Both of my grandfathers were geologists who worked for oil companies, which meant they got “transferred” every few years. Travel was a major part of my parents’ lives, so vacations weren’t exactly a novelty. But they both loved history, and that meant most of our family vacations doubled as educational experiences.

The first vacation I really remember was a week at Yellowstone National Park. My parents thought it would be fun to rent a travel trailer and do some camping. That first night in the campground was wonderful. We cooked dinner over an open fire, everything tasted better outdoors. After dinner, we went for a walk and found arrowheads, which was beyond exciting for a group of kids.

The trailer didn’t have a bathroom, so getting four small children to the campground restroom before bed was quite the production. But the real adventure came in the middle of the night when a family of bears completely trashed our campsite kitchen. They dumped over the big Coleman cooler and ate everything, even my mom’s homemade brownies.

Unfazed, my parents restocked the dented cooler the next day, and our second dinner was just as delicious, including rainbow trout that we had caught on a fishing trip to Jenny Lake. For dessert, Sara Lee brownies replaced my mom’s homemade batch. The cooler spent the night locked in the car.

But that night brought a new challenge, a summer snowstorm. The trailer didn’t have a heater, so we all froze. The windows in the trailer were caked with ice. The next morning we layered our jeans and T-shirt’s with our new sweatshirts and headed to the warmth of a diner for breakfast. My parents wisely decided to move us into a small motel down the road, one with heat and, most importantly, a bathroom. My grandparents had flown in from Denver and were staying at the Jackson Lake Lodge, a beautiful lodge with huge windows overlooking the mountains.

Our last night in Yellowstone, after visiting Old Faithful, we met them for dinner at the Lodge. Dressed in our Levi’s and boots, our camping clothes, we felt just a little out of place in the elegant dining room. But after bear raids, snowstorms, and campfire dinners, we didn’t mind being the underdressed ones at the table. It felt like we’d earned it.

The next year we swapped the mountains for the Atlantic Ocean when my family flew to Georgia. The helicopter ride from Atlanta to Sea Island, Georgia, when I was five, was almost as exciting as learning to ride my brand-new bike on the beach. The only downside to the beach were the massive piles of seaweed that washed up along the shore, they absolutely terrified me. Because of that, I much preferred my grandmother’s beach club for swimming. Honestly, the beach club had its own perks: the luxury of ordering hot dogs, sandwiches, ice cream, and lemonade from a waiter made it hard to resist.

On Saturday nights, we would get dressed up and head to the Cloisters for dinner. The grown ups lingered over their meals while we were sent to the kids’ lounge where we would play games. I won a Peter Pan game after being the last one standing during a musical chairs game. We drank numerous Shirley Temples and ate hot fudge sundaes.

One morning, my older siblings (we were nine, seven, and five years old) and I were sent on a guided tram tour (no parents, it was the 1960’s) to St. Simon’s Island. We climbed the lighthouse, and saw the Bloody Marsh, Fort Federica, and Christ Church Churchyard. It was one of the most boring trips, ever. I now wonder what my parents were off doing that day, probably enjoying the adults only pool at the beach club.

Not long after, we traded planes for a road trip. The summer of my cousin’s wedding in New Mexico, my parents bought a Buick Vista Cruiser. It had three rows of seats, roof-mounted skylights, and best of all: air conditioning. For a family of six, it felt like pure luxury.

That was also the summer we discovered the joys of Holiday Inn motels. We loved everything about them, the pools, the ice machines, the food, it was every kid’s dream. To us, the bright green Holiday Inn sign practically meant vacation magic.

We spent the next summer on a bus touring New England. We visited the Ocean Spray Cranberry bog, Plymouth Rock, Bunker Hill, Old North Church, and Paul Revere’s house. We ate lobster rolls almost every day while visiting my aunt’s summer home in Biddeford Pool, Maine. Our days were spent swimming in the freezing North Atlantic and drinking six ounce Cokes in glass bottles. I learned to play solitaire (the card game) and Scrabble with my family in front of a roaring fire at night.

