. That indicated that gas was beginning to build up a head of pressure.

From the digester the gas goes into a scrubber which removes impurities to protect the engine of the generator. Mr. Gebbie said he is lucky because the gas produced by his manure is low in sulfur.

From the scrubber the gas goes to the generator or, if for some reason the generator is down for a while, through an upright pipe which is set up to burn extra gas to keep it from going into the atmosphere.

Once the manure is run through the digester, it could be spread on fields. The Gebbies have chosen to separate the liquids from the solids, spread the former and use the latter as bedding.

Levels need to be checked throughout the system. Peter Gebbie stands in front of the tank that cleans the methane before it is fed into the generator.

Sawmills used to give away sawdust, Mr. Gebbie noted. Today they use everything, and the price of bedding is a major cost of doing business. By producing his own bedding, Mr. Gebbie said, he can save as much as $20,000 a year.

Studies show the bedding produced by digesters reduces the incidence of mastitis and results in a lower somatic cell count, an indicator of a healthy cow, Mr. Gebbie said.

Of course, electricity is the main product of the system. The Gebbies have a contract to supply 150 kilowatts of power to the Hardwick Electric Company through the state’s Sustainably Priced Energy Enterprise Development (SPEED) program.

They are guaranteed a price of 14 cents a kilowatt-hour, well above the current market price of four cents. In addition they can sell Renewable Energy Credits (REC) through the Cow Power program started by Central Vermont Public Service and now under the auspices of Green Mountain Power.

Mr. Gebbie said the REC credits bring in an additional three to four cents a kilowatt-hour, less a small brokerage fee.

The system cannot operate at full capacity with only the manure produced on his farm, Mr. Gebbie said. To get to the full 150 kilowatts, he will need to find an outside source of carbon.

Typically that means a liquid such as whey, he said.

The 150-kilowatt limit is convenient in one regard. Power from the system can be moved on a simple single-phase line, the sort that typically serves a home.

Large scale generators on the farms in Franklin and Addison counties may generate more than a megawatt of power and require a very expensive three-phase service to move electricity off the farm.

In addition to power and bedding, the generator can also provide heat for the Gebbies’ home and milking parlor, and hot water, Mr. Gebbie said. The potential savings could be as great as those from the bedding, but they will require substantial investment in underground pipes, he added.

The digester cost “$1.5-million and climbing,” Mr. Gebbie said. Grants from the Natural Resources Conservation Service, Department of Energy and the state Department of Public Service’s Clean Energy Development Fund helped pay between half and three-quarters of the cost, he added.

“Most people would like to see things paid in five years,” Mr. Gebbie said.

contact Joseph Gresser at joseph@bartonchronicle.com

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Canaan teacher looks at Chinese education firsthand

Posted on July 18, 2012 by BethanyMDunbar

Canaan Memorial High School English teacher Jason Di Giulio enjoys the panoramic view from atop the iconic Great Wall during a June trip to China. As a 2011 winner of an award for teaching excellence from the National Education Association, Mr. Di Giulio was one of 35 American Global Learning Fellows chosen to visit and explore the Chinese culture and educational system. Photos courtesy of Jason De Giulio

by Richard Creaser

LYNDONVILLE — Sitting in a booth at the Ms. Lyndonville Diner, Canaan Memorial High School English teacher Jason Di Giulio of Sheffield sipped at his coffee, his mind racing to organize ten days worth of recent experiences in China. Mr. Di Giulio, a 2011 winner of a National Education Association (NEA) excellence in teaching award, traveled to China to explore the country and its educational system. He and 34 other NEA Foundation winners spent ten days there between June 19 and 29.

Winning a trip to the Orient may seem like a just reward for some of the nation’s hardest working educators. But this was no pleasure junket. Sponsored by the NEA Foundation, the Pearson Foundation and Education First, the purpose of the trip was to expose the teachers, also known as Global Learning Fellows, to a country and culture that few Western students have occasion to see firsthand.

“The purpose of this trip was to raise global awareness,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “Students need to understand that we are living in a flat world. The competition for jobs isn’t coming from Massachusetts or Connecticut or Maine, it’s coming from China.”

While in China the Global Learning Fellows met with representatives of FASTCO, the Chinese based manufacturer for Fastenal, as well as representatives from Intel Corporation. They learned that what international corporations want and need are independent thinkers who are capable of responding quickly to changing circumstances.

“It’s not something that the Chinese educational model really encourages,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “I think of the Chinese educational model as a factory model — everyone comes out of it knowing what they need to know to do the job they have prepared for. It’s a model based on rote memorization and testing, with testing being proof of success.”
But a system based on knowing and retaining specific information does not encourage free thinking. That’s the one area where the Western educational system may hold a distinct advantage over China, Mr. Di Giulio said.

Gradually, the U.S. appears to be moving toward that same model with standardized tests that create an objective measure of success. But at what cost?

“What we learned is that the factory model doesn’t take into account what employers are looking for,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “We need to develop and refine our curriculum to include more problem solving and critical thinking. We need to be able and willing to teach several methods and allow students to adapt to the model that best fits their learning style.”

