Yankee Magazine November/December 2018

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CONTENTS features

The Tinkerer of Dickinson’s Reach

How yurt guru Bill Coperthwaite helped shape the way people think about creating not just shelters, but communities. By Wayne Curtis

120

The Man in the Red Flannel Suit

Yankee brings back its favorite Christmas story of all time, in which poet Donald Hall discovers that being the town Santa is not all ho-ho-ho and Merry Christmas!

128

The Town That Refused to Die

When the paper mill that had defined Bucksport, Maine, for eight decades shut down just before Christmas 2014, the town could have withered away. Instead, something remarkable happened. By Mel Allen

124

Girl Power

In the latest of Yankee ’s annual “Angels Among Us” profiles, we meet a Massachusetts woman who is on a deeply personal mission to help motherless daughters reconnect to joy. By Ian Aldrich

One of the grand yurts at Bill Coperthwaite’s off-the-grid compound in Machiasport, Maine.

Photograph by Mark Fleming; food styling by Jen Beauchesne; prop styling by Sierra Baskind/Ennis Inc.; typography by Angela Southern

ON THE COVER

More CONTENTS

home

30 /// If You Gild It, They Will Come

A grand Massachusetts estate invites visitors into the seasonal magic of historic homes. By Debra Spark

36 /// Open Studio

For the creative duo behind Vermont’s Red House, great design is in the bag. By

Annie Graves

42 /// House for Sale

Here’s a once-in-a-lifetime chance to buy a landmark Maine inn of your very own. By the Yankee Moseyer

travel

90 /// Could You Live Here?

An early-winter getaway to Marblehead, Massachusetts, offers history and the holidays, all wrapped up together. By Annie

Graves

98 /// The Best 5

Coastal towns that put on jolly-good Christmas celebrations. By Kim

Knox Beckius

100 /// Out & About

From candlelight tours to snowboarding Santas, we round up regional events that are worth the drive.

HOLIDAY FOOD SPECIAL

54 Cooking at Cottage Farm/Gathering Together: Thanksgiving on the family farm is a time to savor the fruits of the season with a delicious, easy-to-prepare feast. By Krissy O’Shea

64 Yankee’s Sixth Annual Editors’ Choice Food Awards: We salute the best artisan cheeses, chocolates, coffee, and other gift-worthy edibles— all made here in New England. By Amy Traverso and Krissy O’Shea

76 Cookie Swap: Top bakers share their favorite recipes as we update the classic holiday cookie exchange. By Amy Traverso

DEAR YANKEE, CONTRIBUTORS & POETRY BY D.A.W.

14

INSIDE YANKEE

In praise of small gifts.

16

MARY’S FARM

The birth of a child is always something of a miracle— especially when it happens in the depths of winter.

By Edie Clark 18

LIFE IN THE KINGDOM

The pleasures of daily routine and simple living come into focus during a cold snap on the homestead.

By Ben Hewitt

22

FIRST LIGHT

The holiday celebration in Weston, a classic Vermont small town, tugs at memories and creates new ones.

By Mel Allen

28

KNOWLEDGE & WISDOM

Unraveling the secret of New England fishermen’s wondrous wool mittens; novelist Celeste Ng on the importance of goodwill to all; and sizing up Boston’s Logan Airport, by the numbers. 156

TIMELESS NEW ENGLAND

As college bowl season approaches, we look back at Doug Flutie and the mother of all Hail Marys.

1121 Main St., P.O. Box 520, Dublin, NH 03444. 603-563-8111; editor@yankeemagazine.com

EDITORIAL

EDITOR Mel Allen

ART DIRECTOR Lori Pedrick

DEPUTY EDITOR Ian Aldrich

MANAGING EDITOR Jenn Johnson

SENIOR EDITOR/FOOD Amy Traverso

HOME & GARDEN EDITOR Annie Graves

ASSOCIATE EDITOR Joe Bills

PHOTO EDITOR Heather Marcus

SENIOR PHOTOGRAPHER Mark Fleming

DIGITAL EDITOR Aimee Tucker

DIGITAL ASSISTANT EDITOR Cathryn McCann

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Kim Knox Beckius, Edie Clark, Ben Hewitt, Rowan Jacobsen, Krissy O’Shea, Julia Shipley

CONTRIBUTING

PHOTOGRAPHERS Kindra Clineff, Sara Gray, Corey Hendrickson, Joe Keller, Joel Laino, Little Outdoor Giants, Michael Piazza, Heath Robbins, Carl Tremblay

PRODUCTION

PRODUCTION DIRECTORS David Ziarnowski, Susan Gross

SENIOR PRODUCTION ARTISTS Jennifer Freeman, Rachel Kipka

DIGITAL

VP NEW MEDIA & PRODUCTION Paul Belliveau Jr.

DIGITAL MARKETING MANAGER Amy O’Brien

YANKEE PUBLISHING INC.

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New England.com

Travel: New England’s Best Christmas Towns

We round up the top 10 destinations for a festive day of strolling and shopping.

NEWENGLAND.COM/ CHRISTMAS-TOWNS

Recipes: Favorite Side Dishes for a Thanksgiving Feast

From caramelized sweet potatoes to buttery fan-tan rolls, it’s time to get cooking.

NEWENGLAND.COM/ THANKSGIVING-SIDES

Travel: Editors’ Picks for the Merriest Inns Around Dreaming of a New England Christmas? Find an ideal overnight at these five inns.

NEWENGLAND.COM/ CHRISTMAS-INNS

Food: How to Set the Perfect Holiday Table

A pro stylist reveals her top tips, from choosing a palette to using natural accents.

NEWENGLAND.COM/ HOLIDAY-TABLE

Revelers take in the vintage holiday vibe on Main Street in Stockbridge, Massachusetts.

WAYNE CURTIS

A passing reference in a Maine kayaking guidebook led Curtis to a one-of-a-kind community in the woods and the story of the iconoclast who founded it [“The Tinkerer of Dickinson’s Reach,” p. 110]. “From the design to the spirit of living intentionally in an inhospitable place, everything about it was fascinating,” says Curtis, a contributor to Garden & Gun, Imbibe, and the Daily Beast, among others.

SIERRA BASKIND

For help getting our holiday cookies cameraready [“Cookie Swap,” p. 76], we turned to this Massachusetts-based stylist, whose client list includes Teen Vogue and Boston and companies such as Yankee Candle and Marshalls. “I have a huge sweet tooth,” Baskind confesses, “and seeing all these creative recipes made me excited to try something new in the kitchen this season!”

GABE SOUZA

Assigned to photograph the people and places of Bucksport, Maine [“The Town That Refused to Die,” p. 128], Souza already knew the lay of the land when he arrived in town—it’s where he grew up, after all. Now living in Portland, Souza says revisiting his old stomping grounds “caused me to examine myself both as a person and a photographer, and I hope that results in work that is deeply personal and passionate.”

SARAH RICE

Having previously fielded assignments from the likes of National Geographic and Newsweek , Rice brought a can-do spirit to photographing an off-the-grid Maine compound [“The Tinkerer of Dickinson’s Reach,” p. 110], which required her to hike in with her gear, batteries, food, and other supplies. The reward? “It was a magical shoot, especially the late-night paddle trips back to my yurt. I could’ve stayed a lot longer.”

CASEY ATKINS

Having lived in countries ranging from Germany to Peru to China, Atkins today is a freelance filmmaker and photographer based in Boston. Yet she still found an international connection to her subject for this issue [“Girl Power,” p. 124]: “I do a lot of work with a nonprofit in Nicaragua that helps empower women, so I was excited to get an assignment here in the U.S. to cover a nonprofit that helps empower young girls.”

DONALD HALL

One of New England’s most gifted writers of poetry and prose, Hall passed away this year at the age of 89. To honor this beloved former U.S. poet laureate and frequent contributor to Yankee, we’ve brought back the all-time favorite holiday story from our archives, “The Man in the Red Flannel Suit” [p. 120], in which Hall memorably describes what it’s like to portray Santa in a small New Hampshire town.

Pro and Con

I started to read your article on Gloucester, Massachusetts’s fight against opioids, and I could not put it down [“Port in a Storm,” September/October]. I found it gripping and frightening that this is happening to our country. The photography made the story even more heartbreaking.

I was born and raised in a small town near Pittsburgh. All the small towns in western Pennsylvania are struggling with an influx of heroin and other drugs. They do not have the resources for police nor any kind of rehab. It is a nightmare.

Drugs are everywhere, but what has happened and is happening in New England is appalling.

Robert Smith Fort Lauderdale, Florida

I look forward to each issue of your magazine. The articles about industrious New England people are mesmerizing; the photos of New England landscapes are so charming. But the most recent issue wasted many, many pages on the opioid crisis. We read about people who are hooked, who have died, the dealers who bring the drugs from Mexico straight up to our towns—our newspapers are full of this information in lurid detail. We didn’t want to be hit over the head with this subject when there is so much to show about autumn in New England.

Lisy Meyers

North Haverhill, New Hampshire

Cover Critique

Your eagerly awaited September/ October issue has arrived, and while I was pleased to see a dog on the cover, I was dismayed that it was one of those ubiquitous golden retrievers. My people and I are getting tired of them being the face of New England outdoor fun. We see them in almost every L.L. Bean catalog—and now Yankee ! Why not consider German shepherds? We look just as good on the

MIRACLE MUSIC

String your brightest colored lights, But nothing shortens winter nights

Like carols sung with heart and lung

Beneath the mistletoe we’ve hung.

—D.A.W.

back of an antique pickup truck, and what’s more, that picnic basket would be a whole lot safer from intruders. I, for one, am always available for a photo shoot.

Lily Randolph, Vermont

Corrections and Clarifications

• “Worcester” and “Wooster” are a particularly devilish pair of New England spellings that dinged us in the September/October issue. “The Big Question“ should have stated that legendary Connecticut pizza shop Frank Pepe Pizzeria Napoletana got its start on New Haven’s Wooster Street.

• Tempted to make Gesine BullockPrado’s scrumptious pistachiochocolate babka [“Her Own Sweet Time,” September/October]? You need to use instant yeast, which is not the same as rapid-rise or quick-rise yeast.

• The article “The Essence of Appledore” [September/October] should have credited the University of New Hampshire as the headquarters of the Shoals Marine Laboratory, which it runs in conjunction with Cornell University.

In Praise of Small Gifts

n the last week of August, a reader from East Dummerston, Vermont, sent us an email that began, “I don’t know why I haven’t written before to say how much I love Yankee.” She went on to write: “I savor every article and even read the ads … I won’t allow myself to read the entire magazine in one or even two days. I make it last like fine wine or a special dessert, and then when I turn the last page, I read it all again.”

Every time we publish an issue of Yankee, we’re a bit like scientists sending a probe into deep space, wondering whether we’ll hear a message come back one day. So when a note like the one from our Vermont reader arrives in my in-box, I forward it to all our writers and editors, our art team, and our digital team. It gives us the gift of connection.

In different ways, such gifted moments are all around us. We’ve even put a few of them inside this issue, beginning with a holiday visit to a close-knit Vermont village [“Christmas in Weston,” p. 22]. On the first Saturday of December, the townsfolk head downtown for a day of festivities that evoke a simpler time: horse-drawn wagon rides, caroling with friends and neighbors, and finding gifts and memories in a venerable country store.

Back in 1982, we wrote about a certain holiday cookie swap in Wellesley, Massachusetts, but didn’t have space to print all the recipes too. So we told readers to request them by mail, and then we made 100 copies or so, thinking that should be plenty. Instead, the requests did not stop until 20,000 envelopes had gone out—connections indeed! This year, senior food editor Amy Traverso paid homage to that Wellesley get-together by gathering accomplished food writers and bloggers for “a new twist on an old tradition” [“Cookie Swap,” p. 76] that just may spark something where you live.

This summer we saw the passing of former U.S. poet laureate Donald Hall, who lived on the farm of his forebears in a little New Hampshire town. But he will always be with us in the thousands of words he gave to the world, including his unforgettable tale of being the designated Santa in his village [“The Man in the Red Flannel Suit,” 120]. I hope you will gather with family of any age to read aloud this small gift of lovely writing, which can be opened year after year.

Now, I need to say good-bye to a favorite page of so many. For more than 25 years, Edie Clark’s life unfolded in her Yankee columns, first “The Garden at Chesham Depot” and then “Mary’s Farm.” But as I wrote in this space a year ago, Edie suffered a series of small strokes that made writing difficult and eventually forced her to leave her beloved New Hampshire homestead; she now lives in a nursing facility not far away. Over the past year, we have run “Mary’s Farm” columns from Edie’s archives, an appreciation for what she has meant to many, and this issue will mark the end [“December Babies,” p. 16]. Her writings continue to live on in her many books, however, as well as in UMass Amherst’s Special Collections and University Archives. And one more note: In the past several months, we have delivered more than 500 notes and cards from Yankee readers to Edie, and so many bring a smile. To keep the connection going, just write to Edie Clark, Yankee, 1121 Main St., Dublin, NH 03444.

Through each issue of Yankee, we continue to be part of a special community, all of us connected in some way by New England. That is a gift unto itself.

Mel Allen editor@yankeemagazine.com

December Babies

The birth of a child is always something of a miracle— but some are more miraculous than others.

hose of us born in December often arrive late, or so say the old wives, who claim that these fiery infants aren’t anxious to come forth into the cold world. I was apparently not interested in that cold entry, as I was born on December 10 rather than November 14, the day my mother expected me. That was also the day Queen Elizabeth gave birth to Prince Charles. I don’t think my mother ever quite got over the disappointment that I didn’t come when I was supposed to, as I think she liked the idea of giving birth the same day as the queen. Twenty-five years ago one of my closest friends was expecting her first baby. She and her husband had chosen to live in the woods, with only a horse for transportation. They lived in a cabin with no electricity or telephone, almost a mile from the road. Her due date was in early December, and I was not the only one who worried that she might not make it out of the woods in time. Would she ride her horse to the hospital? Maybe she wondered, too, as the date came and went and no baby arrived. At last she went into the hospital, where labor was induced, and she gave birth to a beautiful, rugged little boy two days after Christmas. The boy is now a man, six feet and more.

Yet the most astonishing birth story I know of is not about being born late, but too soon. This happened to a friend who was born two months early, into the chill month of December, in the 1930s, in the hills of Vermont.

It was nearly Christmas, and on the night she was born, a snowstorm blocked the roads and especially the high hill where her family farmed. Fortunately, the family doctor lived on the same hill, so he was able to get to the house just before the little girl emerged, small as a bird, very likely too small to survive.

These were the instructions the doctor gave to her father: Fill half a dozen Mason jars with boiling water and place them around the sides of a wooden box. Wrap the baby in a woolen blanket and place her into the jar-warmed box. Set the box into the oven and leave the door open. Then go upstairs and start the stove in the bedroom. Keep the door to the room shut and raise the temperature as high as you can get it.

Her father carefully followed the doctor’s plan, tightly sealing the room and kindling a roaring fire with thin, split sticks. He kept his tiny daughter in the oven until the bedroom was ready, then he carried her to the hot room and left her inside, in her cradle.

When he returned, he saw, to his horror, that she had turned blue. He knew in an instant what she needed. Throwing open the window, he held the gasping infant out into the December night, where she gulped in the icy air, the balm that she needed.

My friend is in her 60s now, a good age to reflect on such a fearsome entry into this unprotected life, which she sometimes does while sitting out on the grass of her father’s farm. It is much as he kept it, minus the animals, and that room where he created her incubator is largely unchanged.

I love her story because it reminds me that, though life is fragile and is often taken from us in ways that leave us mystified, still, a box of warm Mason jars, a woodstove, and the cold air of a December night were, at one time, all that was needed to save a tiny life.

A slightly longer version of this essay appeared in the December 2001 issue of Yankee . To learn more about Edie Clark, read her selected articles and essays, or order her books, go to edieclark.com.

Time Alone

With family away, life during a cold snap is distilled to the pleasure of chores, the warmth of cats, and a ski trek across the land.

t 3 in the afternoon of what is nearly the last day of the year, I step outside and strap on my cross-country skis. The temperature is two degrees below zero, and though the light has already begun its tilt toward darkness, it retains the startling clarity of deep cold. It’s as if temperature is not merely numbers on a thermometer but also an actual substance that, as subtracted degree by degree, brings previously unseen details into sharp relief: the coarse bark of the lanky black cherry perched at the height of the pasture knoll, for instance. Or the snow-weighted boughs of the spruce in the copse behind the garden. Even sound seems to be clearer, more resonant. From an improbable distance, I can hear the cows shifting in their paddock.

PHOTOGRAPH BY PENNY HEWITT

We are in the midst of the deepest and longest cold snap in memory, and my family has taken their leave, having embarked on an end-of-year deer hunting trip to North Carolina. Because the budget for the 10-day trip is $200, including gas, my wife, Penny, has packed every cranny of the car with food. There are bags of homemade beef jerky and jars of sauerkraut. A cooler with a whole chicken, four pounds of hamburger, and a generous slab of bacon that just came out of the smoke shack. They will stay in a wall tent heated by a portable woodstove, and everyone is a little shocked to see that nighttime temperatures in the area they’re visiting are predicted to fall into the teens. In some regards, the trip is a reward for my son Rye’s persistence during Vermont’s bow and rifle seasons, during which he spent more than 80 hours in the woods and not once was blessed by the presence of a legal animal. But it’s also simply because this is what my family likes to do.

In truth, I am happy for the time alone. It provides opportunity to read and reflect, to ski whenever I wish, and to work on the house unimpeded. I plan to tile the mudroom floor in their absence, a task that would be nearly impossible with the typically frenetic comings and goings of three others. And the truth is, I’m not really alone: There are the cats, Huck and Winslow, siblings that have become by far the most expensive “free” gift we ever got the boys. Over the six years since they came into our home, we’ve spent thousands on their care and feeding, including the extraction of numerous rotten teeth for Winslow that has left him with a two-toothed maw and the unfortunate nickname “Gummy.” (Before you feel too sorry for Winslow’s loss, please know that I lost plenty on the deal, too: The extractions cost a cool $700.)

Now, with my family away and the cold bearing down, the cats settle on the couch with me in the evenings as I read or watch a movie, and all the money spent on their upkeep seems a particularly sound investment. In these moments, I don’t even begrudge Gummy’s deficient mouth.

And then there are the livestock: the three cows (Apple, Pip, and Frodo), the pair of pigs (forever to remain nameless), the flock of laying hens (ditto), and Rye’s trio of goats (Flora, Boy, and, naturally, Goat). One of the things I love about working animals is their apparent acceptance of circumstance. Sure, the cows will bellow if I’m tardy with their ration of hay, but when it comes to the weather—be it hot, humid, rainy, sleeting, or just plain cold—stoicism reigns. Unlike the humans I encounter, the critters make no complaints; they simply go about their days, the snow gathering on their backs, the whiskers of their muzzles glinty with frost.

The cold presents certain challenges for me. Foremost is ensuring the animals have access to water. Because we do not have tank heaters, this means frequent rounds to break the ice that has formed since my last pass. I do what I can to compel everyone to drink in the immediate aftermath of these efforts, but if you’re wondering how one compels a chicken to drink, the only honest answer is, one doesn’t. It doesn’t work with the cows, either—or for that matter, the goats or the pigs. This means all my cajoling (“Water for ya, water for ya, come drink, come drink!” ) serves exactly zero purpose except for me to hear the ringing of my own voice in the frigid air. Which, given my current lack of human companionship, proves more gratifying than usual.

So, from morning chores at dawn until just before bed, every three

hours or so I walk the well-trod paths from pen to pen. In the larger troughs, such as those for the cows and pigs, I stomp through the ice with booted foot, then excavate the chunks with bare hands so as not to wet my gloves. The smaller troughs of the goats and chickens are thumped against the ground until the ice crumbles. I refill them with a fivegallon bucket of water drawn from one of the two frost-free hydrants

are waiting for me at the front door, one on either side: Gummy the early riser to be let in, Huck the late riser to be let out.

I installed when we were building two summers ago. I love frost-free hydrants: To me, they are emblematic of the best of human ingenuity, elegant in design, and, unless you back your equipment trailer over one, relatively foolproof. (Not that I’ve ever done anything of the sort, mind you. Nope. Never.)

In the early mornings, after I’ve distributed hay and water and grain, I halter Pip to our chosen fence post and milk her by hand. I go as fast as I can, stopping occasionally to warm my fingers in the crease of her leg and lower belly, and I remember how when my son Fin was 4 or 5 he would accompany me to the barn on cold mornings, and how he would delightedly stick his small hands into that same furred crease—not so much because his hands were cold, I think (he’d actually remove his mittens expressly for the purpose), but rather for the simple pleasure and novelty of it. He called it her “armpit.”

I finish milking, unhalter Pip, and carry the full bucket across snow that squeaks beneath my boots. The cats

It was 15 below when I started chores, but the sun has cleared the tree line, and in the intervening 40 minutes, the temperature has risen a full eight degrees. Seven below zero, yet—excepting my regloved fingertips, which tingle with returning blood—I do not feel the cold. And in this moment, with a warm house awaiting me, and a full three hours before I’ll need to make my rounds again, I realize something as suddenly, startlingly clear as the cold itself: I’m actually grateful for this weather. Grateful for the clarity of the air, for the cold-hot sensations in my cheeks and fingers, for the way it brings my attention to the small moments and movements of my day. You don’t daydream at 15 below.

There’s something about deep cold—maybe it’s just survival instinct, or maybe it’s an extension of the visual and auditory clarity, or most likely it’s both—that strips away the superfluous, that brings the mind into focus. It is the privilege of one with a tight, well-built house and an ample woodpile to feel this way, and understanding this only makes me appreciate the cold all the more. For how often am I reminded to be thankful for the good fortune that I habitually take for granted? The answer, of course, is not often enough.

I open the door to the house with my free hand, and the cats trade places in their darting way. I step into the warm cocoon of our simple home. I can hear the fire, the ticking of the logs releasing heat, the simmering of the kettle, and I decide that later, no matter how cold it is, I’m going for a ski.

And as you already know, I do.

There’s something about deep cold that strips away the superfluous, that brings the mind into focus.

yes, we have Lady Captain’s rings set with oval diamonds

Lady in her rowboat on the way to her sloop.

First LIGHT

clockwise from top right : The gazebo on the Weston, Vermont, town green makes a suitable stage for the village Christmas tree; a youngster looks on, rapt, as Santa arrives by horse-drawn wagon; the Claus clan greets the townsfolk; classic holiday greenery and a homey rocker create a timeless tableau at the c. 1827 home of the Vermont Country Store.

Christmas in Weston

A small-town celebration tugs at memories and creates new ones.

