I was fortunate growing up – my folks were among the first to install a swimming pool. Such fun! All of the teenagers in town were invited, and sometimes there were twenty of us in the water. From Memorial Day to Labor Day, our pool was never empty. We swam every day, and sometimes all day, and most nights with evening and midnight dips; there were also pool parties, and since we were young, these, too, could last all night. Crystal clear, refreshing water steps from our house, however, never prevented any of us, including myself, from frequenting some of our “swimming holes”.

Historically, the most memorable place to swim was Bigelow Pond, popular with local children and the “summer people” who vacationed in what was once a resort community along our village, where trails led to the large reservoir in the valley. Postcards reveal relaxing scenes of fisherman and row boats, but the neighborhood children remember it differently.

Jane Marrotte, who lived her entire life across the street, relayed that “everyone came swimming” in the summer, from morning till evening, and picnicked on the shore. “There was a sand bar out a ways and the big kids taught you how to swim by taking you out and leaving you and making us swim back. We learned to doggie-paddle that way. We weren’t in danger though; they were right there.”

“All the children swam at Bigelow Pond in the summer, but I never saw any of our teachers swim there,” Margaret Easton, who, like Jane, was one of the neighbors of Bigelow Pond, wrote. “But I remember Miss Hughes’ mother would jump in the water, lay on her back, and go all the way around the pond. But she looked like she never moved! Never saw her feet or arms move, but she went all the way around.”

“At one time the pond was owned privately, most of the water area by one person and the banks by others,” Alison Davis wrote in Hampton Remembers.  “In the heat of a neighbor argument one person, just for spite, sold a right-of-way to the State, thus opening up the pond to the public. Before this, Hampton people had been allowed to swim and fish there but now fishermen and boaters came from all over with their beer cans and litter and the one who had sold the land regretted his action.”

Though many falsely blamed the Hurricane of ‘38 for the destruction of the dam, the State was partially responsible for the pond’s eventual demise a few years later. John Holt, First Selectman at the time, recounted: “We woke up early one morning, Dot and I, and were told that the dam had gone out. Of course Hampton wanted to have its pond back and George Ramsey wanted very much to put it back. But the State owned that slit of land wide enough for a cart to go in from the road to the pond and had up a sign “for public use” and Ramsey didn’t want people from all over the state to go in there and mess it up for the people of Hampton. So he told the State ‘If you will take down your sign, I will replace the dam’.  He had gotten quotations — he told me the quotation was $10,000 so it wasn’t a cheap little thing. The State, however, refused to take down the sign and so George said, ‘Under those circumstances I will not restore the dam’, and it never has been restored.”

Though the most popular place for swimming was no longer, there were other spots for the people of Hampton. One of them was the Little River.

“We were very fortunate to own land near Little River, right over the town line in Scotland. My Dad and Uncle Francis and others built a small cabin down there. It was probably a mile down a dirt road from Route 97. The cabin had no electricity or running water. We would go camping down there during the summer. And would have the time of our lives!” Becky Burelle Gagne wrote.  “Little River was just below the cabin. We’d go swimming every day in the river. The water was so refreshing! We’d also use the river to get washed up.”

The Burelles weren’t the only family to swim and wash in the Little River. “Nearly every night in the summer after we finished eating supper, we went down to a secluded spot on our property where there was a deeper spot on the Little River and swam and took our ‘baths’,” Debbie Fuller relayed, adding, “I love that clear, dark, tannin stained water.”

Hilda Moseley recalled swimming in the pooled spot on Hemlock Glen “by the bridge and mill at Silliman’s pond. The mill was there then and had a waterwheel. A great area for youngsters and budding adventures.”

William Pike remembered swimming in the Little River at Tammy and Charlie Grace’s place; and I used to swim in one of the portions that traverses the Fox’s property, past the meadow on Windham Road.

In an interview at the library, Pat Donahue shared that as a child, her responsibility to bring the cows in for milking from a pasture near the Little River provided an excuse to stop for a swim in the water there. Later her children learned to swim in the Little River before they were even in school. Eventually Jack excavated a pond in their yard, and the neighborhood children would spend afternoons there while their mothers sat and socialized. Pat called this her “favorite memory of Hampton – time at the pond.”

