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:

Becky Luce died recently. My son Eric benefited oh so much from her musical guidance. I grew up in a musical family, and sometimes I'd stay for the rehearsals of the Upper Valley Children's Chorus and would marvel at how she could make good music happen from the collection of tiny local kiddos. Becky and Hanover High and North Country Community Theater all helped to get Eric on a path of music & theater which suited him just fine. She will be missed.

— Tom Mead, Hanover

Dear Daybreak:

The recent stories about Becky Luce's death inspired my family to reflect on the impact she had on us some twenty years ago. For my son, Becky was, quite literally, "the kind of music teacher you see in the movies"—the cool piano instructor who appeared in the film Jaws. My daughter remembers how Becky had a way of making every child feel included, even those who were less inclined to perform; she showed that you could be part of the music simply by listening. My wife recalls how Becky met our son exactly where he was each week during piano lessons—always open, without preconceived expectations—and how her wonderful sense of humor lightened moments when progress stalled. For me, it was the joyful chaos of families sitting squished together, singing at the weekly K-2 singalongs at the Ray School—a bright and happy way to start the day and, for us, to begin a new chapter of life here after moving from Boston. Becky and the music she embodied were a formative part of our early experiences in the Upper Valley, and we remain deeply grateful for her role in shaping our family’s connection to this community.

— Richard McNulty, Hanover

Dear Daybreak:

— Cynthia Taylor, Thetford, who writes, “Here's an old postcard of the Ledyard Bridge during its pre-ball life. I probably got it at a flea market about 30 years ago. I remember what a huge deal it was when the balls were first installed. I and others felt they seemed way too gigantic for the bridge. But I have to admit - I've begrudgingly gotten used to them and their oversized ways.”

Dear Daybreak:

It was one of the hottest days of the summer at the beginning of the pandemic – the time when we were all wearing masks, wondering if our packages were contaminated, wiping down the bananas. My husband and I were looking for silver linings, and one was that, because he was able to work from home (silver lining number one) we were able to get down to one car.

I drove to Cedar Circle Farm one afternoon and was certainly experiencing pandemic brain – that general sense of discombobulation. After buying a lot of veggies, I went back out to my car, when that helpless, trapped feeling the pandemic brought us came into minute focus as I tried the door handle and noticed my keys and phone on the passenger seat. Damnation! My first thought was to call my husband. But wait! My husband had no car!

Chagrined, I went inside and asked if they could call the police to come unlock my car. They tried, but no one was available. I went back to pacing around my car, muttering some necessary profanity, and a man walked up to me. “I locked my keys in my car,” I said. “Well, you’ll never do that again,” he replied, and walked off. (Hey, mister, you were right – my new car is smarter than I am and won’t LET me lock myself out.)