BY MEL ALLEN

BY JAMIE WALTER

ometimes the gifts we remember most come from the simplest of places: the heart. Weston, Vermont, a pretty village with a river flowing through it, has known this for a long time. Weston is famous for having the state’s longest-running professional theater, and it is unlikely that there is more talent seen onstage in a town of this size anywhere in the country. If everyone is home and relatives are visiting, there may be about 600 people residing here. Each day, however, many more make the pilgrimage to the Vermont Country Store, the North Star of Main Street. It’s a cozy nest of nostalgia that’s hard to shake even after leaving, as the entire town center is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Until AT&T installed a cell tower recently, townspeople still spoke to the outside world on their landlines. There remain pockets all through town where staring at a phone screen returns only your reflection. And on the first Saturday of December, when Weston greets the yuletide season with a celebration called Christmas in Weston, many are grateful for the respite

Here, the holiday spirit is distilled to its essence of goodwill, far from the furious pulse of packed malls. Marshmallows roast on sticks over an open fire on the village green. There’s a cookout, and the steady rhythm of draft horses pulling wagons, and a petting farm snugged into a barn, a gingerbread contest, a magic show, caroling, visits to historic museums, a tree lighting. And, of course, Santa.

The morning air is damp, a tad too warm for snow. The parking lot of the Vermont Country Store is sticky with mud. I learn that the dirt surface is intended to maintain the feel of when the store first opened in 1946. Across the street, in a touch of country store rivalry, a sign outside the Weston Village Store proclaims,

PHOTOGRAPHS

CHRISTMAS IN WESTON

“Weston’s original country store— since 1891.”

Santa and Mrs. Claus will arrive on a fire truck at 11 a.m., so there is time. I stop at the tidy post office and meet Melvin Twitchell. This is his 33rd year as postmaster in and around southern Vermont, and he’s been in Weston since 2011. Laughing lightly, he tells me that the postman who delivers the mail has a hole in his muffler, and the 200 or so families on his rural route don’t want him to fix it. “They want to know when he’s on his way,” he says. A woman comes in and hands Melvin a brown paper bag. He smiles. Inside sits a pear the size of a softball. “She just came back from California,” he explains. “Merry Christmas,” she calls out as she leaves. “This is my world,” he says.

I stroll to the green, rimmed by its vintage iron fence. A Christmas tree festooned with unlit lights stands inside the gazebo; at dusk, the day will end with townspeople pressing close,

expectant. Modest in size, the green is larger than life in town lore. The story goes that this is the nation’s only town common not owned by a town but by a group of nine women, who keep it trim and neat. The green was once part of the homestead of Captain Oliver Farrar, who in 1797 built a tavern here (now a museum), and his heirs left the land to be kept in perpetuity by town trustees, who since 1886 have always been women.

By 9:30 a.m., Jonathan Bliss, pastor of the Old Parish Church, is coaxing flames to life in a fire pit. Every year, he says, Christmas in Weston raises money for a local charity; this year it is Just Neighbors of Vermont, which helps people here and in surrounding communities weather temporary hardships and emergencies. Next year Just Neighbors goes to the bottom of the list, and a new charity arises.

At 10, the first horse-drawn wagon of the day clops by the green, its bells

ringing, and turns in to a lane by the Vermont Country Store. Two wagons sponsored by the store will trek by all day (and pedestrians will learn to keep their eyes on the ground along the wagon route).

I climb aboard behind Peter Hudkins’s team. He and his wife own Smokeshire Hilltop Farms, about eight miles out of town. His wagon is pulled by Sarah and Betsy, Suffolk Punch draft horses, a heritage breed with only about 1,500 remaining in the world. They are handsome veterans, aged 19 and 14, and they wait patiently in the cool damp for the wagon to fill. Then they head north along the road to Walker Farm.

Sitting beside me is a young couple from New York. He says he is “in film” and she is an actress. They stumbled

below : Peter Hudkins and his Suffolk Punch draft horses, Sarah and Betsy, make the rounds. opposite : A young visitor is tickled pink by her up-close visit with Santa.

snow fell, and “it felt magical,” he says—so here they are again. They remembered drinking mulled cider and “the best grilled cheese ever” at the Bryant House Restaurant.

After we return, Santa arrives on a blaring fire engine. He dismounts and, accompanied by Mrs. Claus, threads his way past waiting families inside the Vermont Country Store, where he settles into a deep, cozy chair. A young blond woman is first in line. She has come from Massachusetts with her three children, who range from 10 months to 5 years old. The two oldest climb onto Santa’s lap. “Oh, you have the devil in your eyes,” Santa says to one. “You wish real, real hard, and I’ll try and get my elves working.”

The Clauses, who live 20 miles east of Weston, have two children and two grandchildren of their own. Santa’s beard is real, as is his ease and warmth with kids, and he has been doing this for 40 years. For several hours they lis-

ten and smile, and as each child climbs off Santa’s lap, Mrs. Claus hands down a candy cane. I ask how he knows how to respond when an all-trusting child asks for a gift. “I never promise,” Santa says. “But I watch the parents to see.”

The store’s front-door bell rings all day long, as it has for decades. What Vrest Orton and his wife, Mildred, created here was an idiosyncratic and whimsical shopping experience. They understood the powerful tug of memory, the appeal of nostalgia to our imagination, and they packaged that experience not only on store shelves but also in catalogs that found their way around the world. Hang out for a few moments by the glass jars full of penny candy, and you’ll hear, as I did, someone describe a jolt of memory brought on by seeing striped gum and candy straws, how suddenly 45 years have melted away and he’s a child again.

With the afternoon winding down, I walk to the Church on the Hill for carol singing. It is known as “the music

church.” A woman named Pat Connelly leads the singing while playing guitar. Her voice is easy to listen to, and songs fill the room. “I can hear your spirits in your voices,” she says. I see the young couple from New York joining in.

At dusk, seemingly everyone in Weston is gathered around the gazebo. Santa and his missus walk by. The tree blazes to life, a shared amen on the day.

As I drive away, I think of when I stopped earlier at the Mill Museum and chatted with Bob Brandt, president of the Weston Historical Society. “I am a historian of a town where nothing ever happened,” he told me. Nothing but songs in a church, smoke rising from fire pits, a store with bells, children nestled in their parents’ arms. I take his words as a promise.

from left : A corn-grinding demonstration (and the warmth of a potbellied stove) beckons visitors to the Weston Mill Museum; toasting marshmallows on the town green.

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Knitty Gritty

Rediscovering the amazingly tough New England boiled mitten.

ack in 1983, Yankee contributor Robin Hansen wrote about the nearly lost craft of New England boiled mittens, which had been the choice of fishermen for hundreds of years. Worn wet and shrunk to fit, these wool mittens were such superb insulators that when a fisherman peeled them off at day’s end, “his hands were so red and warm they steamed in the cold air.” The article included “probably the only instructions in print anywhere for this kind of mitten,” provided by expert knitters on Chebeague Island, Maine. But a few years later, Hansen posted this critical update in our “Quips, Quotes & Queries” column:

Following the appearance of the article, knitters from all over New England wrote that their mittens wouldn’t shrink according to instructions. In answer to this frustration, the knitters of Chebeague Island said only that the

mitten must be used as it was intended, that it was never meant to be worn on the trolley in Boston or in the north woods. We also heard from some fishermen’s wives on the New England coast whose husbands were delighted with their new mittens, which did shrink and did keep their hands warm when wet.

So our instructions were right, but not precise. When a fisherman wets his mittens in the hot water from his engine, tramps on them on a wet, salty deck, and dries them on the manifold, his mittens shrink. The principle: Wool shrinks because of sudden changes from hot to cold and back.

Recently, I found instructions on simulating the changes in temperature that a fisherman’s mittens face. They are in a book by Vibenke Lind called Strik med Nordisk Tradition (Knitting in the Nordic Tradition) —and are written in Danish, which gives you an idea of why I didn’t find them earlier.

Want to make these mittens for a classic New England gift this holiday? Go to newengland.com/fishermens-mittens.

UNCOMMON SENSE

Celeste Ng (born July 30, 1980). Exploring ideas of race, class, and family, this Cambridge, Massachusetts, author first made a name for herself with her 2014 debut novel, Everything I Never Told You. Her follow-up, Little Fires Everywhere, not only was widely named a best book of 2017 but also is being developed as a Hulu miniseries starring Kerry Washington and Reese Witherspoon.

“You should be able to count on the goodwill and generosity of others to survive … and by ‘others’ I mean our society and our society safety net. ‘Others’ is all of us.”

The Eustis mansion is filled with the rich colors and nature motifs of the Aesthetic movement. A perfect symbol of this style is the peacock, which shows up in the parlor both as a work of taxidermy and as feathered embellishments in the holiday garland.

If You Gild It, They Will Come

BY DEBRA SPARK

PHOTOGRAPHS BY MARK FLEMING

It’s late November, and you’re feeling festive. You’re the kind of person who likes guests, so your thoughts turn to Christmas decorations. And why not? You’ve got 37 houses to adorn for visitors. Time to break out the tinsel!

How frustrating to learn that, for most of your properties, such efforts are a decided no-no.

That’s more or less the position that Historic New England (HNE) has been in for years. The regional preservation organization owns and operates house museums from Maine to Rhode Island, architectural beauties that span four centuries. And in many cases, these homes would never have hosted what we consider the traditional trappings of Christmas: wreaths, ornaments, Santa Claus, stockings.

“In the past, we have followed history and didn’t interpret Christmas at our houses,” says Ken Turino, community engagement and exhibitions manager for HNE, “because [the original residents] didn’t celebrate.” Indeed, for more than two decades the Puritans outright banned the holiday because they found it too rowdy and, given that the Bible doesn’t mention December 25 as Christ’s birthday, lacking in religious justification.

Much of what we now associate with Christmas wasn’t introduced in the United States till the early 19th century. The first known sketch of an American Christmas tree appeared in 1812, and it looked like a spindly table plant.

And while the Germans brought the tradition to America, it took Britain’s Queen Victoria and Prince Albert to popularize it, thanks to the December 1850 cover of Godey’s Lady’s Book showing the royal couple with a tree.

Part of HNE’s delight in acquiring the Eustis Estate—a Gilded Age mansion on 80 acres in Milton, Massachusetts, that opened to the public in 2017—is that the property allows for historically appropriate holiday exuberance. Its curators can show off both the house and a moment in the evolution of Christmas traditions in America.

“We know they celebrated at the Eustis Estate,” says Turino.

“They” are W.E.C. and Edith Eustis and their three children. The couple grew up on neighboring parcels of land in Milton. When they married in 1876, Edith’s mother gifted them a parcel of land next to her own home, as well as the funds to hire William Ralph Emerson, an upand-coming architect. He designed a showplace: a Queen Anne Revival stone mansion with decorative red and yellow brick, six chimneys, gables, and a porte cochere.

I first visited the Eustis mansion before the Christmas decorations went up, but I was still captivated by the life I imagined once took place there. Inside, the grand rooms suggest a giant Clue board, with a dining room, kitchen, library, and billiards room. Off-the-board spaces evoke Downton Abbey or Upstairs/Downstairs , with servants’ quarters, a day nursery, and a night nursery.

With its display of 19th-century holiday finery, the Eustis Estate invites visitors into the seasonal magic of historic homes.

The house includes a basement darkroom and a third-floor laboratory, as W.E.C. was a mining engineer, inventor, and amateur photographer. Yet he was also a gentleman farmer, eager to end his Boston workdays on his own farmland. (Part of this property has long been familiar to outdoorsy Bostonians, as 118 acres were taken by eminent domain in 1893 to create Blue Hills Reservation.)

A computerized kiosk in each room sparks the mansion into life, with tidbits about the family, home, grounds, and renovation. These kiosks also emphasize how profoundly the design was influenced by the Aesthetic movement, which was at the height of its popularity in 1878, when the mansion was built. Opposed to froufrou Victorian ornamentation, this movement favored earth tones, metallic finishes, flowers, and birds, according to site manager Karla Rosenstein. Devotees

were intrigued by Far East motifs, decorative paint treatments, and lightcolored, grain-revealing wood.

“Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful or

believe to be beautiful,” proclaimed textile designer William Morris, famously summing up the movement’s philosophy.

Which brings us to Christmas at the Eustis Estate. For its first year celebrating, “it made sense to have a theme,” says Julie Solz, team leader for collection services. So HNE purposefully chose colors that the Aesthetic movement favored, and it plucked imagery from the William Morris textiles used throughout the mansion.

On my second visit to the Eustis mansion, I was less nostalgic for

from top : Evergreens and poinsettias blend right in with the leaves and birds of the William Morris textiles; an aerial view shows the dramatic brick and stone facade of the 1878 mansion. opposite : The house’s main Christmas tree, festooned with Victorian-style handmade paper decorations and a fanciful flock of bird ornaments.

bygone Christmases (the day was balmy, with no snow on the ground) and more curious about how HNE’s intentions had played out. From the outside, the only seasonal hint was a green wreath with a red bow. Inside, however, a 12-foot Christmas tree dominated the stairwell end of the hall, its branches crowded with gold pomegranates, bronze ribbons, tiny white lights, and a multitude of bird ornaments, as well as chains and ornaments made of paper patterned with William Morris designs.

In other rooms, I admired lush poinsettias (the work of two local garden clubs), a grand wreath with a faux quail, and an elaborate garland that wound up the stairway’s handrail. And with my new education in the Aesthetic movement, I almost laughed when I stepped into the main parlor and saw the fireplace. It was as if a William Morris

fabric had exploded onto the mantel in 3-D: A taxidermied peacock stood amid swags of evergreen and pinecones, pheasant and peacock feathers, and faux lemons, pears, and artichokes.

“We do the holiday,” says Rosenstein, “where it starts becoming fun”—not as a grand drinking party or an overblown consumer-fest, but as a family tradition. HNE’s own entertaining additions include a scavenger hunt, story time, a craft workshop, music, and tea.

All of which suggests the Eustis Estate’s decorations don’t highlight just when Christmas started becoming fun in America, but when it was the most fun.

The Eustis Estate celebrates Christmas all through December with a slate of special events in addition to its regular admission hours. For information, go to historicnewengland.org.

C AMARA S LATE P RODUCTS

HISTORIC HOMES FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Feeling short on decorating inspiration this season? Let these dressed-up grand dames show you the way.

Victoria Mansion | Portland, ME

Built in 1860 for hotel magnate Ruggles Sylvester Morse, this palatial brownstone Italianate villa will be decked for the holidays by area designers in the theme “Christmas Through a Child’s Eyes.” Special events include a Christmas Gala and performances by the Portland Ballet. 11/23–1/6. victoriamansion.org

Mark Twain House | Hartford, CT

Twain’s 25-room neo-Gothic mansion is a stunner at any time of year, but the first Sunday in December is when you can see it all gussied up for a late-19thcentury Christmas. It’s the centerpiece of the Friends of the Mark Twain House & Museum’s Holiday House Tour, which also provides a peek into four gorgeous private homes. 12/2. marktwainhouse.org

Blithewold | Bristol, RI

This 33-acre English manor estate from the turn of the 20th century definitely gets into the yuletide spirit: Its gardens become a glimmering winter wonderland, while its rooms are lavishly decorated in a historical theme. (This year’s, “A Family Gathering,” re-creates a Christmas weekend in 1910.) 11/23–1/1. blithewold.org

Hildene | Manchester, VT

Experience the kind of Victorian Christmas that Robert and Mary Lincoln would celebrated at their Georgian Revival country retreat in 1909. On December 1–2, the museum store welcomes visitors with refreshments and sounds of the season. 11/30–1/1. hildene.org

Castle Hill | Ipswich, MA

Every room in this 1920s mansion on the Crane Estate dons its holiday best for “Christmas by the Sea,” three festive days that include tours, live music, a kids’ treasure hunt, and a visit with Santa. 11/30–12/2. thetrustees.org

Castle in the Clouds

Moultonborough, NH

Though its regular season ends in October, this Lakes Region mountaintop estate reopens for its popular “Christmas in the Castle” event, which sees the Arts and Crafts manor decorated to the nines. 11/16–18, 11/23–25. castleintheclouds.org

Snapshots from a visit to Britt and Matt Witt’s Burlington, Vermont, studio, including portraits of the married duo at work; a view of the c. 1892 mill in which Red House is located; and some of the tools used in crafting their sleek canvas and leather bags (like the one shown opposite).

A Handmade Life

In a former mill building along Vermont’s Winooski River, Britt and Matt Witt create elegantly simple bags.

BY ANNIE GRAVES

e had to go against everything we’d ever been told,” Britt Witt tells me, as we settle into a corner of the lofty Burlington, Vermont, studio that is home to Red House, the bag-making venture she runs with her husband, Matt.

I’m listening, but I’m distracted. The walls are lined with elegant, minimalist waxed canvas bags for every conceivable purpose: book bags, day bags, weekenders. Plus lunch bags, rucksacks, and beach totes. The colors—ash gray, oak brown, vintage red—are gorgeous. I peek inside: They’re lined with real French ticking. Irresistible. I want to hold that cross-body day bag, adjust the Horween leather strap

that Matt cut a few hours ago, and take it out for a spin.

In 2010, the Witts left their native Arizona and moved to Vermont with their two children. Matt had never been here; Britt had visited once, for three months, after high school. “I stayed in a tiny red house heated with a woodstove,” she remembers. “I’d never done anything like that, but I feel like it imprinted a little of what was meant to be. I just wasn’t ready yet.” She pauses. “I had to go find Matt, even though I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.”

They’d known each other since middle school, and though they went their separate ways they’d stayed in touch. The day he got his acceptance letter to Hebrew University in Israel, she called and asked if he wanted to go with her to the Pacific Northwest instead.

PHOTOGRAPHS BY GRETA RYBUS

“We ran off together for a while,” he says with a grin.

“Forever, really,” she says. They eventually settled in Scottsdale, bought a house, and started a family. Matt used his education in classical history and ancient languages to … work in sales. But a few years in, he says, “we really started to feel uncomfortable with who we were becoming.”

“I wanted a red house with a woodstove on my own terms,” Britt says. “I’d gotten a glimpse of it, and I wanted to share that with Matt.”

It was, Matt says, “an intuition that Vermont was the place” that brought them east, with no job prospects and little money, after the housing bubble burst. “It was like stripping ourselves down and lighting things on fire in order to sit in the ashes and say, OK, now what?”

Britt concedes that the idea of the little red house “went right out the window” as they found themselves jammed into a tiny loft in the middle of Shelburne. But slowly, sparks began to ignite. Britt found work with a jewelry maker, who encouraged her to get creative, start her own business. “Then someone asked me to sew a toiletry bag,” she says.

From that point, everything Britt created came out of a need, each item leading them toward the handmade life they’d envisioned. Matt needed a wood carrier; she made one. Someone wanted a bigger lunchbox, so she made it larger—and when Matt suggested adding handles, it became a book bag (now their best-seller).

“Waxed canvas came into it because I wasn’t used to dealing with inclement weather in the desert,” she says. “I was enthralled by this material that was

waterproof.” The French ticking was accidental (she had first spotted the rugged mattress-cover material in a shop in England), but “as soon as I lined a canvas bag with it, I knew— this was it.”

Matt was crafting leather handles and straps in the evenings and on weekends, dreaming of leaving his job as a network engineer and coming on full time, but Britt confesses, “In the back of my mind I was thinking that’ll never happen. There’s no way this could pay all our bills.”

In 2015, a local news station did a “Made in Vermont” holiday show featuring Red House. It was five days before Christmas, and they’d been working nonstop, filling orders. “We’re in our house, we look like hell, we’re very tired, and it was quite funny,” Matt says. For some reason, they thought the segment would air in January; instead, they learned, it was running that same night. “I was like, Well, who watches the local news? ” Britt says. “We got 80 orders in 24 hours.”

A few months later, Matt quit his job. By 2017, they were ready to make the move to a bigger space, and relocated to Burlington’s Chace Mill. In this life together, they set every rivet, cut every handle, and stitch every stitch on their bags. “People say to us, ‘You’ve got such a great brand—how’d you build it?’” says Matt. “I think we were building a brand before we knew what a brand was.”

And the red house? Well, one day they heard about a beautiful home for sale, down the street from their small Shelburne loft. It was part of the Lake Champlain Housing Trust, which made it affordable for Shelburne. “It was waiting,” says Britt. And I know before she tells me. A red house with a woodstove.

She nods. “That’s the life we wanted.”

For more information or to buy online, go to redhousevt.com.

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Yankee likes to mosey around and see, out of editorial curiosity, what you can turn up when you go house hunting. We have no stake in the sale whatsoever and would decline it if offered.

Once in a Lifetime

A landmark Kennebunkport inn is looking for new owners.

t’s been years since Bev Davis and Rick Litchfield actually lived in the iconic Captain Lord Mansion in Kennebunkport, Maine. Yet as we tour the inn they’ve run for four decades, it’s clear that this property is their home.

“Our children grew up in the inn,” Davis recalls. “They would come after school. Their swing set was in the yard. When the girls were little, we didn’t really have Christmas at home—we did it here.”

“Forty years is a very long time,” Litchfield says. “The average for innkeepers is about five or six. But we’ve loved it here, and we found something we’re pretty good at.”

Ask anyone in the hospitality industry, and they’ll tell you that Litchfield is being modest. He and Davis are standardsetters in their business and have often served as advisers for others looking to replicate their success.

Their 21-room inn is among the most celebrated in New England; it’s also the only one in Kennebunkport to achieve a Four Diamond rating from AAA.

These feats are all the more remarkable considering where the couple started.

In 1978, Davis and Litchfield were working in advertising in upstate New York. Davis’s job required her to move every 18 months, so they started looking for something else they might do, in a town where they could put down roots. On March 17, 1978, a broker showed them the Captain Lord Mansion. Exactly 90 days later, they became the owners. “It happened so fast that we didn’t have time for second thoughts,” Litchfield recalls.

The previous owner had originally intended to convert the building into office condominiums. After zoning ordinances deep-sixed that plan, it became a boardinghouse for elderly women. Litchfield and Davis inherited seven tenants, all in their 80s and 90s. “The ladies stayed, until one by one they moved out as they needed more care,” Litchfield says. “We’d serve family-style meals at lunch and dinner, and deliver breakfast to their rooms.”

Over time, Litchfield and Davis remodeled the rooms, adding fireplaces and bathrooms and sprinkling in nods to the pedigree that had earned the mansion a spot on the National Register of Historic Places.