The Donahue’s pond is still in use, as is another in the neighborhood, the Wolmer’s. “My dad, Vic Wolmer, had a pond made when I was about three on South Bigelow Road. We learned to swim at the ‘beach’ and then could jump off the dock. There was a rope swing for a while to swing off of,” Diane Wolmer Norris recalled. “Kids in Howard Valley came over to swim in the clear water. There was also the slalom course for the kayaks and canoes. Sometimes we would swim race the course instead!”

“My Dad and Bill, maybe John Trowbridge also, dug our pond. It had a deep-end dock with a diving board and a shallow-end dock for us littles. It had a floating raft in the center. We had to tread water for 15 minutes before we were allowed out to the floating dock. Later on a telephone pole was used to create a swing!” Kristin Hoffman Hembree remembered the pond at Diane Becker’s. “I sometimes swam my horse in that pond and definitely caught some tadpoles and frogs.”

Others remembered swimming at Henri’s, Burdicks, Ostby’s, Tumel’s and Vadnais’s, where the pristine pond formerly used by the nudist colony later became a perfect place for teenagers with its large rock for diving and sandy beach for sunning.   I’m the only one, though, who makes claim to swimming at Pine Acres Pond, circa 1965, only once, and today I look at that deep, black water by the bridge, where people reportedly have witnessed terrifying snakes, and I, myself, am horrified.

One of the loveliest in town is Halbach’s pond. Ruth Halbach writes: The swimming pond we called it. The neighborhood swimming pond. North Brook Road, moms bringing their kids up on a hot summer day, the kids swimming, moms enjoying adult conversation. And nothing like a cool swim to wash the hay seed off after a day in the hot sun pulling in bales. Jumping off the raft in the middle of the pond or being pushed off, all of us on one side as a barrel from under the other side floats out and away. Put it back and do it again. Neighborhood, Fourth of July celebrations, weekends fishing and swimming with families after a week’s work. All just memories now, but the best, finding the coldest spring, on the hottest day and thinking, this is refreshing, this is the way summer should be.

Another beloved pond – Millers on Old Kings Highway, where most of us who were raised here learned to swim. Nancy Miller provided swimming lessons at this pastoral spot in the 1960’s. Last year, the Gazette’s coverage of that barn, currently owned by the Newcombes, included the pond and the recollections of those who learned to swim there, and Nancy, who remembers teaching us.  “I don’t know how many kids learned to swim and hopefully develop a lifelong love for water and swimming because of those fun summer classes. In those days, every little girl wore a bathing cap and of course came to lessons with it on and wearing a swim suit. I remember walking down Main Street in Willimantic and cute little girls with long hair and dresses on would stop me and say “hello”! It was always a puzzle to figure out who it was without a bathing cap!” Nancy wrote.

There were also wonderful places to swim in neighboring towns, like Chaplin.

“We went to England’s Bridge in Chaplin most of the time. My grandparents lived in Chaplin center so we were out that way a lot. The brave kids would jump off the structure in the middle of the bridge. I was not that brave,” Alma Pearl Graham wrote. “We also would go to Halls Pond occasionally.”

Diana’s Pool was another legendary spot. “I used to swim at Diana’s Pool often with friends and family. It was a terrific natural waterhole to have,” Kathy Thompson recalled. Unfortunately, like Bigelow, people from elsewhere, namely college students, started drinking there, soiling the area with broken glass. “However, in its glory it was such a beautiful place to swim as so many remember!”

Some shared memories of Mashamoquit, where there was also hiking, picnicking and camping, and water skiing at Crystal Pond where the Gauthiers had a cottage. And many remembered Alexander’s Lake. “A rare treat,” Piper Linkkila wrote.

“Oh YES…Alexander’s Lake was a favorite place to go for sure,” Kathy recollected. “The water was crystal clear and they had that great water wheel and a place to buy food or cook out. Had to get there early to get those red benches on the beach!”

“Alexander’s also had a huge slide way out in the water and lots of docks for the smaller kids,” Judy Noel relayed. “It is still as clear as it was then.”

Carol Dauphin shared, “Every Sunday my family would rent a couple of picnic tables and my mom’s whole family from Rhode Island would come down and have a blast…”

“…The way summer should be.”

