Welcome to “Dear Daybreak”, a weekly Daybreak column. It features short vignettes about life in the Upper Valley: an encounter, some wry exchange with a stranger or acquaintance… Anything that happened in this region or relates to it and strikes a contributor as interesting or funny or poignant—or that makes us appreciate living here.

Dear Daybreak:

We were having lunch one day when we noticed a stranger coming up our front walk on S. Main Street in Hanover. It was a warm, sunny Alumni Weekend. Doors and windows were wide open. “Maybe one of your former students,” I guessed. Dick managed one of his wan, Parkinson’s smiles.

It was just a few steps to the front door, but when I got there, the man had already come into the hallway. He was tall, about 35 or 40, and wore one of those hanging conference tags.

I greeted him, but he didn’t respond. Tried again. No response. He just stood and looked. And looked. But eloquently, it seems, because I asked, “What do you need?” and then thought, “orange juice,” and turned toward the kitchen. “Don’t be an idiot,” I corrected myself, and headed for the wall phone. But then, passing the window, I realized there was no need to call 911.

A policeman was hurrying past the house. This never happens. A rush back to the front door, and half way out, an awkward shout—and to the startled officer, “I think the person you are looking for is in here!”

The officer came in and called the EMTs. They arrived within minutes, hefty and professional, and went to work. We had maneuvered our guest onto a nearby, elderly, less-than-reassuring chair. Dick brought the dog over on a leash. I didn’t understand why right away. Nor, I suspect, did another stranger who was just walking in the door. He was a doctor.

He surveyed the scene: Four men, a woman, and a big black dog, all hovering. He didn’t intervene or say much. Then, glancing our way and trying to be tactful, he said, “Perhaps it would be best if you stepped back now and let them do their job.”

We did. And they did. We learned that someone had seen a stranger in trouble on our neighbor’s front steps, and alerted the police. The doctor had seen the ambulance, and had come to help. Dick had brought old Barney to comfort the man, who wasn’t his student after all.

The EMTs gave the man a shot, restraining him as it took effect. The chair heaved and groaned, but held. Then suddenly, in no time, it was all over. Our caller was himself again. He felt fine. He stood up, said, “Thank you very much,” and, looking a little puzzled, walked back out the door. The police officer and the EMTs did the same.

“You did good work here today,” the doctor said as he left. “But you really should lock your doors.”

— Karen Sears Sheldon, Hanover

Dear Daybreak:

My newly two-year-old granddaughter, Lily, was visiting our home with her family from their home in Brooklyn. They get their groceries delivered to their door by Fresh Direct and Target.

While the rest of the family was off skiing, I took Lily to the local grocery store, which used to be called Mac’s Market, and is now the Village Market here in Woodstock. As I popped her out of her car seat—talking to her the whole way, telling her we were going to Mac’s Market, and then plopping her into a shopping cart seat—she looked at me in amazement. And as we proceeded to tour the grocery store aisles, her eye widened even more as she pointed and said “Milk, Oranges, Candy, Cookies, etc.”

She helped me at the self-checkout as well, naming each item as we loaded it on the scanner. A few days later, her mom called. She had gone to Lily’s room in the morning and Lily had all her stuffed animals sitting up in her crib. “We are going to Mac’s Market!” she said. It seems the highlight of her trip to Vermont—a trip that included sledding, snow-fort building, play dates with cousins, a new riding electric toy, and hot chocolate with marshmallows—was her visit to Mac’s Market. Children continue to amuse and amaze me.

—Bettyanne McGuire, Woodstock