If pressed to describe Kate Haase-MacDonald in one word, it would be: resilient.
Six days shy of her daughter Mia’s first birthday, Kate’s husband Mike Ferranti died at just 39. She had recently started a new teaching position at The Windward School in White Plains—a school in Westchester dedicated to students with dyslexia.
If we could use a few more words, energetic, patient, creative, bubbly, kind, and fun come to mind.
As a child, Kate’s athleticism, social nature, and knack for picking up on social cues masked undiagnosed learning disabilities. Adults and teachers pegged her as a “social butterfly” and a kid who had “ants in her pants.” It wasn’t until she was 30 that she was officially diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia.
“I didn’t process information like other kids,” she says. “I think that’s a big part of why I fell in love with teaching—and why working in special education became so important to me.”
Kate attended Iona University, where she studied education and played softball, later earning her Masters in Early Childhood. She met Mike freshman year, and they married in 2005. Kate landed a teaching job in the Bronx, but her true calling, she discovered, was summer camp.
“There was nothing for these kids to do in the summer,” she recalls. “So I started a camp for Pre-K through 8th grade. It had all the parts of teaching I loved—without the politics.”
The joy she felt running camp was pure nostalgia. The third of four kids, Kate grew up with two working parents—her dad in banking, her mom a family nurse practitioner—but her mom always made time to play with Kate and her siblings.
Having a child of her own didn’t come easily. After more than a decade of marriage, Mia arrived in 2016. When Mike unexpectedly passed away, Kate was only a few months into her new role at Windward.
“It was one of those ‘just keep swimming’ moments. I always call myself Dory—I don’t stop. I never thought, ‘poor me.’ I just said, ‘OK, I have to work. I have to normalize this for Mia. We have to keep going.’”
A couple of years into her tenure at Windward, a colleague introduced her to Devin MacDonald—who had, tragically, also lost a spouse.
“Life is short. You have to find the funny, weird coincidences in it,” she says. “We both have a very dark sense of humor… and it helps!”
Kate and Devin were married on New Year’s Eve in 2021. Together, they have a son, Jack, who is 4. During the pandemic, Kate—who suffers from rheumatoid arthritis—was daunted by the commute to Windward. She decided to step away from teaching.
“I tried being a stay-at-home mom,” she laughs. “It’s the hardest job in the world! But I’ve always been self-sufficient, so I had to do something.”
Knowing this about his wife, Devin asked Kate a simple question: “If you could do anything, what would it be?”
Kate called up core childhood memories: playing London Bridge is Falling Down with her family, making box-stitch lanyard bracelets at the local park, crafting wallets out of duct tape. She thought of the summer camp in the Bronx—how much she loved the simple activities and being silly with the kids.
If you’re thinking, But wait—how did she get through losing her husband with a baby at home? Along with the love and support of her family and friends, Kate had Mia. And Mia was a pip—a fiercely funny kid who added vibrancy and light to their sea of darkness.
“From the time she was 18 months, Mia would put on shows. She’d make costumes with a roll of toilet paper. She was so creative, so funny—she always had me laughing. I tried to shield her as much as I could, but she always found the humor in things. So I called her my ‘Silly Goose.’”
An homage to Mia and to Mike, Silly Goose became the name for her new business. Kate started small: an after-school enrichment program at Veterans Park Elementary, workshops, birthday parties. But her mounting stash of supplies soon overtook her car—and her house. Silly Goose needed its own space.
She found it at 22 Catoonah Street.
The building needed some TLC. It had been many things—an artist’s studio and store, a co-working space, campaign headquarters. But with fresh paint, new floors, and a fence, Silly Goose had arrived.
Though the name seemingly skews young (“I didn’t realize that by branding myself ‘Silly Goose,’ people would just assume it’s for younger kids!”), Silly Goose offers enrichment for kids of all ages—and adults, too.
Each month, Kate hosts an Adult Night Out, where grownups relax, sip wine, and craft together.
“One of my new favorite mediums is resin,” she says. “We just made resin wine stoppers. Candles are next. This is a place where grownups can come together to craft and vent. Community is so important to me.”
Tweens and teens can sign up for workshops and after-school classes like DIY Designs (Lip balms! Accessory pouches! Charm bracelets!) or strategy games like DIG Chess.
For little kids, there’s Preschool Playworks (ages 2.5–5) and Small Steps (ages 1–2 with adult participation). These classes are thoughtfully designed to spark creativity, build friendships, and support development.
Starting next month, Silly Goose will be adding a drop-off Open Play to the schedule. Kids ages 2.5–6 can be dropped off for up to 90 minutes of free play with peers in a supervised, relaxed, yet purposefully structured environment.
Kate is considering something similar for older kids: an open studio hour with creative stations, not teacher-led, just space to explore and craft with whatever feels inspiring.
Summers are all about camp, with sessions for preschoolers and older kids.
Then there are the birthday parties. Kate works closely with parents to plan personalized celebrations. Have a dinosaur lover? Don those safety goggles for a dino dig. Your tween is into self-care? They can enjoy a spa party with body scrubs, hair tinsel, or personalized headbands. Is your kid high-energy? Go full throttle with Nerf battles, obstacle courses, or pong challenges.
At its core, Silly Goose is about fun—but also connection. After the pandemic, Kate noticed that Mia and her peers were struggling to re-engage socially. Her special ed background kicked in.
“I’ve seen so much social disengagement,” she says. “Kids want to connect, but don’t always know how. I help them find the language—‘Hey, can I join in?’—and feel safe, accepted, and like they belong.”
Throughout our conversation, Kate jokes that Silly Goose is like her brain: messy, colorful, always in motion. Dress-up bins? Check. Hot glue, plastic frogs, and tie-dye kits upon tie-dye kits? Obviously! But it’s also a reflection of Kate—always leading with fun, with heart, and with intention.
Luckily, she has Aimee Ropke—the left-brain to Kate’s right, her right-hand woman, her organizational wizard who helps bring order to the chaos.
“Aimee is an amazing addition to my staff,” Kate says. “She helps me do a lot of things and keeps me on track because I like to go off on tangents!”
Watching Kate in action is like watching a storybook come to life. One day she’s waving a wand, pretending to magically make a reluctant camper’s shoes appear… on their feet (it was time to go). The next, she’s minding a group of 4 year olds for a magic potion birthday party (with, yes, glittery mix-ins). Then, she’s organizing a water balloon toss for campers while reassuring counselors that yes, it’s fiiiiine some of the kids are hosing down the inside of the bounce house.
“I don’t want Mia and Jack to grow up too fast,” Kate reflects. “I just want them to enjoy being kids, to feel happy. We have a lot of local teens and young adults on our staff and they’re all such good role models. I hope they rub off on my kids.”
Kate is a natural with children and passionate about what she does. Ridgefield is so lucky to have Silly Goose—a colorful, laughter-filled hub where kids and adults can create, connect, and be themselves.
Next up? Possibly involving Ridgefield’s seniors in the fun.
“I’d love to go to a senior center—or bring them here. They probably know how to stitch better than I do!”
Learn more at sillygooseactivities.com and follow along on Instagram @sillygoose_ridgefield.
“I didn’t process information like other kids... that’s a big part of why I fell in love with teaching.”