Dust off your dancin’ shoes and come to the Community Center on Saturday, March 14, for a night of honky-tonk with Ken Atkins and the Turnpike Allstars. Bring your beverages and treats for a cabaret-style party with plenty of space for dancing and singing along.

The Turnpike Allstars band specializes in country and country swing, with plenty of “twang” to go around! To preview their sound, go to their Facebook page, “Ken Atkins and the Honky Tonk Kind.”  Ken Atkins is the principal vocalist and guitarist. Band members are Bob Oxenhorn, bass, Corey Dolinsky, steel guitar, Tom Trombley, drums, and Paul “Swampy” Davis, harmonica.  The band is popular throughout New England and was last seen in Hampton at the Memorial Day chicken barbecue.

Doors open at 6:30PM and the music starts at 7. Admission is $10, $15 for couples, children are free. To reserve a table for four to eight people, email hamptontownactivities@gmail.com. For information, call Juan Arriola at 860-455-0160 or Gay Wagner at 860-455-9875.

Dear Auntie Mac,

Recently our neighbors across the street placed a statue of “Jocko, the Lawn Jockey” on their front lawn, right across from our house, affording us a perfect view from our windows of what we consider inappropriate, and what our friends of color call “racist” when they come to visit us. I like our neighbors, I really do. I think it’s naivety on their part. Perhaps it’s a family heirloom, or a valuable antique.  However, we find it very offensive, and in conversations with others, we find we’re not alone. Would it be wrong to mention this to them?

Sincerely,

A PC Fam

My Dear Neighbor:

Your problem represents in and of itself such a perfect twofold conundrum that “The Lawn Jockey Dilemma” should be a required course for anyone considering a Master’s Degree in Ethics and Critical Theory. Auntie Mac is willing to wager that most people who have this statue in their yards have never heard of Jocko Graves or the stories about him. These black-faced, racially caricatured lawn ornaments were not purchased to celebrate a 12-year-old boy who froze to death in the 1700’s holding George Washington’s horses (as the legend goes), let alone represent the bravery of a people (as apologists are wont to suggest). However, as you say, it may be a family heirloom—something with which your neighbors are loathe to part. You do not wish to alienate your neighbors, who have publicly displayed something that is offensive or insulting to nearly all who look at it. And therein lies the red meat on the rug of your dilemma: by publicly displaying an item that is so widely known to be polarizing (as opposed to remanding it to a basement shelf reserved for “Gramma’s Keepsakes,” for example), your neighbors are making some type of statement. It is not up to you, however, to decipher what that statement is. They have made a choice. They may be eagerly awaiting a public outcry so that they may smugly inform you of the proud heritage of Jocko and his contribution to African American history (muttering a self-satisfied “Take that!” under their breaths). Some people do live just for those small moments of perceived glory. Again, they may merely view the statue as yet another piece of Americana, whose level of kitsch has surpassed any negative connotation it once had. Or they may be simply hiding their keys under its base. Who can say?

The only courteous and/or diplomatic course of action, if you insist on an action of any sort, would be to casually and congenially say to them “I’m sure that bit of statuary gets lots of comments,” and see if a friendly conversation ensues. “Informing” them of its effect on you or your friends is pointless; they are not unaware of its many associations, including those most foul. You could mention that you know of museums who are currently collecting these artifacts, as they have come to represent, even in their most benign, walkway-lighting incarnations, a grave insult to many people, and have they thought of making such a donation? Beyond that you can do no more. It will be a lovely occasion when those who deliberately choose to incite people around them with knowingly polarizing symbols, solely for the benefit of feeling some sort of perverse power by doing so, might pause, think of what might the kinder thing to do, and place statues of rabbits along the path, fly flags that say “Summer’s Here,” and put stickers on cars saying “I Love Hampton.” The view from the moral high ground is far superior to that from a walkway dimly lit by a remnant of our sad and sorry past.

Your Auntie Mac

The Grow Farm on Grow Hill: the Stone Brothers

The “Grow Farm” is one of the oldest in town. Thomas Grow arrived in Hampton in 1730, like several of our earliest settlers from Andover, Massachusetts, and purchased 100 acres in the northernmost portion of town, at that time part of Pomfret and referred to, for a long while and sometimes still, as “Grow Hill”. There were no buildings on the parcel at that time, though the house, one of the oldest in town, was built between 1730 and 1748 when Grow, who died a few years later in 1755, deeded half of the land, which included the house “where I now live”, to his son, Thomas Jr., and the other half to his son Joseph. The earliest section of the house is the south-facing salt box, which remains on the property and is now part of “Woodhill Farm”.

