Okay, it’s Labor Day, and even though the summer flew by and I’m not ready, I’ve decided to focus on the positive. September is one of the nicest months of the year here in Maine. It’s full of clear, sunny days free of humidity, followed by those crisp nights, just perfect for snoozing. All of a sudden, the tourists have transformed from exasperated parents with their cranky, sunburned kids, to retired couples, kicking back and living the dream. And you can actually get a parking spot on Main Street! Me, I always get that back-to-business shot of energy ingrained no doubt from years of school. Years of September representing new outfits, new notebooks, and a …

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 …

I had the pleasure of sitting beside Snowdell Holden’s sister, Trudy, at the bean supper Saturday night. Trudy lives in Portland, but spends the summer up to her camp on Scoodic Lake. She’d driven over for the weekend. Like Snowdell, Trudy’s a pistol. Just turned 89, and doesn’t look a day over 79, which is quite a compliment when you’re pushing 90. Over beans, biscuits, cole slaw, hot dogs, not to mention the mac and cheese that somehow wandered onto my plate, we got to talking about Trudy’s life, like you do. Trudy’s a retired nurse, mother of five with eleven grandchildren and three great-grandchildren. She’s been a widow for going on twenty years now. …

Charlie has joined the crowd of folks talking about the hot weather. But you know what? As complaining goes, poetry is a pretty fancy way of doing it. My hubby’s a keeper! “Don’t You Find This Summer Hot?”  Don’t you find this summer hot? I don’t feel like doin’ squat! Too hot for chores or barbequein’ None of that I feel like doin’  Getting’ up and goin’ fishin’? Nope, a cool one’s what I’m wishin’ For, Presto! Right here in my hand A beer to steer me to the stands Of Fenway, wouldn’t that be grand? To be up there with all the fans? Shy of that, I’ll sit here sippin’ On my ice cold, …

Seems like I’ve been wicked busy, but it’s that summer sort of busy. You know, the kind of busy where it feels like you’re on the go all the time, but don’t have much to show for it? Anyways, it’s been “hotter than Hades” here in Mahoosuc Mills. I’ve heard that more times than I can count while cashiering down to the A&P. This is from the same folks (no need to name names) who complain about the snow, the mud, the black flies, and the tourists, depending on the season. Complaining is what seems to keep these folks going, so this summer’s heat and humidity has been a whining bonanza. Now, these are the …

Last week, I shared Charlie’s poem about our good neighbor, Gus, who was kind enough to loan Charlie his mower while ours was in the shop. The adventure continued when the part came in, but Agway didn’t have time to install it. They figured they wouldn’t get to our mower for at least a few more weeks, so Charlie thought maybe he could install it himself. They gave him a demonstration on how to do it and everything. But you know what? Charlie’s getting wise in his old age. I’ll let him tell you about it.  Keep My Name on Your List  It’s height of the season, you know how it’s goin’: About every week, …

There’s a lot I love about living in a small town like the feeling of community, folks greeting you by name at the post office or down to the transfer station, everyone knowing your business. Well that last one, not so much. We’ve lived on our street for almost forty years. Sure some folks have come and gone, but there’s still a core of us old timers. It’s not like we socialize a whole heck of a lot. Sure, we’ll show up at a Christmas open house and every once and awhile we have a cookout. Mostly, we’re what I’d call neighborly. We look out for each other in a blizzard, stop and shoot the …