The house was built in 1814 by Captain Nathaniel Lord, a shipbuilder and

opposite : One of the grand dames of Kennebunkport’s historic residential district, the Captain Lord Mansion is on the market for the first time since 1978. above : The Hesper Room, one of 16 guest rooms in the main house. ROBERT A. DENNIS (EXTERIOR); WARREN JAGGER/COURTESY OF CAPTAIN LORD MANSION

merchant whose business interests had been put on hold by a British blockade during the War of 1812. Taking advantage of the lull, Lord commissioned his idle workers to construct a three-story Federal mansion that would be the grandest in town. Lord died in 1815, but his widow, Phebe, lived there for 50 years, and the property remained in the Lord family for seven generations.

At first, Litchfield and Davis lived in a three-room suite on the ground floor. But after they had two babies within 14 months, they realized it was in the best interest of their guests, their kids, and their own relationship to add a little space to the equation, so they moved into a house nearby.

As we talk, Litchfield and Davis pause occasionally to greet returning guests or answer questions. An employee called in sick this morning, so Davis is helping in the kitchen. Someone wants more clothes hangers in

their room. The plumber has arrived to check on a leak.

The innkeepers are proud of their ability to change with the times. “When we started, fax machines were just coming in,” Litchfield says with a laugh. Today it’s all about the Internet and social media. Rooms are perpetually being improved and modernized.

“Kennebunkport has grown up around us,” Litchfield says. “When we first came here, there wasn’t much beyond the beach. The shops would close on Labor Day.” He identifies the 1981 debut of the Christmas Prelude and the spotlight that came with the first Bush presidency as turning points in Kennebunkport’s becoming a yearround destination.

In summer, the inn’s gardens burst with flowers. The lawns are manicured; there’s even a putting green. A brick walkway has been reimagined as a memory garden. Each of the nearly

1,000 guests who have visited 10 times or more has been honored with his or her name engraved on a brick.

Forty years ago, Davis and Litchfield purchased a project, but what they will hand off to new owners is a turnkey operation complete with fully upgraded infrastructure, a gift shop, a spa, and a dedicated staff of 18.

“We’ve been privileged to own the Captain Lord Mansion,” Litchfield says. “I feel like we’ve built something special here. I hope that whoever comes next can carry that forward. We’ve cared for this building, and our guests, and our staff for so long.... It will probably take some time to figure out who we are without it.” —Joe Bills

The Captain Lord Mansion is being offered for $6.9 million. Contact Kimberly Swan of the Swan Agency, Sotheby’s International Realty, at 207-288-5818, or go to maineinnsforsale.com.

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COOKING AT COTTAGE FARM:

GATHERING TOGETHER

STORY

AND PHOTOGRAPHS

BY KRISSY O’SHEA

OUR

LITTLE PARTY, PLUS TWO GREAT DANES,

made for the door, bursting out into the cold sunshine and shaking off the torpor of a long meal. We walked down back roads, cutting through the quiet woods and along the edges of cornfields where the sky glowed blue-gray against the parched yellow stalks. I pulled the collar of my coat higher as the sun set and the winds whipped up. Our breath rose in pale ribbons of steam, like the smoke rising from our neighbor’s chimney, and, without speaking, we all turned back toward home and our own applewood fire to enjoy a dessert of British-style cranberry-orange puddings, called possets. It was a perfect holiday, requiring nothing more than a meal, long conversations around the table, and our traditional post-dinner, pre-dessert walk. It was a day to celebrate the everydayness of things: one table, some guests, and a slow meal of cornbread-chestnut dressing, buttermilk-mashed potatoes, a big green salad, and maple-bacon turkey. A simple, joyful day. May you find joy in your holidays as well.

PROPS PROVIDED BY SIMON PEARCE + MIRTH CERAMICS

AFTER MONTHS OF GROWING AND HARVESTING, THANKSGIVING ON THE FARM IS A CHANCE TO RELISH THE FRUITS OF THE SEASON WITH A DELICIOUS, EASY-TO-PREPARE FEAST.

CHESTNUT-APRICOT CORNBREAD DRESSING, BUTTERMILK MASHED POTATOES WITH ROASTED GARLIC AND THYME, WINTER VEGETABLE ROAST

MAPLE-BACON DRY-CURED TURKEY

RED LEAF SALAD WITH GRAPES, FENNEL, AND BLUE CHEESE

SETTING THE TABLE

■ Decide on your color palette (look to the landscape or views outside your door for inspiration) and stick to three dominant, complementary colors as you choose linens, plates, glasses, fl atware, and table accents.

■ Think about mixing traditional and modern elements, incorporating clean organic materials (like fruit, fl owers, nuts, and collected leaves), and adding height (but not so much that you block the sight lines for those sitting across from one another) and candlelight to the table.

■ If you have family china you rarely use, bring it out during the dessert course.

■ Finally, remember to step back and look at the table once you have finished setting it (something that can be done a day ahead to save time) and remove anything you think might distract from the beautiful food you’ve prepared.

MAPLE-BACON DRY-CURED TURKEY

Dry brining (really just a fancy version of pre-salting) provides all the benefits of wet brining (enhanced flavor, juicier meat) without the mess. You simply coat the turkey with salt, herbs, and a bit of maple sugar and let it sit in the refrigerator for at least one day and preferably three. The good news: If your turkey is frozen, you can thaw and brine at the same time. Draping the breast meat with bacon (a trick that food editor Amy Traverso learned from her grandmother) not only adds flavor but also turns the turkey into a self-basting bird.

Be sure to buy a “natural,” untreated turkey for this recipe. Many frozen and kosher turkeys come pre-salted, so adding the step of dry-curing would result in much-too-salty meat. If you find yourself with such a bird, however, just skip the salt rub, lay the bacon over the breast, and proceed according to instructions.

For the turkey

¼ cup kosher salt

¼ cup maple sugar (or 3 tablespoons firmly packed dark brown sugar)

3 tablespoons dried marjoram

2 tablespoons dried rubbed sage

2 tablespoons juniper berries

1 tablespoon black peppercorns

1 fresh, untreated medium turkey (13 to 15 pounds)

6 strips thick-cut bacon, uncooked

1 large onion, quartered

5 sprigs fresh sage

3½ cups low-sodium chicken stock, divided

¼ cup maple syrup (any grade)

For the gravy

Drippings from the roasting pan

2 ⁄ 3 cup all-purpose flour

4 cups low-sodium chicken or turkey stock, plus more as needed

1 tablespoon bourbon

Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Three days before cooking, prepare your turkey. First, use a blender or spice grinder to finely grind the salt, maple (or brown) sugar, marjoram, sage, juniper berries, and peppercorns. Set aside.

Next, get the bird ready for drycuring. Remove excess lumps of fat.

Take out the giblets and neck. Rub the herb mixture over the entire bird; sprinkle some in the body cavity as well. Place the turkey, breast-side up, in an extra-large, food-grade plastic bag.

Seal and refrigerate for three days, turning the bird breast-side down on the second day. The night before you plan to roast the turkey, remove it from the bag, set it breast-side up on a rack in your roasting pan, and refrigerate. (This produces crispier skin.)

An hour before you begin roasting, remove the bird from the refrigerator. Lay the bacon strips across the breast, letting them overlap slightly. Stuff the body cavity with onion and sage. Tie the legs with kitchen twine.

Preheat the oven to 325° and set a rack to the lower third position. Pour 2 cups of the broth into the bottom of the pan and transfer it to the oven. Roast for 1¾ hours, then add broth as needed to maintain some liquid in pan. The turkey will be done when an instant-read thermometer inserted into the thickest part of the thigh registers 160°, 2½ to 3 hours total. About 45 minutes before the turkey is done, add the maple syrup to the pan and baste once (tent the bird with foil if it is browning too quickly). Remove the bird from the oven and tip it to drain juices from the cavity into the roasting pan. Transfer the bird to a platter and let rest, uncovered, about 30 minutes before carving.

Meanwhile, make the gravy: Drain off about ¾ of the fat from the drippings. Set the roasting pan with the remaining drippings over two burners on your stove and set both to medium heat. Whisk in the flour until smooth. Gradually whisk in 4 cups stock, picking up any browned bits from the bottom of the pan. Add the bourbon and cook, stirring, until the gravy is thickened and smooth (if needed, run it through a strainer). If the gravy seems too thick, add a bit more stock. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Carve the turkey and serve with the gravy.

CHESTNUT-APRICOT CORNBREAD DRESSING

A Thanksgiving classic, cornbread dressing is an easy dish to make ahead and reheat in the oven. This frees up oven

space on the actual day and gives you more time to enjoy your guests. For best results, bake the cornbread the day before you prepare the dressing.

You’ll find pre-roasted chestnuts in vacuum packs or jars in most grocery stores during the holidays. To roast your own, cut an X through the flat bottom of each nut, then toss with salt, pepper, and 1⁄3 cup oil. Roast on a baking sheet at 425° until tender, about 25 to 35 minutes. Cool and peel.

For the cornbread

Unsalted butter, for the pan

1 cup yellow cornmeal

1 cup all-purpose flour

¼ cup granulated sugar

1 tablespoon baking powder

½ teaspoon kosher salt

1 cup milk

1 large egg

4 tablespoons salted butter, melted

For the dressing

1½ cups boiling water

½ cup chopped dried apricots

1 bay leaf, fresh if possible

1 loaf (about ¾ pound) cornbread, torn into bite-sized pieces

3 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil

1 large yellow onion, diced

4 celery stalks, diced

1 tablespoon chopped fresh rosemary

1 teaspoon kosher salt, plus more to taste

¾ cup roasted chestnuts, quartered Butter for the pan

1 tablespoon chopped fresh sage

1⁄ 3 cup chopped fresh parsley

1 cup dry white wine

1 large egg

First, make the cornbread: Heat the oven to 425° and generously butter an 8-by-8-by-2-inch pan. In a medium bowl, whisk together the cornmeal, flour, sugar, baking powder, and salt. In another bowl, whisk together the milk and egg. Add the milk mixture to the flour mixture and stir to moisten. Add the melted butter and stir until just combined. Pour the batter into the pan and bake until a cake tester comes out very clean, 20 to 30 minutes. Transfer pan to a wire rack to cool. For best results, let stand,

uncovered, for one day before making the dressing.

Next, make the dressing: Pour the boiling water over the chopped dried apricots and the bay leaf in a small bowl. Let stand 30 minutes, then remove the apricots and bay leaf with a slotted spoon, reserving the liquid, and set aside.

Preheat oven to 325° and set a rack to the middle position. Arrange the cornbread pieces in a single layer on a rimmed baking sheet and bake 30 minutes, stirring occasionally.

Set a large skillet over medium heat and add the olive oil. Add the onion, celery, rosemary, and salt and cook, stirring, until vegetables are translucent, about eight minutes. Add the chestnuts and apricots and cook, stirring constantly, for about two minutes.

Increase heat to 350°. Grease a 9-by-13-inch baking dish with butter and set aside. In a large bowl, toss the onion and celery mixture with the cornbread, sage, and parsley. In a medium bowl, whisk together the reserved apricot water, white wine, and egg; pour over the cornbread mixture and toss until cornbread is moistened evenly.

Spread the dressing mixture in an even layer in the prepared baking pan and place the bay leaf in the center. Cover with aluminum foil and bake 30 minutes, then remove foil and cook 15 minutes more. Serve immediately. If making ahead, let cool, then cover and refrigerate. To reheat, bake, covered, at 350° until heated through. Yields 8–10 servings.

RED LEAF SALAD WITH GRAPES, FENNEL, AND BLUE CHEESE

A big green salad studded with grapes, almonds, and bits of blue cheese balances out the richness of the menu and adds a pop of color to the table.

For the dressing

1⁄ 3 cup extra-virgin olive oil

3 tablespoons freshly squeezed orange juice

2 tablespoons raspberry or balsamic vinegar

1 small clove garlic, smashed but left whole

½ teaspoon kosher salt

¼ teaspoon freshly ground black pepper

For the salad

1½ cups red seedless grapes

1 large fennel bulb

Juice of ½ lemon

2 medium heads red leaf lettuce, leaves washed and dried

¼ cup diced red onion

4 ounces blue cheese, crumbled

½ cup slivered almonds, toasted

First, make the dressing: Combine the olive oil, orange juice, vinegar, garlic, salt, and pepper in a jar with a lid. Screw lid on tightly and wrap in a kitchen towel. Shake vigorously until combined. Set aside.

Next, make the salad: Slice grapes in half and add to a large serving bowl. Trim fronds from fennel bulb, leaving about two inches of green stalks at the top. Halve the bulb lengthwise. Cut out the core at the bottom of the bulb and discard it, then cut the bulb into very thin horizontal slices. Add fennel slices to the grapes and toss with the lemon juice. Tear the lettuce into large pieces and add to the bowl along with the onion; toss to combine. When ready to serve, remove the garlic clove from the dressing, replace lid, and give it one last shake. Pour over salad, and toss well. Sprinkle blue cheese and toasted almonds over the top of the salad. Serve immediately. Yields 8 servings.

BUTTERMILK MASHED POTATOES WITH ROASTED GARLIC AND THYME

There’s a secret ingredient in these potatoes: tender mashed rutabaga, which adds a wonderful nutty sweetness as well as extra fiber and antioxidants. We also replaced the usual cream and butter with buttermilk and olive oil, making this version a heart-healthy alternative to the typical mash.

1 head garlic

2 tablespoons plus ¼ cup olive oil

4 sprigs of fresh thyme

1 small rutabaga (about 1½ pounds), peeled and cut into 1-inch cubes

6 Yukon gold potatoes (about 3 pounds), peeled and cut into 2-inch cubes

¾ cup buttermilk at room temperature, plus more as needed

Salt and pepper, to taste

Preheat oven to 400° and set a rack to the middle position. Remove any papery skin from the garlic, then cut off the top third of the head, exposing the cloves. Place garlic on a piece of foil, drizzle with 2 tablespoons oil, then wrap up the foil to create a packet. Bake until very tender, 40 to 45 minutes. Remove from oven and set aside.

In a small saucepan over low heat, add the remaining ¼ cup olive oil and the thyme. Bring to a gentle simmer and cook for five minutes. Remove from heat and let stand.

Set one medium and one large pot of salted water over high heat and bring to a boil. Add the rutabaga to the medium pot, reduce heat to a simmer, and cook until very tender, about 25 minutes. Add the potato to the large pot and simmer until tender, about 15 minutes.

Once the rutabaga is soft, drain and return to the pot. Using a hand blender or electric mixer, purée the rutabaga until smooth. Add six cloves of roasted garlic to the rutabaga and purée again. (Save any additional cloves for dressings or to spread on toast.)

Once the potatoes have finished cooking, drain them and add them to the mashed rutabaga. Add ¾ cup buttermilk, and mash by hand until smooth. Remove thyme sprigs from the warm olive oil and drizzle oil over the potato mixture, then stir to combine. For a thinner mixture, add more buttermilk. Season with salt and pepper to taste. Serve immediately, or cover and place in a 200° oven to keep warm until ready to serve. Yields 8 servings.

WINTER VEGETABLE ROAST

This simple mix of root vegetables, squash, pears, and apples is a great way to showcase the best local fall produce. A drizzle

of herb sauce adds color and flavor. Try using different-colored carrots, and leave the skins on apples and squash for added beauty and nutrients (just be sure to give them a good scrub).

For the vegetable roast

1 pound parsnips, peeled

1 pound carrots, peeled

1 small squash (about 1½ pounds), such as acorn, kuri, or kabocha

6 tablespoons olive oil, divided Salt and pepper, to taste

20 sprigs fresh thyme

6 large shallots

2 medium Bosc pears, cored and cut into wedges

5 medium apples, cored and cut into wedges

½ cup toasted chopped hazelnuts, for topping

For the herb sauce

1⁄ 3 cup minced fresh parsley

3 tablespoons minced fresh chives

1 small shallot, minced

2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar

1 teaspoon honey

Salt and pepper, to taste

6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil, divided

Preheat the oven to 400° and set racks at all four positions. Line two large baking sheets and two smaller baking sheets with parchment paper.

Cut parsnips and carrots in half crosswise, then halve lengthwise (if they are very large, cut into quarters). Halve the squash lengthwise. Do not scoop out the seeds, but rather flip the squash cut-side down and slice lengthwise into half moons, each about two inches thick. Divide parsnips, carrots, and squash evenly between the large baking sheets. Drizzle each tray with about 2 tablespoons of olive oil and sprinkle with salt, pepper, and five or six sprigs of thyme. Toss to coat and roast for 15 minutes.

Meanwhile, peel the shallots, halve them lengthwise, and place on a smaller baking sheet with the pears. Place the apples on the remaining sheet. Drizzle each sheet with 1 tablespoon olive oil, and sprinkle with salt and pepper and a few sprigs of thyme.

Stir the roasted vegetables and return them to the oven with the pears and apples. Continue baking until everything is golden brown and tender, 20 to 30 minutes more.

Make the herb sauce: In a medium bowl, combine the parsley, chives, shallot, vinegar, honey, salt, and pepper in a bowl. Stir together, then whisk in the olive oil.

On a pretty platter, drizzle a bit of the herb sauce, then arrange the vegetables, pears, apples, and shallots over it. Sprinkle with most of the hazelnuts, then drizzle spoonfuls of the herb sauce over the top and finish with the remaining hazelnuts. Serve extra sauce on the side. Yields 8 servings.

SPICED CRANBERRY-ORANGE POSSETS

A posset is a traditional English pudding with an ultracreamy texture. It contains no eggs, just heavy cream, citrus, and sugar, but we’ve added layers of gingered cranberry sauce for a New England spin. The best part: It can be prepared up to two days in advance, freeing up precious oven space. You can serve this dessert in any 4-to-6-ounce cups you like, as long as they can withstand both hot and cold temperatures.

For the cranberry sauce

4 cups fresh or frozen cranberries

1 cup water

1⁄ 3 cup sugar

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

2-inch piece of fresh ginger

For the possets

3 cups heavy cream

1 cup sugar

Zest from 2 oranges, peeled into strips

24 gingersnap cookies

4 tablespoons salted butter, melted ½ cup fresh lemon juice

3 tablespoons fresh orange juice

Make the cranberry sauce: Place all ingredients in a medium saucepan over high heat and bring to a boil, then reduce heat to a simmer and cook until cranberries burst, about 10 minutes. Return to a hard boil for three minutes, then remove from heat. Take out ginger and discard. Let sauce stand 30 minutes to thicken.

Next, make the possets: Bring the cream, sugar, and zest to a simmer over medium heat. Stir until sugar is just dissolved, then remove from heat. Set aside to infuse for about 30 minutes.

Blitz the gingersnaps in a food processor, or roll in a plastic bag with a rolling pin until finely ground (a few chunks are OK). Add butter and stir to combine. Divide the mixture evenly among the eight serving cups, then gently pack down with your fingers. Spoon 3 tablespoons of cooled cranberry sauce in an even layer over the crust. Place vessels on a tray and set in the refrigerator for 20 minutes.

While the pots are chilling, remove orange zest from the cream mixture and bring it back to a rolling boil for three minutes, stirring occasionally and watching carefully that it doesn’t boil over. Remove from heat and whisk in citrus juices. Strain the mixture into a large measuring cup. Add the cream mixture to the cups. Let the possets cool at room temperature for 30 minutes, then refrigerate until set, at least three hours and up to two days.

Just before serving, warm the remaining cranberry sauce, being careful not to make it too hot or it will melt the filling. Top each posset with a bit of cranberry sauce—and, if you like, a curl of orange zest—before serving. Yields 8 servings.

SPICED CRANBERRY-ORANGE POSSETS

FOOD AWARDS

BY AMY TRAVERSO + KRISSY O’SHEA • PHOTOGRAPHS BY MARK FLEMING • STYLING BY JEN BEAUCHESNE

1. Cranberry, Jalapeño, and Lime Cocktail & Soda Syrup. Bootblack Brand, Barrington, RI

2. Assorted Pure Fruit Jellies. Byrne & Carlson, Portsmouth, NH

3. Red Currant, Raspberry, and Geranium Jam. V Smiley Preserves, New Haven Mills, VT

4. Fleur Spice. Curio Spice Co., Cambridge, MA

since we launched these awards, we’ve witnessed a flowering of the New England food landscape that goes beyond the restaurant scene right to our own tables and pantries. More artisan foods are coming to market, finding a local audience, going national, and even earning international acclaim. At farmers’ markets and festivals, in gourmet shops and grocery stores, we’re always seeking out worthy picks from emerging producers and new gems from established brands. And every year as the holidays roll around, we like to bring our favorites to you. From rich handcrafted chocolate to honey-sweetened jams that taste like summer in a jar, we’re delighted to shine a light on the best foods for serving to your guests or giving as gifts. In that spirit, we hope you’ll enjoy these New England treats. Order them online, or seek them out at your local market— we promise you’ll eat well. Happy holidays!

IN THE SIX YEARS

1. Pawlet Cheese. Consider Bardwell Farm, Pawlet, VT

2. Claire’s Mandel Hill Cheese. Ruggles Hill Creamery, Hardwick, MA

Pawlet Cheese

Consider Bardwell Farm

Pawlet, VT

Talk about a hometown hero. Named after the Vermont village where it’s made, this gorgeous cheese gets its richness from the raw milk of Jersey cows raised on the sweet grasses of the Champlain Valley. The flavors are complex and layered, from the mushroom-and-walnut-scented rind down through the herbal-tangybuttery center. It’s hard to imagine a more delicious base for a grilled cheese sandwich. According to cheese maker Angela Miller, “it can also be a knockout on its own with a beer or glass of wine or cider, or a king’s ransom in your next mac and cheese.” Suggested retail $29.99 per pound; available at considerbardwellfarm.com.

Claire’s Mandel Hill Cheese

Ruggles Hill Creamery

Hardwick, MA

Tricia Smith’s cheeses are so creamy and delicate, we’d pit them against any Loire Valley crottin or Valencay. Made with milk from Smith’s own Oberhasli and Saanen goats, they carry a residual sweetness from the alfalfa and mixed grasses that make up the herd’s primary diet. Claire’s Mandel Hill, named for both a member of the herd and a hill at the southern edge of the farm, is a gorgeous cylinder accented with a faint midline of herbes de Provence (savory, thyme, lavender, and rosemary). “This was the first new cheese I developed after we moved to Hardwick,” Smith says. “It solved my sensory dilemma of how to introduce herbal flavors that would complement the cheese’s body and rind.” Serve it with local honey or a dollop of V Smiley’s raspberry and red currant preserves (see p. 72). Suggested retail $16.95 per 10 oz.; to order, contact Formaggio Kitchen via email at contactus@formaggiokitchen.com.

Fleur Spice

Curio Spice Co.