The “Grow Farm” has been in the Stone family since 1876. Phyllis Stone has lived there since1953, nearly three-quarters of a century, and her late husband and long-time First Selectman Walt lived there all his life. Walt’s father Elmer was also raised on the farm, along with two siblings and four half-siblings, including Harold, whose memories of the farm are recorded in “Hampton Remembers”:

When I was a small boy my day started about ha’ past five or a little earlier than that because we had to have our milk cooled and down to Elliot Station by seven o’clock. We had the stables to clean and the milking and we had to pitch out the silage after we got a silo and pitch down the hay, and feed ‘em the grain…We had to pump the water and turn the cows out into what was the horse barn there because that’s where the pump was and one boy could pump and keep pumping, steady, if two cows were drinking.

Elmer and his sons ran the farm until two of them, Clarence and Walter, purchased it in 1954 when the dairy farm became known as the “Stone Brothers”. Mother and Father Stone lived in the old farm house, in the half facing north, while Clarence and his wife Bea lived in the other half, and Walt and Phyllis raised their family in the house she still lives in. There were plenty of buildings to accommodate the daily operations. Phyllis remembers the big, black barn, a small garage which served as a tool shed and an oil shed, a garage for vehicles, a pig pen, another large barn, and a pole barn beyond it for the cattle, recalling that Walt told his son Walt Jr. that he couldn’t marry his future wife, Pam Colburn, until the pole barn was completed. Mr. Colburn, she relayed, brought a bunch of friends to finish building it.

Harold Stone remembered: We had two woodsheds that would hold twenty cords apiece, plus some extry, and when I left the farm there, those sheds were packed full, and the chunks were in a separate place for the big wood.

Cows were not the only animals on the farm. Heifer calves were raised; bulls were sold. There were pigs in the pig pen. “Mother Stone had chickens in the old farm house yard,” Phyllis recalls. “Walt Jr. wanted to raise chickens, so we bought 75 broilers. When it was time to kill them, he went to help his dad, put one on the chopping block and that was it.” Phyllis did the rest, but she never plucked or cleaned a chicken. Perhaps it was an old wives’ tale, but she was told that if you didn’t do it just right, you could disturb a gland and it would make the meat bitter. In those days, for Sunday dinners guests would sometimes come and kill and pluck and clean the chicken, and then enjoy the meal.

The farm saw many changes through the years, some resulting from growth, others from legislation. When Clarence and Walter purchased the farm, there were 50 cows; the Stone Brothers increased the number to one hundred. Harold relays that there were no more than twenty cows at a time when he grew up there. He recalled:

I had a milking stool that had a little platform in front where you could rest the pail instead of having to hold it tight with your knees the way you do when you use an ordinary three-legged milking stool. It was quite a help!

Elmer Stone milked the cows by hand in the black barn; Walt and Clarence machine-milked. Phyllis remembers when there was no milk room and all the equipment was cleaned in her house and returned to the barn. When the laws changed, a larger barn was built with a milking room, and the pig pen was moved far from the dairy operations. The methods for milk storage changed a lot also. Harold described:

You set your milk in these tin pans about ten to twelve inches across the top, smaller across the bottom. And up home we had what you called a milk, butter, and cheese pantry known as a butt’ry besides the other pantry where you kept your food.

Phyllis remembers when it was stored in milk cans placed in a large container chilled with water. Raw milk, she says, was given to babies, but it had to be from the same cow, according to Dr. Valentine, so that if the baby had digestion problems, the milk could easily be tested. The Stones sold raw milk directly to customers until the laws changed; then the milk was sold to Cumberland Farms. The milk was poured into a bulk tank which was hitched to a milk truck and hauled away.

Phyllis and Bea kept the books for the farming operation, but that was not their only job. An enormous breakfast was prepared every morning for when the milking, which started at sunrise, was finished: fresh juice, cereal and fruit, eggs, bacon or sausage, fried bread, pancakes, milk, coffee, and sometimes homemade donuts. After breakfast, cleaning the barn and washing the pails were among the many farm tasks to complete daily. “There’s always something to do on a farm,” Phyllis said.

Phyllis went to a cattle auction only once to see what it was like. “I didn’t know how to bid, I didn’t understand the process. Just a wink or a nod was sufficient,” she explains. “I bid once by mistake, and Walt asked, ‘why are you bidding?’ I didn’t know I had!” They didn’t wind up with that cow, though they did leave with another. “Elmer always said – look at the back end. It should look like it was hit with a board, and check out its teeth,” Phyllis recalls. “The auctioneer brought out this cow and I thought – look at those teeth! Look at that stature! This must be a good cow!” Walt was part of the bidding, but when it went too high, the bidding stalled. Phyllis asked, “Don’t you want that cow?” Walt answered, “No, it’s too much.” But Phyllis raised her hand at the last minute – sold! For $900! “Walt said – what did you do that for? And I answered – I don’t know – I just did it. Don’t you have enough money?” Walt, she recalls, explained that he was planning on purchasing two cows, not one. Needless to say, Clarence was very angry. “When asked – what are we naming him? – Clarence took off his hat and scratched his head (those of us who have lived here for a long while can all see this) and said – Fort Knox! Clarence never allowed me to go to another auction.”

