My garden keeps me guessing. I have my own ideas of what should grow where, but my garden? It’s on a completely different track. Fifty years of trying to impose our will on the “more or less” two acres surrounding our house has had mixed success,.
July 3, 1970 was a big day for Wally and I, the closing on our house. Married just three months, we were finally moving in together. I weighed 123 pounds and still had both my own knees. He was still the skinny guy I see in the photos from 1957, his.
Hello Neighbor, [goes a recent letter] It’s been nearly two years since the Lincolnville Historical Society convened a meeting at the Bandstand to see if we had enough support in town to take on the renovation of the old Beach.
Summer days start for me at sunrise on Lincolnville Beach, emptying the trash barrels, picking up butts, putting the place back in order for the day. It’s a job I love, and it turns out, so does my upstairs D-I-L, who took it over last year while I.
It took me a while to figure out where I lived back in the fall of 1967. I’d moved to Maine from Chicago on a whim, or rather, by acting spontaneously on a lifelong dream. I’d grown up on my dad’s stories of his boyhood summers on the shores of West.