Cambridge, MA

Curio’s brick-and-mortar shop is a heady cabinet of curiosities, stocked with spices from near (Massachusettsgrown paprika) and far (saffron from northern Greece). Owner Claire Cheney buys directly from small, sustainable farms—many run by women—and the proof of her meticulous sourcing is in the eating, especially with her unique spice blends.

Our favorite: Fleur, a blend of rose petals, hibiscus, peppercorn, lavender, fennel, cardamom, spearmint, coriander, and ylang ylang. It brings to mind a brighter, springier za’atar. “Florals in food can quickly go in the direction of cloying, but this blend stays balanced,” Cheney says. We heartily agree. Sprinkle Fleur on yogurt dips, grilled fish, and roasted root vegetables; fold it into shortbread cookie dough; or add it to the rims of your holiday cocktails. Suggested retail $9 per 1.7 oz.; available at curiospiceco.com.

Claire Cheney, owner of Curio Spice Co.

1. Stoker Coffee. Tandem Coffee, Portland, ME

2. Cardamom-Infused Maple Syrup. Runamok Maple, Cambridge, VT

3. Apple-Smoked Dominican 65% Bar. Somerville Chocolate, Somerville, MA

4. Nicasia Cookies. Savor, Thomaston, CT

Stoker Coffee

Tandem Coffee

Portland, ME

Tandem Coffee cofounders Will and Kathleen Pratt have earned a devoted following in Portland for their café drinks and pastries, and a national reputation for their coffee beans, which they wholesale to cafés around the country. Their Stoker blend (the name is a play on the word for the back-seat rider of a tandem bicycle)

ter’s morning. The Pratts mastered their roasting skills at top shops such as Blue Bottle in San Francisco before moving to Portland, where they now operate two cafés and a roastery. They also offer coffee subscriptions by mail. Suggested retail $16 per 12 oz.; available at tandemcoffee.com.

Apple-Smoked Dominican 65% Bar

Somerville Chocolate

Somerville, MA

by training, became obsessed with the idea of producing his own beanto-bar chocolate. “Chocolate making appealed to my mechanical mind,” he says, “and the learning curve is fun because the good moments are truly sweet ones.” In 2012 he turned his hobby into a subscription-based “chocolate CSA,” and eventually he opened a commercial kitchen, where he roasts, grinds, tempers, and molds an expanding product line. We love the Dominican 65% bar, flavored with just a hint of applewood smoke—a natural duet with the chocolate’s coffee and berry notes. Ever the tinkerer, Parkes is exploring the nuances of beans from closely situated farms in Peru and Columbia, seeing how much of a difference it can make when beans are grown just a few miles apart. Keep an eye out for his holiday chocolates, inspired by vintage Santa Claus molds and other forms. Suggested retail $10 per bar; available at somervillechocolate.com.

Nicasia Cookies

Savor

Thomaston, CT

After one cross-country move, a recession, and the loss of his mother and his husband, André Kreft needed a change. So he traded a career in graphic arts for one in culinary arts, and he began baking. At Savor, he makes addictive sweet-savory shortbread cookies in unexpected flavor combinations: coconut-lime-chili, birch-maple-cranberry, chocolateorange-spice. He finds inspiration everywhere: in his travels and own personal history as well as in the food landscape of Connecticut. “I can taste the flavor combinations before I ever bake them,” he says. Our favorite: Nicasia cookies, which are laced with lemon, rosemary, and a bit of crunchy salt. Named for the daughter of a friend who let Kreft use her restaurant’s kitchen when he was just starting out, Nicasia pairs perfectly with cheese, making it a great addition to a holiday platter. Suggested retail $10 per 8 oz.; available at savorfinefoods.com.

Kathleen and Will Pratt, owners of Tandem Coffee

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Cardamom-Infused Maple Syrup

Runamok Maple

Cambridge, VT

Fans of French toast know that cinnamon and maple syrup are as cozy a pairing as cocoa and marshmallows. But cardamom and maple? It’s less familiar, but no less sublime. The floral notes of the spice dance a little waltz with the high, sweet notes of the syrup, giving it a warmer, brighter profile. Owners Eric and Laura Sorkin tried every form of cardamom to develop their recipe, “but this version blew us away,” Eric says. “It’s very forward and spicy and aromatic, but not overpowering.” The Sorkins love the syrup on ice cream, in seltzers, and in cocktails, but Eric says it’s “certainly approachable enough to use

straight up on pancakes.” Suggested retail $16.95 per 8.5 oz.; available at runamokmaple.com.

Red Currant, Raspberry, and Geranium Jam

V Smiley Preserves

New Haven Mills, VT

The red currants and raspberries in V Smiley’s preserves taste as fresh as an August morning—peak ripeness captured in a jar. Smiley honed her craft while working as a chef at top West Coast restaurants such as Seattle’s Sitka & Spruce, but she always knew she’d return to Vermont to run her family’s farm, which she did in 2015. Now, she uses the farm’s own fruit and herbs, plus fresh fruit from the surrounding area, and sweetens her preserves with local honey. “You read

in preservation books that you can’t replace sugar, and it took me a lot to overcome that,” she says, “but I found you can actually do great work with honey.” Yes, she can. Enjoy the jam on biscuits with whipped cream, on shortbread, or with goat cheese. Suggested retail $6.50 per 2 oz.; available at vsmileypreserves.com.

Assorted Pure Fruit Jellies

Byrne & Carlson

Portsmouth, NH

For their take on the classic French pâte des fruits, Ellen Byrne and Christopher Carlson stayed close to the classic recipe from Auvergne. “Our recipe uses only pure fruit, purées, and fruit zests,” Byrne says. “No flavorings or colorants.” Byrne learned her craft in France, and her hard work pays off in each silken square of concentrated fruit flavor in a crunchy sugar shell. Boxed together as an assortment, they make an edible jewel Suggested retail $16 per 9.5 oz./$8 per 4 oz.; available at

Cranberry, Jalapeño, and Lime Cocktail

It’s the mark of an elegant (and organized) host to set up a cocktail bar with a few mixers, tonics, and spirits. Your guests enjoy the mix-and-match variety, and you’re free to mingle. Paul Kubisky makes the sourcing even easier with his line of vibrant syrups that serve as a modern foundation for classic cocktails such as Moscow Mules, Old-Fashioneds, and G&Ts (and with a splash of seltzer they make delicious sodas, too). We especially love the cranberry-jalapeño-lime blend, a sweet-tart nectar with a kick, for a fresh take on the margarita. Suggested retail $17.99 per 12 oz.; available

V Smiley, owner of V Smiley Preserves

YANKEE GIFT PICKS

Allow Yankee to suggest some perfect gifts for any occasion.

GARNET HILL PILLOWS

garnethill.com | $98–$298

We can’t imagine a more indulgent duo for rest and relaxation than this cashmere throw and pillow. Sighinducingly soft, both take a fashionable turn with unique asymmetrical rib detailing that changes direction for modern movement. 100% cashmere.

KENDALL-JACKSON WINE CLUB

kj.com/wine-club or Wine Club Customer Service: 888-935-0088 | $110–$245

Discover family-owned Kendall-Jackson wines through club membership, which brings you limited-production wines from their preeminent marine-influenced and high-elevation vineyards in California. Membership includes special benefits and events when you visit the winery, and preferred pricing on all wines.

KJP WATCH AND ANCHOR BRACELET

KJP.com | $38–$198

“Inspired by days sailing off the New England coast and driving our wood-paneled station wagon up to our cozy cabin in the mountains, we have spent years designing the perfect watch that we would want to wear every day.”

– Kiel James Patrick & Sarah Vickers

Our nautical rope bracelets and accessories embody New England tradition and craftsmanship. Each bracelet is hand-crafted in Rhode Island from twisted cord available in a variety of classic colors. It’s the perfect accessory for pirates, sailors, and merpeople.

MY New England

MY NEW ENGLAND ARTISAN DINNER

For season 2 of Weekends with Yankee, senior food editor and co-host Amy Traverso cooked up a New England artisan dinner with chef Stacy Cogswell at the Inn at Hastings Park in historic Lexington, MA, and put a spotlight on some of the regional designers and food makers from each state who represent New England craftsmanship and entrepreneurial spirit.

Decor from O&G Studio (RI), Farmhouse Pottery (VT), Mally Skok Design (MA), and Sara Fitz (ME) created a warm and inviting dining area, while ingredients and treats from Wilson Farm (MA), Black Dinah Chocolatiers (ME), and New England Charcuterie (MA) made sure the experience tasted as good as it looked.

For recipes featured in the New England artisan dinner, go to n ewengland.com/arti sandi nner

Photographs by Mark Fleming

Top bakers share their favorite holiday recipes as we give a classic cookie exchange a modern twist.

By Amy Traverso

WHITE CHOCOLATE CRANBERRYORANGE COOKIES

QUINTUPLECHOCOLATE THERAPY BARS

CINNAMONSPICE SNOWBALLS

t’s been nearly 50 years since a small group of women first gathered in a Wellesley, Massachusetts, living room to exchange cookies potluck-style. As instructed, each guest brought a few dozen confections to sample and share. They mingled, enjoyed an elaborate meal, and left with a kaleidoscopic array of bars and drop cookies, crescents and cutouts. That first gathering, in December 1969, was so successful that neighbors Mary Bevilacqua and Laurel Gabel decided to host another the next year. And then the next, and the next....

Today, three generations of Mary’s family share duties in hosting the famous Wellesley Cookie Exchange, which has spawned several Yankee articles and a cookbook. In turn, countless others have adopted the tradition for themselves.

With that in mind, we recently gathered some of our favorite bakers to share cookie recipes and toast the season. But whereas the Wellesley exchange began with handwritten invitations to neighbors, our circle included some virtual friends whose work we’d long admired in cookbooks, on blogs, and in dazzling Instagram feeds. They included Jerrelle Guy, author of the award-winning Black Girl Baking; food stylist Suzanne Lee; photographer and stylist Liz Harris; and blogger Kate van Geldern Bowler, author of New England Invite.

As expected, their cookies were all gorgeous and delicious, ranging from spiced pecan-walnut snowball cookies to gingersnap s’mores to chocolate-espresso bars. We ate and laughed and toasted the season. Times change, technology alternately unites and divides us, but the urge to bake, gather, and celebrate remains the same.

from left : Liz Harris, Kate van Geldern Bowler, Amy Traverso, Suzanne Lee, and Jerrelle Guy

paddle and form a large clump. Divide the dough into two balls; wrap each in plastic, then press to form a disk. Refrigerate until firm, at least

Take the first batch of dough out of the refrigerator. Dust a counter with flour, then roll out the dough to ¼-inch thickness. Cut out tree shapes, gathering and rerolling the scraps as needed. Transfer cookies to the baking sheets and bake until the edges are just turning golden, 10 to 12 minutes. Transfer to wire racks to cool. Repeat with

Meanwhile, make the icing: Using an electric or standing mixer, beat the shortening, sugar, and 3 tablespoons milk on medium-high speed until smooth. Scrape down the bowl and stir again. If the icing appears

Divide the icing into four equal batches, which you will use to create four successively darker shades of green. Add a small amount of food coloring to the first batch , a bit more to the second, and so on.

When the cookies are cool, frost with the different shades of icing. Return the cookies to the wire racks to allow the icing to set completely. Cookies can be stored in an airtight container between layers of wax paper for up to five days at room temperature and up to 10 days in the refrigerator. Yields about 3 dozen cookies.

Collect the recipes.

Ask your guests to email you their recipes in advance—that way, you can format them neatly and print them out to distribute at the cookie exchange.

KATE VAN GELDERN BOWLER @domestikateblog

Kate based this recipe on her grandmother’s beloved butterball cookies, adding cinnamon and nutmeg to give them a flavor reminiscent of French toast. You can make them up to three weeks ahead since they’re good keepers—a fitting choice for a woman whose new book, New England Invite, is loaded with make-ahead recipes for graceful entertaining.

¾ cup pecan halves

¾ cup walnut halves

1½ cups (3 sticks) unsalted butter, softened

¾ cup granulated sugar

1 tablespoon vanilla extract

2¾ cups all-purpose flour

¾ teaspoon table salt

2 teaspoons ground cinnamon

¼ teaspoon ground nutmeg

Powdered sugar, for dusting

Preheat oven to 350° and set baking racks to the upper and lower middle positions. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside.

In a food processor, pulse the pecans and walnuts until finely chopped. Set aside.

Using an electric or standing mixer, beat together the butter and sugar on medium-high speed until fluffy, two minutes. Add the vanilla and beat 30 seconds more.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, salt, cinnamon, and nutmeg.

Add the dry ingredients to the butter and sugar mixture, beating on low speed until smooth. Use a spatula to fold in the nuts.

Roll the dough into one-inch balls and set about an inch apart on the prepared baking sheets. Bake until set and barely beginning to brown, 14 to 16 minutes, rotating pans halfway through. Remove from oven and let cool on the sheets until the cookies are just a bit warmer than room temperature.

Fill a medium bowl with a generous amount of powdered sugar. Working in small batches, roll the cookies in the sugar. Cookies can be stored in an airtight container for up to three weeks at room temperature. Yields about 6 dozen cookies.

Prep the space. You’ll need several large cookie tins or to-go boxes for each guest, a large table for displaying the cookies, and a place card to identify each type of cookie.

Plan the menu.

To balance out all the sweets, have drinks and snacks (or even a full meal) ready for your guests. For our suggested menu, go to newengland.com/yankee-cookie-swap.

“No party is complete without chocolate,” Liz says, “so I made sure to fit as much as possible into this recipe.” She’s not kidding. Cocoa powder and semisweet chocolate chips enrich the bars, which are crowned with white chocolate, cacao nibs, and a drizzle of bittersweet chocolate. (For the topping, be sure to use white melting chocolate and not white chocolate chips.)

1¼ cups all-purpose flour

½ cup unsweetened cocoa powder

¼ teaspoon baking powder

¼ teaspoon table salt

½ cup (1 stick) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar

2 large eggs

2 tablespoons instant espresso powder

½ teaspoon vanilla extract

¾ cups semisweet chocolate chips

12 ounces white melting chocolate or chopped white chocolate

½ cup cacao nibs

½ cup bittersweet chocolate chips, for drizzling

Preheat oven to 325° and set a rack to the middle position. Lightly spray a 9-by-9-inch baking pan with nonstick cooking spray and then line it with parchment paper, leaving about an inch of paper hanging over the sides of the pan. Set aside.

In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, cocoa powder, baking powder, and salt until combined. Set aside.

Using an electric or standing mixer, beat together the butter and brown sugar on medium-high speed for one minute, scraping the sides halfway through. Add the eggs one at a time, beating well after each. Add the espresso powder and vanilla extract, and beat until combined, scraping the sides halfway through.

Gradually add the dry ingredients, about ½ cup at a time, beating on low speed until fully incorporated. Scrape down the mixing bowl as needed. Stir in the semisweet chocolate chips.

Scrape the batter (it will be very thick) into the baking pan and spread it out using an offset spatula lightly coated with nonstick cooking spray. Bake until set in the center, about 25 minutes (a toothpick inserted into the center should come out clean). Set the pan on a wire rack to cool completely.

When the pan is cool, melt the white chocolate in a double boiler (or in a small bowl at 30-second intervals in a microwave set at 50% power).

Use the overhanging parchment paper to lift the whole block out of the pan and place on a cutting board. Spread with the melted white chocolate in an even layer, then sprinkle with the cacao nibs.

When the white chocolate has set, melt the bittersweet chocolate and drizzle it over the top. Let the topping harden completely before cutting the block into squares. The bars can wrapped in plastic and stored at room temperature for up to 10 days. Yields 16 bars.

Lady Captain’s Ring

Elizabeth Islands

From Sea to Shining Sea

Mountain Laurel Schooner

JERRELLE GUY @chocolateforbasil

In her award-winning cookbook, Black Girl Baking, Jerrelle talks about “finding roots in food memories,” so we loved that her recipe dipped into happy memories of summer s’mores. Replacing the usual graham crackers with spicy gingersnaps gives them a warm holiday kick.

1¼ cups all-purpose flour

1 teaspoon baking soda

1 teaspoon ground ginger

½ teaspoon ground cinnamon

½ teaspoon table salt

4 tablespoons (½ stick) unsalted butter, softened

1 cup granulated sugar

¼ cup unsweetened applesauce

2 tablespoons molasses

1 teaspoon freshly grated ginger

1 teaspoon vanilla extract

12 jumbo marshmallows (or 24 regular ones)

14 ounces bittersweet or semisweet chocolate, finely chopped

First, make the cookies: In a medium bowl, whisk together the flour, baking soda, ground ginger, cinnamon, and salt. Beat the butter and sugar with an electric or standing mixer until smooth. Add the applesauce, molasses, grated ginger, and vanilla; beat until combined. Gradually add the dry ingredients and beat until combined, scraping the bowl halfway through. Divide the dough among two storage containers, then seal and refrigerate until firm, at least one hour and up to two days.

Preheat oven to 375° and set racks to the upper and lower middle positions. Line two baking sheets with parchment paper and set aside. Take the first batch of dough and roll it into 12 one-inch balls. Arrange on the baking sheets, leaving about three inches between each ball. Bake until golden and puffed, about 10 minutes, then bang the pan on the counter a few times to flatten the cookies before returning them to the oven. Bake until browned at the edges, three minutes more. Remove the pan from the oven, bang it again on the counter, then let the cookies cool for five minutes before transferring to wire racks to cool. Repeat with remaining dough.

Now, toast the marshmallows: Turn your oven’s broiler to high and set a rack at the highest position. Line a baking sheet with parchment paper and lightly spray with vegetable oil. If using jumbo marshmallows, arrange six on the paper and flatten each a bit with the palm of your hand. If using regular marshmallows, arrange in pairs before flattening. Leaving the door slightly ajar and watching closely, broil until golden brown on top, one or two minutes. Remove from the oven and set aside to cool completely at room temperature. Repeat with remaining marshmallows.

Melt chocolate in a double boiler (or in a small bowl at 30-second intervals in a microwave at 50% power). Stir until smooth and set aside.

Sandwich the marshmallows between two cookies. Dip each sandwich halfway into the melted chocolate, then set on a piece of parchment paper at room temperature until the chocolate cools and sets. Cookies can be stored between layers of wax paper in an airtight container for up to 10 days. Yields 12 cookies.

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Marblehead, Massachusetts

A seasonal getaway to this seaside town offers history and the holidays, all wrapped up together.

BY ANNIE GRAVES

p the street, down the street, we wait for snow. To sift like sugar onto these narrow streets that burrow deep into Marblehead. To add a last, quiet layer of decoration to this harbor town that sits so comfortably in deep drifts of history.

Candles flicker behind wavy glass, and colorful houses—like candy sprinkles—grow mellow in the dusk. Streetlamps turn on, minus only their Dickensian lamplighters. Greenery decks the halls of seafarers’ homes, and shoppers crowd the sidewalks, occasionally ducking into Haley’s Wines and Market Café to sample a bit of wine; eyeing thick Barbour jackets at F.L. Woods; checking out the giant giraffe at Mud Puddle Toys. A few blocks beyond the section known as Old Town, restaurant stovetops are fired up and diners settle in. Warm on warm.

The old houses look on, their historic markers nudging us, reminding us that they’re here, too: Ambrose Gale, Fisherman, 1663 ; Mrs. Ruth Morse, Widow, 1750 ; Richard Oakes, Quaker Shopkeeper, 1718. Seafarers, shoremen, chandlers, and bakers, they’re all here. Perhaps no other New England town has so many historic houses—300 or so— packed together so tightly that we glimpse a cross-section of centuries at every turn. They pinwheel out from Washington Street, at the heart of Old Town, and meander down State, Mugford, and Hooper streets. Pilgrims from another time. Splendid in their finery, adorned for the season.

clockwise from far left : Abbot Hall, Marblehead’s c. 1877 Romanesque showstopper of a town hall, anchors an aerial view of this coastal village; a floating Christmas tree helps put the “merry” in “maritime”; chicken liver mousse, charred broccoli panzanella, and line-caught cod at 5 Corners Kitchen; an in-room fireplace keeps the mood cozy at the Harbor Light Inn.

EYAL OREN (AERIAL, BOAT); MARK FLEMING (INN, FOOD)

another. A sprinkling begins to punctuate the holiday greens, to cap the hundreds of little house plaques, to settle into nooks and crannies and blow against clapboards. A breeze wanders off the harbor, sailing in from across the world, and a handful of boats rock in the silence.

It’s beginning to look a lot like history.

The Setting

Sooner or later you’ll stumble across a yacht club here—there are at least six—but maybe that’s mandatory when you’ve got a North Shore location on a beautiful harbor, just 17 miles from Boston. A quick scramble up the hill at Crocker Park, with its broad water views (and a guy jumping rocks on his fat-tire bike), confirms why this must be the yachting capital

of America and the birthplace of the American Navy. Sure enough, overlooking the harbor there’s a plaque naming the schooners pulled into Revolutionary War service by George Washington. (It was Marblehead men who rowed the general across the Delaware, too.) From here, you can spot the causeway to Marblehead Neck, with its oddly minimalist lighthouse. Waves crash on craggy rocks below us; a rabbit warren of old homes, strung out behind Front Street, has our back.

Eating Out

Cooking “simply, with fresh food, from scratch” is chef Barry Edelman’s credo at 5 Corners Kitchen, and it works. The French/Italian-influenced menu tempted us with oyster and charcuterie appetizers, but the addictively spicy green beans kept us busy until cod with roasted cauliflower

and an order of skate floated our way. Baked-while-you-eat apple crisp with homemade cinnamon gelato wordlessly affirmed Edelman’s approach.

At Turtle Cove Bar & Grille, an upscale oasis with a tasty seared tuna, chef-owner Stephane Colinet has pulled off the seemingly impossible: a bustling hot spot where diners can relax, too (the party next to us sipped cocktails in peace for an hour before ordering). Other perfect out-andabout meals: falafel and kibbe rollups at Le Bistro, a cozy Mediterranean boite, and anything from the deli counter at the cavernous marketplace Shubie’s. For a town of 20,000, they dine well.

from left : Florist extraordinaire Nancy Mantilla at her Washington Street shop, Flores Mantilla; the Harbor Light Inn’s festive parlor; the Old Town House, which is part of a 2,300acre historic district that includes buildings dating back to the 1600s.

Shopping

“Yes,” answers a smiling Nancy Mantilla, when I ask if everyone tells her how beautiful her flower shop is. A one-time pastry chef at the RitzCarlton, she now owns Flores Mantilla, purveyor of flowers and garden ornaments (and fine chocolates). It’s a captivating place where Buddhas and angels and frog birdbaths disappear into drifts of greenery.