Dayna McDermott

The polls will be open from 6AM to 8PM on August 9 in the Community Room at Town Hall for the Democratic and Republican Primaries. Only enrolled members of either Party will be eligible to participate. Absentee ballots are available during regular Town Hall hours in the Office of the Town Clerk, Tuesdays 9AM – 4PM and Thursdays 10AM to 7PM.

In preparation for the Primary, the Registrars of Voters will hold Special Enrollment sessions on August 4, from 10AM to noon, and from 5 to 7PM, at their Office at Town Hall. August 4 is the deadline for residents to submit Party enrollment applications to be eligible to participate in the Primary.  Mail in-applications of new voters must be post-marked or received by the Registrars of Voters, or a voter registration agency, or the Department of Motor Vehicles by August 4; however, enrollment applications of unaffiliated voters must be received by the Registrars on August 4 in order to participate in the Primary. New and unaffiliated voters may submit enrollment applications in person up until noon on August 8, when the Registrars’ Office will be open from 9AM to noon.

Dayna McDermott-Arriola and Sulema Pagan-Perez

We are welcoming a new naturalist, Amber O’Regan, to help at the Conservation Center for the rest of the season. Make sure to say hello if you see her around Goodwin! Our annual native plant sale is still running with plenty of plants left. If you haven’t yet, make sure to stop by and see what’s on offer. The plant sale is run on an honor system and will be open from sunrise to sunset. The mural on the back of the museum is being updated by Master Naturalist and Professor of Art, Amanda Lebel. Portions of our Orange, Blue/White, and Blue Trails are still closed due to the continued harvesting of dead tree stands. Please hike carefully and check the Friends of Goodwin Forest website for updates on trail closures.  

Monthly Programs

August 5 Nature Journaling for Kids 2 – 3PM

Join mother, artist and Professor of Art Amanda Lebel for this class designed for children ages 5 – 12, to learn to document what we see in the natural word through simple prompts.

August 11 Intro to Nature Journaling: Focus on Birds 5 – 6:30PM

Learn to document your surroundings with Nature Artist and Professor of Art, Amanda Lebel. Feel free to bring your own sketchbook and pencils; drawing supplies will also be supplied at the event.

August 12 Women in the Woods Hike 9 – 11AM

We will explore Goodwin Forest on this hike, taking time to admire the beauty around us and experiencing some quiet time in nature.

August 13 Connecticut Butterflies 10AM – NOON

A 45 minutes presentation from UConn’s Pamm Cooper, followed by a walk in search for nearby caterpillars and butterflies and the plants that are important nectar sources for them.

August 13 Natures Alphabet Series: What’s in the Woods? 1-2:30PM

Children of all ages and their caregivers are invited to join Naturalists Eoin Horning-Kane and Lynn Kochiss for this series of nature walks at Goodwin Forest.

August 18 iNaturalist – Community Science at its Best! 4 – 5PM

Join Goodwin’s new educator, Amber, for a hands-on introduction to the iNaturalist app. You will need a mobile device or a camera and a computer.

August 20 Birding 101 8 – 10AM

Join Naturalist Eoin Homing-Kane for a morning walk in search of Goodwin’s winged wildlife. Journals and binoculars will be provided, but you may bring your own.

August 24 Long Distance Hike 9:30AM – NOON

Join Naturalist, Eoin Horning-Kane and avid hiker June Powell, for a four mile, long-distance hike through Goodwin State Forest.

August 25 Intro to Nature Journaling: Focus on Mammals 5 – 6:30PM

A discussion on Nature Journaling will be followed by a short walk to record our observations through drawing and writing.

August 27 Stargazing with the Connecticut Science Center 8 – 10PM

Staff from the Connecticut Science Center will be joining us with their telescopes to allow us a close-up look at Goodwin’s beautiful nighttime skies.

Registration is required for all listed programs at ctwoodlands.org

The second cutting of knotweed will happen August 6, 2022. Join Conservation Commission  members at Parker Road at 9AM or go out and do the 2nd cut at your own patch. To RSVP for Parker Road., or other questions, contact Marcia from the HCC at kalmia1234@gmail.com.

We Want Your Hammond Hill Memories!

