The Picnic, the Runaway and the Hurricane
Jonathan Smith recalls a Spoonwood adventure from his childhood
Perspectives
It turns out the highest section of I 95l along the Mass Pike, is quite a bit shy of our own modest Osgood Hill. And why is it just called a "hill"?
Cat Encounter
For 3 years I had an orange cat named Bob. Bob had come from an unfortunate background but he flourished here and was entertaining company. Sometimes the Warner’s big cat from just down the road, also orange and fluffy, would stop by to visit and take Bob off for an adventure. I worried but he always came home.
Bailey Brook – A Film and String Quartet
A delightful pairing of an original string quartet by composer Louise Dierker, with a film of Bailey Brook - by filmmaker Louise Dierker.
Reflections on Long Pond, also known as Nubanusit
Lake Nubanusit, which wends its way through Nelson and Hancock, is a dazzling place that warms the soul in any season. In warm weather, fishermen are drawn to its trout and small mouth bass; in winter, they walk on the lake and drop their lines through the ice.
Hay Angels
As I walked through the barn door something had changed. You know that feeling of sensing something different, maybe even alarming, but not knowing just what’s wrong.
The Chair That Found Its Way Home
This sweet little chair had finally found its way home and now rests comfortably overlooking the millpond where it was built.
Amphibian Meditation
It all comes back to me, out on the road at night, while the rain falls and the peepers are a wall of sound in my head. The feeling of love for these smallest of creatures, these wiggling, wriggling, wet and oh, so alive amphibians earnestly striving to fill the measure of their creation.
The Village
When my kids were young, I remember thinking that if for some reason they suddenly found themselves all alone in the village, they would be alright. Marc and Nancy Stretch in the former May Sarton house, Dutch Gerbis out tending his lawn, Donna Kidd being mindful of her own children, Patty Packard looking out from the (now old) library, Dottie Warner in her school bus. Many watchful and caring eyes. (Memories circa 1990). These days the village is even busier,