When Phyllis and Bea tried to milk Fort Knox, the cow broke the milking machine. Phyllis put the machine on, Bea dumped the milk, and when Phyllis went to take the machine off, Fort Knox moved closer to the cow next to her, squeezing Phyllis – hard – but Clarence took no pity. Now she refers to it as “her first hug from Fort Knox,” adding, “She did produce many good heifers.”

The farm was also a perfect setting for 4-H, and for 19 years Phyllis’s local club, the “This n’ Thats”, cooked, baked, sewed, and learned crafts including jewelry, basket weaving, making moccasin slippers from sheep’s wool. “I loved working with the kids,” Phyllis says. The girls also hiked and camped in tents at Crystal Lake – “29 girls!” – and at Goodwin. “Walt helped set up and left the truck there,” she recalls. “I don’t know why – we couldn’t drive it!” Her daughter Ruth and Jennifer Burr were Junior Leaders and baton twirlers. They made their own uniforms, taught the younger girls, marched in the Memorial Day Parade, and later in the parade at Eastern States, exhibiting in Connecticut’s 4-H building where they all earned blue ribbons.

There were, of course, chores for the children on the farm. Harold relayed:

In the summer you had your haying and those days you didn’t kill weeds with pesticides. You had to work. Vacation, I don’t think they knew what the word meant.

The boys milked before school started, Phyllis recalls, and Ruth brought the cows in after school with the dog or her horse. “Walt Jr. was good with the cows,” Phyllis says. “Jimmy drove the tractor. He liked machinery. He used to say — I’d be a farmer if you could teach the cows to take Saturday and Sunday off!”

And, of course, there was time for fun. There was a three acre pond in the back of the property, and Phyllis remembers making hot chocolate for all of the members of the Parish Hill band when the Stones hosted a skating party with a bonfire on the ice. Skating, swimming, fishing, raising chickens, feeding calves, planting, tobogganing: it was a healthy, happy place to grow up.

Well, say, I don’t think the children today have anywhere near the fun that they had those days. They worked hard but of course they enjoyed their time off more. Now everybody has all the time off and…

Harold Stone

In early 2018, my husband Michael and I made a spur of the moment, but at the same time carefully considered, decision to move from our 20-year home in Stonington up to “the Quiet Corner.” There were many reasons for this choice ranging from the cost of living on the Connecticut shore to the desire for a quieter, less frenetic way of life. There was even the element as simple as taking on “the challenge” of relocating from a place where we had sunk deep roots. It is easy to get comfortably settled in a place and moving home is a great way to test one’s endurance for drastic change. When successful, it is a reassuring reminder that you are able to handle whatever changes may come your way.

We are both by profession artists and artisans and because of our self-employed and childless status we were able to relocate relatively easily thanks to our being able to work from anywhere and without the concerns faced by families with younger children. As location was not a limiting issue for us, it became merely a question of where we would like our new home to be. The Quiet Corner came to mind as I grew up here, and while I hadn’t lived here in 20 years, it was an area familiar and dear to me. Michael, while originally from southwestern Connecticut and not particularly familiar with this part of the state was drawn to its quiet existence and calmer way of life.

And then there is the historic home factor …We both greatly appreciate history and we both love historic homes. Our Stonington home, while not as old as our Hampton home, was a small 1932 cape built on a family farm with a history dating back to the early 1700s. While not family members ourselves, we were very much embraced by the family (descendants of the very same family who first established the farm in 1712) and we were gifted with the vast knowledge of history they harbored. We worked very hard to learn everything we could about the property and maintain the house in the original fashion true to its 1930’s era construction.

From the moment we first set foot into what is now our Main Street house we knew immediately that it was “home.” Main Street itself is like a step back in time and the beautifully maintained homes are a wonderful tribute to the Quiet Corner’s long history. We were excited and prepared to take on the responsibility of a long line of both past and future caretakers for our 1870 home.

Shortly before leaving Stonington I was talking with a friend who had taken on the task of relocating several years prior. I remember most clearly her telling me “there are wonderful things and difficult things about moving and you won’t truly understand either until you have done it.” It seemed like an odd thing to say at the time but in retrospect, she was oh so right.

