Sun all day, Rain all night. A short guide to happiness and saving money, and something to eat, too.

Pamela Osborne

If you’ve been thinking that you have a constitutional right to happiness, you would be wrong about that. All the Constitution says is that if you are alive and free (and that is apparently enough for many, or no one would be crossing our borders), you do also have a right to take a shot at finding happiness. The actual pursuit of that is up to you, though.
But how do you get there? On a less elevated platform than that provided by the founding fathers I read, years ago, an interview with Mary Kay Ash, the founder of Mary Kay Cosmetics. Her company, based on Avon and Tupperware models, was very successful. But to be happy, she offered,, you need three things: 1) someone to love; 2) work you enjoy; and 3) something to look forward to.
Like a lot of advice — to lose weight, for example, eat less and exercise, that’s one I’ve heard a few times — this is deceptively and falsely simple. It’s pretty hard, really, to be lucky enough to enjoy your work day in/day out. And given divorce rates, it seems that someone to love can be a bit scarce on the ground, too, and so this category may need to be expanded to include whatever else you might be able to love. The last condition — something pleasing on the horizon— is, perhaps the one most able to be made to happen. Vacations on the high end, looking out the window or a good night’s sleep on the low.
What Mary Kay failed to mention is how very difficult it is to have all three of these things working for you at the same time. It’s tough. So best not to think about that too much, but instead just close our eyes and focus on what might be possible. Small small, that’s the ticket.
Based on what makes some days better for me, and on what is realistic, here’s a suggestion for a low key approach to adding an attainable, achievable something to look forward to to your life. If there’s one thing I don’t look forward to, it’s having to face an evening of standing at the sink and the stove at the end of a long day. Fast food and take-out fortunes have been made by people who figured out how to capitalize on this, to the detriment of neighborhood bank accounts everywhere. Much better to plan ahead, bothering in advance to fix something that’s good and ready to eat at the end of the day, so that all that’s needed is a quick heating up. Look at it as one step taken on the road to a happier few moments as shadows lengthen at the end of the afternoon. Works for me. Well, along with a toast to those who are with us, and to those who are not.
This recipe can be put together from items you may already have on hand. You might want to give it a try, it’s simple and good.
This stew, though served hot, is light, and fine for this still between-seasons time of year.
And, happily, you will find it to be easy and economical. If you are feeling pinched these days, you can leave out the fish and add more beans. In that case, you might want to add fish stock cubes instead of the vegetable stock cubes specified, for a bit of extra flavor. You can, of course, use fresh fish instead of frozen, but that defeats the convenience of having a pantry-available meal. Regardless, and by the way, this is more than good enough to serve to a table of friends, if you choose to do that, and no one, including the cook, will feel hard done by. Or, if it’s just you or a few at the table, make a potful, dip out what you need for a meal, and heat it in the microwave for a few minutes. Keep the rest for an easy tomorrow, it keeps well.
8-10 servings
2 or 3 TB olive oil. A neutral oil is fine. I use Berio.
2 TB unsalted butter
2 sticks celery, halved lengthwise and very finely sliced, just a bit more than paper thin
Some celery leaves from the center of the bunch, rinsed and dried
4 medium shallots, peeled and quartered, OR 1 medium onion—red or yellow—roughly chopped
4 or 5 garlic cloves (small to medium), peeled and very finely sliced. And no, it won’t taste too garlicky: it isn’t smashed or pressed, which intensifies that.
1 1/2 tsp. fennel seeds
A bunch of parsley, washed and dried. You will use the stems for the stew, the leaves for garnish. You want about 3/4 cup finely chopped parsley leaves. Medium chop the stems, 1/4” to 1/3” long.
1/2 c. dry white wine. I used what remained of a bottle; it may have been a bit more than half a cup, and had been sitting in the fridge for several weeks.