At French + Italian, owner Aimee Lombardi’s crisp one-of-a-kind shirts hang like artwork, inspiring dreams of passport travels. Across the street, we stepped into Shipshape and were overtaken by a turquoise world strewn with sea urchin salt-and-pepper sets. At F.L. Woods, true sailors and wannabes can pick up a mariner’s jacket or the latest Eldridge Tide and Pilot Book . And we’ll leave the final word on Marblehead shopping to writer Neil Gaiman, whose quote appears on the wall at the excellent Spirit of ’76 Bookstore: “What I say is, a town isn’t a town without a bookstore. It may call itself a town, but unless it’s got a bookstore it knows it’s not fooling a soul.”

Family Fun

For almost 50 years, Marblehead’s Christmas Walk—slated this year for November 29 to December 2—has helped families fully immerse themselves in the season. Homes and shops are alive with festive decor, and the many merry activities include caroling, a parade, the town tree lighting, candlelight walks, and, of course, Santa

FLEMING (EDELMANS, STEEPLE); RICK ASHLEY (MUSEUM); CAROL MOORE/COURTESY OF SHIPSHAPE (SHOP INTERIOR); EYAL OREN (STOREFRONT)

left : Barry and Begüm Edelman, owners of 5 Corners Kitchen; the steeple of Grace Community Church, an iconic downtown building; a bedroom at the Jeremiah Lee Mansion house museum; Mud Puddle Toys lights up Pleasant Street; oceaninspired gifts at Shipshape.

New season. New reason.

nhpbs.org/auction

away when you shop the NHPBS Holiday Auction.

NOVEMBER 15 - DECEMBER 6

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A Four-Season Destination!

A Four-Season Destination!

Year-Round Shopping, Dining & Lodging.

Year-Round Shopping, Dining & Lodging.

Year-Round Shopping, Dining & Lodging.

A Four-Season Destination!

Year-Round Shopping, Dining & Lodging.

Downhill and Cross-Country Skiing. Visits to Santa’s Hut. Snowmobiling. Ice-Fishing events at Fisherville on Wolfeboro Bay. Art Galleries. Cozy Fireplaces. Skating. Festival of Trees. Snow-shoeing. Holiday Parade and New Year’s Eve Fireworks. Concerts. Ask for a FRee Brochure! at wolfeborochamber.com

Downhill and Cross-Country Skiing. Visits to Santa’s Hut. Snowmobiling. Ice-Fishing events at Fisherville on Wolfeboro Bay. Art Galleries. Cozy Snow-shoeing Holiday Parade and New Year’s Eve Fireworks. Concerts.

A Four-Season Destination! Year-Round Shopping, Dining & Lodging. Ask for a FRee Brochure! at wolfeborochamber.com

Downhill and Cross-Country Skiing. Visits to Santa’s Hut. Snowmobiling. Ice-Fishing events at Fisherville on Wolfeboro Bay. Art Galleries. Cozy Fireplaces. Skating. Festival of Trees. Snow-shoeing. Holiday Parade and New Year’s Eve Fireworks. Concerts. Ask for a FRee Brochure! at wolfeborochamber.com

Downhill and Cross-Country Skiing. Visits to Santa’s Hut. Snowmobiling. Ice-Fishing events at Fisherville on Wolfeboro Bay. Art Galleries. Cozy Fireplaces. Skating. Festival of Trees. Snow-shoeing. Holiday Parade and New Year’s Eve Fireworks. Concerts. Ask for a FRee Brochure! at wolfeborochamber.com

603-569-2200 • 800-516-5324

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603-569-2200 • 800-516-5324

603-569-2200

“Work and Live Where You Love to Play” wolfeboronh.us

Downhill and Cross-Country Skiing. Visits to Santa’s Hut. Snowmobiling. Ice-Fishing events at Fisherville on Wolfeboro Bay. Art Galleries. Cozy Fireplaces. Skating. Festival of Trees. Snow-shoeing. Holiday Parade and New Year’s Eve Fireworks. Concerts. Ask for a FRee Brochure! at wolfeborochamber.com

“Work and Live Where You Love to Play” wolfeboronh.us

603-569-2200 • 800-516-5324

RIVERGREEN RESORT

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arriving by lobster boat. The gingerbread festival is icing on the cake.

Don’t-Miss Attraction

Headquartered in a charming Washington Street cottage, the Marblehead Museum is far more sprawling than it looks, as it encompasses the nearby Jeremiah Lee Mansion and a Civil War museum, too. Upstairs, the new year-round J.O.J. Frost exhibit trains a spyglass on Marblehead’s past via the talents of a local folk artist who began painting in 1922, at the age of 70. Frost depicted his boyhood (at 47 Front Street) and life as a fisherman in colorful, primitive paintings of the harbor and town, and created dramatic seascapes such as The Great Gale of 1846 .

Uniquely Marblehead

Why has no one made a color wheel based on Marblehead’s historic house

colors? The palette is unimpeachable—but wait, that is peach ( Capt. Thomas Gerry, Mariner, 1735 ). And the scope appears to be limitless, from pink ( Isaac Turner, Joiner, 1719 ) to buttery yellow ( John Kelly, Fisherman, 1699 ) to blue-gray (Thomas Roads, Mariner, 1700 ) to deep plum ( Joseph Morse, Baker, 1715 ), and every shade (and trade) in between.

Where to Stay

When Walter Cronkite hitched up his yacht to come ashore, he stayed at the Harbor Light Inn, the elegant former home of Samuel Goodwin ( Joiner, 1729 ) in the middle of Old Town. More recently, Carole King rested her pipes in one of its 20 rooms, many outfitted with Jacuzzis and fireplaces to kill the chill. The vibe is warm, the bar is cool, there are endless nooks to curl up in—and if a storm’s brewing, there’s a chessboard

waiting to be fired up. Breakfast is a leisurely delight.

If You Could Live Here

We saw prices ranging from about $250,000 to almost $4 million, but these are the properties that caught our eye: in the historic district, an airy three-bedroom antique with a granite kitchen and exposed beams for $625,000; a bright two-story condo built in 1920 for $279,000; and a pretty Old Town condo with a rooftop deck for $324,900.

To see more photographs from our visit to Marblehead, go to newengland.com/ marblehead-2018.

Vintage-style streetlamps complement the character of these historic homes on State Street, which curves down toward the waterfront and State Street Landing. In the distance, a crane holds a holiday star aloft.

JOURNEY NO. 357 LAKES & MOUNTAINS REGION

We wrapped up work, hit out-of-office, and hit the road. There was a cabin in the mountains waiting for us. But more than that, there were stories waiting for us. Long laughs around the fire waiting for us. New memories on old trails. When you’re lucky, it feels like the mountain might be the last reason you’re out there. It snowed the whole way up. This was it. This was our chance. This is me.

Coastal Holiday Celebrations

Have a merry time in these maritime towns as their festive community spirit rises to the surface.

BY KIM KNOX BECKIUS

t’s a long, dark transatlantic journey for Santa once he wraps up business in Europe, and residents of New England’s seacoast take seriously their responsibility to guide him ashore. Dazzling lights and Rockwellian sights are only part of the scene: Long before the reindeer are hitched, these coastal communities turn up their warm-hearted spirit and invite all who wander through to bask in the glow.

Kennebunkport’s Christmas Prelude

Glance around at the candlelit faces of strangers, as your voice merges with the multitude singing tunes composed centuries ago. If there’s one holiday event guaranteed to give you chills, it’s candlelight caroling at St. Anthony’s Franciscan Monastery, a beloved component of one of the Maine coast’s most soul-nourishing celebrations. Santa and his lobster elves boat into town December 2, and there are nearly 12 days of jolly, kid-friendly activities. But grown-ups find their spirits uplifted, too, at the Walk to Bethlehem inn-to-inn stroll and other events that recall Christmas’s origins, at the firehouse lobster supper and the lighting of the lobster trap tree, and at Fire and Ice, a 21-and-up annual sellout featuring roaring fires and intricately carved ice bars. 11/29–12/9. Kennebunkport, ME. 207-9670857; christmasprelude.com

Boothbay Lights

Yes, Virginia, it is possible to invent new holiday traditions in the 21st century. Proof awaits the moment you turn onto Route 27 and see homes and businesses decked to the hilt. Since 2015’s first Gardens Aglow light display at the Coastal Maine Botanical Gardens, the entire Boothbay peninsula has gone all in on the merriment. Be there December 1, when revelers line the shore to await lighted vessels including a

ROBERT

DENNIS (PARADE); DISCOVER NEWPORT (MANSION)

above : Santa and Mrs. Claus at the Christmas Prelude in Kennebunkport, Maine. opposite : Holiday opulence at Rhode Island’s Newport Mansions.

boat carrying Captain Claus and his entourage. During Boothbay Lights’ six-week-plus run, no event outshines the blockbuster nightly display of the botanical gardens “planted” with more than half a million bulbs. No matter how many Christmases you’ve seen, you’ll be mesmerized by the bright LEDs—lavender, yellow, blue—and by reflections in water and, on lucky nights, snow. 11/15–12/31. Boothbay and Boothbay Harbor, ME. 207-6332353; boothbaylights.com

12/1–12/31. Newport, RI. 401-8496454; christmasinnewport.org

Christmas in Edgartown

It’s just one wreath and a couple of multicolored light strings, but when the Edgartown Lighthouse becomes a beacon of joy, the ooh s and ahh s from the caroling crowd are genuine. Board a “magic sleigh” to Martha’s Vineyard from the mainland—Hy-Line Cruises runs special ferries from Hyannis—and you’ll alight in the midst of a coastal community that celebrates with a ridiculously festive parade. You can help Vineyarders choose a clam chowder champ, score year-end deals on art and gifts, and stroll through sparkling scenes at Donaroma’s Nursery. You might not even have to bundle up, since island temperatures typically remain mild. There are dozens of activities, and the few that aren’t free raise funds to ensure year-rounders are cared for during the long quiet season. 12/6–12/9. Edgartown, MA. 508-9390199; edgartownboardoftrade.com

Lantern Light Tours at Mystic Seaport Museum

Christmas in Newport

It’s a blast to be in the Rhode Island city of Newport on December 1, when the tree lighting is held in Washington Square. This seaside city has had its own artillery company since 1741, and colonial-uniformed members fire a cannon to mark the holidays’ start. All month, events along the waterfront— which twinkles with candlelightmimicking white lights—keep alive the noncommercial spirit of Christmas past. Choirs sing, doorways are decorated with splendid greenery, Santa and Mrs. Claus arrive by boat, and the Newport Historical Society’s holiday lantern tours shed light on the origins of Christmas traditions. Events that aren’t free support nonprofits. Even the fee you’ll pay to see Newport’s lavishly ornamented mansions is a gift that sustains these architectural treasures.

It’s Christmas Eve 1876, and as you wander lantern-lined streets, board a carriage pulled by bell-jingling horses, and join in a circle dance by the fire, you’re immersed in America’s earliest holiday traditions. There’s more than nostalgia, though, to these entertaining evenings: A drama is unfolding, and you are caught up in the storyline as your in-character guide leads you aboard a historic vessel and into settings only Connecticut’s famously authentic seaport village can conjure. Each year, a new script keeps participants guessing and reminds even humbugs of Christmas’s lessons of love and acceptance. For an extra treat, book a late tour on November 24 and head first to Mystic River Park: Santa arrives via tugboat at 2 p.m., and the Holiday Lighted Boat Parade sets sail at 6 p.m. 11/23–12/23. Mystic, CT. 860-572-0711; mysticseaport.org

Photo: Katie Pritchard

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Out About

Historical interpreters Eddie Fisher and Emma Johnson stroll in 19th-century style as part of Christmas by Candlelight at Old Sturbridge Village.

Yankee ’s favorite events this season

CONNECTICUT WINTERFEST AND THE TUNNEL OF LIGHTS

NOV. 23–DEC. 30

Friday through Sunday, ride the rails at the Connecticut Trolley Museum and join the motormen in singing traditional carols as you glide through the “Tunnel of Lights” display. Afterward, warm up with some cocoa in the visitor center, where you can get a photo op with Santa. East Windsor, CT. 860-627-6540; ct-trolley.org

MAINE

THE VICTORIAN NUTCRACKER

DEC. 7, 21, 22, 23

Set in Portland in the late 1800s and featuring characters named for notable city residents of yore, this Portland Ballet production has become a can’t-miss family show. More than 80 children from the community will join the company dancers onstage. Portland, ME. 207-772-9671; portlandballet.org

MASSACHUSETTS CHRISTMAS BY CANDLELIGHT

NOV. 30–DEC. 23

Old Sturbridge Village invites you to experience the magic of a candlelit New England township while learning about the real history behind today’s Christmas traditions. Take a horse-drawn sleigh ride and indulge in warm gingerbread, hot cider, and roasted chestnuts while listening to stories, carols, and holiday music. Christmas by Candlelight occurs Friday through Sunday, plus Thursday, December 20. Sturbridge, MA. 800-733-1830; osv.org

NEW HAMPSHIRE VINTAGE CHRISTMAS

NOV. 28–DEC. 31

Portsmouth’s citywide, monthlong holiday party returns to brighten up the snowy season. Created by the Music Hall in partnership with Strawbery Banke Museum, it keeps downtown bustling with everything from candlelight strolls to concerts. Plus, get a taste of Broadway as the Ogunquit Playhouse brings Elf the Musical to the Music Hall. Portsmouth, NH. vintagechristmasnh.org

RHODE ISLAND

FOUNDRY ARTISTS ASSOCIATION HOLIDAY SHOW

NOV. 29–DEC. 2, DEC. 7–9

For more than three decades, this show has selected eye-catching wares from a notably robust collection of local artisans. (Of course, it doesn’t hurt to have all those RISD grads in your backyard.) A food drive and a silent auction for charity help remind everyone of the reason for the season. Pawtucket, RI. foundryshow.com

VERMONT THANKSGIVING AT BILLINGS FARM & MUSEUM

NOV. 23–25

Turkey Day takes on 19th-century flavor this weekend at Billings

Farm & Museum, as it hosts traditional cooking demonstrations and “History of Thanksgiving” programs. Expect all-ages appeal with hands-on activities, farm tours, and horse-drawn wagon rides. Woodstock, VT. 802-457-2355; billingsfarm.org

For more best bets around New England, see p. 102

CONNECTICUT

NOV. 3–4: WESTPORT, CraftWestport. Held at Staples High School, the longest-running indoor fine craft event in the state draws 175 talented artisans from across the country and includes a pop-up marketplace devoted to Connecticut wares. artrider.com

NOV. 23–DEC. 15: SOUTH WINDSOR, Gingerbread House Festival . Follow the spicy aromas to the Wood Memorial Library and Museum and discover a veritable wonderland of gingerbread creations by local bakers. Many of the houses, along with other holiday-themed goodies, will be for sale in the Gingerbread Shop. 860-289-1783; woodmemoriallibrary.org

NOV. 30–DEC. 9: HARTFORD, Festival of Trees and Traditions . Find decor inspiration (or just buy some impeccable decorations to take home) at this Wadsworth Atheneum fund-raiser, now in its 45th year. One-ofa-kind decorated trees and wreaths are displayed in the galleries, and all are for sale; music, kids’ activities, and visits from Santa keep things lively. 860-278-2670; thewadsworth.org

NOV. 30–DEC. 30: CHESTER, “A Connecticut Christmas Carol.” Mark Twain, P.T. Barnum, and other local celebs have roles to play in this version of Dickens’s classic tale, created especially for Goodspeed Musicals and staged at Terris Theatre. 860-8738668; goodspeed.org

NOV. 30–DEC. 31: FAIRFIELD, Holiday Express Train Show This Fairfield Museum holiday tradition features a collection of model trains zipping around elaborate setups, plus a slate of p rograms and activities related to trains, holidays, and history. 203-259 -1598; fairfieldhistory.org

DEC. 7–8: BETHLEHEM, Christmas Town Festival . O little town of Bethlehem … where thousands make an annual pilgrimage to secure the perfect Christmas-card postmark. At festival time, the town green is transformed with 70-plus vendors offering fine crafts and good food, live music, kids’ activities, hayrides, and photos with Santa. 203-266-7510; christmastownfestival.com

DEC. 16: MYSTIC, Community Carol Sing. A Mystic Seaport tradition for more than seven decades, this event draws music lovers from near and far for a holiday concert performed in the Greenmanville Church followed by an everybody-join-in carol sing at McGraw Quadrangle. 860-572-0711 ; mysticseaport.org

DEC. 31: HARTFORD, First Night . Now in its 30th year, this family-friendly New Year’s fete was still finalizing its lineup at press time, but past iterations have featured such activities as carriage rides, ice skating, improv shows, kids’ craft sessions, a dance party, storytelling, a full roster of live music, and fireworks. firstnighthartford.org

MAINE

NOV. 17–18: BANGOR, Maine Harvest Festival. At the Cross Insurance Center, celebrate all

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that is local and farm-fresh with tastings and cooking demonstrations led by Maine chefs and cookbook authors, plus live music, wine and beer samples, and a signature twocrusted apple pie competition. 207-5618300; maineharvestfestival.com

NOV. 23–25: ROCKLAND, Festival of Lights. Santa arrives by boat to kick off festivities highlighted by the illumination of a lobstertrap Christmas tree billed as the world’s largest. Among the other enticements are wagon rides, a parade, a bonfire, and caroling. 207-593-6093; rocklandmainstreet.org

NOV. 24: YORK, Lighting of the Nubble. Visit Sohier Park at dusk to see the iconic lighthouse known as the Nubble illuminated for the holidays. There will be music, cocoa, and cookies, and word has it that Santa himself will make an appearance. 207-363-1040; business.gatewaytomaine.org

DEC. 1: FARMINGTON, Chester Greenwood Day. Don your earmuffs in honor of their inventor, Farmington’s own Chester Greenwood, and head downtown for the big parade, gingerbread house contest, buggy rides, caroling, food and crafts, and historical open houses. 207-778-4215; franklincountymaine.org

DEC. 1–2: PORTLAND, United Maine Craftsmen Holiday Arts & Crafts Show. Discover an array of handcrafted presents and stocking stuffers among the wares of some 100 local artisans at the USM Sullivan Gym. 207621-2818; unitedmainecraftsmen.com

DEC. 2: NEWRY, Santa Sunday. More than 200 skiers and snowboarders are expected to turn out in full Kris Kringle regalia as part of Sunday River’s merry community fundraising effort. Check the website for information on how to join their ranks, or just show up with your family to enjoy the spectacle of all those schussing Santas. 207824-3000; sundayriver.com

DEC. 7–9: FREEPORT, Sparkle Weekend . From the Parade of Lights on Main Street to the L.L. Bean Northern Lights Celebration, this has become one of Maine’s most popular seasonal events. Free activities abound, including visits with Santa, horse-drawn carriage rides, holiday movies, and a tuba Christmas concert. sparklecelebration.com

DEC. 8: ORONO, Maine Indian Basketmakers Holiday Market. The University of Maine’s Collins Center for the Arts plays host to the largest holiday gathering of Maine Indian artists in New England. Purchase exquisite handcrafts directly from the makers, and enjoy a day of demonstrations, storytelling, drumming, singing, and dancing. 207-5811904; maine.edu

DEC. 31: EASTPORT, The Great Sardine and Maple Leaf Drop. The Tides Institute and Museum of Art celebrates the New Year twice during this evening of music, food, and family fun. At 11 (midnight Atlantic time), the New Year’s Eve Brass Band will play “O, Canada” to accompany the Maple Leaf Drop. An hour later, they’ll fire up “Auld Lang Syne” during the Great Sardine Drop to officially ring in 2019. 207-8534047; tidesinstitute.org

stay. A place to play!

MASSACHUSETTS

NOV. 2–4: FRANKLIN COUNTY, CiderDays. Join Yankee ’s own apple expert, senior food editor Amy Traverso, at Western Massachusetts’s salute to this favorite New England fruit. Her talk on apple cooking tips is just one of the highlights of a jam-packed schedule that includes orchard tours, cidermaking demonstrations and tastings, an apple pancake breakfast, and kids’ activities. 413-773-5463; ciderdays.org

NOV. 16–17: PLYMOUTH, America’s Hometown Thanksgiving Festival. See the history of Thanksgiving brought to life as Pilgrims, Native Americans, soldiers, patriots, and pioneers take to the streets of Plymouth. Highlights include a parade, a harvest farmers’ market, a “portal to the past” historical village, a food festival, and concerts. 508-746-1818; usathanksgiving.com

NOV. 21–JAN. 1: SPRINGFIELD, Bright Nights at Forest Park . One of the region’s largest holiday light shows offers the chance to drive a magical three-mile route through displays sparkling with more than 650,000 bulbs. To get the full effect, tune your radio to the “Elf Radio” musical simulcast as you drive past the colorful scenes. 413-7333800; brightnights.org

NOV. 23–DEC. 30: STOCKBRIDGE, Winterlights at Naumkeag. Step back into the Gilded Age at Naumkeag, the 44-room “cottage” built in 1887 for a leading attorney of the day and now preserved by the Trustees of Reservations. “Winterlights” will see the estate decked out in shimmering lights and bustling with tours, music, and special activities. 413-298-3239; naumkeag.thetrustees.org

NOV. 29–DEC. 2: PROVINCETOWN, Holly

Folly . From the Speedo Run down Commercial Street to the antics of Drag Bingo, it’s joyfully obvious that this is no run-ofthe-mill holiday celebration. Enjoy performances by the Gay Men’s Chorus, a chance to win prizes at the Shop Hop, and an open house of local inns decked out for the season and offering treats and libations. ptown.org/holly-folly

NOV. 30–DEC. 2: STOCKBRIDGE, Main Street at Christmas . The town made famous by a Norman Rockwell painting hosts a weekend of festivities—including holiday readings, house tours, caroling, and concerts—starting on Friday evening and leading up to Sunday’s re-creation of the downtown scene as captured by the artist in the painting Main Street at Christmas, which he started in 1956 and finished in 1967. 413298-5200; stockbridgechamber.org

DEC. 13–FEB. 24: BOSTON, “Ansel Adams in Our Time.” For a respite from the seasonal hustle and bustle, check out this cultural highlight, as the MFA offers its first major exhibit of Adams’s photographs since 2005. Look for some of his most famous scenes from the American West, as well as a selection of related work by 19th-century photographers and modern-day artists. 617-267-9300; mfa.org

This family-owned, 93-room luxury inn features two great restaurants, 23 replaces, an indoor heated pool and is fully handicapped accessible. Select pet-friendly rooms available. Walk to the best shopping on the Maine coast and the Amtrak Downeaster train station. Ask about our Yankee Getaway Package. Book direct for complimentary breakfast and afternoon tea.