Initially, just the physical reality of packing up a home of 20 years, and two home businesses of an equally long duration, was daunting. It was literally months of preparation combined with the stress of both buying our new home and the necessity of selling our current home. I remember well the sigh of relief issued as the last box of our possessions came through the door of our Main Street home.

Before our actual first night in our Hampton house, I was under the impression that this relocation was merely a move “back home.” I grew up literally less than seven miles from our new Hampton home and thought of this as “returning to from whence I came.” I quickly realized I was very much mistaken. Hampton, while only a few miles away, is worlds apart from the community in which I grew up. I was born and raised in Mansfield which, in comparison to the small community of Hampton, is a town with a much larger, highly transient population mostly on account of the University. Because of this, one is afforded a fair degree of anonymity. The community was small enough to feel “tight knit” but large enough that you were forever encountering people you did not yet know. Hampton, in contrast, is so small that everyone knows who you are before you introduce yourself. This can be a bit of a challenge when it comes to defining yourself to others, but at the same time it provides a comfort in knowing how close knit this community truly is.

Finding your way in a small New England community is challenging and I think “strangers” are always a bit suspect. But slowly at first, and overtime, we have gotten to know many wonderful people in this magical place who have, in a relatively short period, proven to be a great support. Many of the friendships we have forged here in less than two years are stronger than ones established over 20 years on the shore. Those new ties are a beautiful reminder of the value of small town living and what can happen when people truly reach out to each other.

Laura McCabe

Hampton Elementary School recently bid farewell to one of their longest serving and beloved teachers, Mrs. Leavens, who has retired after 37 years of sharing her expertise, her creativity, and her patience with hundreds of primary grade students, providing them with the fundamentals that would serve as an educational foundation for the rest of their academic lives.

Along with teaching, Deb Leavens has served as the Hampton Education Association President since 1992, advocating for teachers in the school, at board meetings, and at the negotiation table. Recognizing the vital role teachers play in children’s lives, she also understood the crucial role of respect for the profession.

Mrs. Leavens has also been instrumental in providing important links between the school and the community, by writing tributes for retiring teachers and staff, and by submitting student work to our newspaper. What a delight it’s been through the years to read their poems, letters of opinion to the principal and the president, and their interpretations of familiar proverbs. How else would we have known that “Don’t Put All Your Eggs in One Basket” means “do not rush because sometimes it gets really messy”?

On a personal note, Mrs. Leavens never forgot to invite my father to the school’s holiday senior luncheons, recalling with every invitation, and with tenderness, those sweltering afternoons when he would “surprise” his grand-daughters’ classmates with refreshingly cold cups of fruit punch, and captivate them with one of his favorite stories. A retired principal, she understood how much he enjoyed the children’s entertainment at the luncheons, and entertaining them with folktales in her classroom.

On January 29, parents and staff organized a luncheon in Mrs. Leaven’s honor at the school, and in the afternoon, students gathered in the media center to present her with the best sort of gifts for a teacher, those which were made with their own hands, and to read poems and sing songs from their hearts.

For your service to our community, your dedication to our school, and especially for your love of our children – we thank you, Mrs. Leavens – and wish you a long and healthy retirement.

Dayna McDermott

Last month, and every year for the past 41, we have recognized a “Citizen of the Year”, a resident who has contributed to the betterment of our town through volunteerism, public service, and neighborliness. We also recognize residents for their singular efforts elsewhere.

Our neighbor to the west, Windham, has bestowed their first “Citizen of the Year” award on one of our neighbors – David Foster – for his numerous contributions to his hometown. A resident of Hampton for the past several years, Foster, a Willimantic native, has never neglected his roots, his philanthropy nearly as legendary as his music career.

Notably, Foster’s donation toward the Shaboo Stage on Jillson Square went a long way in realizing Willimantic’s amphitheater, which opened in August, 2018 with performances from, among others, Jose Feliciano and the Shaboo All-Stars, a local band of which Foster is a member. Foster was one of the original owners of the Shaboo Inn in Mansfield, the music venue which sponsored nearly 3000 concerts from 1971 to 1982, bringing renowned artists such as Blood, Sweat and Tears , Bonnie Raitt, Jonathan Edwards, James Montgomery, Journey and Sting to Thread City. The Stage’s Debut was one of many benefit concerts Foster has been involved with. He was instrumental in raising $8000 recently for the Covenant Soup Kitchen with performances of the Shaboo All Stars at the Mohegan Sun’s Wolf Den and Willimantic’s Bread Box Theater, and in 2014 he participated in a concert on the stage of our own Community Center with proceeds donated to the Hampton Fuel Fund.