2 28-oz.cans of peeled plum tomatoes. I use Cento, and you needn’t buy the more expensive San Marzanos. With my washed hands, I take the tomatoes out of the can one by one and put them in a bowl, having removed the stem end and any stringy bits hanging from it, and any overlooked pieces of skin. Check the remaining tomato liquid for random bits of skin, too, before adding it to the bowl. All of these are indigestible, basically, and removing them improves the end product. But if you don’t care about that, just dump in the can as is. The tomatoes will need to be broken up a bit as you stir, with a wooden or silicone spatula.
One 15.5-oz. can of small white beans, rinsed and drained; Roman, flageolet, navy. I buy Goya.
One 15.5-oz. can of larger white beans, rinsed and drained. Butter beans are good, cannellini would do, too. Again, Goya.
2 cubes of vegetable stock. Mince these into small pieces before adding, they’ll dissolve more quickly.
Two pounds of frozen fish, thawed, rinsed, and cut into largish pieces, as they will break apart when cooking. Use a flaky fish, not a meaty one. I used one package of cod, and one of bay scallops, both bought on sale, which were in my freezer. The scallops (and by the way, in the past bay scallops were considered a delicacy compared to sea scallops, and were much more expensive; the reverse is true now, go figure) were very good, but all cod would be fine, too. If you’re not using fish, rinse and drain another can of beans, add that, see if one additional can is enough. This is not a thick stew, it should be a somewhat thinner, soupyish one. Add another can if you think it might be a good idea. The beans will swell as they cook, and will thicken the broth a bit; so if you’re uncertain, be conservative. You can always add more beans later.
Lemon wedges to serve, with Maldon salt and freshly ground pepper, and hot pepper flakes or oil
Melt the oil and butter in a large pan (a six or seven-quart Dutch oven, for example) over low heat. Add the celery, shallots, fennel seeds, and chopped parsley stems, with a pinch of salt. Cook slowly, stirring frequently, until the shallots and celery are very soft, but not browned at all. When they are nearly soft, add the garlic slices, being careful not to let them burn, and cook to soften. Raise the heat to medium, add the wine and let it simmer for 3 or 4 minutes, and then add the tomatoes, beans, and chopped vegetable stock cubes, which will dissolve. Add a cup of water, if things look too thick. Bring to a boil, turn down the heat, and simmer for about half an hour, stirring periodically.
Add the fish pieces, nestled into the top of the stew. Reduce the heat to low. Cover the pot and let this cook for about ten minutes, no more, until the fish is opaque and flaking. If you are using bay scallops, add them later, cook only 3 to 4 minutes. Once the fish is cooked, you can stir it in.
This should be prepared several hours ahead, so that the beans have mellowed and the seeds have softened. If serving the same day, I leave the base on the stove, covered, and reheat it slowly at dinner time. In that case, don’t add the fish until the base is hot, shortly before you’re serving it. If you have leftovers, keep the casserole in the refrigerator, and dip out and reheat only what you will need at that time.
Wrap the chopped parsley and celery leaves in waxed paper, wrap that in a damp paper towel, and wrap that loosely in plastic wrap. This will keep for several days in the refrigerator, and should be sprinkled over the stew. Serve with lemon wedges, etc., as above, along with some good bread. If you aren’t serving this to a crowd, you will have some easy evenings ahead, with very little to clean up. Cheers!
Sun all day, Rain all night? A friend once told me he’d had a perfect childhood, and this evocative short description of it was the only one offered. So peaceful and simple, and a guide.
Pamela Osborne lives in Salisbury.
Dee Salomon
A partially mowed meadow in early spring provides habitat for wildlife while helping to keep invasive plants in check.
Love it or hate it, there is no denying the several blankets of snow this winter were beautiful, especially as they visually muffled some of the damage they caused in the first place.There appears to be tree damage — some minor and some major — in many places, and now that we can move around, the pre-spring cleanup begins. Here, a heavy snow buildup on our sun porch roof crashed onto the shrubs below, snapping off branches and cleaving a boxwood in half, flattening it.
