Kathryn Flagg's blog
A few months ago I was covering an event at the Bristol Elementary School with photographer Trent Campbell — the sort of story I sometimes offer up self-deprecatingly to friends when I talk about my job. This, I’ll joke, is the bread and butter of community journalists: elementary school assemblies and small town police logs. In Bristol, a handful of students spent all year growing out their hair for Locks of Love, and Trent and I were on hand at the end-of-year assembly to document the big cut: snip!
When you spend enough time with animals, you start to truly understand them. Maybe it’s the barn fumes, but lately I feel like I can even hear what they’re saying.
Take our pet goats, for instance. As soon as the three of them see my husband and me preparing to move their fence to new pasture, they come bounding up to us with eager smiles, saying, “That looks interesting. Here, we’ll help.” The next thing you know, they’re weaving in and out between us, nibbling on the fiberglass posts, stepping on our feet and generally being more problem than solution.
As the success of British Petroleum’s most recent ploy to stop the flow of oil gushing into the Gulf Coast remains in doubt and the volume of the oil spill far greater than originally estimated, the political fall-out is predictable — and necessary.
Are you on Facebook?
I am. So is my editor, John McCright; my eight-year-old cousin Maggie; my boyfriend’s lovely grandma (hi, Mary Jean!); and, according to our Facebook page, at least 189 fans of the Addison Independent.
If you notice smoke signals wafting from the chimney at my Shoreham home any time soon, pay close attention: What may seem at first like the inviting trickle of wood smoke from our stove is really an SOS. • • • — — — • • •! Translation: We’re under siege, and the invading forces are winning.
Shortly after a Jan. 12 earthquake devastated the Caribbean country of Haiti, I earned myself a new nickname in the office: “Haiti Katie.” (Granted, I’d divvied up the duty of covering the local angle on the disaster with reporter John Flowers, but “Haiti John” just didn’t have the same ring to it.)
When it comes to moving, most folks have any number of conflicting opinions on the topic. My college roommate was methodical about the process, packing boxes for what seemed like weeks in advance of any move, all while meticulously sorting her sweaters into color-coded heaps. An old boyfriend, on the other hand, was a firm believer in the efficiency of last-minute preparations; more than once he pulled all-nighters before moving, frantically throwing his belongings, willy-nilly, into any box within reach.
With the holidays approaching, our house is already filling up with the love and laughter of family and friends. Surrounded by my favorite people day and night, I keep coming back to one question: How do I make them go away?
Oh, I’m all for family togetherness; it’s just that the constant presence of nearly everyone on my Christmas list has made it impossible for me to work on their gifts in secret.
That’s right, I’m a stealth knitter.