My parents, while on vacation taught us how to roll with the unexpected, how to find wonder in new places, and how to always keep a sense of humor no matter what the road had in store. Travel didn’t always go smoothly but each trip became a story we would repeat at family dinners and laugh about years later.

With everything in the news these past two weeks, I’ve found myself thinking about my family, and how, really, everything is connected. Einstein once said, “look deep into nature, and then you will understand everything better.” But I think that he really meant: “ look deep into your family, and you will understand everything better, or realize that chaos is inevitable.”

Physics tells us that everything is related, actions create reactions and forces push and pull. I see that playing out on every scale especially in current events.

My dad held very conservative political views. After serving in the Pacific Theater as a Naval Officer in World War II, he was acutely aware of the devastating effects of war. Our nightly dinner conversations often revolved around our day, current events, and world news. In winter, when we discussed the weather, it was mainly about how much snow we might get for skiing. In summer, it was all about how important rain was for my mom’s rose garden.

I grew up believing communism was not a workable concept, despite its appealing promise of equality. As a seventh-grade student, I was taught that America needed to help South Vietnam hold onto its freedom from communist rule. Sending in our military seemed like the answer and the right thing to do. Watching the draft lottery on live tv in December of 1969 was deeply upsetting, just knowing that boys as young as eighteen could be sent to fight a war so far from home.

As the spring of 1970 approached, my Dad received news that he had been admitted to the Supreme Court Bar. He was to fly to Washington, D.C. for a swearing in ceremony and then was invited to the White House for a reception in the Rose Garden with President Nixon. Of course, my Mom would be joining him for both the ceremony and the reception.

My grandparents were in charge of us while my parents were in Washington. My brother, Harris, had suffered a terrible ski accident in January and was now in a full thigh-to-foot cast, relying on crutches to get around. He had broken so many bones that the surgery required metal rods and screws to hold everything together.

To help pass the time, and ease the boredom and frustration of not skiing, my brothers and I invented a competition to see how long we could balance ourselves on the crutches with our feet pressed against the wall. Harris quickly became the reigning champion despite having to lift and hold his heavy cast, that is until he lost his balance, fell, and broke his cast. My grandfather was perturbed. It was good for Harris, though, because his cast was reduced to just below his knee and included a rubber heel for walking. This newfound mobility, was thrilling, which he took too far when he broke the new cast while out riding his bike. My grandfather had gone from exasperated to completely beside himself.

Meanwhile, my parents missed their flight from Denver to Casper (my grandfather was paged over one of the dreaded white, (bad news) phones at the airport). Needless to say, my grandfather was truly vexed.

Finally, when my parents arrived, my mom was bursting with excitement about meeting President Nixon. But in truth, what delighted her most was simply spending time among the countless beautiful roses. She later remarked that the experience rivaled the famous cherry tree blossoms, truly a gardener’s dream.

My dad passed away before the disgrace and shame of Nixon’s Watergate scandal came to light, but I can still clearly hear him saying, “feet of clay,” a phrase that refers to a hidden flaw or weakness in an otherwise admirable person.

I also remember an offhand comment my dad made one evening at dinner. At the time, I didn’t fully understand it, but his words have stayed with me for years: “The third World War and potential downfall of this country will come from within, we’ll collapse like a third-world country.”

Looking back, I realize my dad’s grim dinner-table predictions weren’t just warnings, they were reminders. Reminders that what holds a family or a country together is resilience and humor, even if the leader of the free world turns out to have clay feet.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt, are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End, where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

This was my last week of school for the 2024–2025 year, and to say it was busy is an understatement! Between Donuts for Dads, Spirit Week, Field Day, and the Moving Up ceremony, it was a whirlwind. Friday was spent cleaning and breaking down the classroom, if you’ve ever taught school, you know that means organizing a lot of moving parts: toys, books, centers, and supplies that all have to find a home in storage.