Most recently, Foster has vowed to purchase a new facility for the No Freeze Project, Windham’s homeless shelter, when the current location closes this spring.

The Town of Hampton salutes you, David Foster. Your cultural contributions and charitable acts are inspiring, and we’re proud to say you’re our neighbor.

Baked goods are a favorite no matter the season or the occasion, and it seems they are a necessity to every post-meal whether at home or at a gathering. Not only are they a tasty comfort to us all, but they spark conversation and interest and even introduce us to the people that make them.

Baker and Hampton resident Judy Kauffman opened up shop back in October, and has been baking and taking orders for the community since. Fallen Log Homestead Bakery is located right on Route 6, at 500 Providence Turnpike, just before the Brooklyn town line. The Kauffman cottage is one you can’t miss, and one where customer favorites such as Judy’s whoopie pies and dinner rolls are all made fresh and by hand.

Judy’s whoopie pies are her most popular item, and for good reason. The chocolate whoopie pies, that come with either vanilla, mocha or peanut butter filling, can be requested and ordered at any time, and it’s not just her whoopie pies that she can whip up; she also makes cookies, pies, bread, and cupcakes. Her breads, which range from white, cheddar cheese, jalapeno cheddar cheese, cinnamon raisin, zucchini bread, and banana nut bread, are quite popular as well. Her dinner rolls are also a favorite, which the Senior Luncheon often orders and serves.

All of Judy’s baked goods are fresh and cooked by hand. “We’re Fresh Matters” she expressed her slogan with a smile, adding that all of her pie fillings are made from scratch. It’s not just the fact that you’ll get fresh baked goods that have the quality and taste to match, it’s also the prices that will make them even more appealing. A plain loaf of bread costs only $5, and if you want the cheddar cheese bread or the jalapeno bread, it will only cost you $7. The prices for the pies go from $5 to $12 depending on the size, and her cookies are sold by the dozen ($4.25/dozen).

As for the future of the bakery, Judy plans to be open year round by next year, and come spring, Fallen Log Homestead Bakery will be open from 10AM to 5PM and will also start taking gluten free orders. She also plans on selling coffee and tea by the spring season. HOPE Coffee is the brand she’ll be buying from, and this particular coffee comes straight from Mexico, Honduras, and Guatemala. What’s amazing about this brand is that the coffee beans are purchased directly from the farmers that grow them, and the proceeds go toward projects to help the people of these countries as well as the farmers.

With affordable prices and food cooked with care, you shouldn’t have to look further than Fallen Log Homestead Bakery for quality baked goods. “We enjoy the community and want to give back to the community,” Judy stated. It’s a kind gesture, and one that is extremely appreciated. If you haven’t already, and would like to place an order and receive a delicious treat, you can call Judy at 717- 468-3174. Whether it be her highly requested chocolate whoopie pies or her spectacular bread that you order, you surely won’t be disappointed.

Sulema Perez-Pagan

Robert Vernon Garner Jr. passed away on December 26, 2019, in the 84^th year of his life. Bob’s illustrious career in aviation began in 1957, after joining the Navy Reserve and studying aircraft mechanics at Boston University, when he was commissioned a Naval Aviator and Officer and assigned to VP8. He was a commercial aviation pilot for Pan American World Airways, and continued flying as a “weekend warrior” in the Naval Reserve. Upon hearing of an opportunity for helicopter training in the Army, he enlisted, trained to fly helicopters, and joined the Rhode Island Air National Guard. In 1988 he resigned from his military service and retired from Pan Am, spending his time here on Sunset Hill with his family. Our condolences to his wife, Betty, of 59 years, his sons Robert, David, and Henry Garner and his wife Michelle, his daughter Anne Curry and her husband, Thomas, his grandson Brewster Curry and his wife Julia and their children, Rudolf and Thomas, and his granddaughters, Alison Curry and Greta Garner, who shares her loving eulogy with us.

Dear O’Papa,

As I look back, there are many memories I can recall that I will forever tuck safe inside my soul. Like when you, me, and O’Mama made tons of lemonade all summer, or when you took me for bike rides, or when we played checkers, or when we talked – especially when we talked. We talked to each other lots of places, but my favorite place was when I came to Sunset Hill early in the morning with my dad and you were the only one awake, downstairs in the kitchen, and we would talk to each other. We would talk to each other about anything in the world – events in our lives or things on our mind which untwined itself into long conversations, branching out into exchanges lasting hours on end while we waited for O’Mama to come down or Anne to arrive. Always, you were a house, especially in those conversations. You were a house; a safe, nurturing house where I could let out anything weighing me down.