The Conservation Commission is collecting stories, anecdotes, photos and anything you’d like to share about the now Town-owned Hammond Hill property and pond on the south side of Hammond Hill Road bordering the Little River (by the bridge). We understand that many old Hamptonites have lots of great memories of fun they had at that pond and in the field, and we’d love to hear/see/read them all for a collection we’re starting. Email Chair Mark Samios at markrsamios@gmail.com or Secretary Penny Newbury at pennynewbury@gmail.com. Thanks for sharing your stories with us!

The sky was clear, the air cool and filled with the rich scents of spring, the sun slowly making its way to the western horizon. Summer was preparing to make its debut.  It was a perfect day for a horseback ride.  With saddle secure, helmet secure, cell phone secure in its case and strapped to her right calf, the pair began their leisure amble across the open field toward the AirlineTrail.  Idyllic reverie was rising. She was an experienced rider and the horse had a gentle temperament.

It was 5:20pm when the page alarm went off. The message read, “Fall injury, Kenyon Rd/Airline trail.” It remains unclear exactly what happened. It is supposed as the pair neared the tree line adjacent to the Airline Trail something spooked the horse and, as the victim described it, it zigged and she zagged.  As she hit the ground with a hard thump and a crunch the horse made its way back to the barn and, what moments before was a sense of inner peace, rapidly transformed to pain and anxiety.

As the saying goes, “Thank God for small mercies.” She had landed on her left side and although any effort to get up was met with excruciating pain, she was able to reach the cell phone strapped to her right calf and call 911 and a friend. Within minutes a DEP officer as well as one of Hampton’s  volunteer EMTs was on the scene assessing, reassuring and tending to the victim. A cervical collar was put in place to protect or prevent possible further injury. HFC’s service truck hauling the trailer containing the gator arrived at the entrance to the Airline trial soon thereafter. The Gator was unloaded, firefighting equipment in the Gator bed was removed and replaced with the medical/rescue equipment And the Gator headed down the trial to the scene with the Medic and two other volunteers onboard.  KB Ambulance was by now on scene as well.

All essential and possible field care having been provided to the victim, she was carefully loaded and secure to a backboard, together they were loaded and secured in the bed of the Gator and transported to the ambulance staged at the trailhead. The victim was then transported to Windham Hospital where she was examined and treated for a broken upper left arm and multiple contusions. HFC equipment was restored to its original configuration and returned to the Fire House. The time — 6:40pm.

The following is an excerpt from the letter the victim sent to HFC.  Her expression of gratitude was appreciated and we are happy to know she is on the mend:

“ ….Thank you to the members of the Hampton Fire Department who came to my aid on May 25 when I had a horseback riding accident just off the Airline Trail….I broke my upper left arm and bruised just about everything else so I sustained a bit of trauma to say the least.

I don’t know who the handful of guys were, but they showed up on an ATV to assist the EMTs from KB Ambulance. They moved me onto a backboard with as little jostling as possible. I wasn’t able to stand on my own.  They were compassionate, polite and professional and got me to the waiting ambulance and got me off to Windham ER. It’s been four weeks and I am on the mend.  It could have been worse and I am grateful for everyone who helped out that day…please  accept my extreme gratitude for a job  well done , not just that day, but every day.

Sincerely

Donna Tommelleo”

To Donna’s credit, she was prepared and able to summon help when her peaceful outing took an unfortunate turn.  As cautionary advice to all of us who love to go off on our own and enjoy the beauty and peace of nature, having a whistle on your person as well as a cell phone is a useful survival tool. As it was it is easy to find a Donna lying in an open field – someone in the woods, off the beaten path is not such an easy find. A whistle carries further and sharper than a human voice and is not so exhausting to use. It could be the thing that saves your life – especially if there is no or poor cell service.

During the month of June HFC responded to 17 emergency dispatches, held two admin meetings, two training meeting as well as several driver qualification trainings. Its members also helped with the set-up and take down of concert equipment at the Shaboo Stage, in Willimantic. Just over 200-man hours were logged. Meetings and Trainings are held on Wednesday evenings at 7.  Join us.

And the pager sounds.