We also had our staff send-off parties this week at local restaurants. I have to say, I was genuinely impressed with the service at Chili’s. Our server was cheerful, knowledgeable, and incredibly attentive. She was clearly someone who enjoyed her job, and it made for a really fun and relaxing experience, the perfect ending to a very full week.

On the flip side, my husband and I grabbed carryout from Chipotle earlier in the week, and it was a major letdown. The person behind the counter was too busy chatting with friends at the register to even acknowledge us. When we asked a question about a couple of new items, the response was simply, “I don’t know,” followed by her walking away. The next staff member wasn’t any more helpful and acted like we were bothering them.

Having owned a restaurant, I can’t help but notice the contrast in service, and how much of a difference it makes. One experience left me smiling after a long week; the other just disappointed.

Kindness is now part of the curriculum at my school through a program called Positive Action. Children are encouraged to choose kindness every day and are recognized when they do. It’s a beautiful practice and a necessary one. Somewhere along the way, especially after the pandemic, it seems there was a disconnect in human interaction. Without regular, meaningful contact, people can forget how powerful simple acts of kindness really are.

Recently, I was surprised by the lack of professionalism during a visit to our doctor’s office. The receptionist was eating a bag of potato chips during check-in and the nurse was sitting in the waiting area having a very personal phone conversation. Thankfully, both women were kind and pleasant, but I was still taken aback by the setting. It reminded me that while kindness is essential, so is professionalism, especially in environments where people seek care and support.

According to some estimates, it takes approximately twelve muscles to smile and forty three to frown. It’s important to note that these are just estimates, and the actual number of muscles involved can fluctuate based on factors such as facial anatomy and the effort put into the expression.

Each morning, I make it a point to look my students in the eye and greet them with a cheerful, “Good morning!” I also try to notice and comment on something kind or joyful, often it’s a beautiful smile, and I make sure to thank them for sharing it.

We have one little boy who arrives each day with the biggest frown imaginable. But every morning, I greet him with, “I’m so glad to see you at school today.” And without fail, that frown slowly turns into a smile. It’s a simple gesture, but it reminds me just how powerful a kind word and genuine connection can be.

Sometimes all it takes is a smile to prove that kindness doesn’t need words to be heard and to make our world a brighter place.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

The first few chords of John Denver’s ballad; Rocky Mountain High have a powerful way of evoking emotions that transport me to different places and memories of my late teens. The feeling is a deep, hollow ache, a sensation of missing someone or something, grieving a moment that can’t be reclaimed.

The day Rocky Mountain High was released, I didn’t hesitate. As a devoted John Denver fan, I bought the album the moment it hit the shelves. I played it on repeat for months, not fully realizing why it resonated so deeply with me. Looking back, I now understand: my mountain had always been a part of me.

In the winter, it was my playground, I skied its slopes, rode snowmobiles through the powder, and went sledding until my feet were numb and my cheeks were pink with cold. When the seasons turned, the mountain transformed. The air smelled of pine and earth, and the song of the Meadowlarks replaced the hush of snowfall. In spring and summer, I hiked to the waterfall, had picnics in wildflower meadows, and practiced archery in the crisp mountain air. The tall Aspen trees and towering Ponderosa pines stood silently in the background, ever-present, like old friends. That mountain and that music shaped who I am. It turns out, it was home. Without realizing it, my mountain had always been part of my story.

Now, when I hear those familiar chords of Rocky Mountain High, I understand why I was drawn to it so fiercely. John Denver wasn’t just singing about Colorado, he was singing about my memories, my joy, my mountain.

As it turns out, mountains are magical places. They are often seen as sites of spiritual elevation, places where individuals can find clarity, inspiration, and a deeper connection to something greater than themselves. Mountains symbolize strength, resilience, and the enduring human spirit. Their presence inspires us to rise above our challenges, just as they rise above the land.