You were a house of wisdom. You have taught me countless things. You taught me that my emotions were valid and you always made me feel special. You let me pour my tears out onto you and you always wanted to help me feel better. You taught me that I was important and you taught me self-value. You even took me to Munson’s when I was crying once because you know that rich chocolate helps heal the wounds. You taught me all about the future. You taught me what it means to fall in love. You rooted joy into every situation; driving to school, leaving school, or even riding a panicking pony galloping away with me. You found ways to make everything fun, whether that was singing “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz” or cracking up over the littlest things or entertaining me with memories from your life. By being yourself, you brought the sunshine into any situation. Many people know you by the mischievous twinkle in your eye and your sense of humor. I remember the time in second or third grade when you were dropping me off at school and I was crying because I didn’t want you to leave. I hadn’t cried getting dropped off in years! That tells you something.

You were strong in every single way. The most obvious ways are in your career, that you were in the Army, that you climbed up into the hayloft and drove your tractor and rode your bike all around town into your 80’s – but you were also strong in your unwavering faith, your unbeatable bravery, and your determination throughout all the hard places in your life. I saw this power inside you most clearly when you broke your neck and your ribs and God knows what else, and you stood up and fought and tried again and didn’t let your failures knock you down and you recovered. You lived life to the very fullest. You made it rich and you created the colors that made it so beautiful. At the end of your time here, when you were fighting against your cancer, you were so strong – even if you were too tired to carry on. You didn’t tell us how much you were hurting because you cared so deeply about us. You didn’t want us to worry – and although we may have wished you would have told us, your actions radiate a special kind of strength.

You were always so kind, so generous, and so thoughtful. You put an incredible effort into being the best father, husband, and grandfather you could be. You are the best grandpa in the whole wide world to me and you always will be. Although you had a tough and resilient shell, the rawness found deep inside your heart was what made you such a wonderful person. Animal movies and beautiful songs made you cry. I remember when you read a card you wrote to O’Mama and you told her that she was your best friend and it sent tears streaming down your face; and I knew from then on that when you said or felt something important that you truly meant, it was easy to tell from how it pulled on your heartstrings. You felt such tenderness and understanding for others who were hurting and you included everyone; welcomed everyone into your life like they should consider themselves one of the family.

I miss you. I miss your hugs. I see you in the stars that light up the sky at night, I see you in the sunsets on your homeland, I see you in the deep blue sky that you have flown through in many an airplane at the tippity top of the world. I think of you often – but now I know that you’re always safe, always at peace and living in eternal glory with the Lord. You’re always watching over us and looking after us just like you did here on earth. One of the last things that I told you is that this isn’t goodbye forever – that I would see you again one day and to you it wouldn’t seem like a very long time that we’re gone. I’m going to strive to be the best person I can be, just like you did, so that I can be with you again one day.

I love you.

Greta

Gertrude. The name is of German origin and means “strength”. Our Gertie wasn’t from Germany, but she was every bit as strong as the ‘name meaning’ suggests.

We brought Gertrude home in the summer of 2014 along with her younger sister Dandy (short for Dandelion – so named to reflect her very sunny disposition). Although the two girls were very young, they were already producing silky smooth, light brown eggs. Both were a beautiful deep shade of rusty red. Our knowledge of Rhode Island Reds was limited but we knew the breed was hardy and that they were good layers.

Gertrude took charge the second we let her out of her crate. She was met at the gate by our three large Brahmas: Jack – our sweet handsome rooster, and his two sisters – Shea and Brownie. Standing in front of Dandy, Gert clucked and squawked and strutted, letting everyone know that she was the boss. I don’t understand chicken language, but she must’ve explained herself in a way that meant ‘business’ because nobody rebutted or asked any questions! Usually when new chickens are put into the fold, scuffles break out until a pecking order is established. Brownie and Shea, who were much bigger than Gert, stood behind Jack as if to say ‘yes ma’am’. And Jack… well, Jack fell head over heels in love with Dandy the moment he saw her. He willingly gave up his authority so he could be with Dandy. Once she realized he wasn’t going to hurt her, Gertrude let Jack follow Dandelion everywhere she went. And Dandy was in heaven. They’d dart across the yard chasing bugs together, hold up weird shaped blades of grass for the other to examine, and do what they loved most – taking baths in the dirt on a sunny day. Brownie and Shea always joined in, while cautious Gert stood guard, surveying the skies for predators. After Jack had his fill, he’d take over the watch and Gert would flop down next to her sister. That chicken was a contortionist. She could get herself into shapes and positions one wouldn’t think possible for a bird. Then she’d just lay there, still as a stone, letting the sun soak in. The others would stand up, shake off, and gaze down at her in wonder. She was so entertaining.