The other area that has been flattened by the snow is the meadow, now heading into its fourth year of post-lawn alterations. A short recap on its genesis: I simply stopped mowing a half-acre of lawn, planted some flowering plants, spread little bluestem seeds and, far less simply, obsessively pluck out invasive plants such as sheep sorrel and stilt grass. And while it’s not exactly enchanting, it is flourishing, so much so that I cannot bring myself to mow.
I have doubts:If I mow in the spring, would I kill all the overwintering insects? If I mow after the first frost, as suggested in a 2017 paper by the esteemed Kim Stoner, Ph.D., on the Connecticut AgriculturalExperiment Station website, would I lose the seed heads of yarrow, rattlesnake master and black-eyed Susan that birds are supposed to feed on in the winter?Paralyzed by indecision, I have not been able to bring myself to do even a partial cut.
I took a poll at a recent party attended by horticulturalists, environmentalists and garden experts. There was a consensus that early spring is indeed the best time to mow — early, before the ground-nesting birds like woodcock start nesting.I then called Mike Nadeau, whom I consider a meadow master of the Northwest Corner, and he concurred, following the Xerces Society meadow-mowing guidelines: mow in early spring when dandelions are in bloom.
“Xerces Society says this is the time most insects have hatched out of hollow stems and is between bird migrations.”
Nadeau’s experience has borne this out.
“I stress not to mow in fall because a dormant meadow is a haven for winter critters of all ilk.Birds use dormant plants for nesting materials, eat seeds, refuge — not to mention the other mammalian life that benefits from a meadow. An argument that has worked for me to discourage fall mowing is to describe a dormant meadow, with its myriad seed heads and foliage, as kinetic sculpture, especially with snowfall.It’s a beauty all its own.”
Nadeau mows a third to a half of a meadow each year, ideally using a flail mower, which chops vegetation into small pieces, helping foliage to resprout. The unmowed portion is left as a refuge for the animals that get evicted from their homes in the mowed area.
Stoner agrees with Mike to divide up the meadow and mowing different sections at different times. And she validates my mowing trepidation.
“There’s no perfect time. Any time you mow, you will be disturbing the habitat of some creature. If you don’t mow, you will have invasive plants creeping in, and eventually you will have trees,” she said.
“Best thing is to think about what your goals are — what creatures do want to encourage in your meadow? Then set the time of mowing to protect and enhance the habitat for those creatures.”
Additionally, Nadeau suggests that mown paths should be rerouted at least every two years to prevent rhizomatous grasses from establishing, which can grow into meadow edges and look unsightly. And the window is short:
“It’s too late to mow when spring birds arrive in earnest and new meadow growth is taller than 6 inches.”
Lights Out!
One of my favorite meadow benefits are the hundreds of fireflies that emerge in June. I am grateful for the lack of artificial light from neighbors (save for one house across the river with a persistent outside night light), so these creatures can shine brightly — and securely.
The organization DarkSky International relays the effect outdoor lights can have on fireflies: an almost 50% decrease in flashes per minute, which affects courtship behavior and mating success, according to two studies they cite on its website,darksky.org.
There, you can also get the lowdown on the devastating effects even one outdoor light can have on birds, amphibians, insects and mammals.The organization provides educational materials that explain the issue, making it easier to bring it up to neighbors and friends — which I will soon try with the house across the river.
Dee Salomon ungardens in Litchfield County.
Elena Spellman
Kathy Reisfeld
In a barn on Maple Avenue in Great Barrington, Kathy Reisfeld merges two unlikely worlds: wealth management and yoga, teaching clients and students alike how stability — financial and emotional — comes from practice.
Her life sits at an intersection many assume can’t exist: high finance and yoga. One world is often reduced to greed, the other to “woo-woo” stretching. Yet in conversation, she makes both feel grounded, less like opposites and more like two languages describing the same human need for stability.
