It started with snow. Last Sunday, a day marked by a steady falling of fluffy snow. Just what we want on a weekend day in January, when there is nowhere to go. My wife and mother took in the Lincolnville UCC service via Zoom from the front room. I.
The tree I snagged from Don French last weekend is up, visible from the road through the window of what once was the barn loft. St. Nicholas Day has passed chocolate in the shoes, not one child stolen away by Krampus, the monster who accompanies.
I am rapidly approaching half a century on this planet, the vast majority spent right here, in this little town on the coast. I blessed with a relatively strong memory, but I notice it comes in little snippets images and vignettes as all those.
I have written previously about the age-old divide in this little town. In early days it was Ducktrap against Canaan those deeded land on the coast due to merit or connections, versus the plucky settlers inland. In living memory, this became The.
On a foggy morning in October, 2012, somewhere between 100 and 200 townspeople gathered in Lincolnville Center. Actual numbers vary, but there were a lot of us. We were there for a purpose. The old Center schoolhouse, which had finished its original.