DEC. 14-16: BOSTON, CraftBoston Holiday Held at the Hynes Convention Center and packed with more than 175 exhibitors, CraftBoston Holiday is a must-attend event for artists, collectors, and craft enthusiasts. Among the handiwork on offer will be leather goods, furniture, glassware, and jewelry. 617-266-1810; societyofcrafts.org

DEC. 14–16, 20–23, 26–29: CAMBRIDGE, Christmas Revels. Ring in the winter solstice at Sanders Theatre with the traditions and music of the Nordic nations. Expect Swedish carols, Danish wassails, Norwegian ballads and dances, Icelandic hymns, and more—plus the Revels’ signature “Lord of the Dance” performance. 617-496-2222; revels.org

NEW HAMPSHIRE

NOV. 18: GREENLAND, Craft Fair and Pie Festival . This annual Women’s Club fundraiser has grown into a pastry spectacular, now serving up some 550 delicious pies at the Greenland Central School. Enjoy the luncheon café (with pie, of course), more than 100 crafters and artisans, music, and a raffle. greenlandwomensclub.org

NOV. 23–DEC. 23: LINCOLN/NORTH CONWAY, Journey to the North Pole . A beloved fundraiser for the Believe in Books Literacy Foundation, this two-hour train adventure in the White Mountains departs from either North Conway or Lincoln and takes families to visit Santa in his workshop. Schedules vary by location; see website for details. 603356-9980; journeytothenorthpole.org

NOV. 24–DEC. 16: JACKSON, Jingle Bell Chocolate Tour. Get your tickets early for this weekends-only event, as it sells out earlier and earlier each year. Participants enjoy a horse-drawn sleigh through Jackson, sampling delicious chocolate treats at stops along the way and soaking up the classic winter landscape. jacksonnh.com

DEC. 8: MONADNOCK REGION, Currier & Ives Cookie Tour. There are more than a dozen stops on this self-guided tour, with a tasty treat waiting at each one. Snag the recipe cards to make your favorites later, and enjoy the camaraderie and the holiday decorations. currierandivescookietour.com

DEC. 8, 15: CANTERBURY, Christmas at Canterbury Shaker Village . Celebrate the holiday’s simpler pleasures by taking a candlelit stroll through the village or riding in a horse-drawn wagon or sleigh. Other happenings include a 19th-century magic show, opportunities to make Christmas cards and ornaments, and the village tree lighting. 603-783-9511; shakers.org

DEC. 22: COLEBROOK, Tuba Christmas. Come take a listen as tuba players get together at Trinity United Methodist for a program of holiday tunes that’s all about the bass. chamberofthenorthcountry.com

DEC. 23: CONCORD, Capital Jazz Orchestra Holiday Pops . At Capitol Center for the Arts, the Capital Jazz Orchestra makes merry with special guests Laura Daigle

Thisis amust-see!

It Was One of Those Moments Where I Could Feel Myself Standing in the

Midst of African Gem History

He was tall, black, impeccable English, and an English accent He was Ethiopian with a room filled with friends, all Ethiopian, and opals the size of hen’s eggs, pigeon eggs, robin’s eggs, colors glowing, colors throbbing His smile was wide His welcome was grand. He was open to all our questions. Stephen and I spent the morning with him and his friends. The friends spoke English too. They let us film and photo People came, people went It was Lucas’s Star Wars scene on a faraway planet As the people moved about talking about Ethiopia, we were spellbound by the opals, by their size, by their colors I had never seen anything like it As I look back on it, there was music playing I know there wasn’t but I still hear it whenever I think about this morning in the desert with these Africans speaking about Ethiopia and this new gem discovery.

We held opals, big opals the size of hen’s eggs and watched the colors play through Felt the colors pulsing in our hands We’re jewelers, we do color, choice color, ruby, emerald, sapphire, red, green, blue Here were all the world’s colors playing in single stones, playing on a stage held in our hands. I can say as a jeweler, gem guy, it was one of those moments where I could feel myself standing in the midst of gem history This was new We considered, compared and chose the Victoria Falls Opal and brought it home to Maine

Somehow in this morning of opals, the heart of Africa came through in ways I’d never felt before I wish I could share the opal theme song that played that morning. It was better than the Spielberg’s music in the bar scene in his first Star Wars movie. The music was as big as all of Africa and plays every time I think about that morning

The Victoria Falls Opal is part of the Cross Collection It is not for sale, it is on display in our African Opal case in our Portland, Maine store.

We have over 100 pieces of African opal jewelry on display and for sale Early Welo African Opal All natural, unaltered, untreated It’s a dazzling collection of necklaces, earrings, bracelets and rings The entire collection is shown on-line –RHP

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Special Thanksgiving to Christmas

Open Saturdays

Cross Jewelers

Victoria Falls, 37 60 carat opal from the Legendary Cross Gem Collection on display in our Portland, Maine store

and C.J. Poole, as well as NHPR’s Laura Knoy, who will recite “The Night Before Christmas.” The event includes an audience sing-along to get everyone into the spirit. 603-225-1111; ccanh.com

RHODE ISLAND

NOV. 9–11: PROVIDENCE, Fine Furnishings Show. Handcrafted American furniture, accessories, and art take center stage at the WaterFire Arts Center, which will be packed with more than 100 exhibitors. Browse work ranging in style from traditional to modern, watch some demonstrations, and try your luck at a door prize. 401-816-0963; finefurnishingsshows.com

NOV. 10: PROVIDENCE, WaterFire Salute to Veterans . Honor the sacrifice of those who have served in America’s military at this downtown event, which includes a veterans resource fair, a storytelling tent, a torch procession, and a “ring of fire” in the Waterplace Basin. waterfiresalutetoveterans.org

NOV. 23–25: FOSTER, Christmas in the Valley Holiday Craft Show . Now marking its 26th year, this juried show brings distinctive handcrafted items and fine art to Foster County Club, with proceeds going to benefit a local nonprofit. A visit from Santa

Claus, live music, and a raffle add to the fun. christmasinthevalleyri.com

NOV. 29–DEC. 2: WICKFORD VILLAGE, Festival of Lights. Stroll the historic village amid holiday light displays as the shops stay open late. See Santa arrive at the town dock, then move on to the tree lighting, caroling, and hayrides. 401-295-5566; northkingstown.com

DEC. 1–2: NORTH KINGSTOWN, Christmas at the Castle. Explore the c. 1678 Smith’s Castle when it’s all decked out for a celebration of Christmas past. Enjoy live music reminiscent of a bygone era, snap a photo with Father Christmas and Santa Bob, and fortify yourself with cookies and hot mulled cider. 401294-3521; smithscastle.org

DEC. 2, 8, 9, 28, 30: LINCOLN, Old-Fashioned Christmas/Home for the Holidays Tours . The Victorian era comes alive at the Federal-style mansion known as Hearthside, where volunteers in period garb will guide you through rooms elaborately decorated with ornaments of lace and gold, garlands, and poinsettias. On December 28 and 30, the Home for the Holidays candlelight tours are not to be missed. 401-726-0597; hearthsidehouse.org

DEC. 15–16: WESTERLY, Christmas Pops. The 200-member Chorus of Westerly joins the Pops Festival Orchestra for its annual salute to the season, with three scheduled perfor-

Award winning analysis

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mances at Kent Hall featuring favorites such as “Sleigh Ride” and “White Christmas.” 401-596-8663; chorusofwesterly.org

VERMONT

THROUGH JAN. 13: SHELBURNE, “New England Now.” The kickoff to the Shelburne Museum’s curated biennial series of contemporary art exhibits, “New England Now” goes far beyond stereotypes to examine the evolving identities and complex beauty of the Northeast. 802-985-3346; shelburnemuseum.org

NOV. 16–18: BURLINGTON, Craft Vermont. The premier juried show of fine Vermont crafts brings one-of-a-kind pieces to the DoubleTree by Hilton Hotel, including basketry, ceramics, woodworking, paintings, furniture, glass, jewelry, and photography. 802872-8600; vermonthandcrafters.com

NOV. 23–25: PUTNEY, Craft Tour. See the oldest continuous craft tour in the country celebrate its 40th anniversary as you make your way to the studios of two dozen of the area’s most talented artists—and at some locations you can even witness demonstrations of how their creations are made. 802387-4032; putneycrafts.com

NOV. 30–DEC. 2: ESSEX JUNCTION, Vermont International Festival . Join the fun at this annual spotlight on cultures from around the world, which brings crafts, foods, music, and dance to the Champlain Valley Expo. 802863-6713; vermontinternationalfestival.com

DEC. 1: PLYMOUTH NOTCH, Coolidge Holiday Open House. Historic Plymouth Notch is the backdrop for this Christmas tradition, featuring the bedecked birthplace of President Calvin Coolidge, old-time music, sleigh rides, craft demonstrations, and kids’ activities. 802-672-6773; historicsites.vermont.gov

DEC. 7–9: WOODSTOCK, Winter Wassail Weekend . Postcard-perfect Woodstock plays host to a jam-packed weekend that includes a parade with more than 50 horses and riders dressed in holiday costumes and period attire, concerts, a breakfast with Santa, historic house tours, and lots of activities for children. 802-457-3555; woodstockvt.com

DEC. 8: ST. JOHNSBURY, St. Johnsbury Victorian Holiday Celebration . From horsedrawn sleigh rides to winter-themed craft activities, and from the Fairbanks Museum and Planetarium to the St. Johnsbury Athenaeum, there’s no end of things to do and places to visit during this day focused on St. Johnsbury’s charming Victorian downtown. discoverstjohnsbury.com

DEC. 31: LUDLOW, Family New Year’s Eve At Okemo Mountain Resort, enjoy earlyevening ice skating, snowshoeing, snowtubing, horse-drawn wagon rides, mountain coaster rides, cookie decorating, and fireworks. Families can ring in the New Year with a DJ dance party and still get the kids to bed early enough so that they’ll be awake and ready to the hit slopes bright and early on January 1. 802-228-1600; okemo.com

of the stories that shape our world and inform public policy.

THE TINKERER OF DICKINSON’S REACH

How Bill Coperthwaite influenced the world

BY WAYNE CURTIS • PHOTOGRAPHS BY SARAH RICE

from remote Down East Maine.

At the wooded compound that Bill Coperthwaite founded in Machiasport, his former yurt remains much as he left it.

opposite : One of the last yurts at Dickinson’s Reach that Coperthwaite worked on before he died in 2013.

Five wheelbarrows are scattered haphazardly around a large ground-floor workshop in an eccentric, circular building in the woods just a two-minute walk from Maine’s rocky coastline. None of the wheelbarrows looks like the others, and frankly, none looks much like a wheelbarrow. They’re all handmade, four of them by a man named Bill Coperthwaite. (The fifth was made by a Coperthwaite friend who was inspired by him.)

Most have a single wheel located closer to the rear than usual. One has a pair of wheels that angle inward from the sides, nearly meeting directly under the bed. Coperthwaite was always mystified by the traditional American wheelbarrow—why put a wheel way out front that required you to hoist more weight in the back? It made far more sense to load as much directly over the wheel as possible. So Coperthwaite kept building them, and building them, in search of the ideal wheelbarrow. “These are incredibly maneuverable, and you can walk on the trail at regular walking speed,” said Scott Kessel, a museum designer from Connecticut who was poking around the building with me. “That’s the thing—he was always tinkering.”

His wheelbarrows weren’t theoretical design projects, either. Copert hwaite used them heavily and constantly. He lived at this compound on and off for more than 50 years, amid 550 acres of tangled forest he owned south of Machias. By design, he couldn’t drive to his front door— he’d park near the road and then walk a mile and a half on a narrow footpath, groceries and supplies in tow. (When the tides allowed, he could also canoe about the same distance from a cove across the way.)

Just as his wheelbarrows were ongoing experiments, so too were the structures scattered about the property, which represented an evolution in the type of circular building known as a yurt. Consider the one in which the wheelbarrows are now stored: One of the grandest yurts ever built, it’s four

stories tall, with each story partially nested within the next, giving the impression of a backwoods pagoda. The main level is 64 feet across. It has a dirt floor and is lined with stacks of firewood, and along one side there’s a workshop well stocked with woodcarving tools. Upstairs is a kitchen with a woodstove, a library filled with an array of books, settees upholstered with old sweaters, and all of this crowned with a skylighted sleeping space.

And this is only one of a dozen yurts at Dickinson’s Reach, if you include the outhouses and cooking sheds. (Coperthwaite named the property after Emily Dickinson, one of his favorite poets.) Set amid stately birches and beeches and murmuring white pines, the compound seems as if it were built by elves and gnomes in medieval days. Yet Coperthwaite’s

passion was actually not the building of wheelbarrows or yurts. It was encouraging people to live on their own, full of intention, purpose, and simplicity, preferably amid a likeminded community.

Five years ago, Coperthwaite, a complicated man who lived his life with equal parts intensity and purpose, died in a car accident while heading toward a Thanksgiving dinner with friends in Brunswick. He was 83 years old. His sprawling compound was then passed on to five families with instructions to … well, Coperthwaite didn’t leave much of a blueprint. He mostly explained what he didn’t want: a museum, something preserved for future visitors, a place to marvel at what he had wrought. He wanted Dickinson’s Reach kept alive and the community to continue to grow. Somehow.

“PERSONALLY, I’M NOT INTERESTED IN BUILDINGS THAT YOU CAN’T BUILD,” COPERTHWAITE ONCE WROTE. “OUR CRAFT WORLD IS FULL OF SPECIALISTS. I’M INTERESTED IN DESIGN THAT ANYONE CAN BUILD AND PEOPLE CAN GATHER AROUND.”

this page : Members of the Dickinson’s Reach community gather every summer to talk about priorities for the property and to work on projects together. Here, a small group splits spruce root into natural cordage.

opposite : This portrait of Bill Coperthwaite on his 70th birthday comes from a photo album in the library of his yurt, which today serves as the living quarters for a homesteading apprentice at Dickinson’s Reach.

“He gave us an incredible gift,” said Peter Forbes, a conservation educator and advocate who is one of the original overseers, as well as the author of a 2015 book about Coperthwaite, A Man Apart. “But it’s a huge responsibility too. He wanted his tools used. He didn’t want things numbered and put aside. And he wanted it to change. And that’s a big deal.”

“One of the greatest gifts he gave us was not telling us what to do,” said Julie Henze, another one of the original overseers.

But along the way, the group learned one other thing: The greatest gifts can be the most complicated.

In August 1976, patent no.

3,972,163 was issued to William S. Coperthwaite of Bucks Harbor, Maine. It granted him the intellectual rights to multilevel concentric buildings with rigid walls secured by

tension cables. These usually began as a small yurt that would be raised with jacks so another circular structure could be built around it. Then the process was repeated, jacking up the two to build a third structure. And then, sometimes, a fourth.

Coperthwaite’s yurts rarely fail to amaze—for either their simple genius or their offbeat aesthetics—but in truth he was less concerned with appearance than practicality. “Personally, I’m not interested in buildings that you can’t build,” he once wrote. “Our craft world is full of specialists. I’m interested in design that anyone can build and people can gather around.”

Bill Coperthwaite was born in remote Aroostook County, Maine, in 1930, the youngest of four siblings. His family moved to southern Maine when he was young, and he went on to graduate from South Portland High and Bowdoin College. He then attended

the influential if short-lived Putney Graduate School of Teacher Education, where he came under the sway of director Morris Mitchell, who himself had been influenced by John Dewey, the progressive educator and philosopher. Mitchell averred that a proper education was best accomplished by doing rather than by note-taking, and all the better if that doing involved social justice and bettering the community.

From there, Coperthwaite set off on trips around the globe. He was fueled by a curiosity about how native peoples lived and how their cultures were transmitted from one generation to the next. He went to Venezuela to study rural development, then spent two years in northern Scandinavia living with the Lapps. In 1966 he drove from Maine to Alaska to study native crafts and tools, eventually using what he learned to earn a doctorate from Harvard’s Graduate School of Education.

from left : Peter Forbes of Waitsfield, Vermont, one of the property’s original overseers, works on clearing a new trail; apprentice Leo Stevenson of New York City checks the feel of a wooden spoon he’s carving.

“That’s what Bill liked to do: to experience things that are really authentic from a deep-seated, deep-rooted tradition,” said Peter Lamb, a former museum director now living in Kittery, Maine, who is another of the original overseers. “He liked being able to see a place before it made a huge shift.”

The outlines of Coperthwaite’s quietly radical life began to come into focus in the early 1960s. With notions of opening his own alternative school, he started acquiring property outside Machiasport in 1960—several hundred acres of cut-over forestland that bordered a tidal pond, for which he paid $3.50 per acre. In 1963 he met Scott and Helen Nearing, who lived a few hours down the coast on the Blue Hill peninsula, and who were pioneers of what was then called the back-to-theland movement.

Coperthwaite, then 33, took inspiration from the Nearings’ embrace of

nonviolence and simple, intentional living. In 1962 he came across a National Geographic article about Mongolia written by Supreme Court Justice William O. Douglas. It featured photographs of yurts, which captivated Coperthwaite with their straightforwardness and the fact that they could be built by those who lived in them. This set him on a quest to adapt the yurt’s basic design for life in northern New England. Instead of using felt, he sided his with locally milled wood. Instead of a single story, he nested them one inside the other. On Google Earth, his largest yurt looks like a bull’s-eye dropped into the Maine woods.

As with so much that Coper t hwaite was involved with, his notion of the yurt was never fixed. He was always looking for ways to make them “sturdier, simpler, cheaper, more accessible,” said Forbes. After his first 10 years of building them, he settled into

a basic form but continued to tweak the details, like rooflines and interior supports. “To his eye, they would be changing all the time,” Forbes said. At one point Coperthwaite calculated the outward-leaning angle of the walls simply by leaning back in a chair until he felt comfortable, and asking someone to measure that angle. As a result, a built-in bench along a curving wall could become a welcoming place to sit back and read or talk, and eliminate the need for another piece of furniture.

After experimenting with structures on his own land, Coperthwaite brought the idea of the rigid yurt to the world, conducting workshops and offering advice to aspiring builders. He was involved in building an estimated 300 yurts over the years. If you know what a yurt is without resorting to Google, you can thank Bill Coperthwaite.

Yet with all his travels in the United States and abroad, he was always eager

from left : One of the side projects of the weekend was the making of a raft, shown here being launched into the tidal pond; a collection of well-worn woodworking tools in the library of Coperthwaite’s yurt.

to return to his home, where he maintained a rolling stockpile of seven years’ worth of firewood, assuring himself of seasoned wood and comfortable winters amid snow and pines.

While Coperthwaite was a fan of Henry David Thoreau—whose quotes, among others, are tacked up on the walls here and there in his buildings— it wasn’t for the reasons that many have revered the bard of Walden. “Thoreau is an icon of the conservation movement,” Forbes said, “but Bill saw him more for his social justice.” Unlike Thoreau, Coperthwaite did not see untrammeled wilderness as a worthy goal. He was fine with human trammeling, as long as it improved the environment rather than degraded it.

“It wasn’t about ‘leave no trace’ for him,” said Forbes. “It was actually ‘make a trace.’ Make a place beautiful.” Forbes himself had been schooled to think that humans only harmed nature, but Coperthwaite pointed him in another direction: “Bill showed me humans are part of nature and we can create beauty.”

Forbes noted the path that extended from the main yurt toward the water’s edge. “I never understood completely how this happens, but you can see here just when someone walks on a trail, grass grows and it’s green and it’s a different color than the land that people don’t walk on. It has to do with disturbance. And what Bill taught me is that disturbance can actually create beauty.”

Coperthwaite never fulfilled his early vague plans to establish a school on his land, but he did create what amounts to an informal school. Through word of mouth, people interested in simple living would hear about Coperthwaite and seek him out. (Letters addressed simply to “Bill” and sent to Machiasport invariably managed to reach him.)

“Bill always said, ‘I don’t want to live too close to the road. Too many crazies will come in,’” said Forbes. “But if someone was willing to walk in

a mile and a half, he’d at least take the time to say hello to them. And if they stuck around, he’d teach them how to carve a spoon.”

Carving a spoon accomplished several things. Working with their hands allowed Coperthwaite and his visitor to talk more naturally, connecting in ways that sitting and staring at each other across an expanse of a table didn’t offer. It opened the door to talk about beauty and simplicity. “The handcraft was really a way to get at good conversation,” said Peter Lamb.

Over time, those who visited regularly and were most aligned with Coperthwaite’s ideals formed a close-knit circle around him. Many were a generation behind—about the age of his children, had he chosen to sire any. As he reached his 70s, he became more interested in building a lasting community in his forest, and offered parcels of land to his innermost circle if they wanted to build their own yurts. “Every time he came back from a trip, he said, ‘Maybe I’ll see a wisp of smoke,’ suggesting somebody was already there,” said Julie Henze. “The land was important to him, but so was community.”

Most of his friends already led full lives elsewhere and were unable or unwilling to establish themselves in the woods. Only Peter Forbes and his family took Coperthwaite up on his offer. In 2011, Forbes’s yurt was erected by family and volunteers on a bluff on the far side of the tidal pond, much of it during a summer workshop, near an old spring once dug by early farmers. Coperthwaite set up camp on the site and helped oversee construction.

And so a seed of a community was planted. Yet after the structure went up, Forbes said, Coperthwaite visited only once. “He was constantly talking about community here,” Forbes said, “but there were a lot of tensions in his life. He wanted to be deeply engaged in community, and he couldn’t. He both encouraged me to do the most important things I’ve ever done with my life,

and he pushed me away. I think he’s not so unique with that. I think great, great mentors sometimes are like that.”

A few years before his car accident, Coperthwaite invited six families to Dickinson’s Reach and asked them to join him by assuming shared ownership of the land. (One felt unable to shoulder the additional responsibility and bowed out.) They formed an LLC such that when Coperthwaite died, the group would assume control of the land.

In some ways, this was simply an update of an old New England way of planning for a certain future with uncertain timing: You take care of me, and I’ll take care of you . “That used to happen with New England town government,” Forbes said. “The town would take care of the people, and after they died the town would get the home. Basically, it’s a very practical thing. But what Bill added was this whole idea of apprenticeship and mentorship. He said, ‘Listen, let’s spend 10 great years together. And we won’t know what will happen after that.’

“And we said, ‘OK.’”