On one floor of her barn are yoga mats and the steady rhythm of breath. On the other are computer screens, market charts and conversations about retirement plans and portfolio diversification. For Reisfeld, founder of Berkshire Wealth Group in Great Barrington, these are two sides of a single practice.
“At the end of the day, you’re just dealing with people,” she said. “Whether we’re talking about financial stability or mental stability, it’s kind of all the same thing.”
Reisfeld has spent nearly 30 years in finance, building a client-centered advisory practice that eventually led her to go independent. But her relationship with money began long before her career.
When her mother became ill during Reisfeld’s childhood, finances tightened. It wasn’t poverty, she said, but it was constrained enough to teach her how money — or its lack — can dictate the terms of one’s life. That lesson took on a deeper meaning as she watched her mother remain in a difficult marriage without full financial independence. “Money represented autonomy,” she said. “Freedom.”
In college, Reisfeld initially majored in physics, drawn to systems and structure. But an economics class shifted her direction. Markets, she realized, were systems too — not only mathematical, but deeply human.
After graduating, she landed an internship with a financial adviser and gradually discovered a profession that combined curiosity, problem-solving and relationship-building.
“The more I learned, the more I kind of wanted to get involved,” she said.
Over time, she realized she wasn’t interested in chasing predictions; she was interested in guiding people through uncertainty.
Over nearly three decades, she has watched the industry evolve. It has moved, she believes, from selling products to offering advice — a shift toward aligning compensation with clients’ best interests.
She’s candid about the stereotypes that cling to finance: that it’s driven by greed and full of money-hungry people. Those people exist, she said, but they aren’t the majority.
“It’s kind of like the few bad apples ruining it for everyone.”
At its best, she believes, the work is quieter and more meaningful than its reputation suggests.

Yoga entered her life in 2001, when she was living in New York City and training as a marathon runner.
“I was, like, very anti-yoga,” she admitted with a laugh.
But once she tried it, something shifted. A workshop with Nancy Gilgoff, the first American woman to travel to India to study Ashtanga yoga, “blew my mind open,” she said, revealing yoga as something far larger than poses or stretching.
What began as a physical complement to her running became a doorway into something deeper.
“Ashtanga means eight limbs,” Reisfeld explained. “The physical practice is just the entry point.”
The overlap she sees between yoga and investing is patience. Both practices demand discipline through fluctuation — the ups and downs, the good days and bad days, and the willingness to keep showing up.
In yoga philosophy, she points to the stilling of the mind. In investing, that becomes tuning out the noise — the headlines that spike fear or euphoria, the endless predictions that feel authoritative and rarely land cleanly.
After almost three decades in a traditionally male-dominated industry, Reisfeld has learned to move comfortably in rooms where she was often one of the few women present.
Asked what it was like starting out as a woman in finance, she smiled.
“The lines for the restroom were shorter.”
The humor reflects her temperament. She began her career at 21, and mentorship was not always easy to find. But finance, like yoga, rewards consistency. Ultimately, she built her business through steady growth.
For Reisfeld, yoga is fundamentally about integration. Money is no exception. It shapes how we live, the choices we make and the freedoms we have. Ignoring it doesn’t make it disappear. It only makes it harder.
Now rooted in the Berkshires, advising clients and teaching yoga classes from the same barn, Reisfeld’s work feels less like two careers and more like one philosophy.
When asked what she hopes people feel after spending time with her — whether reviewing a portfolio or finishing a yoga session — her answer is immediate.
“More confident,” she said. “Less stressed. More optimistic about their future.”
For more information or to book an appointment, visit berkshirewealthgroup.com
Kathy Reisfeld, Branch Owner
250 Maple Ave, Great Barrington, MA 01230
845-263-3996
Securities offered through Raymond James Financial Services, Inc. Member FINRA/SIPC.
Berkshire Wealth Group is not a registered broker/dealer and is independent of Raymond James Financial Services, Inc.