According to the Adventure Tourism Blog, mountains are vital components of Earth’s water resources, climate systems, and cultural heritage. Protecting and conserving mountains is essential for maintaining the balance of our planet and ensuring the well-being of both nature and human communities.

As the summer season approaches, I find myself reflecting on just how deeply meaningful my experiences with the mountains, lakes, and oceans have been. Without fully understanding the power they held at the time, I was always drawn to these natural places, and I made sure to share them with my four children as often and as early as I could.

There’s a photo I treasure: I’m holding my eldest as a tiny infant, bundled up against the cold, surrounded by towering snowbanks at the base of the Snowy Range with Mirror Lake in the background. Years later, I remember my toddlers walking barefoot through icy mountain streams in the hills of Southern California, squealing with surprise and delight.

These places were more than just beautiful backdrops, they were teachers, sanctuaries, and playgrounds. And looking back, I see how they shaped both me and my children in quiet, lasting ways.

The phrase Rocky Mountain High is often used to describe the sense of euphoria that comes from being surrounded by the beauty of the mountains. For me, it’s more than a song, it’s a feeling I’ve known my whole life. It’s the joy, peace, and deep connection I’ve found in nature, and the gift I’ve been able to share with my children. That’s the true high the mountains give.

I found a photograph of my mom, my two middle children, and me at the peak of Diamond Head on Oahu. That hike is roughly one and a half miles round trip. There are any water bottles or snacks in sight. My eldest was taking the picture with my Kodak Instamatic camera. It was 1982.

My mom wore a flowing muumuu, carried her Louis Vuitton bag, and held a cigarette with her usual flair. I was wearing purple and white striped Dolphin running shorts and a matching purple Merona sweatshirt. We were both wearing leather strapped sandals.

In that moment, at the top of Diamond Head, we were the very definition of Hawaiian fashion—1980s style. My Mom fully embraced the muu muu, saying that it was the most comfortable dress she had ever worn. We had quickly made a stop at Liberty House (Honolulu’s premier department store) on the way from the airport to get my Mom “geared up”.

While living in Coronado, California, my aunt, my mom, and my grandmother came for a month-long visit. I was pregnant with my third child, and they had come to help.

Mom had impeccable taste in clothing, except when it came to her casual wear, particularly her shoes. She brought along a pair of white, beaded Minnetonka moccasins and some unfortunate-looking slide sandals, both purchased at K-Mart for less than ten dollars a pair.

My aunt and grandmother arrived at the San Diego airport impeccably dressed in Chanel suits and Ferragamo flats. At dinner that evening, the main topic of conversation became my mom’s questionable footwear.

Despite their teasing, my mom defended her shoes fiercely, insisting they were the most comfortable things she had ever worn. By the end of the meal, after trying them on, both my aunt and grandmother had decided they needed the exact same two pairs.

Our shopping expedition to K-Mart was a bust, so we headed to Saks Fifth Avenue in La Jolla, a family favorite. My grandmother had seen a Mouton coat at the Saks in New York City that she thought would be perfect for the chilly San Diego evenings.

As we wandered through the store, we passed the shoe department and there they were. Both the Minnetonka moccasins and the infamous slide sandals, proudly displayed… at a much higher price than what my mom had paid at K-Mart.

For the rest of the month, I walked around Southern California with three elegantly dressed older women, each wearing the same shoes. One of them, my mom, was especially smug. Her “comfy shoes” had turned out to be fashion-forward after all.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

Wind chimes are a type of percussion instrument made from suspended tubes, rods, bells, or other objects crafted from metal or wood. Their origins trace back to 1100 BC, when an ancient Chinese emperor cast the first bells, known as Fenglings. At the time, only members of the royal family and honored dignitaries were permitted to enjoy the heavenly luxury of musical entertainment through chimes and bells. Even today, there’s a mystical quality to wind chimes—an unspoken magic in their ability to capture the wind, harness its energy, and transform it into something meaningful.

