Garden structures always enhance the landscape. Even the smallest of lawns benefits from an informal pergola, trellises or arbors bridging one area to another. Ramadas and gazebos serve as garden rooms for larger yards, architectural colonnades or arcades entwined with greenery as corridors for estates. Only an expansive property can host a pavilion. Hampton’s campus is one of them.
Though the Town hasn’t yet held the dedication, Hampton’s pavilion is meant to honor the memory of Michael Chapel, a lifelong resident with long familial roots, town businessman, and a selectman of several years. The pavilion was built shortly after his untimely death in 2018. The town purchased the materials, members of our Mennonite community, who attribute Michael in large part for their decision to settle here, supplied the labor — construction, electricity, paving – with Mahlon Stoltzfus serving as Clerk of the Works, and Michael’s landscaping partner, Dave Johnson, was responsible for the plantings, a collection of lilies and grasses, tassled now, on a scree of river rocks. Michael would approve.
Along with his fellow Selectmen, Michael thought a pavilion on the lawn between Town Hall and the Community Center would be a welcoming opportunity for community gatherings and staged events. They weren’t wrong. The pavilion houses the Fall Festival, the Memorial Day Concert, and the Halloween Fortune Telling Witch, shelters the carolers for the Christmas Tree Lighting and provides seating for Flock Theater’s summer performances. During the pandemic, meetings, even the Annual Town Meeting, were held there, when several boards, commissions, committees, agencies and organizations, such as the Scouts and the Seniors, met there, and realizing how lovely the space, and often the weather, continue to use it. It’s also available for private parties, most recently ours.
The pavilion is situated on the Town Hall campus, between two of our most venerable institutions. The Community Center, which was once the Little River Grange, where my grandmother went weekly for “whist”, and where we still use the stage for community performances, the kitchen to cook community meals. And the Town Hall, which once was the Consolidated School. My office is in a portion of what was Mrs. Lundin’s English class. We vote in the room that was sixth grade. It’s wonderful to have children learning there once again, especially wonderful to watch them play the way we used to – wholesome play, hide-and-go-seek and tag, baseball in the spring and fall, and in the winter, making the most of those magnificent hills. Its distinction as a “campus” is due to the pavilion. Prior to that, we just called it a field.
In every season, we admire the panoramic view. On this afternoon, the pavilion rests within a crescent of maple trees, still mostly saturated with summer’s greens, only starting to ignite, a gold flame here, an orange one there, a couple of oaks bronzing at their edges. Soon the entirety will burst in a fiery explosion of color, and then the branches will become brooms sweeping the sky, too thick to reveal the valley beyond. I’ve witnessed the sun seep through those trees on election mornings, dawning on a new and determinative day, and our family frequently walks there evenings to sit beneath the ceiling, warmly lit, and watch the moon rise over the horizon. The rest of the circle, where there were once majestic elms, is reserved for special trees dedicated to people who have made a difference in our town, a dogwood, a crab apple, resplendent in spring, a sugar maple in fall, the evergreen we decorate at Christmastime with multi-colored lights, my Uncle Bob’s cooper beach — the plaque reads: Citizen Teacher, Friend. Indeed.
On this October afternoon, the view within the pavilion is one of neighbors, friends and relatives. They’ve gathered here to celebrate our grandson’s adoption. Over one hundred of them, and almost as many children. A diverse group, several guests observe. And it is. They range in age from xx weeks to 9x years old and represent various cultures, members of our Mennonite community, families and staff from the elementary school, the “good” DCF professionals, life-long friends and others we only just met along this journey. There are others here in spirit. My cousin Michael, my parents – it’s the bittersweet anniversary of our marriage and the death of my father, our grandson’s namesake, a perfect tribute to both. And, of course, Felix’s mother, our daughter Jill — she’s here with us, too.
What everyone has in common is their tremendous support for our family through these last two years. These friends and neighbors, relatives and professionals, were always there for us, giving of themselves in every conceivable way – with their compassion, their time, their expertise, their validation, yes, even their outrage, most importantly their love of this little boy, and most especially, their prayers. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and never has this been more true than with little Felix who, frighteningly powerless through two years of reckless and imposed trauma, was, with a little help from his friends, finally able to take control of his future and become the hero of his own story.
The party was supposed to show our appreciation for everyone, but they brought their generosity right along with them, gifts of games and toys, books with memorable messages, cards with memorable words. Sarah Beaudoin serenaded us on her guitar with songs she wrote, Charity Stolfus came with one of her exquisite bouquets, Rosetta Fisher baked the celebratory cake, Elaine and Vernon King brought fresh apple cider, Peter Witkowski and Diane Gagnon – wasn’t it so good to see her around again! – supplied invaluable cooking-for-a-crowd advice, and Kathy and Steve Donahue arrived early to set everything up and stayed late to put everything away — friends who have been there from, literally, the start. And in return, acknowledging that we can never thank them all enough, we made food for everyone – all of Jill’s favorites – enchiladas, pico, guacamole, pernil, arroz –apparently everyone else’s favorites, too.
In the end, I don’t think the host ate anything. He was too busy playing with his friends. People would arrive a little late and say – where’s Felix? And we would say — we don’t know. He’s running around with the kids. And they would all say — that’s as it should be.
All’s as it should be.
Dayna McDermott