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Mason Herson-Horvath
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Claudia brought this same passion to the ISE, working tirelessly to recruit each new cohort for the annual 4–6 week Ecology and Community program. Outreach before the Internet was challenging: students discovered the ISE through magazine ads, paper flyers, university bulletin boards, and food co-ops. Claudia carefully followed up with every inquiry, communicating warmly and enthusiastically with prospective students from around the world. Even when students knew little about social ec
Claudia embodied a belief in radical change and the power of community. Her sensitivity, attention to detail, and willingness to go the extra mile were essential to the success of our work. She also had the patience and endurance to work through endless meetings and challenges while maintaining positivity and humor. Courageous and adventurous, she left behind her life in Ohio to begin anew in Vermont, where she built community, found love, and continued growing and learning.At the center of Claudia’s life was her family—her children, brother, and grandchildren—as well as the many friends and community members she embraced with love and generosity. Her creativity infused both her work and her art. She was also resilient: Claudia survived two cancers and endured profound losses with strength and determination. Hers was a life lived fully and passionately, one that will be remembered and celebrated. All of Claudia’s colleagues at the Institute know she will be deeply missed.
Below, we have included a poem by her friend and comrade Chaia Heller:
Claudia
She had dark pennies for eyes. She wore linen.
Sometimes ivory or cream or just like the white
-blue sky. Or just a linen top with jeans and
latticed sandals. Elegance in hippie Vermont.
Long dark hair, almost navy blue, in two long braids,
sometimes the ends tied together behind her
like the women in Ladakh. She had travelled there
and was moved by the clarity of their faces, like
a clear pond holding a cloudless sky. She loved
to laugh at ridiculousness. Not with one speck
of meanness. Raw honey streamed through each
of her veins, each artery. The brazenness of her
smile was a zinnia. Her laughter was the thrum
of bees lost in collaboration. Once, she spoke of
aging. She’d developed a theory. She said, “So,
there’s the young olds, and the middle young olds,
and the old olds.” Her words splashed across the
decades, brightening behind her. And she taught
herself to draw when she had two kinds of cancer
discovered at the same time. She learned to see
everything as worthy of being seen. Of being
beautiful.
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