My Aunt Tessy, who was the first generation of Gauthiers to work at Middlebury College's Bread Loaf Campus kitchen, was outraged when she heard about the vandalism at the nearby Robert Frost home last winter. I think she may have actually seen the inside of the place, whereas I only walked up the road to the yard. I may have looked into some windows once. I did help prepare the food for the annual picnics held there a few times, though. That's kind of a connection to a famous place, isn't it?
Aunt Tessy may have actually heard Robert Frost speak once, which would explain why she got so much more hopped up about this than I did.
Anyway, part of the miscreants' punishment is to take classes on Frost's poetry. Man, I bet they're sorry now. Nothing could be worth having to listen to poetry.
Yeaaaah... this one kind of bugged me. I tried really hard when I was teaching never to use writing sentences or lines or anything with my kids as punishment -- wasn't I trying to teach them that written communication could be a joy? So, this... unless it's an extraordinary class and an experience which they'll cherish, only teaches them that the establishment can always be trusted to make art a misery. Why do that?
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