Gertrude was stern, but fair. When disagreements did break out, she’d get right in the middle of the brawl and, I’m convinced, tell everyone to shake hands and make up. We’d watch her cluck at one, then the other, and then back at the first one. To our amazement, peace would be restored and soon the whole flock was running around and playing again. And when Jack was sulking over whatever roosters sulk about, Gert would comfort him and gently groom his comb and waddles, bringing instant relief. Gert was like a ‘super chicken’! Not surprising. There have been many ‘super Gertrudes’ throughout history. To name a few:

Gertrude Courtenay (1504 – 1558) Marchioness of Exeter, married to Henry Courtenay of the court of Henry VIII , and godmother to the future Elizabeth I.

Gertrude Bell (1868–1926) archaeologist and spy

Gertrude Weil (1879–1971) Jewish American activist in women’s suffrage, labor reform, and civil rights

Gertrud Luckner (1900–1995) Christian social worker against Nazism

Gertrude Crampton (1909–1996) American children’s writer and teacher

Gertrude Alderfer (1931–2018) American professional baseball player

Gertrude Vachon (1962–2010) better known as Luna Vachon, American professional wrestler

There are so many more not mentioned here. All strong, amazing women. All with the name – Gertrude.

Huffpost, “Parenting – 15 Girls’ Names That Have Plummeted in Popularity — How Times Have Changed”, by Caroline Bologna, states: “Gertrude peaked in popularity in 1906, when it took the No. 22 spot on the list. That year, 2,580 baby girls were named Gertrude. Its final year in the rankings was 1965, and in 2017, a mere 26 baby Gertrudes came into the world.”

Which in my humble opinion, makes the name even more special.

As time went by, new members were added to the flock and some have passed. An optimist at heart, I always hope (expect) everyone to live to their maximum life span age. Most chickens live five to seven years although ten to twelve years is not uncommon. So of course, I think all my feathered babies will live to be at least ten. I miss the ones who aren’t here, but have sweet memories of their time with our family.

We didn’t have Gert for ten years, but we did get to enjoy her loveliness for six delightful years. Although I’m no longer an inexperienced farm girl and have set more realistic expectations around the life spans of chickens, I still feel that sad little sting when one is gone. Gertrude was a real lady. She was a champ. She was a Marchioness, archaeologist, activist, social worker, writer, wrestler and baseball player. She was a silky red head who laid the most perfectly shaped, delicious brown eggs. She was sergeant, flock mate, sister, family. Regal, confident, unselfish, calming. She was our chicken. She was our Gertie. Thanks for the memories Gertrude! Here’s to you!

Gertrude: Rhode Island Red from Hampton, Ct. 2014-2020

Cindy Bezanson

Town meetings are sometimes contentious. Someone new to town couldn’t escape the palpable discord in the air and might be a little confused at the simultaneous handshakes and hugs that accompany the tension, relationships often superseding differences of opinion.

What might also be confusing is the nomination of the moderator. Who would opt to preside over such a factious affair? A newcomer to town meetings might expect someone sterner, gruffer, more formidable than the humble person who takes the podium on unanimous approval — a woman with the warmest smile and mildest disposition imaginable. Yet it is exactly her presence that is appreciated, and respected, at the most antagonistic of times.

Susan Hochstetter brings to the podium respect, a knowledge of the rules, neutrality, an understanding of the town, fairness, a sense of calm, and all the qualities required to moderate, in every sense of the word, small town politics. A model of decorum, she brings these traits to all of her community commitments.

As a charter member, and president of the Antiquarian and Historical Society for nearly twenty years, Sue has been responsible for several initiatives that have educated and entertained us. During her tenure, residents have learned of the “Pirates of Hampton” and the “Witches of Connecticut”, of trains and of toile, and of the “Notable and Notorious” of the Last Green Valley. The Society has entertained us with work songs of the world, Civil War songs, and old-fashioned favorites, hosted the State Historian and the State Archeologist, distributed old documents, sponsored appraisers for residents’ antiques, and provided a demonstration on “How to Sit in a Hoop Skirt”. Sue has also secured grants for the Society and has started work on the restoration of the museum’s shed.

An integral component of our town, the Society has always contributed to community celebrations. On Memorial Day, its members have marched as the “Spirit of ‘76” in the parade, and the Burnham-Hibbard Museum has been open with displays such as old flags. On Mother’s Day, they’ve served us a Victorian Tea. They’ve been a presence at the Fall Festival, this year with old tools to identify. For Walktober, they’ve sponsored tours of the North Cemetery, Main Street, and our mill streams. During the holidays, the Society’s Burnham-Hibbard Open House has provided traditional refreshments, special displays, such as nutcrackers and antique toys, and a visit from Santa Claus. And during the recent referendum, a tri-fold mural in the corridor displaying all the entries in the Historical Society’s annual contest asked residents to vote for their favorite decorated door prior to casting their ballots, lending levity and a touch of festiveness to Town Hall.