The morning I checked on my father-in-law and discovered that he had passed away peacefully in his sleep was both heartbreaking and strangely serene. My husband, Matt, was in the shower when I gave him the news. In the hour that followed, as we waited for the Hospice nurse and the funeral home to arrive, we quietly prayed and said our final goodbyes to John.

Feeling the need to step away from the heaviness of the house, we decided to spend the day at the beach, bringing our two dogs along for comfort and company. We had a quiet, delicious lunch at Blacksmith Restaurant with a bottle of wine to toast John. After dining alfresco, we then wandered through the charming streets of Berlin. Along the way, we stopped at an antique shop where we were drawn to a set of bamboo wind chimes displayed in the window.

As it turned out, the wind chimes were from Southeast Asia, fitting, as it was the same region John had flown missions into during the Vietnam War. Of course, we brought them home. They now hang in one of John’s favorite rooms: our kitchen. He used to love sitting at the island with a glass of wine, chatting with Matt while he cooked dinner.

The wind chimes, suspended at just the right level, ring softly many times a day. Each gentle sound brings us a comforting reminder of John—and of the quiet, sacred memory of his last day on this earth.

Considered sacred objects believed to attract kind spirits, wind chimes have maintained their enchanted status throughout history. They are often thought to ward off negative energy, purify the atmosphere, and enhance the flow of positivity within a space. With each gentle sound, wind chimes are said to offer protection, balance, and a sense of peace, bridging the seen and unseen in subtle, soothing ways.

With spring in full bloom, we often find ourselves opening windows to welcome the cool, refreshing air. The gentle tinkle of wind chimes dancing in the breeze is believed to invite positive energy into the home. For centuries, these enchanting sounds have soothed our spirits, dispersing negativity and creating a sense of calm—whether we’re relaxing on the porch or enjoying a quiet moment in the garden. I’ve always loved the peaceful melody of wind chimes outside my window; it’s a small, beautiful reminder to pause and breathe. Their calming presence and energetic benefits make them more than decor—they’re a comforting companion to the rhythm of everyday life.

The healing effects of wind chimes have been recognized for a long time. Their soothing background noise from the natural breeze can help relieve stress, anxiety, and mental tiredness. The harmonious sounds can aid breathing, quiet racing thoughts, and promote relaxation. The soothing sound waves of a wind chime are great for settling down at the end of the day or before bed.

Whether bamboo or wooden wind chimes, their sound vibration and the number of their rods have a purpose. According to wind chimes Feng shui, the five rod metal wind chimes are incredibly optimistic. This wind chime benefits the five elements of nature, earth, metal, fire, wood, and water. Such wind chimes help establish synchronization between people and the elements of nature, thereby suppressing all negative energies and bad luck. The sweeter the sound a wind chime produces, the more significant the good luck it brings to the inhabitants.

Wind chimes should be hung indoors where energy is stagnant, and therefore, needs an energy cleanse. Inside bedrooms, they should be placed near the windows from which a gentle breeze blows throughout the day, producing enchanting chiming sounds that usher in positivity and peace. Bamboo wind chimes are popular bedroom choices, their soothing effects help fight insomnia and stress.

Wind chimes are more than just an attractive piece of home decor. “Chi” in the word chime stands for positive energy as per Feng Shui. After seeing them in friends’ homes, I bought my first Capiz shell wind chime while living in Hawaii. With louvered windows and the trade winds blowing, the Capiz shells made such a magical sound. Many people believe that Capiz shells are symbols of good luck and prosperity. It is also thought that Capiz shells bring balance between the physical and spiritual worlds.

Tones have a healing effect on our bodies, calm our minds, and awaken our spirits. The resonance and vibration of sound releases stress and emotional blockages in the body. Sound connects us with our environment, nature is never silent. Sound stimulation can nurture behavioral changes and emotions. Positive sound can ease the feeling of loneliness and isolation. The gentle sound of wind chimes can greatly help to create positive energy. Wind chimes can correct negative, harsh, or dulling sounds in the environment such as the sound of traffic.

Wind chimes help enhance the mind/body/spirit connection bringing us a sense of peace and well being.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling. 

Last week, my students participated in activities and discussions about safety, at home, in school, and the community. From reviewing how to safely cross the street to understanding what to do in an emergency, the children gained valuable knowledge to help them stay safe and confident in various situations. This program is designed by the Talbot County Health Department and is an important and effective tool for helping children face serious situations.

This year, the program went a step farther than the usual “stranger danger” warnings. A new addition focused on internet safety, including the impact of online games, cellphones, and social media. Students learned about the importance of protecting personal information, recognizing unsafe online behavior, and knowing what to do if something makes them feel uncomfortable.

As part of the safety lesson, students were asked to raise their hands if they know a “trusted person’s” phone number. One child out of twenty six knew that important phone number. Forty years ago, memorizing important phone numbers was a rite of passage and a requirement for kindergarten readiness. I can still recite the phone number from my childhood home, it has stuck with me all these years.

By 1994, my two eldest children had began driving and my husband and I thought having a cell phone would be valuable. It was a Motorola “Brick” flip phone. Making phone calls was its only capability. The phone number that belonged to that original phone was transferred to subsequent phones until just recently and every family member had that number memorized.

There is something so comforting about the memory of landline phones. The familiar ring throughout the house, the long, coiled cord stretched around corners, and the way conversations felt more intentional. If you missed a call there wasn’t any caller ID, just a bit of mystery.

Back then, children were actually taught phone etiquette, as if answering a call was a sacred duty. The polite response went something like, “General residence, this is Jenny speaking,” delivered with all the formality of a receptionist at a law firm. The phone was strictly off-limits during dinner, heaven help the kid who dared to reach for it between bites of meatloaf. If the phone rang after 10:00 p.m., everyone froze. It could only mean one thing: an emergency. No one let it go to voicemail (which didn’t exist yet anyway), you always answered, heart pounding, prepared for anything.

It was an exciting day when our clunky old rotary phones were finally replaced with a sleek, futuristic push-button model. No more spinning that dial like we were cracking a safe just to call Grandma. No more misdialing on the last digit and having to start all over again. The push-button phone felt like something out of Star Trek, you just pressed the numbers and boom, connection! We strutted around like we were living in the space age. It was progress, one satisfying beep at a time.

Years later, we called it progress when we finally ditched our last landline phone. We convinced ourselves that we didn’t need it anymore now that we had a new family mobile plan. Everyone had their own cellphone and the old landline, the kitchen phone, once the heart of our household communication, was unceremoniously unplugged and tossed aside like a relic from another era.

According to CNN Business, In recent years, there’s been a quiet but growing trend of people returning to landline phones, drawn by their reliability and simplicity in a fast-paced digital world. As cell phones become increasingly cluttered with apps, notifications, and constant connectivity, many are seeking the calm and clarity of a dedicated phone line. Landlines offer a kind of peace—no updates, no distractions, just a steady dial tone and the joy of undisturbed conversation. For some, it’s a nostalgic return to the days when phone calls had a sense of presence and intention. For others, especially in rural areas or during emergencies, it’s about practicality, landlines still work when cell towers go down or power cuts out. Whether for nostalgia, security, or the desire to unplug, the humble landline is making a quiet comeback, especially in Gen Z homes who are drawn to landlines for their vintage aesthetic.

There is a certain love for a landline phone, a deep, unspoken affection for its steady presence, its familiar ring, and the way it connected us not just to voices, but to moments, memories, and the comforting rhythm of home.

Kate Emery General is a retired chef/restaurant owner who was born and raised in Casper, Wyoming. Kate loves her grandchildren, knitting, and watercolor painting. Kate and her husband, Matt are longtime residents of Cambridge’s West End where they enjoy swimming and bicycling.