Fire House Dog

On a beautiful summer Saturday afternoon with low humidity, temperatures in the low 80’s and bright sunny skies, most folks in Hampton are in their yards, at the beach, having BBQ’s and enjoying the summer day. However, Sonja Larsen is where she is most every Saturday afternoon. At Fletcher Memorial Library, volunteering.

Almost a quarter century ago, Sonja Larson’s husband showed her an article in The Gazette noting that the library needed volunteers. Neither of them, at the time, anticipated how Sonja’s love of books, people and organizing, would lead to 24 years of service to Fletcher Memorial Library. The Volunteer Assistant Librarian loves Fletcher Memorial Library, referring to it as “her baby”. Notwithstanding, Sonja’s hours are winding down so she can spend more time with the very person that first brought her to Fletcher, her husband Peik.

Sonja recalls when she first began volunteering, Louise Oliver was librarian, Claire Winters Assistant Librarian and Ruth Halbach volunteered. Sonja fondly remembered that she and Claire would have conversations on their love of books and was a fountain of information on the library. Sonja learned cataloging (done manually in the card catalog at the time) as well as to do any task that was needed, ranging from ordering books, cleaning shelves, and staffing the front desk.

Ordering books is what she calls her most enjoyable yet difficult challenge. Being involved in the library and with its patrons, Sonja says, helps her with this challenge. She humorously recalls when asking a visitor about his tastes and choices of books, and his reply – “Who are you, the FBI?”

Sonja believes a diversity of books is needed to meet the needs of our community. Young people, as well as retired folks, have various likes, and she tries to satisfy them all. Non-fiction selections, she noted, is her most difficult task.

Sonja is most proud of the progress seen at Fletcher over the years. A collaboration of new people with new ideas, creating new programs, as well as the new building expansion, have all contributed to the growth of Fletcher. She also pointed out that librarian Deb Andstrom has contributed to this progress as well.

Although there may be a reduction in Sonja’s hours, volunteering at the library has had a significant and lasting impact. The library is in a very good place, thanks to volunteers like Sonja Larsen.

Beth Regan

Dear Auntie Mac,

The letter in the July Gazette imploring whoever is driving through public gardens to please stop was disturbing. If someone is volunteering to spruce up a space with plants, why ruin it? Elsewhere the destruction of the public gardens in town is largely unintentional – it’s called neglect.  I remember when these spaces first filled with flowers; now so many of them are rampant with weeds. I don’t know who’s responsible, or who could be, but it seems as though other towns manage public gardens.  Ours are incongruous with the pride evident in homeowners, and the natural beauty surrounding us. Why not muster the resources to properly care for these few floral areas?
                                                                                                                                                                               Beautification Advocate

My Dear Neighbor:

Auntie Mac shares your frustration and disbelief at the childish behavior of those who are no longer children and should know better. The temptation to be naughty and destroy things should have been outgrown by about age 7. These miscreants should be put to bed without supper. What is it about a public garden, made for the enjoyment of everyone, that is so much more inviting than, say, a muddy and unused family field, or in the case of the ATV set, an appropriate woodland trail? Indeed, Auntie Mac wonders if those who are so fond of flattening everything in their path could not put their talents to better use and volunteer as a group to develop some trails on the town-owned Pudding Hill property, simultaneously frequented and cursed at by hunters for its lack of adequate walking area.

As to your other point, dear, regarding the upkeep of town gardens, may Auntie Mac offer a bit of history and elucidation? The gardens you remember still exist, established by a volunteer Garden Committee. Most members have sadly moved away or are now no longer able to perform the quite arduous work of digging, planting, mulching, weeding, weeding, and did I mention weeding? The gardens that you now see received donations from the public (Auntie Mac included) to purchase scores of shrubs, perennials and bulbs, and additional plants were donated by the late and dear Mike Chapel from his nursery. What you see now may appear overgrown, but I assure you that they are far from “neglected.” Volunteer gardeners still spare what few hours they can to tend these patches, and I assure you that if this were not the case you would see none of the daffodils, peonies, lilies, iris or other spectacular colors that the previous volunteers’ work produced.