Investment advisory services offered through Raymond James Financial Services Advisors, Inc.
Elena Spellman is a Client Service Associate at Berkshire Wealth Group
Jack Sheedy
Playwright Cinzi Lavin, left, poses with Kathleen Kelly, director of ‘A Goodnight Kiss.’
Litchfield County playwright Cinzi Lavin’s “A Goodnight Kiss,” based on letters exchanged between a Civil War soldier and the woman who became his wife, premiered in 2025 to sold-out audiences in Goshen, where the couple once lived. Now the original cast, directed by Goshen resident Kathleen Kelly, will present the play beneath the gold dome of Connecticut’s Capitol in Hartford as part of the state’s America250 commemoration — marking what organizers believe may be the first such performance at the Capitol.
“I don’t believe any live performances of an actual play (at the Capitol) have happened,” said Elizabeth Conroy, administrative assistant at the Office of Legislative Management, who coordinates Capitol events.
When Lavin inquired about staging the production there, “they were very excited about it,” she said.
The performance, to take place April 1, is being sponsored by the Connecticut League of Women Voters. Organizers said the Capitol setting offers a fitting backdrop for a story rooted in American history and civic life.
“A Goodnight Kiss” is a dramatic reading drawn from letters exchanged between Sgt. Maj. Frederick Lucas (David Macharelli) and Sarah Jane “Jennie” Wadhams (Olivia Wadsworth). Fred wrote from battlefields, while Jennie wrote from the peaceful confines of Goshen. Together, their letters trace a gradually deepening romance and how the couple overcame objections by Jennie’s father, John Marsh Wadhams, and finally married in 1867.
“I just found it adorable that (Jennie’s father) was going to make sure she got the right kind of husband, which is why Fred had such a hard time,” Kelly said.
BroadwayWorld reviewer Sean Fallon called the play “the most romantic love story I have ever seen acted out on stage.”
The letters were first brought to light in the 2002 book “Fred and Jennie: A Civil War Love Story” by the late Ernest B. Barker, a Goshen resident and descendant of both the Lucas and Wadhams families. The Barker family discovered Fred’s letters in the Wadhams homestead and Jennie’s letters in a house once owned by a Lucas family member. The correspondence is now housed at the Connecticut Museum of Culture and History in Hartford.

Kelly said presenting the story through letters poses a challenge because the actors rarely interact onstage. During rehearsals, she had the performers face one another while reading their letters aloud. “It was just like magic happened,” she said.
Lavin said the play “tells the story of what truly makes America great, what made America great then, and what still makes it great, which is devotion to duty, service to others, integrity and treasuring freedom.”
David Macharelli, who portrays Fred, said, “Charting (Fred’s) course from enthusiastic young recruit gushing with admiration for the new technology of 19th-century warfare to a man crashing into the reality of war is a reminder that even the noblest of causes demand sacrifice, and that sacrifice is often borne by innocents.”
Olivia Wadsworth said of portraying Jennie, “It’s actually a little dizzying to think about. Two people, more than a hundred years ago, sent private letters to one another, and now their love story is being shared in a performance at the state Capitol.”
The performance will take place April 1 at 2 p.m. in Room 310 of the Capitol at 210 Capitol Ave., Hartford. The event is free and open to the public with advance registration at https://bit.ly/4usa9b7. Arrangements for guests with special requirements may be made by emailing Lisa Del Sesto at admin@lwvct.org or calling 203-288-7996. Parking on Capitol grounds is limited, but additional parking is available nearby at the Legislative Office Building, 300 Capitol Ave.

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Robin Roraback
Yonah Sadeh, Falls Village filmmaker and curator of David M. Hunt Library’s new VideoWall.
The David M. Hunt Library in Falls Village, known for promoting local artists with its ArtWall, is debuting a new feature showcasing filmmakers. The VideoWall will premiere Saturday, March 28, at 6 p.m. with a screening of two short films by Brooklyn-based documentary filmmaker and animator Imogen Pranger.