On Memorial Day weekend 2018, I kayaked to Dickinson’s Reach from an adjacent peninsula to visit for two days during the annual retreat, when the families and friends who now oversee the property gather to do work, enjoy long meals together, and talk about what’s next. Of the original five families, only Peter Forbes and his teenage daughter, Wren, and Julie Henze were able to make the trip this year. But they were joined by more than a dozen others, including teens and children who showed a sensible disinterest in the doings of adults and disappeared for lengthy stretches into the woods. The teens knew one another mostly from early-summer visits, and several spent their weekend building an elaborately canopied raft of driftwood and planks. Its inaugural if inauspicious voyage on the tidal pond led to adult discussions on the principles

“IT WASN’T ABOUT ‘LEAVE NO TRACE’ FOR BILL,” SAID PETER FORBES, WHOSE FAMILY BUILT A YURT HERE IN 2011. “IT WAS ACTUALLY ‘MAKE A TRACE.’ MAKE A PLACE BEAUTIFUL.”

Michael Iacona of Guilford, Vermont, cradles his 4-year-old daughter, Ella, during a group meeting at Dickinson’s Reach.

clockwise from top left : Kenneth Kortemeier of Bristol, Maine, waits on passengers for the canoe trip to dinner; setting off for the communal meal; relaxing around a campfire at the yurt of Julie Henze, an original overseer; cooling off during a trail-clearing project with a dip in the pond.

of flotation, the hazards of imperfect balance, and the importance of life jackets. The kids nodded, then disappeared back into the woods.

Shortly before Coperthwaite’s death, the core families realized that keeping his dream alive would require assistance—not only with the work of maintaining the property, but also with giving advice on the future, performing administrative tasks from afar, and spreading the word about the community. So each of the original families invited one other family who had a connection to Coperthwaite to serve as additional pillars of support.

Among those who made the trip this past Memorial Day weekend were Josh and Melanie Wehrwein, who had built their own elaborate three-story yurt near Blue Hill, Maine, where they lived simply and deliberately. (Coperthwaite designed it, although he died before it was built. A friend told Josh that “Bill spent his whole life preparing to design this yurt,” which pleases the Wehrweins.) Kenneth Kortemeier runs a craft school in Midcoast Maine and feels Coperthwaite would be happy that he makes many of the steel tools he uses when teaching wood carving.

The group gathered near the water’s edge at circular tables outside the cooking yurt. They split into smaller groups and worked on clearing trails, including a new public pathway leading to grassy ledges along the cove. They visited the buildings to assess conditions and discuss work that needed to be done.

Shortly after Coperthwaite died, his community paddled him home across Little Kennebec Bay in a simple spruce coffin, which rested atop poles lashed between two wooden canoes. It was a chilly, bleak November day, and the canoes and paddlers and coffin looked like something from a lost Ingmar Bergman epic. They found Coperthwaite’s yurt just as he’d left it: his desk with piles of letters awaiting responses, books partly read and left open. Here they also found designs for yet another wheelbarrow he planned to make, this one of lightweight Lexan that would be waterproof and shatterproof.

Scott Kessel mentioned that Coperthwaite had asked him recently about

the best glues to use on his new wheelbarrow. Others overheard and piped up. “One person was supposed to bring graphite oars for handles, and someone else who was into bicycles was going to bring in a big bicycle wheel,” Kessel said. “And that was his way—crowdsourcing for information.” It would be a wheelbarrow built by a community.

On Saturday afternoon, the time came for a more formal get-together, so the adults gathered and the kids scattered. About 10 grown-ups— from both the core group and outer circles—headed into the woodshop amid the drawknives and handsaws that had been used to create the small rustic chairs on which most sat. Three quietly carved spoons and ladles as the group talked. No agenda was evident, and at times the gathering had the feel of a Quaker meeting, with silences broken only by the patter of wood shavings falling on the floor.

Discussions arose about communications among group members and the need for everyone to step up and take on some of the less glorious tasks, like maintaining the website and responding to inquiries. They talked of finding ways to educate the next generation, to make sure they knew that Dickinson’s Reach wasn’t just a playground but also a responsibility—that the kids now tree-climbing and raft-making would eventually help keep the mission alive. A consensus emerged over the hour that the group should take more assertive steps following their five years of mourning Coperthwaite, and position the property for a future beyond them. The year before, they had started an apprenticeship program, allowing one person to stay at the property for six weeks at a stretch, pursuing his or her own projects while helping out with upkeep and greeting the occasional seeker who wandered in. That seemed to be working to return a pulse to the land. Apprentice Leo Stevenson, a philosophy student who had been here much of the spring, was in attendance and reported that he’d spent his time reading, meditating, writing, carving, and taking “long aimless walks.”

The group also spoke of their hopes that the apprenticeship might lead

them to someone inspired by both the property and Coperthwaite, someone who could help take the compound into its next phase: a retreat, a craft school, a center for intentional living, or something not yet imagined. “You need to have a heartbeat, and feet on the ground,” said Forbes.

Some further discussion ensued— about needed work on trails, about the possibility of building a new yurt for apprentices, about signage and visitors.

“The group has gone from what was to what could be,” said Forbes. A long silence followed. Then Forbes suggested, “Let’s go visit Bill.”

Everyone rose and stretched—Coperthwaite’s handbuilt wooden chairs are simple and inspired but not always conducive to sitting for a long time— and then slowly wandered outside and down a lightly worn path toward a thicket. About a hundred yards in, the group paused amid a stand of thin, leggy maples, then formed a loose circle around a low, long mound with a few struggling blueberry bushes. This was Coperthwaite’s final resting spot; at his request, there’s no marker.

Some heartfelt words were shared about Coperthwaite’s role in shaping their lives. Someone recalled that on his 80th birthday, Coperthwaite scrambled 30 feet up a tree to spend the night in a three-story treehouse he’d built near the water’s edge. “May we all lead lives that when we die we have 40 or 50 friends all over the world who will drop what they’re doing to travel to this remote place,” Forbes said.

At the end of the weekend, all would leave and go back to their lives, save for Stevenson, the apprentice, who would remain another two weeks. To anyone looking around the circle of people— some lost in thought, some smiling— it was evident that Bill Coperthwaite had, in fact, built his community, albeit one less anchored to place than he had envisioned and more widely scattered across Maine, across New England, across the world.

“It’s somehow heartening in this day and age that one man can bring so many people into a remote spot in the woods,” said Forbes. “There’s the magnetic pull of the man.”

The Man

in the

Red Flannel Suit

Being the town Santa is not all ho-ho-ho and Merry Christmas! A report from the other side of the beard.

BY DONALD HALL

We bring back our most beloved Christmas story of all time in honor of its author, Donald Hall, the celebrated New England poet and former American poet laureate. Hall passed away on June 23, 2018, at Eagle Pond Farm in Wilmot, New Hampshire, where his grandparents and great-grandparents had lived and where he had spent many happy childhood days. Among the essays he wrote for Yankee , his 1992 tale of playing the village Santa remains our favorite to read again and again.

When we moved to New Hampshire for good in 1975, I was 46 years old, stood six foot one, carried a big beard, and weighed 248 pounds. For years, my cousin Forrest had played Santa Claus at the South Danbury Church Christmas program. Forrest was tired of the role and didn’t have a beard; it was inevitable that I be recruited.

And I was ready for it. When I recall our first year back in New Hampshire for good—restoration to the domain of my grandparents’ house, a daydream from childhood— I feel again the gratitude that poured out of me all day long, month after month. I was ready to wear the red suit and impersonate the all-giver because I was aware of how much I had been given. A decade earlier, my life had been a shambles of stereotypical middle-aged crisis, self-made, but a shambles nonetheless.

Almost two decades later, I remain aware of my good luck, but even happiness becomes a habit. It’s a precarious habit, like all mortal matters, for even the good life ends. Every year I watch it end for people

I love. To some degree, happiness encourages dread: When you walk down the street, your trousers rattling with a million dollars in gold, it is reasonable to fear pickpockets.

At a costumer’s in Concord—where theater groups go for dress and makeup, where we rent the gorilla suit of imagined exploit—I bought washable white paint in a spray can, for my beard was a bushy brown. From Forrest I borrowed the communal Santa Claus costume, shared by Danbury Santa Clauses at the church and the old Grange hall, where the Danbury Elementary School threw its Christmas party. The Grange is a rattly wooden cavern, lights but no water, with photographs of patriarchmatriarch Grangers on the walls and a great painted stage curtain of Mount Kearsarge. When the school discovered that I was taking over for Forrest at the church, they asked me to take over at the Grange as well. We don’t pass the costume to and fro; we pass Santa Claus.

Illustration by TONY RODRIGUEZ

Double duty assumed, I practiced ho-ho-ho s. I found harness bells that Riley wore when he pulled my grandparents’ sleigh, and I worked up the art of jingling—more easily acquired than ho-ho-ho ing. The day before the school program, my anxiety required a dress

rehearsal—son, daughter, and wife as audience—and they were critical: hollow ho-ho s, tentative jingling, and not enough white in the beard. My half-glasses, perched on the tip of my nose, won grudging praise.

On the day of my performance I was nervous, and as the day progressed, so did my anxiety. I daynightmared that the children, instead of regarding me with suitable awe, would jab derisive fingers and laugh at me. Or I would go dry and forget my often-rehearsed lines; instead of “Merry Christmas!” I would say, “Have a nice day!” Or I would croon hih-hih-hih in falsetto instead of a bass ho-ho-ho

Over my adult life I have appeared onstage in a number of plays, always with fear and trembling; when I used to lecture to students twice a week, I felt nervous when the bell rang even after a whole term; over the past 30 years I’ve read my poems to audiences thousands of times—and thousands of times I’ve paced up and down before reading. But never have I ever felt stage fright like my stage fright as Santa Claus. There I was— outfitted in grimy red, walking up and down outside the Grange in moonlight at minus 18 degrees, aware of an inadequately spray-whited beard, clutching Riley’s bells so tightly that they would probably never ring again, feeling entirely foolish, and repeating the universal mantra: Why did I say I would do this?

I was great. I ho-ho-ho ’d like a warm-hearted Godzilla and clanked bells like Edgar A. Poe; I shook hands with solemn 6-year-old skeptics; I terrified babies with my gross benignity; I joshed freshly with strangers—people with whom I would have felt shy if I had not worn disguise. Then, when it felt proper, I departed, slipping into

the front seat of a cold Plymouth and slamming home. (Someone’s face peered at me from a car that passed; it was something to see, that face.) At home I sipped whiskey and simmered down, still in a red flannel suit and white-washed beard, while I attempted a self-critical reprise favoring the church program the next night. Then Jane came home, together with my children, and they confirmed that I was magnificent ... only maybe, next time, not quite so loud?

But I must have been passable because next year I added more gigs. Danbury’s private kindergarten, aka nursery school, pleaded for my services. How could I say no? When I checked out my suit, it had summered badly, and I returned to the costumers in Concord not only to buy more white spray paint but to invest in a new Santa Claus costume; I settled down for long employment, having discovered my vocation. At the nursery school, ten infants sat on my lap and stuffed me with cookies and cider. This year I tried to recite Clement Moore’s “A Visit from Saint Nicholas” from memory, but bogged down after a dozen lines. I fished out a copy sequestered up a sleeve, and read to 10 babies with professional gusto. Only one 5-yearold cynic found occasion for innuendo: “You don’t know the poem?”

My benign disguise stretched further. In my third year the Danbury school program took place Tuesday night, when the Andover Lions Club does bingo at the Andover School. I was persuaded to add an unannounced appearance at bingo, and bingo became an annual obligation. Out to take their chances, the grandmothers applauded as much as their grandchildren did. And when they looked at me, something strange came into their eyes. Partly it was embarrassment: They

knew who I was, and I was acting like an idiot—a costumed neighbor acting like the San Diego Chicken—yet they pretended that I was a Mythic Creature, which made their voices as false as the voices adults typically assume for children. But there was something in their eyes and voices that wanted Santa Claus to be real; or maybe wanted to be children again, believing that Santa Claus was real; or wanted to believe in a universe of magic, fate, and sudden miraculous good fortune. “Oh, Santa,” said an 80-year-old widow, “let me win the jackpot.”

Maybe the third year was the best, because Danbury schoolchildren performed The Nutcracker, a rural 10-year-old Nutcracker that I cherish in memory—having watched through a crack between doors. Not to be outdone by Lions’ bingo, a nearby Rotary Club asked me to crash their annual Christmas dinner. There, someone pulled at my beard to check it out—the only time anyone was ever deceived; testimony to Rotary cocktails—and Santa Claus screamed in anguish at the New London Inn.

Always the finale of my season was the South Danbury Christian Church Sunday School Christmas Program. When my mother was a girl, the church program was the family’s whole Christmas. There was no Santa Claus (Santa Claus is as secular as Frosty the Snowman), but the tree at the church was where adults gave each other knitted wool caps and stockings, collar studs and lockets, and where children received clothespin dolls, dominoes, and a net bag full of popcorn and ribbon candy. Each year my mother found a big new doll (with eyes that opened and shut) and a big new storybook—which she knew her mother got with coupons from the Grand Union man, who pulled his

There was something in their eyes and voices that wanted Santa Claus to be real; or maybe wanted to be children again, believing that Santa Claus was real; or wanted to believe in a universe of magic, fate, and sudden miraculous good fortune.

“Oh, Santa,” said an 80-year-old widow, “let me win the jackpot.”

wagon into the dooryard once a week all year (in winter a sleigh), selling coffee and salt.

By the time of my Santa Claus, we exchanged our presents at home and decorated our own trees—but otherwise the church program stayed the same from one end of the century to the other: First, a studious child led the whole church in the Lord’s Prayer; everyone sang carols; little children recited poems about the star and forgot their lines and were prompted by their teacher, but nobody noticed. To conclude, children performed the Nativity, two girls reading scripture from Matthew and Luke while the rest of the Sunday school acted in pantomime: Awkward boys wore cardboard crowns and tightly belted cut-down bathrobes as kings of the Orient; the ones with shawls on their heads were boy and girl shepherds; two exemplary children played Joseph and Mary, gazing into a makeshift wooden crib at a doll stretched on straw; and somebody stood on a stool as the Star of Bethlehem—with a flashlight illuminating a tinfoil stellar contraption.

A normal Santa Claus can sit in a pew, disguised as an onlooker, almost until the birth of the Child—then slip into the vestibule and quick-change into red duds. Because I whitened a real beard, I had to stay out of sight. I hovered in the vestibule, trying to hear the children and refrain from jingling; really, I had to miss most of the program. Other matters disturbed me: Children with more, children with less; children who had nothing and would grow up to have nothing; children who looked longingly at me for gifts I could never supply. After five or seven years I fretted about playing the role forever; I wondered how to retire.

Then Dr. Clark discovered my adult-onset diabetes, and I was required to eat sensibly and lose weight. I dropped 20 pounds, paused, and dropped 20 more. Then I dropped 20 more. Skinny at last, I decided to shave my beard Christmas morning, after 12 years of hairiness. For one last Christmas I would whiten my whiskers, but this time I wore a pillow

around my middle. Secretly I scheduled my shave; openly I announced Santa Claus’s forthcoming retirement.

For eight years now, returned to civilian life, I have occupied our pew for the Christmas program, singing carols, enjoying subsequent Santa Clauses—at the moment she’s Mary Jane Ogmundson, the best ever, most vigorous, and jolliest—as I go over my old career. Especially I remember my last appearance in the red flannel suit, my final performance at the South Danbury Church. As I was backing out the door to the car (citing impatient reindeer), I was approached by Mary and Joseph, of all people, and presented with a package. The church went quiet while I read the card—this present was from the PTA of the Danbury school, from the kindergarten, from the Lions Club, and from the South

Danbury Christian Church Sunday School—and when I tore the bright paper open, I found soup bowls with handles and a wooden cheeseboard, each bearing New Hampshire’s Old Man of the Mountains logo. “Thanks to Santa from Danbury,” said my card. Santa thanked Danbury back.

As I still do, every day. But not out loud. When I first returned, I needed to express public gratitude. Seventeen years later, I am content to sit back with other inhabitants of this good place, accepting as if I deserved it the bounty New Hampshire distributes from its abundant pack.

“The Man in the Red Flannel Suit” was first published in the December 1992 issue of Yankee. Reprinted by permission of the Strothman Agency on behalf of the estate of Donald Hall.

CHRISTMAS PARTY AT THE SOUTH DANBURY CHURCH

December twenty-first we gather at the white Church festooned red and green, the tree flashing green-red lights beside the altar. After the children of Sunday School recite Scripture, sing songs, and scrape out solos, they retire to dress for the finale, to perform the pageant again: Mary and Joseph kneeling cradleside, Three Kings, shepherds and shepherdesses. Their garments are bathrobes with mothholes, cut down from the Church’s ancestors. Standing short and long, they stare in all directions for mothers, sisters and brothers, giggling and waving in recognition, and at the South Danbury Church, a moment before Santa arrives with her ho-hos and bags of popcorn, in the half-dark of whole silence, God enters the world as a newborn again.

—Donald Hall (from The New Criterion , January 1995)

Girl Power

Reaching out to girls who have lost their mothers, Cara Belvin is on a deeply personal mission to help them open up to others and reconnect with joy.

BY IAN ALDRICH • PHOTOGRAPHS BY CASEY ATKINS

In the spring of 2013, a mutual acquaintance introduced Cara Belvin to Emeline Berry, and the two struck up an unlikely friendship. Cara was 36, married with two young children, and running a successful nonprofit consulting agency out of her home in Scituate, Massachusetts. Emeline was a newly minted ninth-grader who lived nearby and had dreams of working in medicine. She was also struggling: Not long before, her mother had died unexpectedly of a heart attack. Even with a loving father and a protective older brother at her side, Emeline felt alone and unsure of how to move on with her life.

“I was known as the girl whose mom had died,” she recalls. “I felt these things that I didn’t think anyone else did—the kind of sadness I felt, or when I was happy, suddenly feeling guilty about feeling that way.”

But Cara understood. When she was 9, her own mother had died of breast cancer. Like Emeline, Cara, who grew up in Southington, Connecticut, had a caring family to fall back on, yet it wasn’t enough. Sometimes it felt as if her mom had never existed. Friends, parents, and even teachers avoided mentioning Cara’s mother or asking about the grief that Cara was quietly but painfully sorting through.

“People are afraid to offer support [to a child who’s lost her mother] because they’re afraid to step on the father’s shoes,” says Cara, who holds a master’s in psychology and worked for several years as a children’s psychologist. “They don’t want to suggest that he’s not enough. If she looks good, if she’s playing sports, if she’s getting good grades, if she’s got a ton of friends, they don’t want to rock the boat. They figure she must be doing fine. But just below the surface, she’s carrying a heartache that is unbearable.”

In Cara Belvin, Emeline found a maternal figure, someone she could open up to. They went out for ice cream, went shopping, and talked about their mothers. “She made me feel like I was normal,” says Emeline, “that I wasn’t the only one who’d gone through this.”

Cara got something from it too. As she talked to friends about her experiences with Emeline, they told her about the motherless daughters they knew who were looking to connect with others like themselves. She also found more women like her who wanted to help. But there wasn’t any

organization to connect the two groups. So, in August 2013, Cara put her long history in nonprofits to work and launched EmpowerHer.

It began with a simple mission: to find girls who’d suffered the early loss of their moms and bring them together on Mother’s Day weekend, often the most emotionally charged time of the year. Seven attendees, including Emeline, turned out for the inaugural event in Boston in 2014. They splashed around in the hotel pool, browsed the shops on Newbury Street, and went out for a fancy dinner. On the morning of Mother’s Day, the group did yoga together and then said a teary good-bye. As she watched the girls depart, Cara knew she couldn’t wait a whole year before doing something again.

“They didn’t know each other, but they instantly connected,” she says. “It was magical and unbelievable. They didn’t talk about when their mom died or her favorite recipe—that’s what they do in support groups. They just got to be girls, and discover other girls who were like them, going through some of the same things.”

That summer, Cara, who’s as comfortable with constructing org charts as she is with thinking big, threw herself into building EmpowerHer. She spread her message quickly, eventually recruiting more than 250 volunteers to her cause.

Today, the nonprofit holds more than a dozen events throughout the year. There are beach parties and writing classes, cooking sessions and back-to-school shopping afternoons. They practice yoga and learn to surf. Each spring and fall, EmpowerHer hosts “Real Talk” discussions, in which older girls can talk openly about sensitive subjects like sex and dating. Cara and her team also care -

fully select and train adult mentors to pair with the program’s participants. In all, the organization, which is largely funded through private donations, works with 140 girls from across Massachusetts.

EmpowerHer’s success stems from what it’s not. The nonprofit is not a therapeutic organization. The staffers, who work out of a small office in Norwell, don’t profess to be counselors. Instead, Cara, who now serves as paid executive director, aims to give these girls what she struggled to find in the years after her mom’s death: the realization that she was more than just “the girl whose mother died.”

“She’s giving these girls superpowers,” says Jenn Donovan, an EmpowerHer mentor. “They are confident and have so much strength. They have a reason to move forward each day, and Cara’s helped give that to them.”

Cara would like to give even more. This year EmpowerHer opened chapters in Rhode Island, Connecticut, and New York. She wants to do the same throughout the rest of the country, to help more motherless daughters like Emeline—

ANGELS AMONG US, THEN AND NOW

A quick revisit of some New England community difference-makers that we’ve profiled over the past 12 years:

Wynona Ward, Have Justice Will Travel

This year marks the 20th anniversary of the free legal clinic launched by Ward, a trucker turned attorney, to aid victims of domestic abuse in rural Vermont. havejusticewilltravel.org

Jodi Wheeler, H.O.P.E.

Launched in 2004, this homegrown charity is going strong: Last year it provided more than $200,000 in clothing, school supplies, and other essentials to people in more than 30 Vermont towns. hopevermont.com

Dick Cyr, David’s House

As president emeritus, Cyr still serves the organization he founded in his son’s memory in 1986: a home away from

who this fall followed in her mother’s footsteps and started nursing classes at Curry College in Milton, Massachusetts. Cara can speak at length about what those success stories mean to her. But she also readily acknowledges that her work has helped her manage her own grief, which has lingered for more than three decades.

“I spent 10 years in therapy in my 20s, but this is the most healed and healthy I’ve ever been,” she says. “I believe what really fuels your soul is service to others. This was my fight. There was nothing more personal than this. I have more conviction around [EmpowerHer] than anything I’ve ever done. It’s been an incredible journey.”