Volunteerism is indeed the cornerstone of a healthy community, and unlike the sixteenth birthday party of Princess Ingrid of Norway, one does not need an engraved invitation—not to mention a Karl Lagerfeld couture ensemble–to participate. I urge you to contact the editors of this publication if you are horticulturally challenged and fear that you will be removing columbine instead of chickweed, to ask when someone will be weeding, and which garden, so you may go and assist. Or, since you seem to be able to so readily identify what should not be there, a solo trip to the area that most vexes you is encouraged, with gloves, trowel, hat, and bucket, and you will become an instant member of the Hampton Garden Committee.

Auntie Mac suggests that everyone interested in maintaining these beautiful and welcoming spaces on a more regular basis send a generous check to the Resources Mustering Department at the Town Hall, earmarked for gardeners’ stipends, tools, or additional plantings. And let us all be willing to let our fellow citizens know how much we value these little oases of community pride, which should be treasured and not trampled, for everyone’s benefit.

Auntie Mac

Gardens, and gardeners, are in their glory in the summer.  Not only are there more flowers, with perennials aplenty blooming simultaneously to create striking contrasts and gentle compliments, there are less tasks than springtime’s clearing and planting and autumn’s cutting and raking. Though we still weed the garden, mow the lawn, and tackle an occasional landscaping project, in the summer, we have time to stop and, literally, smell the roses. And the lavender, the viburnum, and the honeysuckle.

The peonies are our summer’s first favorite, lush bowls of sherbet and cream, ruffles of crimson and rose, pink powder puffs. Irises raising their ballerina arms over their fringed petticoats, the Siberians’ pale to deepest purple petals, like birds in flight, flying over the cascading foliage, the golden flags splayed above sword-like leaves, and the Japanese iris’s deep purple velvet striped yellow. Clouds of diaphanous lavender catmint and chartreuse sprays of lady’s mantle along the garden’s rim with vivid spikes of violet salvia piercing through the effervescent froth. Indigo wands of baptisia and periwinkle racemes of wisteria, meadow rue lifting its tufts of fluffy, mauve flowers and cotton-candy filipendula. And roses — sitting beneath arches of deep crimson and blush pink buds and blossoms and breathing in their heavenly fragrance. Popsicle stalks of lemony false lupine. Lychnis with its bright crimson velvety flowers on velvety silver leaves. Swirls of the sunny yellow challises of evening primroses – is there anything as cheerful?  Magenta cushions of geranium and brushes of astilbes in pale pink and raspberry, crimson and cream, painting gardens later crested with an array of pink phloxes mingling with the lilac sprays of obedient plant. Lilies! Trumpets of peach, copper and apricot, watermelon and lemon, marmalade and caramel, butterscotch, pumpkin and plum, bursting beneath branches of fiery crocosmia.  Bushels of dark gold rudbeckia and echinecea, their purple petals circling their bright orange cones. Beebalm spurting its scarlet pom-poms and veronica nodding its colbalt spires. Deep blue saucers opening from the plump globes of balloon flowers and the six-foot tall stalks of hollyhock, studded with melon-ball buds unfurling to ruffly saucers in vibrant lipstick hues.

The wildflowers of summer are as lovely as our cultivars, and many of us invite many of them into our gardens. The daisies that freckle the meadows and self-sow along walkways in our lawn, the delicate umbrellas of Queen Anne’s lace providing a ceiling of horizontal reprieve above spires of purple liatrus, black-eyed Susans spurting among lilies, blades of gentle ladies’ bells, patches of pale yellow cinquefoil, and mulleins, soft buttery saucers climbing six foot stalks over clumps of velvety, silver foliage. And though we coax many natives into our gardens, transplanting and scattering seeds, there are some wildflowers we leave to the wild, where it’s always a thrill to encounter them, the singular lady’s slippers in the woodlands at the start of the season, and the bright lobelia along the river banks toward summer’s end.

