Boy, we’ve had some wicked thunder boomers lately! The middle of the night kind, where that clap of thunder is so loud, you levitate out of bed. Thank goodness, our little dog Scamp is unfazed. He just sighs and rolls over. I wish Charlie and me could do the same. It’s like that thunder has breathed new life into us. Then there’s the storms that happen late in the afternoon. The kind where Mahoosuc Mills turns from Vacationland to Stephen King territory in a few ominous minutes. You look one way, and it’s fine: sunny and full of promise. Then you turn your head and see the Apocalypse bearing down on you. The wind starts …

Charlie and me went to the Woodsmen’s Competition down to Bouchard’s Farm this weekend. I thought it would be fun for us to check it out. Logging is part of my heritage, after all. My grandfather, George, was a lumberjack most of his life. Legend has it, he could cut three chord of wood per day with a buck saw, and drop a tree so it landed just where he wanted it, every time. Don’t know what George would have made of the whole thing. You know, people competing against each other, splitting, cutting, and chopping wood. Jobs my grandfather was probably glad to see the back side of when he finally quit doing ‘em. …

We’re coming up on a very special anniversary, my friends. That’s right, the death of Elvis Presley. August 16, 1977, a date burned into my memory. That’s when the King relocated to heaven, taking all his talent and charisma with him. Forty-two years later, you know what? I still miss him. What a sexy man! Fat or thin, I don’t care, there was something about Elvis. When I think of him, though, I mostly think of the young Elvis. That first time on Ed Sullivan, oh mister man! We’d never seen anything like him. Even though they only showed him from the waist up, which made it even more tantalizing. Us girls were all a-flutter …

Babe Delahunt runs the Busy Bee Bakery with her husband Bud. It’s over on Main Street here in Mahoosuc Mills. They’re open for breakfast and lunch seven days a week during the summer. Babe’s a real peach, give you the shirt off her back. But she has a limited tolerance for snotty tourists and has her own unique way of handling them. I was in there the other day getting a coffee frappe (got to keep up my strength) when I witnessed Babe at her best. This fella from away barges in, talking on a cell phone like we all want to know his business. “Look,” he says, “I need to see some results in …