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.

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Dear Daybreak:

The Last Snowman

There was no puddle, only a dark shadow behind the compact torso, still gleaming white in the weak sunlight. One stone eye peered skyward.

Twig arms akimbo a carrot nose uneaten and two yellow pepper slivered crescents once a smile scattered over leaves.

My grandson found it, hefted its football size for one last hug, and with the Herculean strength of his almost five years, drove the icy mass to the ground and stomped.

— Ros Seidel, Cornish

Dear Daybreak:

When I moved to the Upper Valley last fall, one of the treasures I discovered was the Dartmouth Library system. I couldn’t believe that all the cozy nooks and crannies were open to the public. I’m a writer and started working at the library a few times a week. One day during the break at the end of March, I was in the middle of a chapter, feeling quite inspired. But hunger made me stop, only to realize I had forgotten my usual snacks and that all the food options were closed that week. Desperate to find something to hold me over until I could finish the chapter, I went downstairs to the vending machines. They were all empty except for one with beverages. I stared at the drinks, hoping food would magically appear. Finally settled on a Frappuccino, reasoning that the milk and sugar might fill me up.

I deposited my money, waited. . .the bottle fell into the little space with the plastic door you open to retrieve your purchase. But when I tried to grab my drink, the door wouldn’t budge. That’s when I noticed that under it was a plastic container of Gatorade someone had left. And that’s when I realized it had been left because the door wouldn’t open. Practically weak with hunger, I did what one usually does in this sort of situation. I started kicking the machine. Nothing moved. At that point two students joined me in front of the machine. One of them said in a matter-of-fact voice, “Oh, yeah, that machine was broken for a month last winter.” They watched as I kept trying to pull open the plastic door.

Then a young custodian walked by pushing a big cart filled with various cleaning supplies and wearing a Dartmouth T-shirt and a durag. I wasn’t sure if he was on work-study or not. I asked if he might have some sort of tool that could possibly pry open the door. He didn’t think so, but not being able to resist a challenge, began pulling on the door with brute strength. He did manage to open it a few inches but not far enough to reach the Frappuccino. Like me, he kept trying anyway. The two students hung around watching to see what would happen.

I remembered I had a tiny Swiss Army knife in my bag. I handed it to the custodian, suggesting maybe he could use it to puncture the Gatorade bottle, drain rteh liquid, and release my Frappuccino. He tried but it was a no go. The students wandered away, somewhat reluctantly, but just then I spotted a middle-aged guy in a plaid shirt and baseball cap (no Dartmouth logo) about to walk out of the building. I sort of shouted at him, asking if he might help. He started laughing when he saw the problem. But then he pulled out a big tool, like a giant Swiss Army knife, stuck a blade into the Gatorade, and it all came pouring out. The three of us cheered but our triumph was short-lived. My bottle was still stuck, wedged tightly on a piece of the drop-down thingamajig.

Like civil engineers, my two helpers studied the situation. They decided one of them would pull the plastic door open as far as possible while the other tried to jimmy the bottle out. Next thing I knew I was holding my Frappuccino instead of my breath. Jumping up and down with glee, I told them they were my heroes and gave them both a hug. As I ran away to finish my chapter, I said, “If I ever get this book published, you’ll be in the acknowledgements!”

Sadly, I forgot to get their names.

— Robin Dellabough, Norwich

Dear Daybreak:

I heard the frog this evening calling out for a mate, Just loud enough, as he knows, To be heard over the rushing waters of the Ompompanoosuc, And wanting nothing more than for that of which he is a part to continue.