Along with wildflowers there’s wildlife. As the peep frogs’ song dims, the music of the tree toads rises. The first of the butterflies flock to the buddleia, a fountain of violet flowers along silver, willowy leaves, and later emerge from the clusters of milkweed. Salmon coral bells beckon the hummingbirds for evening sips along their circuitous routes. Dragonflies find the flat stones rimming the water garden and thread the surrounding air. Birds entertain us from dawn till dusk, the thrill of sighting a cardinal, a blue bird, or an oriole, a hawk or a falcon, a heron or a crane never lessening, and once the glorious sunflowers turn to seeds, we look forward to visiting with the chickadees.  We watch growing goslings glide in straight lines across the water, and growing turkeys follow their mothers in straight lines across the grass. Though not always welcomed guests in gardens, our rabbits seem satisfied with the clover we allow in the lawn, and though we’ve only seen a few this year, evidence of deer is discovered in a few nibbled phloxes. Squirrels, which usually scurry around in autumn, have spent the summer with us, and foxes have become familiar friends. They come very close to us when we’re on the deck, acknowledging us with equal measures of curiosity and trust, though they become quite territorial in the dark, when our presence causes them to bark emphatically, as though informing us that the nighttime turf is theirs, not ours.

Beyond our gardens there are other seasonal delights – the first night with the windows open, the first evening stroll without a sweater, the first barefoot morning across the dewy grass, the first firefly, the first shooting star. The rivers eventually slow enough to cross, the ponds warm enough for swimming. The unfurling of the leaves suddenly creates the dark corridors of country roads that allow only dappled sunlight. In our lawns, we seek pools of cool air within the scalloped shadows of saturated leaves. In the forest, it’s the slivers of green light through the needled canopies we search for, their warm currents of air.

Summer means: inching toward the solstice, to the long languid hours of hammocks with books, of contemplating cloud pictures, of fishing. Fireworks and thunderstorms, campfires and s’mores, country fairs, the shore. Strawberry patches, blueberry bushes, raspberry canes. Farmer’s markets and our own vegetable gardens, harvested for supper on the picnic table, full of cut cucumbers and crocks of fresh pickles, bowls of steamed string beans, stacks of corn on the cob, sliced tomatoes, zucchini fritters. Fields filled with veils of Queen Anne’s Lace, the scent of freshly mown hay, the buzz of bees, locusts’ electrifying alarms, crickets’ cheerful chirps, and at night, the music of the insects lulling us to sleep.

My favorite event this summer was when I noticed the season’s first fireflies starting to sprinkle the darkness. I told our grandson I had a surprise for him, and in a departure from the routine, which is another summertime custom, we ventured into the night together. He ran around the yard — the trees, the shrubs, the gardens – barefoot in the dark for a half of an hour, his arms flung to the sky, chasing them. And when he tired, we sat together on the lawn and watched the “Strawberry Moon” rise over the horizon.  Simple pleasures — the rising moon, shooting stars, fireflies –yes – we’re very lucky, but you don’t need a four-year-old to return to them.

In the United States, there are over fourteen Military holidays and observances. The most familiar is Memorial Day. As a young boy, I would often ponder the meaning of this yearly celebration. For as long as I can remember, Memorial Day has been a day of grand parades, lavish fanfare, and long lines of veterans marching through the streets of my hometown. I remember some Memorial days when the Governor would join the procession, escorted by his foot guard. The happy faces of Boy Scouts, Girl Scouts, and Little League players were all dressed in their very best uniforms. It was also the unofficial kick-off to the summer season, as families celebrated across the country with picnics and get-togethers.

As years passed and I left my home for war far away in South-East Asia, it finally occurred to me that Memorial Day was simply a number. We gather on this day to honor the 1.3 million American lives sacrificed from 1775 to this very day. Today that number is close to 1.3 million. In the backdrop of those many lives lost are the 1.3 million families that lost a family unit member. Each loss affects parents, grandparents, siblings, wives, sons, and daughters—one empty chair at the dining room table for 1.3 million American Families. Each life that is lost affects Americans for generations. 1.3 million is roughly the population of New Hampshire or the combined population of Vermont and Wyoming.

The silence jumps out if you walk through row after row of the white marble gravestones in Arlington National Cemetery. The silence gives a deeper meaning to the phrase “final resting place.” Beyond the monuments, apart from the American flag draped over the coffin and the honor guard firing a volley in salute, the real honor is always felt deep within the heart. You cannot walk the rows of marble tombstones in Arlington without feeling a sense of respect and honor. This is the true and only meaning of Memorial Day in the United States.

When you delve deeper into the facts of a conflict, you come away with an entirely new perspective. The total number of deaths from any war or conflict often has a deeper meaning that most of us never realize. For example, during our civil war, roughly 750,000 died. However, it is estimated that close to two-thirds of civil war deaths were due to sickness and disease, not combat. During World War II, our country lost 405,399 men and women, with roughly one-third dying from reasons other than combat.