The VideoWall is the idea of Falls Village filmmaker Yonah Sadeh, who also serves as curator. “I would love the VideoWall to become a place that showcases the work of local filmmakers, and I hope that other creatives in the area will submit their work to be shown,” he said.
After the screening of the two films, “Mail Myself to You” and “Circle, Circle Square,” Pranger and Sadeh will discuss filmmaking and answer questions.
Of Pranger, Sadeh said, “She has a strong visual voice as a director, and both of these films are great examples of a blend of documentary and experimental filmmaking.”

Pranger described her approach to filmmaking. “I have always approached the visual arts from an interdisciplinary, multimedia perspective.” This approach was a reason why animation was particularly appealing to Pranger as she began exploring the possibilities of filmmaking.
“I particularly fell in love with the tactility of hand-drawn and painted animation and the ways in which it can be used in tandem with analog 16-millimeter film. Stop-motion animation holds the unique power to bring inanimate objects to life, something that became crucial to my practice of archival documentary filmmaking. I appreciate the sense of play that is encouraged in the medium of animation and find great joy in exploring new avenues and possibilities within the medium,” she continued.
At the core of Pranger’s films, she hopes to capture the joy and intimacy of human connection that blossoms through engagement with material and creative process.
After the opening event, the films will remain available to view at any time on the VideoWall screen in the library stacks. “The screen will always be on and ready for anyone to use,” Sadeh said. The installations will last three to four months.
Sadeh added, “Each installation will begin with a public screening at the library, followed by a talkback with the filmmaker.”
Filmmakers can contact Sadeh at huntartwall@gmail.com for information about submitting films for consideration. Visit huntlibrary.org/art-wall for a schedule of ArtWall and VideoWall events, which are free and open to the public.
Cheryl Heller
A bowl full of stones.
There’s a bowl in my studio where pieces of the planet reside. I bring them home from travels, picking them up not for their beauty or distinction but for their provenance. I choose the ones that speak to me — the ones next to pyramids, along hiking trails, on city sidewalks or volcanic slopes.
I like how stones feel in my hand: weighty, grounding. I don’t mind them making my pockets and suitcase heavier. The bowl is about the size of an average carry-on. It has been years since it was light enough for me to lift.
They’re not specimens. I’m not a scientist comparing igneous with sedimentary, or metamorphic with minerals or meteorites. I don’t know slate from quartzite, or schist from basalt or gabbro. They aren’t memories either, because I can’t tell by looking at them where they’re from. They sit quietly beside me in whatever moment I’m occupying.
They’re not souvenirs from places, like coffee mugs or snow globes. They are the places themselves.
The planet has reorganized itself in my bowl. Melbourne nestles next to the Hebrides. The streets of Roma in Mexico City rub elbows with Vatican City, Rome. Eastern Tibet sits on top of Machu Picchu; New Delhi is now close to Detroit. Cappadocia has finally met Capri. Mustique knows Morocco, and they both lie on the beaches of southern France.
These stones have witnessed the fall of civilizations, the birth and death of infinite beings, tectonic upheavals and the creative destruction of fire and ice.
Who touched them before me? Inca, Maya, Trojans? Warriors, slaves or yaks? Blue-footed boobies in the Galápagos or a slithering Costa Rican fer-de-lance? Was one of them used to stone a blasphemer in ancient Greece?
It’s not as if the place where I live needs more stones. In New England we’ve been blessed with an imposing population of glacial erratics — characters dragged here by the last Ice Age and left to sit silently in the woods for the past 16,000 years. The stones themselves, I’ve learned, are more than a billion years old.
The most ancient rocks known to us are more than four billion years old. Others are practically new, formed continually as tectonic plates shift along seabeds or lava cools along volcanic slopes. And while individual rocks vary wildly in age, the substance of rocks — atoms of silicon, oxygen and iron —is far older than the Earth itself, forged in ancient stars before our Milky Way existed.
Perhaps my bowl is filled with stars.
I recently stood before an exhibit of Aboriginal art called “The Stars We Do Not See.”The artists are descendants of the oldest continuous civilization on Earth, at 350,000 years. Their past is not distant or inaccessible to them; they understand time as a cycle and live in relationship with everything on earth and sky, including stones.
The title of the show was inspired by the late Yolŋu artist Gulumbu Yunupingu, who painted the night sky on bark. She spoke about the “stars behind the stars” — all there is to learn and appreciate beyond what we can see.
Deep in the woods on the hill above our house in Norfolk sits a giant marshmallow-shaped rock, one of the billion-year-old ones. At some point, someone leaned a ladder against it — a standing invitation to a new perspective.
How can we know the things that are invisible, the stars behind the stars? How can we feel connected to what came before us and sits silently around us, too slow for our impatient eyes to see?

Every once in a while, someone leans a ladder against a rock so we can’t miss it. Most of the time, we’re on our own.
I sometimes joke with my younger sister that when I die, she and our nieces can divide up whatever I leave behind, including the handbag she has had her eye on for years. But who will see and care about a bowl of rocks too heavy to lift and too silent about their value to be appreciated?
This is for you, Lynn, Stacey, Katie and Rose.
I hope you keep the planet in my bowl together.
It might be, after all, my small and only lasting intervention in the world.
Cheryl Heller is a designer, educator and business strategist who pioneered the field of social design and founded the first social design MFA program at the School of Visual Arts. She lives in Norfolk.
Natalia Zukerman
On March 29, writer, producer and director Tammy Denease will embody the life and story of Elizabeth Freeman, widely known as Mumbet, in two performances at the Scoville Library in Salisbury. Presented by Scoville Library and the Salisbury Association Historical Society, the performance is part of Salisbury READS, a community-wide engagement with literature and civic dialogue.
Mumbet was the first enslaved woman in Massachusetts to sue successfully for her freedom in 1781. Her victory helped lay the legal groundwork for the abolition of slavery in the state just two years later. In bringing Mumbet’s story to life, Denease does more than reenact history.
“I have been performing Mumbet for over 15 years now,” she said. What continues to resonate is “her self-awareness and self-worth even though she was enslaved. Her legacy of self-care and the ability to take care of others. That has not changed over time.”
Denease’s one-woman performance, “One Minute a Free Woman,” is part of her “Hidden Women” series, which centers figures too often pushed to the margins of historical memory. Drawing upon her own lineage and storytelling traditions passed down from her great-grandmother, a formerly enslaved woman, Denease creates work that bridges personal inheritance and collective history. Her background as a museum educator and interpretive guide shapes this approach.
“Being an interpretive educator helps me put the humanity back into history that has been removed when telling the stories,” she said.
The 2 p.m. program welcomes school-age audiences and families, while a 4 p.m. performance invites adults into a deeper and more intense exploration of Mumbet’s life.
“The format of the show will only change in the way I deliver the story,” Denease explained. “It will be more intense and in detail for the adults, less intense for the kids. However, it will not be watered down.”
For young people, Denease hopes the performance ignites curiosity and critical thought. “I hope school-age audiences’ imaginations are activated to want to know more and to never stop asking questions.” Adults, she said, are invited into a deeper investigation. “I hope for my adult audience that they will question what they were taught and see history through a different lens.”
That spirit of inquiry lies at the heart of Salisbury READS. “Literature and live performances go hand in hand,” Denease said. “Reading activates the imagination; living history helps that activated mind to make historical connections and keep the humanity and dignity in place where it was never given or taken away.”
Ultimately, the performance asks audiences to treat history not as distant fact but as shared responsibility. “I hope the audience will continue to question why knowing accurate and complete history is so important,” Denease said. “To understand that not knowing the whole story hurts everyone.”
To register for the event, visit scovillelibrary.org

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