My world view was so established and impacted by growing up in the wonderful small farm town of Hampton. It was an amazing microcosm of the greater world with many nationalities, beliefs, and traditions. Within that microcosm, I learned to love and appreciate so many different things. The simplicity of the front porch at the general store was a classroom where we were taught by older generations, usually in their 60’s to 80’s. The lessons were mostly about respect for our country, our town and others, and a lot of good-natured kidding. It was such a natural and safe setting for these discussions. While sipping a soda or eating an ice cream, we listened with interest to the stories relayed to us. These men, some lifelong residents, and others, first-generation immigrants, offered us rarely combined perspectives on life that were always respectful and honoring.

I realize that the difference now versus back then was that in all those discussions there was always a sense of unity of purpose and vision for our country. These front porch mentors were those who had endured the war to end all wars (WWI), a cataclysmic destruction of the historical booming economy of the 1920s, and a second world war in less than one generation. Many of these men had been born in the 1800s and were children in the aftermath of the not so distant Civil War that their fathers fought in.

These men and their spouses were those that raised our parents born after WWI and had their childhoods molded by the intense poverty and lack of the great depression and met WWII head-on while still in high school. Interesting that our parents are those that are identified by being the “greatest generation”. These two generations were the very foundational fabric of the town of Hampton in our youth in the ’50s, 60’s and ’70s. Honestly, there was nothing in the wonderful, protected lifestyle of our youth that could give us any understanding of what the two previous generations experienced and the price they paid for us to enjoy our Hampton childhood.

So, as we celebrate Veterans Day let’s honor the men and women who paid for the liberties and the freedoms we enjoy and remember that they fought for us to be able to make room for different beliefs, both spiritually and politically. Remember too, that the right-wing and the left-wing are both a part of the same bird.

John Osborn

A resident’s response to Black Lives Matter signs was mentioned on NPR recently. The segment was titled “Racism in the Small Towns and Suburbs of Connecticut”. Hampton’s example was used as an epitome. We’ve been known for our artists, authors, a governor, an abolitionist. This is not the fame we usually call upon ourselves. Yet here we are.

America was a very different nation when I was born. Racism was clearly evident and blatantly practiced. Our annual voyages following crops through the country informed me — we would never be equal. Our bathroom wasn’t the clean one inside the restaurant. Ours had no sink, no soap, no mirror, no toilet paper. It was out back, with a partial wooden picket fence, a cement block on the ground, and if the stench didn’t make you gag, the sight of all that biodegradable material around the hole in the center would do the trick. A simple quenching of thirst was another humiliation. The “Whites Only Sign” at the water fountain meant it wasn’t for us. Ours was a faucet that sometimes worked, sometimes trickled, and sometimes smelled of urine.  We learned to haul water, and drank from a shared, cool drum of water.  Racism was so deeply instilled in my community that even in death we weren’t equal. Our local cemetery was half for whites, the other half split between blacks, and us. Change has finally come to this sacred soil, though it had nothing to do with equality. Instead it was a need for the white cemetery to expand because there were less people buried on our half than theirs.

I grew up in a barrio where everybody was brown and everybody was poor. Of course, at that time in my life I didn’t know we were segregated, and poverty was just another commonality. Everyone knew you and your family, and there was great comfort in that. We weren’t aware that there were other sections of town. None of us lived there or knew anyone who did. We weren’t aware that there was such a thing as “trick-or-treat” two blocks from us. I remember the first time someone mentioned it.  What do you mean they just give you free candy?!?

As I grew up I learned to avoid white neighborhoods at night or at dusk. The KKK cut three of my uncle’s fingers off for that infraction. And if you saw a police car, you ran into an alley, or jumped into juniper bushes, stayed still and hoped they hadn’t seen you duck. You learned which restaurants in town would serve you, which ones would ask you to leave, or ignore you until you did. And you learned the reason you weren’t welcome. I remember being referred to as “wetbacks” or “spics”, “drunkin, lazy injuns.”

My parents endured these indignities and American apartheid during their lives. They stayed in the shadows. Mostly silent. Their encounters with white authorities kept to a minimum. I understood why they chose the shadows and the silence. But I couldn’t see myself living my whole life as a second class citizen. I didn’t want to grovel for scraps when I could sit at the table and have what everyone else was eating. I wanted my piece of the American dream. I once told a superintendent — you walk through the gate while I had to take walls down, one brick at a time. It’s a slow, tedious process, and often frustrating, but you can never give up. Plan A and B are good, but we had alternate plans through Z, always using what we learned along the way.  A lot of good friends got lost in the process. I was one of the lucky ones. I made it out.

I soon discovered though that racism wasn’t only in our little town. Once while in college, I went with friends to visit LBJ’s birthplace on the Pedernales. We stopped at a local bar for directions. All conversation stopped, and when all the men stood up in unison, it was our signal. A mad dash to our car and a rocket take off gave us enough of a lead on the trucks that chased us. And racism wasn’t just in our state. When I was in the Navy, after flying into Norfolk, I wanted to drink a beer and relax before reporting to the fleet. Conversation abruptly stopped, the bar tender breaking the silence – “Boy – what are you doing here? We don’t serve your kind.” Not too subtle a hint.

Racism wasn’t only in the south though, and it wasn’t only then. Shortly after the 2016 election, I reconnected on Facebook with a friend I grew up with –we shared more adventures than I could ever forget. After accepting his “friend” request, I discovered that his page was filled with some of the most racists statements I’ve ever read — against Mexicans! What?!? I sent him a private message asking – what happened? He never responded, other than to “unfriend” me. At our July 4^th barbecue this summer, an old friend who spent every holiday meal with us for over twenty years advocated for the employment of local militia during a discussion on the nation’s racial divide. This upset the rest of us, and he excused himself and went home. When I called to remind him of our Labor Day barbecue, he informed me that he found our Black Lives Matter sign offensive, and told us never to call him again. He could have asked – others have. I would have told him. That I’ve been subjected to more encounters with the police than I could ever count. It’s upsetting to think that after over a hundred meals at our table, he never knew who I was.

I’ve seen America from the eyes of a native person, the experiences of a Mexican. I’ve stuffed a lot of what I’ve witnessed into dark corners. I’ve worked hard at not retrieving those moments, yet they are revisited. Racism is here. It’s here and it’s now. And this is the moment to denounce it. We can, as a country, cowardly retreat from the ideal of equality.  We can create division, suspicion and fear, or we can imagine what it’s like to walk around in the shoes of the “other”. We can empathize. Ultimately, we’re all only human beings. Let’s prove it.

Juan Arriola

In Hampton, the surname Pearl is almost synonymous with the word “contribution”. Their roots here are among the first. As one of a few “founding families”, Timothy Pearl, who is buried in the North Cemetery, settled on the 100 acres he purchased on “Appaguage Hill” sometime between 1712 and 1716.

Timothy’s grandchild, the Honorable Philip Pearl Jr., was a prominent man in the public affairs of the town, county and state, serving as a Deputy Sheriff, Justice of the Peace, Captain of the Town’s Company of Grenadiers, and representing Hampton in the General Assembly. As a State Senator, he played a crucial part in one of the state’s most historic events. During his tenure, his daughter, Hannah Pearl, boarded at a reputable school in Canterbury, until it became “Miss Crandall’s School for Young Ladies & Little Misses of Color”. Senator Pearl was instrumental in the crafting and passage of the infamous Black Law in 1833 which sought to arrest Miss Crandall and close her school. Three years and presumably several conversations later, one of his neighbors, Theodore Weld, a preeminent abolitionist, successfully convinced Philip of the unjustness of the law, and in 1838, Senator Pearl, who proclaimed, “I could weep tears of blood for the part I took in that matter–I now regard that law as utterly abominable,” was successful in its repeal. A vice-president of the Connecticut Antislavery Society, he also served a critical role in the Amistad incident of 1839 and became active in the Underground Railroad.

The marriage of Timothy’s great-grandson John Porter to Maria Jennings in 1847, linked the Pearls with another early Hampton family — the Jewetts. Maria’s father, Ebenezer Jewett II, built the Bell schoolhouse and her mother, Abigail Hammond, was sister to Sarah Hammond Mosley of the famed ‘House the Women Built.’ The Hampton Pearls descend from John and Maria’s third child – Austin Eugene Pearl. Born in 1851 in Hampton, Austin served as postmaster in Hampton from 1913 to 1921 and as a representative in the General Assembly from 1901 to 1902. He also served as Chairman of the Democratic Town Committee and as a Selectman for many years. Along with his son, Arthur Eugene, Austin built many structures in Hampton, including the Little River Grange. Arthur, who served as Master of the Grange for 30 years, was not the only one of Austin and Mary’s children to contribute greatly to the town.

While Eva was a teacher in the one room school house on North Bigelow, several of her siblings worked in the Hampton Post Office. William, who also served as Master of the Grange, was a mail carrier here for 40 years, Reuben, who was a charter member of the Fire Department, worked in the post office for 44 years, Mary (Emmons) who worked as a clerk in the post office, and Evelyn (Estabrooks), active in the Grange and the Congregational Church, was Post Mistress for 28 of the 35 years she worked in the post office. Notably, she gained the attention of the Postmaster General, who responded to a poem she penned complaining of the lack of equipment in Hampton’s Post Office with the requested materials.

The next generation continued to contribute. Idamay (Richmond) — girl scout leader, and member of the PTA, the Seniors, and the Ladies Aid, Dorothy (Overbaugh) — member of the Historical Society, Eleanor (Moon) — member of the Grange and the organist for the Congregational Church for over 50 years, William Pearl — a Master of the Little River, Quinebaug Pomona, and State of Connecticut Grange, Pearl Scarpino — member of the Grange and the Gazette’s most prolific writer, and Peggy Hoffman — member of the Grange for 50 years who also served on the Library Board and in many capacities in the Congregational Church.

Perhaps none of the members of this, “the greatest generation”, contributed to the community as much as Arthur Pearl, the son of Arthur Eugene, who lived in town for all of his 81 years and who is depicted here raking the leaves in front of his barn. There are two barns on the property, an upper barn and a lower barn. The one pictured in the pen and ink artistry of neighbor Andy Jones resembles many of the town’s small barns.  According to Arthur’s daughter, Dale Demontigny, the upper barn was built by her grandfather and used for his woodworking and to store the family car. “My dad built the lower barn,” she said. “We used it for cows and had a chicken coop next to it. We also raised a couple of pigs in the back field. I remember dad haying Grant’s back field and storing loose hay in the upper loft. We would ride the hay pile to the house and then dad would load it with a big hay hook.” Current owner, Emily Schmidt, describes this barn as “a patchwork quilt of materials”, a testament to Arthur’s Yankee ingenuity and frugality. “It’s still structurally sound,” Emily says, a characteristic of everything Arthur constructed. He built things to last.

“Several houses on Main Street were owned, occupied, built or maintained by my grandfather and his family, then later by my father. I remember growing up in our home built by my grandfather. When dad returned from the war he and mom finished the upstairs to make it a place for us,” Dale relayed.

“Family” is what Arthur’s daughter Alma Graham remembers most about being raised here. “I grew up in the same house with my grandparents Arthur and Estella Pearl. This house on Hampton Hill was built by my Grandfather in 1925, then turned over to my dad when he married my mom.  They converted it into a two family home and we lived on the upper floor with my Grandparents downstairs.  We hosted many Pearl/Jewett Family Reunions over the years at this house.”

Father and son were responsible for building many edifices in town. “They helped build the post office, firehouse and grange buildings as well as maintain most of the Main Street houses and other houses in town,” Dale said. “One day John Berard showed up at my house with a piece of under layment from Mrs. Grant’s roof that had my grandfather’s signature on it. Rob Miller contacted me one day as he discovered my grandfather’s signature on a chimney when he was renovating the old Burdick house.”

Like all of the other Pearls, Arthur and his family were very involved in the Little River Grange. “My parents as well as grandparents were all active in the Grange,” says Alma. “My mom organized many fundraisers and dinners which we all helped with. Many people remember the annual chicken barbecue that Little River Grange put on each Memorial Day.  My dad cooked the chicken and my mom coordinated the cooking of the rest of the dinner. Of course we all helped with getting the dinner ready and serving it.”

Says Dale, “I have fond memories of helping them for some of their 40 years of chicken barbeques.”

Arthur was also responsible for maintaining the guns used in the Memorial Day Parades, cleaning them before and after their use. The family also kept the flag that was placed by the Veterans Memorial on the village green.  Alma would take the flag and place it on the flag pole in the morning while waiting for the school bus, and in the afternoon, she would lower the flag, fold it properly, and bring it home. The family also helped place flags on the graves of veterans for Memorial Day. And, of course, everyone participated in the parade.

Arthur was also involved with the Leslie Jewett American Legion Post, the Ambulance Corps, and the Fire Company.  The contributions of his wife, Helen, were also legendary. She volunteered in many organizations, including the Ladies Aid of the Church and the Ladies Auxiliary of the Fire Company. “She was in charge of the Congregational Church/Little River Grange Holiday Bazaar for years,” Alma remembers. “She would spend all year making items for the bazaar.”

“Mom used to sew many stuffed animals, pot holders, aprons, and ornaments that she sold for the church,” Dale adds. “People would return yearly for the pot holders.”

From serving community dinners to punching at whist parties, the Pearl children volunteered in the community as well. Alma recalls her involvement with the Little River Juvenile Grange, the Girl Scouts, Junior Choir, and the local 4-H clubs, the Cookettes and the Sewettes. And Dale, who lives in town, continues to contribute in many ways, serving as an emergency responder for years.

Dale and her family are among the Pearls who still figure prominently into the fabric of our community. And Alma, like many members of the Pearl family who no longer live here, still feels like a part of the town. “You can leave Hampton,” she says, “but it never leaves you.”

Remembering Marion Emmons 1927 – 2020

Marion Emmons went to her eternal rest on September 13, 2020 at her home in Sterling surrounded by her family. Her husband, Austin, who she married in 1947 and who predeceased her in 1995, was the son of Mary Amelda Pearl, Arthur Eugene’s sister. A member of our Congregational Church and the Little River Grange, Marion combined two of her loves – family and genealogy – to serve as the Pearl/Jewett family historian for many years. She contributed to many genealogical societies and libraries, tracing the lineage of several families, including her own. “Descendants of Ebenezer Jewett II and Nancy Maria Jennings Jewett” was published in 1971. Dorothy Overbaugh Vander Muellen, whose histories are relied upon here, credits Marion’s early work with the subsequent books that have been published about the Pearl/Jewett families. Marion was one of many of those members of the family who were always a part of Hampton, always keeping up with Hampton’s news. Survived by her daughter, Susan Gray, several grandchildren and great-grandchildren, and numerous nieces and nephews, Marion will be buried in our North Cemetery, along with her husband, and the many members of the Pearl/Jewett family.

Thank you to the members of the Pearl family who have provided information for all three of the remaining Pearl barns in Hampton, especially Neal Moon who loaned me the essential genealogy materials, trusting me with these family “treasures”, patiently waiting their return.

As with all facets of our society, Covid 19 caused financial constraints for the Gazette this year. The response to our plea for help was also unprecedented.  Your generosity permitted us to publish the newspaper and apprise residents of what was happening in town. We are taking this opportunity to thank all of you, and to recognize your contribution. In spite of all of its challenges, generosity, in many forms, was also a hallmark of this year. We would also like to acknowledge those who advertised their goods and services in the Gazette – it is a privilege to promote your enterprises on our pages. Lastly, we thank all who contributed news of the town, and of our neighbors, to keep us connected in these isolating times.

PLATINUM

Juan & Dayna Arriola

Robert Gilroy

Michael & Laura McCabe

Linda & Patrick Navin

Glen & Kathi Newcombe

Marjorie Romano

Clayton Salisbury

Gay Wagner

Peter Witkowski

GOLD

R. H. Dupuis

Samuel & Rosetta Fisher

Gordon & Angelika Hansen

Marycarol & Francis Horstmann

Andrea Kaye & Bruce Spaman

Linda Long-Burten & Roger Burten

Janet Robertson

John T. Russell – To All Veterans

SILVER

Morris Burr Jr. and III

Jean & Edward Casoni

Benjamin & Jane Cornell

Mary Drader

Marion Emmons & Susan Gray

Paul & Deborah Fitzgerald

David & Susan Fowler

Alan & Joan Freeman

Donald Geer & Cynthia Locke

Linda & John Gorman

Roger Herriman

William Hoffman & Amanda Robinson

Sonja & Peik Larsen

Eleanor & Peter Linkkila

Andrea Quintana

Linda Schoenfeld

Timothy Shustock

Karen Sonnabend

Shirley & Edward Sullivan

Kathleen Thompson

Donna M. Tommelleo

Brian Tracy

Marjorie Trowbridge

Leslie Laub White

FRIENDS

William L. Archer Sr.

Albert Ameer

Anita & Michael Barnard

Deborah Barton

Richard Bass & Malinda Fields

William & Diane Becker

Lula Blocton & Shirley Bernstein

Stewart Chute

Paul Cichon

Paul & Carol Crawford

Josephine Dauphin & Carol Kilburn

Regina Decesare

Bethany Desjardin

Chris & Candace Englert

Angela Fichter

Lucretia Flammang & Scott Deshong

Shirley Freeman

Richard Gagne

Thomas Gaines

David Goodrich

David & Ruth Halbach

Mary Halloran

Fiona & Gordon Hamersley

Brian & Karen Haraghey

Harold & Margaret Haraghey

Robert & Debra Inman

Patricia Jones & Robert Dibble

James & Carol Kilburn

Nicolette Letourneau

Lisa McGuire

Michelle & Martin Mlyniec

Neal & Susan Moon

Penny Newbury

Barbara Petroske & Robert Yungk

Miguel & Patricia Reyes

Louise Russell

Mark & Jessica Samios

Cynthia & Doyle Tobin

Jerrold & Janice Trecker

Bertrand Vaillancourt

Pete Vertefeuille

Teresa & Dale Warner

Linda Wenner

In case I didn’t already know, I got a lesson on Thanksgiving Day on the curse of computerized appliances.  It was the first time that I roasted a turkey in the stove I bought when I moved here in 2016. I always cook a turkey by the Adelle Davis cookbook, and she favors the slow roasting method.  I have had a reverse shoulder replacement, so I needed an assistant to heave the turkey in the sink and wash it out, then put it on the roasting pan and shove it in the oven. This was done at 8PM. The oven was turned on to 300 degrees while the washing took place, and as soon as the temperature registered 300, my helper and guest for the dinner put the turkey in the oven. You do NOT put any stuffing in the turkey. You make stuffing on top of the stove so that the 300 degree temperature will kill all surface germs, both inside the cavity and on the exterior. After one hour, you turn the temperature back to 200 degrees, and leave it there for hours. You go to bed, and the house smells like turkey, and when you get up in the morning, the house smells like turkey. Yum! It makes Thanksgiving last for more than just the meal but for a day more!

Adelle’s slow roasting method takes approximately three times that of moderate temperature roasting. You look at her chart for various kinds of meat roasted at 300 degrees to figure how long it would take to cook a roast of that meat and weight at 300 and then multiply that by 3 and add one hour of pre-heating.  In other words, for my 13.2 pound turkey it would be 13.2 X 20 minutes = 264 minutes divided by 60 = 4.4 hours X 3=13.2hours + 1=14.2 hours to be done. The next morning when I was getting dressed for the day, I heard a song coming from the stove that I never heard before. The stove has a silly song it sings to me when I set a timer for 5 minutes, and the 5 minutes is up. It was not that song; it was an alarmist song. I ran out to the kitchen and looked at the stove. It had a message for me typed on the stove screen just below the clock. The message said, “your cycle is done”. I said to the stove, what are you talking about, I am already through menopause.  It kept singing to me and showing me the typed message. I then noticed that the temperature in the oven had dipped from the 200 it was set at to 185. I panicked.  Oh no, I thought the oven had turned itself off, and I won’t be able to cook the turkey till done. After calming down a bit I thought of trying to hit clear/off on the oven. That stopped the song and the message. So I turned the oven on again to 200 degrees, and the interior temperature went up to 200 degrees in just a few minutes. By the way, the turkey was done at noon, and the meat was so tender and juicy, it fell off the bone as my guest sliced it.

I discussed the stove event with a number of friends, and we all decided there was some new safety feature on stoves with ovens turning off after 12 hours all by themselves, just in case you forgot you left the oven on and left the house for a trip somewhere.

Frankly, the only thing I like about my new stove is that the glass top is easier to clean when you accidentally slop food on it. The old stove had metal ring burners with a metal dish underneath where slopped food fell and burned onto that dish. That was very hard to clean. My husband had stiffness in his hands and hated turning on burners with the new stove because you have to poke at the stove panel to do that, whereas with the old stove, you turned the dial to the temperature wanted.

The stove is not the only computerized appliance.  I had to get a new dryer when I moved here because the old dryer got injured in the move. The first time I used the new dryer we nearly fainted.  We were each elsewhere in the house, nowhere near the dryer, when it let off a loud screech. I ran to the dryer. It had finished its cycle, and the clothes were dry. I learned you could turn that screech off, but it’s kind of practical when you’re doing more than one load of laundry to know when you can empty the dryer and put the new load in. I still haven’t forgiven the oven for its song and confusing message, but that doesn’t mean I won’t cook a turkey the slow way again, and it doesn’t mean that the oven won’t scare me with a new tune and message. By the way, two friends borrowed my slow roasting method for their turkeys, and they had fantastic results, with fully cooked, moist meat just falling off as the bird was carved. And their ovens didn’t sing at them! I forgot to ask how old their ovens are.

RECIPE FOR STOVETOP DRESSING

I got this recipe from a farm wife friend in South Killingly 50 years ago.  By the way, that doesn’t mean I’m old, because I was a child bride.

Ingredients:

half a loaf of 100% whole wheat bread, diced

1 lb. of ground pork

several tangy apples, peeled and diced

handful of raisins

handful of cashews

1 medium onion, chopped

1/2 tsp. powered mustard

5 fresh sage leaves, ripped in pieces (or 1 tsp. ground sage leaves)

1 tbs. olive oil

container of chicken stock.

(self-control, so you don’t eat the raisins and nuts when you’re supposed to put them in the dressing)

Cook the ground pork fully, separating the pieces, in a frying pan with tall sides and a lid. Remove with slotted utensil and place on layers of paper towels to absorb grease. Remove the fat from the pan, but do not wipe the pan clean. The tiny pieces of pork and remaining fat will help the flavor. Add the olive oil and sprinkle with the powered mustard and sage.  Keeping temperature low, stir in the chopped onions. Add a little bit of chicken stock and stir in the raisins, then the cashews, the pork, and the chopped apples. Add chicken stock to keep the mixture moist. Add the diced bread a little at a time, folding in and adding chicken stock to moisten the bread cubes. Cover the mixture and cook on low. Continue to turn the mixture so the flavors are distributed.

Guests will ask for seconds!

Angela Hawkins Fichter

Our family always gets together for the holidays at different siblings’ places. Thanksgiving is my responsibility. These last years have been a bit rocky, politically, and after a particularly explosive “debate” during our Labor Day barbecue, two family members — one stalwart Trump supporter and the other vehemently not a fan – claim they won’t come to Thanksgiving if the other is there, no matter the outcome of the election. Should I invite both my brother and my sister, or neither of them? Despite my own strong political beliefs, I don’t want a family tradition of 40 years to fall apart.

A Non-Partisan Hostess  

My Dear Neighbor:

Auntie Mac assumes that since you have taken on the “responsibility,” as you put it, of hosting what is arguably the most labor-intensive holiday event of the year, and have done so for a very long time, you have the type of grit and intestinal fortitude necessary to remain unfazed by your brother and sister’s feeble attempts at emotional blackmail. Although I certainly do not have the genealogical credentials to lay claim to any other knowledge of your family dynamics, I assume that these decades-long gatherings have seen their share of tribulations, from screeching, uncontrolled grandchildren to naughty uncles with hidden flasks to near-fisticuffs after football losses to disapproval of new fiancées with odd haircuts and piercings to unannounced veganism.  And through it all, the family continues to show up, the meal is served, everyone gets a good look at each other once again, and reaffirms that indeed, this is who we are, this is what made us and continues to shape us. Auntie Mac has always maintained that a “holiday,” like a wedding reception, is not something one should look forward to with dread and then grouse about later. If your brother or sister does not wish to attend, tell them that you and the rest of the family will be disappointed but that the choice is theirs. One might also be tempted to urge each sibling to refrain from antagonizing the other and allow Thanksgiving to be a “politics-free zone,” in as much as it can be with its overlying colonialist overtones (and if someone wanders down that alley, perhaps brandish the carving knife at the offender and remind them that they are free to depart at any time and please put down that dinner roll before you go). But for heaven’s sake do not feel as though you have to placate or cajole either of these two paragons of immaturity. My point, dear, is that as host, you are captain of this ship, and it will come as no surprise to anyone if you issue certain pre-launch orders regarding on-board policies: all family is welcome; we will miss those who choose not to attend; those in attendance over the age of six will remain cheerful and courteous to each other, and we will bask in the great good fortune that we are able to share this special event with people we love and cherish.

This year, in these times, that in itself seems important to remember.

Your Auntie Mac

Some time ago my wife, Joan, and I were given a private tour of a lovely multi-flower-bedded homescape with an expansive and beautiful layout. On the border of the neighboring property, there was a forsythia hedge, whose normally dense branches act as a privacy border. However the hedge was spindly, its yellow spring flowers were sparse, appearing as nutrient-deficient or diseased. The caveat here is a good part of the hedge was growing under an over-story of native Black Walnut trees. Native, meaning it was growing naturally in North America, whereas forsythia is an alien species introduced from Asia. Forsythia is popular for its early yellow flowers that boldly proclaim winter is over. It’s pretty, but it spreads by leap-frogging its branches into the ground, creating its own root system and creating another bush. Forsythia will take over an entire yard if permitted. As such, it’s called invasive. Birds will nest in it for protection but it provides no food source for our winged friends (*pg. 283). Black Walnut (Juglans nigro) is an excellent wildlife tree because its foliage can host up to 100 species of insects for native birds (*pg. 192). Juglans also produce large nuts that sustain squirrels and other rodents through the winter. The reason non-native plants fare poorly under walnut trees is that the husks of the nuts themselves produce juglone, a chemical that can stunt growth or kill other plants. Alien ornamentals like forsythia are the most sensitive because they have no original growth experience with this North American species. If one wishes to promote healthy bird and insect populations, you could consider native plantings that are not affected by the walnut alleochemicals (*pg. 192).

Al Freeman

*I highly recommend Douglas Tallamy’s book “Bringing Nature Home” from Timber Press if you want to know how you can sustain wildlife with native plants.

People who visit our gardens always ask how we keep up with all of them. It’s simple. We make mistakes. We learn from them. We surrender, acquiescing to nature and to the nature of plants, the hum of winged wildlife testifying to their health.

The forsythia was one of the first things planted, prior to my understanding of the roles native and foreign plants play in the landscape.  We thought it was indestructible – and it was, for 35 years, serving its purpose as an impenetrable screen, “the great green wall” greeting us in early spring — until the black walnut trees sprouted, grew and produced nuts. Last winter, the area also flooded, and when we asked promoter of native plants, Wayne Paquette of Quackin’ Grass, if this condition contributed to its demise, he reminded us that you don’t find forsythia in lowlands. Either way, what we thought was imperishable, wasn’t. After ripping the hapless plants from the area, we replaced them with water loving natives — shrub dogwoods and swamp maples. Another area prone to seasonal flooding experienced more than the lilacs could endure this year. I mourn the loss of the fragrant, lavender and plum purple racemes that formed a grove for thirty years, yet I’m not replanting them. Instead I’ve replaced them with willows. Wherever water collects we’ve planted willows – though not the weeping type notorious for its greedy roots – and they happily drink the puddles.

Our lawn contains several examples of nature altering our plans. A non-invasive bamboo that behaved itself for 12 years, a solitary sprout in a sea of lady’s mantle and evening primrose, became rampant one year, galloping to form a field of chartreuse and golden blades, beautiful beneath the native witch hazel, pussy willow, and shrub dogwood. Spiraea threatens to consume most of another garden, yet with its leaves emerging scarlet, orange, and gold, greening in summer for its display of pale pink to deep raspberry saucers, and igniting again in autumn, this native, coupled with the bronzed smoke tree, provides sufficient interest. The character of the rock garden has changed throughout the course of its existence. Initially, it resembled a pastel quilt with its collection of alpines and ruffle of Johnny-jump-ups, which seeded themselves into a velvety purple carpet the second year, and in the third, leapt into the lawn. Magenta mounds of geranium ‘Sanguine’ rapidly multiplied, and several thymes stitched themselves across the soil. Last year, the heather spread through a third of the garden; with its soft, silver and lavender bristles — that’s all right.

I’m no longer the purist I once was, strictly enforcing the color schemes I planned. I bend the rules now. I haven’t the heart to rip the pale pink phlox from the monochromatic moon garden, or the rose purchased as white, realizing that this crimson one echoes the filly throat of the peony “Festiva Maxima”. The mixture of white, pink, purple and red phloxes have produced myriad shades, and we look forward to the surprise of their assortment. Similarly, white, pink and blue balloon flowers have swapped seeds to supply interesting purples, varieties of Siberian irises have generated blossoms almost white to nearly black, and pink and purple asters have influenced the hues of one another to create flowers of pale pink, raspberry and fuschia, violet, lavender, wine, plum and grape.

We’ve always welcomed native plants. We cultivate blueberries for their fruit and foliage, retain the blackberry and raspberry canes wherever they crop up, and appreciate the elderberries the birds propagate, and nest in, near windows. We purchased a ‘Kousa’ dogwood one year, and the following spring it revealed itself as something else – a native variety. I initially contemplated a complaint, yet shortly after the honey bees fell in love with it, we did too, favoring the buttery blooms over the ivory bracts of the cultivar. We also encourage wildflowers to remain. The daisies sprinkled along the stepping stones to our kitchen door, the Queen Anne’s lace, a veil in a garden of pastels, the milkweed that found a niche in the thyme lawn to beckon the butterflies, all helped to persuade us of the value of native flowers. This year’s drought furthered that wisdom. While stalwart perennials withered, supplying small, sparse, brief blossoms, arches of golden rod, towering Joe Pye weed, and clouds of wild asters, and their swarming insects, flourished.

This year served to remind everyone that nature is in charge, not us. All our plans are for naught in the face of a severe drought, storm, or virus. And New England’s fall never fails to remind us of its artistry. We visited Trailwood recently and viewed, through the stoic cattails and wisps of wild wheat, the blaze of colors from the maples’ flames reflected in the surface of the black water. None of it planned. All of it perfect.

Things to remember about invasive plants:

If using Oriental Bittersweet for decorations, use it only inside and after use dispose of it in the trash.

Good time to remove Japanese barberry as it’s easy to spot with its prickly stems. It harbors mice which are a vector for ticks. Best to rid your property of as much of it as you can.

Japanese Knot Weed can be found at this time of year and note where it is. It can then be rid of in the spring.

Things to note for creating a wildlife-friendly backyard:

Food: Native plants provide food eaten by a variety of wildlife. Feeders can supplement natural food sources.

Water: All animals need water to survive, and some need it for bathing or breeding as well.

Cover: Wildlife needs places to take shelter from bad weather, and to hide from predators or to hunt for prey.

Places to Raise Young: Wildlife needs resources to reproduce and to protect and nourish their young.

Sustainable practices should be put into place. Maintain your yard or garden in natural ways to ensure soil, air, and water stay healthy and clean. More information at the National Wildlife, nwf.org/gardenforwildlife

Marcia Kilpatrick

By this time, registered voters should have received an application for an absentee ballot from the Office of the Secretary of State for the November 3 Presidential Election. These can be mailed to the Town Clerk, or placed in the secured deposit box at the top of the ramp at Town Hall. Absentee ballots will be mailed by the Town Clerk directly to those who have submitted their applications.

Residents who registered to vote after the Secretary of State’s mailing will be sent applications for absentee ballots by the Town Clerk. The Registrars of Voters will provide the Town Clerk with a list of residents who have recently registered to vote here.  Absentee ballots will be mailed 48 hours after receipt of the applications. If you have not received an absentee ballot application, or subsequently, an absentee ballot, please call the Office of the Town Clerk at 860-455-9132 ext. 1. You may also obtain an application on the Secretary of State’s website, which provides general information on the absentee ballot process.

Absentee ballots will be available on October 2. Please follow all the accompanying directions and mail them to the Town Clerk or place them in the secured deposit box at the top of the ramp at Town Hall. If you have cast an absentee ballot, but in retrospect prefer to vote at the polling place, you may contact the Town Clerk and withdraw your absentee ballot up until 5PM on November 2. You may not attempt to vote at the polls on Election Day; this is not legal. Voters may check to make sure their absentee ballots have been received by contacting the Town Clerk or the Registrars of Voters.

The Registrars of Voters will hold a final registry session on October 27 from 9AM to 8PM in their Office at Town Hall which will be open for the purpose of registering voters who appear in person. The deadline for mail-in applications is also October 27. Hand-delivered mail-in registration applications must be received by the Registrars , or a Voter Registration Agency such as the Department of Motor Vehicle, on this date, and mail-in registration applications must be post-marked by this date, in order for applicants to be entitled to participate in the November 3 Presidential Election. Only those whose qualifications as to age, citizenship, or residence mature after the October 27 deadline may register to vote up until November 2, when the Registrars will hold a limited registration session at their Office at Town Hall from 9AM to 5PM.

If you have any questions, please contact the Registrars of Voters at (860-455-9132 ext. 4).

Dayna Arriola and Mary Oliver

Resident Kate Donnelly will once again challenge Doug Dubitsky for the position of State Representative for the 47^th District. This is the third time Donnelly has opposed Dubitsky, the incumbent from neighboring Chaplin.

In a recent interview, Donnelly, who has served on the elementary school board and as First Selectman and currently serves on the regional Board of Education and as Chairman of the Green Energy Committee, stated, “As a former first selectman, a small business owner, parent, senior, and volunteer in my community, I understand the problems that confront us, and I have the experience needed to be a strong and positive voice for the 47^th District.”  If elected, she vows to fight against systemic racism and high educational costs, and to prioritize opportunities for renewable energy and associated jobs while helping to rebuild the economy after the financial consequences of the pandemic. “I believe that everyone should have an equal opportunity to live a fulfilling life without fear of violence or economic devastation,” she said.

Donnelly also suggested that Dubitsky “seems more interested in suing the state than helping his constituents navigate through this difficult time,” referring to an appeal Dubitsky has filed with the Department of Education regarding the mask requirement in schools. Donnelly said she will “work to protect students and teachers.”

Prior to becoming an attorney, Dubitsky “worked tough jobs: construction worker, bus boy, bartender, stage hand, truck driver, ditch digger. At 35, I went to law school,” he said. “I worked for one of the largest law firms in the world and gained a lot of experience, but I really wanted to help real people. So I quit to become a small town lawyer — mostly representing farms and small businesses, with some bigger constitutional cases now and then. For years, I represented abused and neglected children without charge.”

Dubitsky also serves on Chaplin’s Board of Finance and Planning & Zoning Commission. “I am incredibly proud to represent you and truly consider you to be my family,” he said. “Whether you’re Democrat, Republican, Woman, Man, Black, White, Hispanic, Gay, Straight, Young, Old – you’re all family to me. If you have a problem or just want to talk, give me a call. I try to call everyone back personally. And I would be honored if you voted to return me to the legislature.”