The Chinese focus on excellence is bred from necessity and was exemplified not only in the classrooms but also in the everyday world, Mr. Di Giulio said.

Thirty-five American Global Learning Fellows representing the best and brightest American teachers visited China in June. Here the group poses with students at the Langxia Middle School outside of Shanghai. Prior to the trip, Canaan Memorial High School English teacher Jason Di Giulio embarked on an ambitious project to learn basic Mandarin Chinese. “Even knowing just a little bit of their language opened doors that might otherwise have been inaccessible to me,” Mr. Di Giulio said of the experience. “It made me realize how language affects and sculpts a culture.”

“The only students we saw at the vocational school and the middle school were the students who conform to the idea of the norm,” he said. “The students who were perceived as below the norm went to their own school. This is quite the opposite of what we are trying to do here in the West.”

Mr. Di Giulio spoke of the morning he ordered an omelet from the hotel kitchen. It took the cook three tries to produce an omelet worthy of his guest. To Mr. Di Giulio’s eye, any of the three would have sufficed.
“That’s the kind of pressure they have in the job market there,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “If you can’t do the job, there’s always someone else, a billion someone elses, waiting to step in. That creates tremendous pressure to be the absolute best at whatever it is you do.”

Striving to be the best certainly isn’t a bad thing, Mr. Di Giulio stressed. But the important part is the striving and not necessarily the success.

“Innovation is about taking risks, and taking risks means that sometimes you will fail,” he said. “Entrepreneurship is about taking a risk, and if it doesn’t work, you try again. When you are focused entirely on success as the end result you become unwilling to take any risks and innovation suffers.”

The Chinese model has plenty to offer to Western educators both for what it does right as well as where it falls short. Educators who are focused on a specific subject and who have adequate time to prepare and deliver instruction can achieve better results. And when the entire family promotes and supports a student’s education, chances of success are exponentially higher.

Chinese teachers deliver instruction in a single 80-minute class once per day. They devote the remainder of their time to preparing for the next day’s class and reviewing test data. This is in marked contrast to American teachers who spend most of their day with their students and who do some of their preparation during free time in the school day with the balance taking place at home.

“The temptation is there to say that their system is working,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “With focused dedication, parental and political support, students can achieve great things. But there is also a warning to be had.”
The suicide rate among high school seniors is troublingly high. Many students feel smothered by the inescapable cultural pressure to excel.

“In China the mandatory retirement age for men is 60 years old and 55 years old for women,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “It is also expected that the children will take care of their parents in their old age. In the era of the one child policy, that means that a couple must earn enough to support not only themselves and their child but also up to four parents.”

In a country that boasts as many honor students as the U.S. has students, the competition to land positions in the best universities is fierce. In China a university education spells the difference between a poor-paying job as a laborer or access to a coveted job in the middle class with room to advance.

“I don’t think we fully appreciate how important access to higher education is in this country,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “The difference here is that, as long as you are willing to find the money or carry the debt, eventually you will be able to get into a university. In China, if you can’t get into a Chinese university or can’t find the money to attend a school overseas, you don’t have many options left.”

The Chinese system puts tremendous pressure on students with its focus on testing and measurements of success, but in some ways the Western educational system is working toward an opposite extreme.

“There has to be some happy medium between rote memorization and measured achievement and creativity, hugs and self-esteem,” Mr. Di Giulio said. ‘There is certainly a group that is willing to shout and say that our educational system is broken. If I look at the results of my students and see what they have achieved, I know it’s not broken.”
Finding an objective standard to measure American students against was a laudable but ultimately doomed element of No Child Left Behind (NCLB), Mr. Di Giulio said. The idea that all students would be suitably proficient in all areas by 2014 was an admirable goal. The trouble was that the goal faced barriers test data doesn’t measure.

“If I could ensure that every kid had three good meals a day, had their parents read to them since they were two years old, got enough sleep and received proper medical care, and their schools were fully funded, I would say achieving 100 percent proficiency was entirely possible,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “But that’s not the world we live in. The law alternately encourages or disciplines schools for failing to meet the challenge without addressing the underlying causes.”

The system is further flawed by allowing each state to set its own standards. Although intended to measure and compare students around the country, the lack of common standards makes the comparisons ultimately futile, he said.
“Until we take into account the global standard that our students are being measured against, we really can’t accomplish anything truly meaningful,” Mr. Di Giulio said. “We do need to adopt a universal standard that recognizes what every student needs to know in order to become successful Americans.”

He said he plans to incorporate less fiction and more analytical works in his own instruction. Developing a stronger ability to problem solve and enhance analytical skills is critical if American students are to compete in the global marketplace.

“Creative thinking and the ability to adapt to changing circumstances is, and should continue to be, the focus of the American educational system,” he said. “In order to do that, we need a better understanding of the world. It’s no longer about competing for jobs with students in Michigan or California. It’s about competing with students from China and India and other parts of the developing world.”

contact Richard Creaser at nek_scribbler@hotmail.com