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:
Quiet are the woods of November, bereft the comfort of birdsong. I strain in the silence but cannot hear, even one buoyant note. Hushed is the whisper of the wind, muted the usual creaking trees. No scolding squirrel, nor snorting deer, not the rustle of critters in the leaf litter. Owls that stay avoid alerting their prey, by flying silently. Even improbable white winter moths flit about out of hearing range. Quiet are the woods of November without my darn hearing aids.
— Linette Wermager, Sharon
Dear Daybreak:
There is a master porch-sitter in White River Junction. When I cross the street carrying my yoga mat on my way to teach yoga on Friday evenings at happy hour—crossing the street from where I parked in one of many open spaces in a lot that I’m perhaps not supposed to park in if I’m not dining at the expensive restaurant where my husband and I ate once, on our own, using a gift certificate from an uncle after our twins were born, but the lot always seems to have plenty of space except perhaps later in the evening on First Friday or other special events, and it’s a short walk to the yoga studio and more reliable parking than counting on a street spot in the other direction—he greets me from his porch. Usually alone, sometimes with a guest, sometimes with music playing, sometimes singing with a guitar.
The greeting is like that from a close friend, someone familiar, with a clear sense of recognition and genuine delight at seeing each other again. I return the greeting, matching his warmth, and maybe we exchange a few chit-chat words about how we’re doing, and how it’s a beautiful evening for porch sitting, as I walk past on the sidewalk. I hope he greets everybody who walks by with the same enthusiasm, and I hope that everybody returns the smile and the opportunity for unexpected connection. It’s too easy sometimes to look down, to avert your eyes, wanting to remain anonymous, because he couldn’t possibly be talking to you, and if he is, he must be out of his mind, right? One Friday, as it got colder, the porch sitter was absent from the porch. But he was back the next week. Now that we are into the dark evenings, will he continue his porch sitting through the winter? Or will I have to wait until the spring to see my dear friend again?
—Aleah Sommers, Norwich
Dear Daybreak:
While on an afternoon walk last month, I glanced over and there on a low branch sat this barred owl. Motionless, his presence startled me at first, causing me to stop dead in my tracks.
For a few seconds we stared at each other, our eyes locking. It felt mystical and uncanny. He continued watching as my dog and I began walking again. I couldn't resist turning around and snapping the picture. On our return, he was gone.
Many summer nights I've listened to the calls: "Who Cooks For Me" Same owl? He wouldn't say.
—Lyn Ujlaky, E. Thetford
We’re going meta here. Back between 2015 and 2018, JAM producer and videographer Barbara Krinitz did a series for what was then CATV called Hidden In Plain Sight: Treasures of the Upper Valley. It was the video equivalent of “Little-Known Gems”… She featured the North Country Chordsmen, the three old homes that are now part of the Powerhouse Mall, WRJ’s Tip Top Building, the Dartmouth Jewish Sound Archive, and more—including a West Leb sugarhouse that’s since disappeared, and the late Brian Boland giving a tour of his Museum of Rusty Dusty Stuff at the Post Mills Airport.
Here’s her video about the Maxfield Parrish Stage Set in Plainfield Town Hall.
https://vimeo.com/showcase/5226218/video/179365686
Here’s Brian Boland: