The Board of Finance at its March 11 meeting voted to send a letter to the State’s Attorney requesting an investigation into “statutory infractions committed” by Town officials for their failure to obtain approval from the legislative body for the purchase of a bucket truck to remove hazardous trees from the town’s roadsides.

The document names the Board of Selectmen for “expending in excess of $20,000, usurping the authority of the Board of Finance in violation of Connecticut General Statutes section 7-340 and the Hampton Ordinance Establishing a Board of Finance; denying the Hampton taxpayers their statutory right to approve additional purchases in excess of $20,000, in violation of Connecticut General Statutes section 7-348; and failure to obtain competitive bids in violation of the Hampton Ordinance on Bidding for Purchases and Services”. The document also names the Town Treasurer “for failure to obtain proper authority for a purchase, in violation of Connecticut General Statutes section 7-80.” The complaint, which was also sent to the Office of Policy and Management, contains an index listing 16 appendices to substantiate the claims.

During discussion at the March 11 meeting, Board of Finance Chairman Lisa Sanchez stated that “the finance board has a fiduciary and ethical responsibility to report the failure of the Selectmen to follow the statutes concerning purchases to State agencies”.

Member Diane Gagnon clarified that the action was not punitive in nature, but rather necessary “to protect the Town against a reoccurrence of a purchase without approval of the legislative body.” Sanchez and Gagnon were joined by members Ed Adelman, Kathy Donahue, and Perry Matchinis in support of sending the information to the State. Only alternate member Stan Crawford, who was seated in member Nick Brown’s absence, opposed the measure, though he did not publicly explain the reason for his dissenting opinion.

The document chronicles the events that led to, and followed, the controversial purchase beginning with the Selectmen’s decision at an October 7, 2019 meeting to buy a bucket truck to remove 250 trees identified as hazardous, and to schedule a special town meeting for taxpayers to approve the $173,600 purchase. The Board of Finance, the town’s fiscal authority, at their meeting on October 8 requested that the Selectmen provide a comparative cost analysis of all options, including subcontracting, leasing, or financing; and though a special meeting convened on October 21 to review the requested documentation, none was provided, and the Selectmen voted to cancel the October 24 special town meeting with a commitment to continue to address the removal of trees on a daily basis. However, the Selectmen instead purchased the truck on October 30 “without holding a formal meeting of the Board of Selectmen, without competitive bidding as required by ordinance, and without the statutorily mandated approvals of both the Board of Finance and the Town’s legislative body.” Documentation subsequently obtained by the finance board revealed that funds for the purchase were dispersed from three accounts: $82,000 from a Capital Non-Recurring Account for Trucks and Equipment, the entire balance — $70,000 — of the line item approved for paving roads, and $21,690 from the First Selectman’s salary, an amount that was not yet earned. The checks for the purchase were signed by First Selectman Allan Cahill, Selectman Robert Grindle, and Town Treasurer Ellen Rodriguez.

In response, the Board of Finance at its November 19 meeting voted to “engage an attorney to assist in recommending procedures to protect the Town’s finances from unauthorized expenditures”; and in response to this measure, the Selectmen scheduled a referendum to rescind the ordinance that established the Board of Finance. That proposal ultimately failed on January 6, 2020 with a vote of 172-254.

“I will abstain from commenting for two to three weeks on the Board of Finance’s actions during these uncertain times,” Cahill said in response to a request for comment. “My assessment and position concerning the Board of Finance is harsh and not kind. In the present I will focus on building confidence in Hampton’s ability to weather this viral pandemic on our doorsteps.”

Though it appears that residents will have to wait a little while longer to hear the First Selectman’s reaction, the collective sigh of relief from the finance board was audible, with members commenting on closing their chapter of this book, and on their eagerness to move forward with other fiscal concerns.

This year, the mere mention of “dead trees” has elicited all kinds of negative connotations – spurring emotions, prompting opinions, instigating debates. Whether we’re discussing droughts or gypsy moths, the method of removing hazardous trees from roadsides or the expense from our own properties, the ones that crashed onto the roof or caused us to lose electricity yet again, conversations on dead trees have provoked responses ranging from grumbling to rage. After the saw dust settles, the dangers have subsided from our roads and in our yards, and the controversies surrounding their removal fade, what we’re left with is the actual loss.

Losing an old tree is like losing an old friend. When a tree is purposefully felled, the sound signifies the health of its environs, yet it was a different feeling when the tree in front of my parents’ house finally met its demise – first the crown surrendered to the electric company’s trimming, then all but three branches were lost to storms, then only the broken trunk remained, and now a stump is all that’s left of the tree that I swung from as a child. We’re very fortunate if we have them – the tree we once swung from, climbed, sat beneath for picnics, the one that housed the tree house, sheltered the hammock.

In these last few years, we’ve lost most of the maple in front of our stone wall, echoing the certain fate of the one across the street from it. We’ve lost half of the branches of a crab apple and half of the weeping cherry’s fountain of limbs. We needed to remove the thirty pine trees that marked our property’s border after winter storms ravished them, their diagonal trunks precariously leaning against deciduous trees, lining our lawn with perilous threats. The rum cherries in this area are now ridden with some sort of disease and will need to be removed this year. I’ll miss their lustrous garnet trunks and their spring confetti of flowers. At my grandmother’s homestead, two memorable trees – once the sapling maple and spruce planted when my mother and my uncle were children – are gone, and the crippled remains of the century old apple trees are a tragic reminder of what was once a charming orchard.

My mother’s sycamore, her favorite tree, grows larger and stronger every year, the crocus she scattered at its feet the first announcement of spring on the hill. Sycamores are currently subject to a life-threatening disease, and I dread the day if this one succumbs, for its loss will mean so much more.

Still, we’re not as unfortunate as many of our neighbors. Those who lost “living fences”, all the oaks on their lawns, leaving them devoid of shade and vulnerable to destructive crashes. At the very least, the character of their properties is changed for a long while. There are sections of Goodwin Forest which are unrecognizable to those who have frequented them for years. Trailwood as well — acres of thick woodland which are now bald hills. The once wooded alleys of Eleventh Section, Sand Hill and Windy Hill, North Bigelow and Brook Road have become fields of rubbled branches and pyramids of lumber, exposing unfamiliar vistas and stripping properties of their privacy. Of course, it’s necessary for our safety and for the health of the environment – yet at the very least, it’s disorienting.

The venerable old favorites are the most difficult to lose — imagine the loss of the stately elms that once graced Main Street! Pete Vertefeuille wrote “The Demise of an Old Ash Tree” in May of 2015 to honor the grand old living sculpture on Station Road, and the Gazette commemorated many of the milestones of the historic “constitution” oak in the village, with Bob Burgoyne and Sue Hochstetter chronicling its life and its loss in the July 2018 issue with “Our Streetscape Changes”, illustrating its significance, visually and historically, to the town. We often locate the foundations of old homes in the woods with “bride and groom trees”, the New England custom of planting twin saplings to flank the entrance of a couple’s new house. They remain where the home and even the rubble of its cellar has filled in and disappeared – these long ago testaments to new life.

Because that’s really what a tree symbolizes for us – life. We recognize this as soon as we plant one – such hope in those sturdy saplings. So many plans – picnics, hammocks; so many aspirations for its strength, its generosity; so many promises for posterity. We plant a tree with the understanding that it will probably outlive us, and that’s, in part, the point. We see its value almost instantly – birds visiting its branches, nesting in the spring, squirrels and chipmunks scrambling around it in autumn. As it grows it offers fruit, nuts, shade, branches to climb, its foliage gloriously announcing the seasons. And toward its end, it becomes a haven for insects, and then eventual wildlife, woodpeckers the first to indicate its demise as it slowly disintegrates to a stump, revealing its years in its rings – a history of the storms it’s weathered, the dry seasons, the floods — its decomposition providing a fertile soil for its offspring.

Which is the place in their long and illustrious lives where we find ourselves now – these sheltering corridors, these stalwart sentries, these solitary old friends who embraced us on our return home – now fallen across their own shadows. So after the controversies on their removal are forgotten, the bills have been paid, and the adjustments are made to our gardens with the variances of sunlight, and to our properties with their altered views, we’re left with only one response: plant new ones.

Dayna McDermott

The home at 252 Main Street was built sometime after 1835 when its first occupant, William Brown, purchased a nineteen and a half acre parcel at the top of Hampton Hill. Brown was a First Selectman in the 1850’s, and later a grocer. A framed map of the village, circa 1858 by Windham County surveyor Jonathan Clark, displayed in the Conference Room at Town Hall names Brown and shows him owning both the house and the building to its immediate north that has served as a General Store; an 1869 Atlas identifies Brown as a “dealer in dry goods”. Some of the names of later owners of the home, such as Moseley and Button, would be familiar only to local historians, but the family who purchased the property in the 1960’s is familiar to most everyone who lives here: the Grants.

Two barns must have been built between 1840 and 1880 because they’re mentioned in a subsequent deed. According to the records of current owner Gustavo Falla, who is committed to restoring the barn that remains, there were pigs in the cellar, and its four beautiful stalls – each with its own window – were for horses which were used to haul ice from the nearby Bigelow Pond. Most notably, the barn once served as a studio for one of Hampton’s finest and most famous artists, Andy Jones.

William “Andy” Anthony Jones came to Hampton in 1988 from Fayetteville, North Carolina. He and his wife, Deb Grant, built a home on the slope east of the barn where they raised their three children, Lydia, Sam, and Will, and where Andy eventually built his art studio. Prior to that, he used the Grant’s barn. There’s not much to say for the loft where Andy painted, stretched his own canvases, and framed his works. Except that it provided a lot of space. Eight florescent lights – the old-fashioned sort used in the elementary schools we attended fifty years ago – probably salvaged from an old building – are suspended from the ceiling to provide virtually the only light. I remember bringing one of my students here to work with Andy – an introverted ten-year-old Puerto Rican child from the Heights who stole away to a corner to draw at every opportunity. He’s a graphic artist and a successful photographer now. He remembers Andy, and the much needed confidence he gave him.

The tributes written by the students Andy influenced at Eastern Connecticut State University, where he served as an art professor since 1990, are priceless:

“…He saw my potential before I could even realize what I was capable of…”

“…I made my best art pieces in his classes, art that I am most proud of, art that I never knew I’d be able to create…”

“…Without his guidance I would not be the artist and teacher that I am today…”

“…I wholeheartedly give credit to Andy Jones for every painting I have made…”

“…One year my painting final got vandalized, and he sat with me for three hours while I cried, carefully dissolving and cutting away paint to help me salvage my piece…”

“…There are no words to describe how much he grew to mean to me or how devastating this loss is…”

“…Without him I would not be on the career path that I am on currently, and I wish that I had been able to let him know that.”

Many of Andy’s paintings elevate the walls of ECSU, and are found in private collections in the United States, England and France. Professor Jones was an elected member of the Connecticut Academy of Fine Arts and the Connecticut Plein Air Society, and was awarded an Artist Residency from the Weir Farm Trust in 1991, and an Excellence in Creative and Scholarly Activity Award at Eastern in 2001. His pen and ink drawing of an oak tree not far from his home was selected as the winning design for the U.S. Mint Quarter Competition for the State of Connecticut. Issued in 1999, that achievement earned Andy one roll of quarters, yet it came with no small measure of fame for Hamptonites, who collectively took exceptional pride in the quarter, the artist, and the tree itself. He put Hampton on the map.

Andy’s neighbor and good friend Gordon Hansen quipped at the time, “Hampton – where a quarter of the state was born!” But most of our responses mirrored what one of his students wrote – “He literally designed the Connecticut state quarter! That’s his drawing on the quarter!!!!!!” On our cross country travels during the decade the quarters were released, people would say, “You’re from Connecticut? You have the best quarter.” And we do.

Andy contributed limited edition framed prints of the quarter for an elementary school fundraiser shortly after the coin was minted. He was generous with his art. Signed copies of his painting of a mother ewe feeding her baby lamb benefitted a library fundraiser. One of his colleagues recalled when Andy gifted copies of that painting to members of his department in response to the start of the War in Iraq. “I will never forget it,” she wrote.

Andy contributed to the Gazette for several years, serving on the editorial board, writing articles of interest, and making illustrations, from humorous cartoons to pen and ink sketches of life in our small New England town. These illustrated his respect for the people who lived here and our way of life: very recognizably Walt Stone, junior and senior, in “Hay Days”; George Fuller’s 1935 Ford and Charlie Halbach’s 1939 Packard in “Nice Car!”; an old town pound in “Safe Haven”. He would gift the original to the relevant neighbor – I still have the pen and ink of Jill climbing on the bus for her first day of kindergarten in “Back to School”.

Andy’s understanding of our town was so thorough. Only his accent belied that he wasn’t from here – and his excellent barbecue – though his speech seemed more a part of his way of explaining things. Andy was patient with us. He took his time. He also explained things through detailed diagrams in the Gazette, like making “Backyard Syrup”, which he learned from Paulie Tumel. Theirs was a mutual admiration. Andy learned a lot from Paulie, and Paulie was so proud of his friend, the artist. The tin pails that collected sap from his maple trees, in front of the stone wall, the apple orchard, and the barn, formed a favorite seasonal vignette, and served as an inspiration for other artists. Andy also contributed to our Hampton Calendar, permitting us to place the painting of the oak tree that inspired the coin on our first cover, which was a definite draw. It instantly attracted customers who, on closer inspection, realized why it seemed so familiar.

Andy once confided to us that he didn’t want to be known as “the quarter guy”, that he wanted to be remembered for his art. But Andy’s art is everywhere, not just in our local institutions and in our homes. Andy noticed the art in everything around us, and he opened our eyes to it, too. That oak must have been there for at least a hundred years, and viewed by everyone in Hampton and beyond, because it grew near the long ago Bigelow Pond. Andy noticed the tree as a treasure. He did that a lot. The turkeys that congregated in Ruth (feeder of all birds) Grant’s backyard. The library porch lit with its lamp at dusk. The Stone’s milking barn at dawn. The Hampton Hill Garage at twilight. His paintings spoke to us, like a song that expresses precisely a feeling in a language so pure that listeners immediately recognize themselves. We know those places Andy painted, deep in our hearts, we know them. It is not only an incredible talent and a discerning eye that produces such works of art. It’s a tremendous amount of respect. Andy’s illustrated respect for our rural life will forever evoke memories of our home.

We’ll miss those masterpieces, those treasures immortalized with a stroke of his paintbrush, those maple pails collecting sap in spring, that syrup, but mostly, we’ll miss Andy.

Dayna McDermott

None of us is too old to have forgotten the magic of a good story, those tales of our childhood that calmed our fears, taught us lessons, allowed us to envision faraway places, to laugh, to dream, to understand others, and ourselves. An ancient art, story-telling transcends time and cultures. “Folktales” was always one of my favorite literary genres to teach because the unit revealed such universal truths. And as we grow older, we recognize that stories still have the power to calm, instruct, entertain, amuse, and unite us.

It is with these promises, and more, that resident and physician Perry Mandanis has developed “Couch Stories”, a podcast he hosts as “a place for stories that aren’t just good, they’re good for you”. For over 20 years Perry has helped people realize their own resilience in adversity, and their courage and strength in transforming “terrible pain into miraculous gain”. He has recognized along the way that stories, on these journeys, are as effective as instruction, advice and medical information. A good story is never forgotten, Perry reminds us, and will “become one of your best friends for life”, returning whenever you need it.

Now, with the development of this pandemic, Perry is utilizing the podcast to help listeners cope with the related stress and anxiety that is provoked in the face of this growing concern and this continued uncertainty, with advice on protecting and comforting ourselves. The philosophy – “Let’s make taking care of ourselves and keeping calm contagious!” In a world full of “what ifs –” Perry reminds us that worry is “a waste of a good imagination.”

“We cannot escape the news about the spread of COVID-19. It’s upset all of us to some extent or another, and for many, worry has been as difficult to deal with as the physical changes we’ve all had to make as we weather this crisis together,” Perry says. The podcast “reviews not only the World Health Organization’s recommendations for physical health and safety measures, but it also offers tips to help people function better emotionally during these stressful coronavirus times.”

The podcast is free of charge and available on Apple, Spotify, Google Play, Stitcher, and on The OAM Network, or follow this link: http://www.theoamnetwork.com/couch/1632020 to subscribe. All who have listened can attest to its worth during this imposed isolation, which has also provided us with some time to engage in things that we usually have no time for –walks, hot baths, good books, music, stories. They’re such an antidote to the news; listening to stories transports us, reminds us of our childhoods, the olden days, simpler times. So, subscribe to “Couch Stories”, then take a cup of tea, or a glass of wine, relax on a comfortable couch, or chair, close your eyes, and just listen.

Welcome to the Recreation Commission’s public entertainment venue! Since we can’t be together in groups, we have decided to communicate electronically with ideas and opportunities for entertainment, exercise and amusement. And if you have friends and neighbors who you think might like to be part of our conversation, they can email their request and their email to: hamptontownactivities@gmail.com.

For starters, here’s a creative list of activities, in case after a week of shutdown you have run through your own. Thanks to Rec Commissioner Andrea Kaye for her ideas!

~Go for a walk (with or without dog) or take a hike, practicing social distance.

~Shoot some hoops!

~Create a scavenger hunt in your yard or in the woods.

~Go for a bike ride.

~Build a fort in your yard.

~Spring cleaning in the yard is calling! Get your garden prepped!

~Make a time capsule.

~Each week pick a country, research it, Google Earth it and make some recipes from that country.

~Practice some new recipes, bake something.

~Read that book.

~Let the kiddos fill the sink with soapy water and give their toys a bath.

~Workout with DVD’s.

~Take yoga or meditation classes on Zoom.

~and lastly enjoy time with your family!

Random Notes on a New World

My first experience of “social distancing” was as an observant four year old, picking up small sticks as  my parents and grandfather felled trees for our new home on Clark’s Corner.

On weekends, we set up camp on the property, two tents, and an outdoor kitchen, with a Coleman stove for my mother to prepare meals.

Each successive weekend, a car or two would ease slowly by, the drivers never waving or stopping with an encouraging ‘Hello!’ My mother, a gregarious Okie, thought this was odd, but didn’t question it. After about a month, the line of cars grew more than occasional; passengers now were taking photographs and my father’s normal jovial demeanor was stretched to the limit.

My grandfather, not terribly astute due to a head injury as a young adult working at the Goodwin Farm up the road, finally stopped traffic by lurching his way up the driveway with a good sized axe and stood in the way of a family-filled station wagon the size of a small boat.

After a short, and slightly terrifying interrogation from my grandfather, and a calming discussion with my father, the frightened driver revealed that Carl Jewett, my uncle’s poker pal, and Town “character”, had let slip that there were Gypsies camped over on Clark’s Corner, and that “folks might want to go for a visit to make them welcome.” Certainly, they came for the visit, but not quite ready yet for the welcome.

As a self-professed “crowd-mongerer” (much like my mother), I still need to connect with folks, the first usually to say hello, share a hug, or a handshake. Going out now is more care-full; in the early days of “50 people—3 feet, and now, 5 people—6 feet”; I find people needing to be out are kind, sharing wry humor within the proscribed 72 inches. And while eyes may belie a certain weariness—smiles and patience have become the universal language.

In this new world of the “Coron-apocalypse”, irony abounds: Muzak for a recent early morning shop (to avoid the masses and hopefully stock up): Bon Jovi, Living on Prayer, and Prince’s Let’s Go Crazy.

Working electronically from home, I now make time to write more letters, send out handmade cards, and when checking in with folks, I’m talking less and listening more. Which somehow makes it feel just a little closer, and a lot less distant.

Mary Oliver

It used to be that when you went to the grocery store, what you wanted was usually there. In mid-March I went to three different grocery stores, each from a different national chain. To my surprise and alarm, the shelves holding paper goods, like toilet paper, paper towels, and facial tissues, were empty. One of the stores had empty meat cases. I complained to friends about it. They had experienced the same thing. I complained to customers in the stores about it. They had experienced the same thing. I had a haircut appointment (fortunately that was just before the governor closed barbershops and hairdressers because of the epidemic), and my hairdresser said, “Try store X again,” so I went right after the haircut. The shelves for paper goods were empty, but there was a store stock cart with paper goods on it and two stock clerks putting the goods on shelves. I soon discovered why it took two clerks. One to put the toilet paper on the shelf, and the other to snatch toilet paper packages out of customers’ hands. This came with a sharp scolding, “No, No, you are only allowed to take ONE toilet paper package and ONE paper towel package.” I wondered if the next time I tried to buy toilet paper in that store if the toilet paper stock clerks would be armed. Other customers put their prized packages of toilet paper and paper towels in their carts, but I had to tuck mine under my arms because all the other shopping carts were in use. That never happened to me before. When I went and stood in line at the check out cash register, I stood behind a young couple. I complained that it was impossible to buy toilet paper anymore. The woman said, “Oh, my house is FULL of toilet paper.” Her husband turned to me and said, “Our children are young, but they will be teenagers before the toilet paper in our house is used up.” Well, I was born and raised in New York, not rural northeast Connecticut, so I thought of all kinds of things to say to her. But I didn’t say them. I thought, this selfish woman is actually bragging about her piggy-ness. What we need right now is a statute that makes hoarding of food and paper products illegal. The punishment? Well, at first I thought that hoarders of toilet paper ought to be flushed down the toilet, but now I think we ought to bring back an old-fashioned punishment: wooden stocks on the town green. If you are found guilty of hoarding big amounts of toilet paper, you would be put in the stocks, with your head, arms and legs through holes in the stocks. Then the police would hang a couple rolls of toilet paper on a rope around your neck. You’d only have to stay there for one day, but it would have to be a day that was raining or snowing. After all, a person like that is depriving elderly and disabled people (like me) from access to toilet paper, so the punishment should be one the guilty would remember.

I was pleased when all three of these stores from three different chains (Stop & Shop, Big Y, Walmart) decided to have certain shopping times limited to people age 60 and over. The first to do this was Stop & Shop, where only people age 60 and over could shop at the hours of 6AM to 7:30AM. I set my alarm clock for 5AM for the first such day at Stop & Shop. Boy was that hard on me. I am retired. I don’t remember every setting my alarm for 5AM before — 6AM yes, but 5? Only farmers and fishermen get up that early. I dressed and got in the car. It was pitch black outside and raining hard and was foggy. I took Route 6 into Willimantic going beneath the speed limit because I could barely see, thanks to the dark, heavy rain, and fog. Got to the store at 6:15AM. A television crew was there with their cameras to take videos of oldies going into the store so early. I went right to the shelves with paper products. Except that there weren’t any paper products. I asked a customer who had toilet paper in his cart what time he arrived. “Oh, way before 6AM, and I got in the line,” he said. “And we all went to the paper products aisle as soon as they let us in.” At that point I decided I must be asleep, but no, he was telling me the truth. He only had one package of toilet paper in his cart, although store clerks said they would let him buy two, but he felt others wanted toilet paper too. I hope that guy never runs out of toilet paper for the rest of his life.

A psychologist in the TV news was interviewed as to why some people were hoarding. She said: because in an epidemic it makes them feel like they have some power. Does that mean that hoarders didn’t pay any attention in science class in high school? Don’t the hoarders know that a house full of toilet paper won’t protect you from germs or from getting the corona virus?

Angela Hawkins Fichter

Pedro Patriota is an international student from Brazil who is very comfortably living among us here in small town U. S. A. A 16-year-old senior attending Parish Hill, Pedro comes to Hampton through the Council on International Educational Exchange (CIEE). His journey to our little hamlet was an arduous two day “adventure”, and he was initially a little nervous about his future here – not sure of what he would encounter. Hampton is, after all, a continent away from home.

Pedro came to the states on the recommendation of his Brazilian School Director. “My director always encouraged me to do more and be better,” Pedro says, adding that he always wanted to study abroad, and admitting, with a smile, that he always wanted to visit America. Connecticut was “a totally random choice on which place was best for me.”

It took time to get used to the quiet of Hampton. He comes from Recife, Brazil, a community inhabited by “only 1.55 million people,” he explains. He was expecting what he had left behind – traffic, sirens, and people on the go at all hours of the day and night. Instead he found this “nice place. People I have met are friendly. That’s why I like this place and its people.”

The feeling is mutual. Local CIEE coordinator Kerri Felice Murray, who has been placing exchange students in the area for over seven years, says she loves seeing the impact a student has on their host family, school and community. “Hosting is something you did not know you were missing,” she says.

Pedro’s host parents, Bruce Spaman and Andrea Kaye, can’t say enough about Pedro and the experience. “He’s a joy,” says Bruce. “He has filled an interesting niche in our lives”.

Andrea concurs. “Pedro is an amazing young man—smart, respectful and helpful—yes, look out world this kid is going places!”

Pedro has found the students at Parish Hill “to be very nice. They like to help me.” Along with the many friends he’s made at school, Pedro did get to know some of the older generation when he helped us with the Seniors Annual Super Bowl Grinder Sale.

Along with the people he’s met, Pedro likes “that there are four seasons here. In Brazil it’s always hot and humid. It’s great to see leaves change color,” he says, “to feel the cold, and the snow.” This winter Pedro had the opportunity to roll his first snow ball, make a snow angel, go sledding and snowshoeing. Most of this was accomplished on a trip to Vermont with his host family. Though the coronavirus has prevented plans to see Boston and New York City, he has traveled to Hartford and New Haven, where he had the opportunity to visit the campus of Yale University. The t-shirt he purchased there he proudly wore during this interview.

Pedro has plans to continue his studies after graduation. If it’s possible to attend school here in America, he has three that he’s interested in attending – Yale, MIT, and UCLA. He hopes to study bio-medical engineering or computer science. It’s not surprising that his favorite subjects are math and physics.

School has been an adjustment. The academic day is longer in America. Here he takes a bus to school and has to prepare himself for the frosty cold winter mornings. In Brazil, his school day is done at one o’clock. For lunchtime in Brazil he could leave his campus. Here he eats in the cafeteria. Other differences: “Here there are lockers. And in Brazil, we call our teachers by their first names. I learned that that is not done in America.”

Though he is fluent in Portuguese, his native language, he also speaks some Spanish and, of course, English. His English skills are improving daily. “Each day I get more comfortable with my English,” he says. “The English I learned in Brazil helped prepare me for what I had to learn to speak, or to write, here.” He readily admits that writing assignments are difficult. And idioms mean something entirely different than what they are.

The biggest adjustment, however, has been the weather. In Brazil, the climate is always the same, “Sunny and humid and hot,” he says, “and it’s even hotter on the Amazon.” There are three things that Brazil has plenty of — trees, water and sun. “I don’t agree with my president, allowing clear-cutting of the jungle, and fires to burn for the purpose of clear cutting,” he asserts.

What has he missed most? His family, whom he video-chats with twice a week. We’re all experiencing “distancing”, and it means we’re staying a little more than an arm’s length away from neighbors, and strangers at stores, that we’re more cautious about all of our interactions, sometimes even with family members, especially when those family members are elderly. Imagine when the “distancing” is over 4000 miles away.

We hope for all of our sakes that life returns to normal quickly, and that Pedro can experience an American graduation. And I hope that Hamptonites have an opportunity to meet him. It’s quite a pleasure. You’ll be greeted with a magnetic smile, and maybe – hopefully, possibly – a handshake.

Juan Arriola

 For information on CIEE, email kfelicem@gmail.com.

“Oh my gosh! Honey! Be really quiet and come look out the window!” I whispered. My husband came to stand beside me to have a peek. “How did they get in there?” he puzzled. “Maybe they dug under?” I replied, just as puzzled. “I’ll walk the fence line later to check”. An inspection of the perimeter revealed no holes under, and no apparent way in. “Hmmm, how did you two get in there?”

A long way down the road, two rabbits sniffed and listened and hopped as fast as they could toward the crowing roosters. One distinct voice stood out from the rest. “That’s him Momma! I just know it is”! Little bunny Maxwell ran faster. “Now slow down child,” Momma called after her son. “If we do find him, he may not even remember you. It’s been a while”.

“Oh! Doug hasn’t forgotten us. Wait and see!” It was dawn and unusually warm for late winter. Each rooster was greeting the day with his own unique, early morning song. “That’s not it,” Maxwell declared as they passed the first farm. “Nope, not that one either”.

“Slow down!” Momma called to her little bunny, which only made Maxwell run faster. The pair ran past three more farms with no luck. They ran a little further. “Wait…I hear him! I hear him!” little bunny Maxwell shouted! Momma finally caught up with her son and they both paused quietly to listen. ‘Cocka-doodle! Cocka-doodle! Cocka-doodle!’ That particular crow did most certainly, without a doubt, belong to Doug. “Doug the mighty Roo!” Maxwell hopped up and down and did a little dance around his mother. That crowing led them to a yellow house. Beside it, was a red chicken coop. Momma and Maxwell could see chickens moving around in the chicken run. Maxwell, who had been so bold and confident, suddenly became shy and uncertain. “Maybe you were right Momma. Doug might not know who I am. And besides, how are we going to get over that fence?”

Momma gave Maxwell a kiss on the cheek. “The hard part is over. We found Doug! We’ll get in there.” Momma hopped along the edge of the fence. She could hear snapping. “Maxwell, this is one of those zapper fences. Be very careful not to touch it”. Maxwell nodded and took a step back.

A family of squirrels had been playing in the branches behind where the rabbits were sitting. “Oh no you don’t!” one yelled as he made his way down the tree. “Those are my acorns!” He ran past the two rabbits, jumped in the air and sailed right through one of the larger squares of the fence. “Mine!” he yelled over his shoulder as he hovered above the pile of treats.

“That’s it!” Momma and Maxwell exclaimed together. “We’ll jump through the fence! Be sure to stretch out as long as you can and press your ears against your back,” the little bunny’s Mom instructed. “Ok Momma. Here I go!” Maxwell hesitated for a moment, unsure. Momma gave him an encouraging smile and a gentle little push. Maxwell hopped a few small hops and then one big, high jump and hopped right through the zapper fence. “Whoohoo! Come on Momma! It’s not scary at all!” Momma joined her little bunny on the other side.

The chickens in the run had seen the squirrel and the two rabbits hop into their yard. “Cluck, cluck cluck, cluck, cluck, bacaaaawwk!” they all screamed at once. Doug darted out of the coop and stood in front of his ladies in a protective stance. “Cocka-doodle!” he yelled at the two rabbits. The littlest rabbit bravely took a step forward. “Hi Doug! Hi!”

“Cluck?!” Doug replied. “Little bunny Maxwell?! Is that you?”

“It’s me alright and Momma’s here too!” There was much excitement as the rabbits and Doug and all his ladies swirled around in a chorus of ‘hellos’ and ‘how did you get heres’ and ‘wow it’s good to see yous’. Momma gave Doug a big hug and told him how much she and Maxwell had missed him. “I’m so glad to see you both!” Doug clucked.

“I’m Brownie,” the largest hen announced, “and these are my sisters, Porridge, Checkers and Lily.” Momma gave each hen a giant Momma hug. Little bunny Maxwell looked around in amazement. “This place is huge!”

“We’ll show you around,” Lily, the littlest hen, offered. “This is the yard we play in all day. And this is the sand pit where we take baths.” Porridge flopped down in the middle to demonstrate. “You’re silly,” Maxwell giggled. Lily continued the tour. “Here’s our screened in area. We play in here when it’s raining out there.” Momma gave a nod of approval.

“Follow me!” Checkers called as she disappeared into a small square opening. All four chickens, Doug the mighty Roo, Momma and little bunny Maxwell went in and stood on the floor of the big red coop and looked up. “How do you get all the way up there?” Maxwell marveled. “We go up those ramps, see?” Lily answered as she ran up to the second floor. Maxwell followed close behind. “This is where Brownie likes to sit,” she pointed to a lush nest box situated under the stairs. “That looks cozy,” Maxwell observed.

“Go ahead and have a sit down,” Brownie suggested. The little bunny carefully stepped in and slowly sat down. “Ahh. Nice!” he sighed. “And if you look out the window you can see the squirrels playing.”

“Cool!” Maxwell replied. It was getting late and the sun was close to setting. In all the excitement, Momma had lost track of the time. “You can nestle up in here,” all the hens suggested. “That’s so sweet of you girls, but Maxwell and I will be more comfortable outside. I can whip up a quick borough for us to spend the night in. We’ll be just fine,” Momma assured.

“Ok. We hope you’ll be able to stay for a while. There’s water in the swale. And plenty of grass and clovers over there where the sun melted the snow. You’ll have lots to eat,” Doug added helpfully. Momma and Maxwell did decide to stay with their friends for a few more days.

On the next warmish day, Momma let everyone know that she and Maxwell would have to return home. “Are you still in the borough, by the fallen tree next to the farm store?” Doug asked. “We are,” Momma answered. “A new batch of tiny chicks arrived last week but they’ll have to live inside until their adult feathers grow in.”

“Maybe we can meet them someday,” Porridge said full of hope. Momma chuckled, “Well you just might!” The two rabbits said their goodbyes and everyone got one last, big hug. The chickens spent the rest of the day talking about how much fun they’d had with Momma and Maxwell. Momma and Maxwell made it home to their borough next to the farm store and crawled in for a long nap. The squirrel was relieved that he no longer had to guard his acorns. And the couple in the yellow house, next to the red coop, never did figure how those two bunnies had gotten into the yard where the chickens lived.

So, this story ends, the same way it began – with the mysterious, puzzling, unsolved questions of: Cluck?

Cindy Bezanson

As of February 1, K&B Ambulance of Killingly has been contracted to provide emergency medical services to replace the Hampton Chaplin Ambulance Corp for the duration of this fiscal year, June 30, 2020. Thus far, response has been prompt and professional, according to the First Selectman. Officials of the Town of Scotland recently invited members of the boards of Selectmen and Finance to a presentation on an alternate proposal for the delivery of emergency services and will schedule a meeting for the public at large later this month. The Board of Selectmen will be deciding on a long term plan during the 2020-2021 budget process, which should prove challenging with declining State grants and rising municipal costs.

Though there have been many nuisance storms this winter, they have not consumed much of the road crew’s time, affording them an opportunity to remove 115 dead trees along our roads.

The Board of Selectmen approved a purchase order of a 30’ x 40’ Pavilion to be erected between the Town Hall and Community Center. This public works project will be completed by Memorial Day in collaboration with the Believers of the Mennonite Church.