“Sue Hochstetter took the helm following President Leila Ostby. The feisty matriarch of Popover Hill was a tough act to follow, but Sue kept our ship on an even keel, overseeing the many facets of the Historical Society,” says member Dave Goodrich. “It’s hard to believe that almost twenty years have passed with her at the top! It’s nearly as difficult to grasp that she’ll be stepping down this year. It seems there was one other time during her reign (meant positively) that she said it was time to have her tenure end; fortunately for me — as Vice President — she had a change of heart! The Board of Directors no doubt breathed a sigh of relief.”

It is Sue’s intention to step down as president this year, a void which will be difficult to fill.

“Memories float in of Historical Society programs,” Dave continues. “All received Sue’s steadfast support. Our road ahead may seem a bit eerie without Sue to guide and encourage us. She has been there through thick and thin, calming nerves during structural and financial problems. Life goes on — but it won’t be the same without her.”

“Sue has been both a steadying and steering force for the Historical Society,” says member June Pawlikowki. “She keeps the Society’s vision focused in its current venues, while encouraging exploration of new opportunities or revisiting of existing options whose times may have finally come.  With her years as Society President her influence, knowledge and expertise is monumental, yet for all this she remains personable, approachable, enjoyable and just plain fun.  Three cheers for Susan Hochstetter, 2020 Hampton Citizen of the Year!”

The Historical Society is not the only organization that has reaped the rewards of Sue’s dedication. A current member of the Board of Directors, Sue has served as a volunteer at Fletcher Memorial Library for decades and was instrumental in initiating the “Friends of the Library” in 2000. Their goals were to “encourage awareness and use of the library, maintain a comfortable reading environment, continue extended hours, and foster growth of the library and its programs.” Before the library board assumed a more expansive role, the Friends raised funds for the library through the Annual Book and Bake Sale, sponsored programs such as a children’s story hour, authors’ readings and book signings, a book club, and decorated the library for all holidays.

“When I think of Sue, other than her incredibly warm smile, her deep sense of fairness comes to mind, says library board chairman Anne Christie. “As a Library Board colleague, I have often appreciated her evenhandedness, and asked for her thoughts on matters numerous times because I knew she would give careful consideration before responding. It is an admirable trait to have.”

“A great selection!” says member Janice Trecker. “Sue has been a mainstay of the Historical Society for decades, as well as a key library volunteer and board member. She is there with a smile whenever planning and hard work needs to be done.”

Jean Wierzbinski, who has worked with Sue for both the Library and the Historical Society, has this to say: “Kneeling on the floor going through boxes of donated books for the Friends of the Library book sale. Searching through drawers and closets in the Burnham-Hibbard House to find just the right things for displays. Walking through Hampton’s cemeteries, forests and old foundation sites to plan events. Visiting the Dodd Center to examine Hampton ephemera. These are among the favorite memories I have of Sue while serving with her on both the Historical Society Board and Friends of the Library. I have come to know Sue over the years as a rare person whose heart is sincere and deep, whose generosity of time and spirit appear unlimited. She is unfailingly kind and patient and an attentive and nonjudgmental listener. Through my contact with her in her profession as a nurse I found her to be quietly compassionate, concerned about the dignity and worries of those in her care. It goes without saying that she is committed, organized and dedicated to everything she takes on. She does nothing half-way. If a job needs doing, she does it. In short, she is one of a kind.”

Sue also served as President of the Republican Town Committee and continues as a public official on the Planning and Zoning Commission. Elected in 2013, she has served every year since then and was just re-elected this November for another five years.

“Sue is a proponent of Hampton’s rural character and ardent defender of Hampton’s rich history,” says Chairman Kevin Grindle. “She’s always prepared to add insight into a thought provoking discussion and never shy with her opinions.  Always willing to put in the added effort, dig into the research and come prepared for the discussion, Sue is a valuable member of Hampton’s Planning and Zoning Commission who all in Town should be proud to call our neighbor.

Born and raised in Hampton, from a family who’s lived here generationally, Sue’s love for the town has fueled her dedication to it, and her respect for the people who live here is apparent in all of her community engagements. Her ability to listen to folks never falters – in public forums and in private conversations, when her decision making process consistently includes the question – “what do you think?”

For your extraordinary efforts to preserve the history of our town, its historic and rural character, our treasures, the Burnham-Hibbard Museum and the Fletcher Memorial Library, and our neighborliness, we thank you, Sue!