In Vietnam, the total American loss was 58,220 souls, with 10,786 dying from reasons other than combat. Deaths from natural causes and accidents are included in the final number. Then additional facts go unnoticed for generations. Vietnam was a prime example of a history lost. While officially, there were over 58,000 deaths, it is estimated that 300,000 men and women from the Vietnam Conflict died prematurely from exposure to Agent Orange after they came home. They did not receive a Purple Heart for their sacrifice, nor were their families recognized as a Gold Star Family. I knew two soldiers who died an early death due to Agent Orange. I, myself, have a disability from exposure. It takes looking deep into the war statistics to understand what happened entirely.

Since 1775, our country has participated in over 80 wars, conflicts, and actions. This has resulted in over a million deaths of American servicemen and women. A new set of parameters enters the history books with each further involvement. Learning the truth of the past is the doorway to understanding the future possibilities. Here is a better frame of reference you can use when trying to understand the war of my generation: Vietnam.

I landed at Tan Son Nhut airfield in Vietnam in April of 1968. I was 18 years old. I was assigned to the 1st Infantry Division in Lai Khe, a base camp within the old French Michelin rubber plantation. I spent the next year repairing tanks and tracked vehicles, both on basecamps and out in the jungle. In October of that same year, I worked on a fire support base when a Red Cross worker told me that my son had been born a few days earlier in Milford, Connecticut. My view of the war was based on what I experienced.

The Vietnam conflict was one of those moments in history where the news media’s coverage was not as accurate as possible. My father’s generation had based its combat perspective on World War II. When those soldiers returned home, there were grand parades, G.I. benefits, and handshakes galore for a job well done. The returning Vietnam Veterans’ experience was quite different. It was a time of great confusion and division across our country. There were no parades. The G.I. benefits were considerably less than those during World War II, and there was no sense of “a job well done.”

Most Vietnam Vets returned quietly to their hometowns by train, bus, or plane. There may have been the occasional “Welcome Home” sign on the front of the house, but that was it. It soon became apparent that discussing the war was not something friends and family wanted to do. Our country was divided, and our families and friends were unsure how to react to the returning veteran. Indifference was the veterans’ measuring stick. Some returning veterans were even booed and spat upon.

An accurate perspective on the Vietnam conflict should include that 75% of those stationed in-country had volunteered to be there. Only 15 to 20 percent of the service personnel spent their time in actual combat situations fighting in the jungle. There might be as many as eight other men and women supporting their efforts behind the lines for each combat soldier out in the field. They supplied ammunition, food, medical support, transportation, equipment repair, administrative support, graves registration, and support services for base camps for each combat soldier. Everyone in Vietnam was subject to rocket attacks, land mines, and ambushes along the many dirt roads connecting the base camps. No one was safe in Vietnam.

The most common military personnel in Vietnam were mechanics. The second largest group was science, engineering, and information technology specialists.

The materials and manpower brought to bear in Vietnam were enormous. In total, 2.7 million men and women served during the ten long years of the Vietnam conflict. There were over 200 base camps in Vietnam, and most had an airfield. The Long Binh supply depot near Saigon had 3,500 buildings alone. In contrast, when the allies landed on D-Day, there were a little over 160,000 troops landing in Normandy. The year I was in Vietnam, over 500,000 servicemen and women with boots on the ground.

All wars are different, and most usher in a new paradigm of machines used to kill the enemy. The only true constant in combat is the many deaths of those who serve their country. Today we honor 1.3 million individuals who lost their lives for our nation.

Jamie Boss

Thumbs Up to all who contributed to our town’s commemoration of Memorial Day: the committee who organized all of the events; the parade participants; those who participated in the ceremony – the speakers, the musicians – and in the Little River naval ceremony; the Historical Society for the Open House and the Recreation Commission for the concert; We-Lik-It for providing the ice cream, the Congregational Church for offering a free breakfast, and the members of the Gazette, and friends, who prepared the annual barbecue; and  last but not least, to the glorious weather that enabled us to celebrate, at long last, our town and one another’s company