For more information, go to empoweringher.org.

home for families with children at New Hampshire’s Dartmouth-Hitchcock Medical Center. davids-house.org

Tina Chéry, Louis D. Brown Peace Institute Chéry remains a powerful force in helping the Boston community strive for peace and unity. In 2017, the Barr Foundation, which recognizes exceptional city leaders, named her a fellow and donated $100,000 to her group. ldbpeaceinstitute.org

Ashley Stanley, Lovin’ Spoonfuls Since 2010, Stanley’s team has rescued and distributed more than five million pounds of fresh food to needy families across Massachusetts. lovinspoonfulsinc.org

Susan Rodgerson, Artists for Humanity Envisioned as a way to create work

for inner-city youth in art and design, AFH is today one of the largest teen employers in Boston, with some 500 kids a year participating in its programs. afhboston.org

Marquis Taylor and Pete Berman, Coaching 4 Change

Over the past four years, Taylor and Berman’s basketball-based mentoring program in Brockton, Massachusetts, has seen a 97 percent high school graduation rate among its participants. c4cinc.org

Dave Cote, the Summit Project Cote stills serves as board president for his 2013 nonprofit, which honors Maine service members killed in the line of duty, but is also pursuing his MBA at Boston College, where he’s involved with various veterans’ programs. thesummitproject.org

Scenes from a beach day in Beverly, Massachusetts, one of the events that EmpowerHer organizes to bring together girls who have lost their mothers. from left : Founder Cara Belvin; girls breaking for a snack between swims; a porch hangout with volunteer Jayne Galligan (right); yoga on the lawn led by volunteer Elissa Shoreman (center left).

Though the Bucksport mill was largely demolished after being shut down in 2014, its power plant still defines the landscape of this Penobscot River town. For many residents, seeing the smokestacks means they’re home.

TownThe That Refused To Die

When the paper mill that had defined Bucksport, Maine, for eight decades shut down just Christmasbefore 2014, the town, like others before it, could have withered away. Instead, something else happened.

BY MEL ALLEN

PHOTOGRAPHS BY GABE SOUZA

THE LAST SHIFT

You learn what you’re made of not when life is good, but when the ground beneath your feet gives way, and you are left afraid and uncertain of what to do. In the past year, I have found the same may be said about a town.

The one I am talking about is Bucksport, Maine. About 4,900 people live here, in modest, well-kept homes set back from the east bank of the Penobscot River where it spills into the deepwater bay. Important things have always been made here. Before the turn of the 20th century, shipbuilders lived along the river, and when Robert E. Peary set out for the North Pole, he sailed on the Roosevelt, built on neighboring Verona Island, with a Bucksport mariner as chief engineer.

At the northern edge of town, on a spit of land known as Salmon Point, a paper mill was built in 1930 where a tannery once stood. The site earned its name from the spawning runs that once churned the river thick with fish. Even with the Depression settling upon the country, Bucksport had resources needed to make paper: water, forests, and the newly constructed Wyman hydro dam in Moscow to power the immense machinery that transformed pulp into paper. There was a port for ships to bring supplies in and take tons of paper out. And there were people hungry for work.

The men and women who lived in Bucksport and the rural hamlets that rimmed the town came from rugged stock: They were loggers, farmers, fishermen. Their families were large and self-sufficient, and they put meat on the table by knowing how to shoot game and how to fish on the lakes and ponds that rippled through the countryside. They would work themselves to exhaustion if asked—and they were.

Over the decades Bucksport became known for producing the finest lightweight coated paper in the world, paper that was used in such magazines as Time and Sports Illustrated and Good Housekeeping and Newsweek and catalogs like L.L. Bean and Sears and Victoria’s Secret and Avon. The boast was that any American who read magazines touched paper that came from the skill of Bucksport papermakers.

Hundreds of thousands of people pass by Bucksport every summer, on their way to Bar Harbor or Acadia National Park or the Blue Hill peninsula. They view the town from two tourist sites across the river: 19th-century Fort Knox, the largest fort in New England, and the Penobscot Narrows Bridge, which has the tallest bridge observatory tower in the world. They ride the tower’s elevator up 42 stories, and from that height Bucksport appears as a miniature village against the dark water, the smokestacks of the mill stabbing the sky. Crossing the river, they reach the

town’s lone stoplight. A right turn leads to Down East tourist towns; left, to Bucksport. Few turn left. It was a point of pride for many residents that they did not scrub sidewalks for summer visitors. In Bucksport there is neither high season nor low season. There is football and hunting season, snowmobiling season, fishing season, summer-camp-by-apond season. It was always papermaking season.

above : This archival photo shows the emotion of the mill’s final day. Word had spread through town for people to be there to support the workers as they left. opposite : Though his grandfather was among the first Bucksport residents to work at the mill, Danny Wentworth unexpectedly found himself among the last.

I learned much of this in the summer of last year, just before the 225th anniversary of the town’s founding by Jonathan Buck, which would be celebrated at the annual Bay Festival. It had been two and a half years since the paper mill was shuttered by its most recent owner—an out-of-state company called Verso—a decision that came with no warning and left the town reeling. Some 570 workers, half as many as had once worked at the mill, lost their jobs.

I had been invited to give a talk on the spirit of community at a weekly summer event called Wednesdays on Main, held at the historic red-brick Alamo Theatre. Community was not an abstract topic in Bucksport that evening. When a mill town loses its mill, it loses not only the core of its tax base, it loses its security, its future, its sense of who it is. “This was traumatic,” says Tom Gaffney, a psychologist

When a mill town loses its mill, it loses not only the core of its tax base, it loses its security, its future, its sense of who it is.

Piles of rubble and exposed, decaying buildings are a painful reminder to many in Bucksport of what they lost. As one town official said, “[The mill site] is not on an island 10 miles to sea. We can all see what is happening right in front of us. It’s right here.”

who has tended to local families since the early 1980s. “There was numbness. Fear. They all asked, ‘What are we going to do now?’”

Everyone had seen what happened just 80 miles north when Great Northern Paper left town, wounding Millinocket and East Millinocket seemingly beyond recovery. Laid-off workers pulled up stakes, their houses on the market for $25,000 or less. Families were uprooted. Schools lost their students. Across the country, that’s how the story usually goes when a company town loses its company.

When my talk ended, a tidy procession of people from the audience followed me up the street to a reception at MacLeod’s, a restaurant that on Thanksgivings past had delivered more than 1,000 turkey dinners to mill workers round the clock, as papermaking did not stop for a holiday. Afterward, we continued to a new café called Verona Wine and Design, where we sat on an outside patio under twinkling lights.

They said the mill closing should have crushed the town—but didn’t. Now something remarkable seemed to be bubbling up, even as the ground remained unsteady. The mill and its 274 acres had been bought by a Canadian metal recycling company, and the town had little control over what might happen next. What people could control was how they reacted.

They told me that listening to each other had become an urgent task. A local poet was collecting memories of the mill where her father had spent his life and was putting them into a book. Organized committees and teams of volunteers were listening to neighbors to find out what they hoped Bucksport might become. Past, present, and future were swirling around one another in a web of voices; sometimes they all got tangled. People said they were still learning how to seed hope where despair could easily take hold. They were still learning how to move ahead while the carcass of the mill was visible to everyone.

When the night ended, I said I would return. I’d listen too. It is the story I tell now. It begins with an ending, December 17, 2014, one week before Christmas Eve.

Everyone in Bucksport knew the mill would close one day—they could see what was happening in a world where people read magazines on their phones—but they thought it was still years away. For Danny Wentworth, whose family’s papermaking roots go back more than 80 years, here is what that meant. He was driving home from the Fryeburg Fair on October 1, 2014, when his cellphone rang. His supervisor said the mill was closing. Forever. Wentworth threw the phone against the dash and yelled, “We’re done!” Panicked calls and texts flew back and forth across the towns that were home not only to mill workers but also to many who depended on the mill: loggers, truck drivers, shopkeepers, town officials who managed the local tax rate. Pretty much everybody.

Danny remembers the final weeks this way: coworkers struggling with anxiety; the bitter reality that the mill had been sold for scrap; shutting machines down one by one,

like the lights of a city going out. He knows it’s impossible for outsiders to understand the depth of feeling you can have for a machine that you’re with as much as you are with your family. “When I shut down No. 1 paper machine, I got real emotional,” he says. “It was the first one to start up when they opened the mill. That was my baby.”

He tried to stay hopeful. But even as rumors spread that other paper companies wanted to buy and reopen the mill, “we all knew a scrapper was coming. We’d see them come in with their dark suits, and they seemed to be drooling over the brass in the machines. And we were all thinking, This is what we’ve done our whole life.”

On the final shift of the last day of papermaking in Bucksport, Danny walked past the main gate just before 7 a.m. On this day, it was quiet. The scents of ground spruce and fir pulp swirled with chemicals had all but disappeared. He had eight hours to linger, with little to do except brood about the legacy he was leaving behind.

His maternal grandfather, Arthur Wight Sr., was a New Brunswick native who came to Bucksport with his wife and children from Berlin, New Hampshire, and found work when the Maine Seaboard Paper Company opened the mill here in 1930. Danny’s father, Charles Wentworth Sr., started at the mill after graduating from Bucksport High School in 1942, then went to war in the Pacific. When he came home in 1946, he went back into the mill, now owned by St. Regis, where he would spend the next 40 years. He helped build No. 4 paper machine, then supervised the flow of paper stock. When Danny and his siblings were young, he would sometimes sneak them past the gate on nights when he had to come in to deal with a problem. To the children, with the rumbling noise and clouds of steam, it was a strange and exciting world.

For a long time, the mill was Danny’s only real job. He graduated from Bucksport High School, tried college for a year, and then in 1981, at age 20, he came home and “went into the mill.” That was how you said it—“went into the mill”—as if it were a world unto itself. And it was. You spoke paper mill language: beater rolls, wet end breaks, drum barking, groundwood, swipers, riggers. Even with ear protection, the noise was so loud and piercing that you and your coworkers communicated with hand signals that would be a foreign code to much of the outside world. You shared the certainty that accidents happen and that machinery moving at high speed is unforgiving—“a lot of thin ice in a mill” is how they said it. You earned some of the highest wages in a poor state, and the heat, noise, bone-wearying hours, and lifetime of disrupted sleep cycles were the price you paid. In return, you escaped to the woods and camps in trucks, snowmobiles, and four-wheelers that took you to fresh air.

The mill was humming when Danny first came and would soon swell to 1,300 workers. His father told Danny he could expect to be there for a lifetime. Danny’s brother, Jamie, came on later; with their uncles there too, it was a family affair. In time, Danny rose to become tender on No. 1 paper machine. He was there when Champion International bought out St. Regis, and when International

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Paper forced Champion out, and when Verso took over in 2006. Every day he drove four miles across the bridge from Verona Island feeling the calm certainty of being where he belonged. Love is not a word used loosely about this work, but he’ll say to anyone who asks, “I loved it there.”

On December 17, in the final hours, Danny felt “like a family is breaking up. We are connected. And the connection is about to break.” Later he would search for words to describe the days of demolition that followed. The dust of crushed concrete swirling like clouds. Seeing the gigantic paper machines ripped apart by excavators that looked like dinosaurs, then loaded onto railroad cars and carted away by AIM, the metal recycling company that now owned the property. The sound of metal clanging against metal as the cars rolled out of town.

He tells me this as we sit at a table on Bucksport’s mile-long Waterfront Walkway. It is a warm afternoon in September 2017, nearly three years since Verso announced the mill would close. Danny is softspoken, friendly, a youthfullooking 55. He says that in the first months after the mill closed, he could not sleep. He was hired as a sander at Hinckley Yacht on Mount Desert Island but developed symptoms of carpal tunnel syndrome. “I never felt old until I went there,” he recalls. “They called me ‘the old guy.’”

He eventually was hired by a tissue-making mill near the Canadian border, more than 100 miles away, and retrained to run their machines (the man who hired him had also worked at the Bucksport mill). He keeps a small apartment up there and drives home every few days. His wife works as a nursing assistant at Blue Hill Hospital. He has two grown sons who live within an hour’s drive: One is a policeman, the other is in the oyster business. His third son, Andrew, was a standout pitcher for Bucksport High whose winning hit in the Eastern Maine baseball championship was one of the proudest moments of Danny’s life. He shows me that on the back window of his Toyota 4Runner, in fact, is a decal with Andrew’s jersey number, 19.

A few months after the mill shut down, Danny’s mother died. His father followed soon after, and then 10 days later Andrew was gone too. “Time passes,” Danny says, “it gets a little easier. But there are days when it hits me.”

Danny is not someone who talks easily about tears. He tells me that when he and his brother walked out of the mill and through the gate for the last time, with townspeople waiting in the cold rain to applaud and hug them, he held it together. Then he saw Ed and Pat Ranzoni waiting for him. Ed had been his high school baseball coach. Danny did not expect what happened when Pat put her arms around him. He began to cry, for himself; for the end of

35 years of knowing where he belonged; for his friends; for his father, who would sit by the window and look out at the smokestacks without smoke until the day he died; and for the ground giving way beneath his feet.

A DAUGHTER OF THE MILL

Within a few days after Bucksport heard that the mill would shut down, two things happened that would come to be seen as igniting the town’s resolve to survive. One was about the future, the other was about the past. They would come to intersect in a way that will undoubtedly change the town forever—but this was impossible to know during that grim October four years ago.

The first thing happened when about 70 townspeople came together at the Alamo for the screening of a documentary about the restoration of a gristmill that now housed the Lost Kitchen, one of Maine’s most acclaimed restaurants. The evening morphed into a kind of emotional

pep rally: We have to find our own way. We won’t let our town be broken. People who had arrived somber and in shock, fearful they would be forced to move, left buoyed by what they would come to call their “Night of Hope.” One woman whose husband worked for the mill for three decades told me she knew then they would “stay and defend our town, much like a sibling when his brother or sister is threatened. We wanted to help our community go forward in a new way.” Within months, there were so many community groups forming in Bucksport that town officials joked they needed a duct tape committee to hold them all together.

The second thing happened when Pat Ranzoni was in her car, crossing the river into Bucksport and looked out on the mill. Earlier that year, the town council had proclaimed Pat their “poet laureate for life.” She was known for her bone-deep images about the lives of “my people”—a phrase that encompassed Native Americans, mill workers, and rural Mainers who lived on the edge. In one poem she writes of being a teen, wanting to accept a party invitation / from friends. Management families. / ‘Who do you think you are?’ her / bitter father instructed. / She hadn’t understood.

Still Mill preserved the memories of workers and their families— nobody would be able to dismantle and cart those away.

Bucksport poet laureate Pat Ranzoni, herself the daughter of a mill worker, spent nearly three years collecting people’s memories and stories for the anthology Still Mill, published by North Country Press.

As Pat looked at the mill that day, two words came to her: “Still Mill.” And a mission was born in her to create a book with that title, a book that gathered the memories of mill workers and their families—nobody would be able to dismantle and cart those away. “I didn’t know how I was going to do it,” she recalls, “just that I had to do it.” Last summer, Pat published the anthology Still Mill: Poems, Stories & Songs of Making Paper in Bucksport, Maine, 1930–2014 . Of her title, she writes in the preface: “STILL in that it would soon be quieted. STILL in that as long as we live and after, as long as stories are told, the mill and the people who made it what it was—with all its flaws and wonders—shall live on.”

Though Pat was shy about talking with me—“I come from a culture that if a stranger shows up, you run and hide,” she says—we meet up at her home on a bright September afternoon. She lives with her husband, Ed, about four and a half miles outside town on the rustic homestead her parents moved to when she was a teenager. Even out there in what people called “outback,” she could hear the mill’s “rumble and roar.” She and Ed bought the place in 1970, when her father’s body was “breaking down” from his work in the mill.

Pat pushed past 70 a while ago and recently had her knee replaced; there is pain. While we talk, she rests on a cot beside a window that looks out on gardens and fields. Ed knows his way around the woods, and a deer skull from a hunt for the winter’s meat adorns the wall in a room dominated by a great stone fireplace. A small red pan hangs from a rafter to catch a leak. “There’s some leaks you never can catch,” she says.

I hold Still Mill , the culmination of nearly three years of “listening as hard as I could, for as long as I could,” Pat says. She signed copies in July at the local bookstore until her hand ached, the line stretching out the door, with proceeds going to the historical society. Wherever she went, people thanked her. One woman said that her father could read only three pages at a time before tearing up. I ask Pat why her readers might react that way. “It’s the recognition that somebody values what they have done, that it will be remembered,” she says. “Many probably thought they’d have their private memories but they would be lost [to the world] forever.”

To gather stories for the book, she put out a call through newspapers, friends, family, schools, and churches. Danny Wentworth posted her request on Facebook. A modest grant came through to help fund the project. Submissions started coming in, many handwritten. One woman told of hearing blasts of dynamite when the mill site was first cleared. Another woman wrote about the heat—“up to 120 degrees by paper machines”—and added, “Once I broke a finger and didn’t say anything, feeling I needed

to tough it out and be a man.” Another resident lamented that there would be “no more stopping for workers crossing the street, after a long hard shift. A small courtesy which bound us together as a community.” There were also hard truths shared by many mill families. When Pat asked for memories of Thursday paydays, when grocery stores cashed checks, a mill worker’s daughter wrote, “Oh, no. Not on your life. Paydays meant a gallon of wine and a bad night for the family, and I won’t go there.”

When people were reluctant to write, Pat went to them, and listened. “People would just start talking,” she says, “and keep going.” She worked until nightfall, and when sleep eluded her, she would sit up and write more. Pat would pin the pages to clothesline strung across the living room, moving them around until a story unfolded that said, This is who we are. This is our culture. Of the finished book in my hands, she tells me, “This is the most important work of my life.”

Pat’s father, Percy Smith, had been one of the mill’s riggers, the construction crew. He would clear snow, drive trucks, repair whatever broke down, load and unload ships. He came from what Pat calls “deep poverty,” the kind that compelled him to leave school after eighth grade. Pat herself holds complicated feelings about the mill. She saw the toll it took on her father, but she also knew his pride—his children would not go hungry.

Pat harbors no romantic nostalgia. She tells me about a visit she once made to the mill. “I climbed up these metal stairs, and it got louder and louder, and when I got to the top there were three of my classmates tending a machine, and it was so loud. I tried to smile. I felt like I’d gone into the diamond mines. And I thought, They have lived their lives like this.”

And yet. As the hours pass, listening to Pat, her voice soft, gaze steady, I think of what Joan Didion once wrote: “A place belongs forever to whoever claims it hardest, remembers it most obsessively.” Every page of Still Mill is infused with deep respect for the men and women who walked through the gate day after day, year after year. Pat wants their lives remembered.

She frets that the rush to create a new, thriving Bucksport might eclipse what the mill workers’ lives had meant. She admits she is struggling with the influx of well-

Ranzoni frets that the rush to create a new, thriving Bucksport might eclipse what the mill workers’ lives had meant.

meaning programs, some coming from outside the community.

She has baked me a fresh wild blueberry pie, and as we sit at the table, Pat Ranzoni, poet laureate of Bucksport, wonders aloud if the past will still matter, or simply be swept away. Will there be a place in this still-to-be-determined Bucksport for someone who long ago laid claim to its memories?

EVERY VOICE MATTERS

When I went back to Bucksport last fall to see how the town had kept its resolve, no matter whom I talked with, the conversation always came back to Susan Lessard.

Lessard had been hired in late summer 2015 only as the interim town manager. The energy that had emerged on the “Night of Hope” was still bubbling up but tempered by knowing the town had no control over what the mill site might become. The future rested in AIM’s hands. “It was like being tied to a runaway train,” one woman told me. Lessard had spent 22 years as a town manager, first on the island of Vinalhaven and then in Hampden, five miles south of Bangor, and was hoping to ease into the role of a consultant. The two previous town managers for Bucksport both left after short tenures, and Lessard had signed only a 10-month contract. “I was the dust-settle girl,” she says.

A lot of dust settled—and Lessard stayed on permanently. “I will tell you, at first I was ashamed,” she says when we meet in her office in Town Hall, set on a rise above the river. “I was born and raised 20 miles away in Belfast and had driven the bridge a million times. But I never looked beyond Bucksport as a mill town. And I never looked beyond that to see everything that was here. I had no idea what Bucksport was. And I stopped to see.”

When she looked, here is what she saw: a brick-lined river walk, a nationally known film archival center, hiking trails, a tradition of championship high school teams, an ice cream stand that had been a fixture for more than 60 years, a bookstore with a buff-colored cat that cozied on readers’ laps, a community that bestowed a “golden snow shovel” to the business that did the best job of keeping the path clear after a storm. And there were townspeople eager to roll up their sleeves to find a way for their

Since arriving in 2015, town manager Susan Lessard has been struck by Bucksport’s resilience. “Nobody is wringing their hands and saying, ‘Save us!’” she says. “They mourned the loss, but they didn't jump in the grave.”

town to survive. Their infectious energy gained notice beyond Bucksport’s borders. At one community development meeting, a state official remarked, “You guys are the standouts from all towns who have lost their mill.”

Bucksport had also benefited from the prescience of a previous town manager, Roger Raymond, who had served for 27 years before retiring in 2012. Long ago, he had asked what would happen if the mill shut down, draining 70 percent of the town’s tax revenue with it. Gradually he had taken steps to wean the town of that dependence. By 2014 the town had saved more than $8 million in its rainy-day fund—so when the storm hit, it was ready. Property taxes, which were among the lowest in the Midcoast, needed to be raised, but only

“When the mill closed, it closed,” Lessard says. “It stung, but it was over. We had to move ahead.”

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a little. Lessard tells me it helped that “when the mill closed, it closed. It stung, but it was over. We had to move ahead.”

Less than a year after she arrived, she helped persuade the town council to fund a local director for a project called Community Heart & Soul that originated with the Vermont-based Orton Family Foundation. Its essence—adopted by several other struggling Maine towns—was to connect with people, listen to their stories, learn what they most wanted to see happen in Bucksport. With financial and organizational support from the foundation, Heart & Soul took over the former Rosen’s Department Store, which had been rooted on Main Street for nearly a century. Its windows became plastered with note cards filled with the ideas and wishes of townspeople. “It’s grass-roots,” says Lessard. “It’s listening to people who don’t usually have a voice, like the guys who hang out at Dunkin’ Donuts each morning.”

Hundreds of ideas flew about like so many birds taking flight. Some were practical: more affordable housing, a long-term-care home, more benches along the river walk. Others were fanciful: a huge indoor water park at the former mill site, for instance. More than just ideas, Heart & Soul came to symbolize a place where people were asserting ownership: This is the town we want. Their commitment was palpable.

Then, late in 2016, when nobody knew what lay ahead for the mill site, an entrepreneur from Portland came to see Susan Lessard. He was looking for a town that had specific physical advantages. And, equally important, he was looking for a town with spirit.

If everything works out the way people hope, one day 10 or 20 years from now, historians will look back on how Rob Piasio and Whole Oceans came to Bucksport and built one of the leading land-based salmon production operations in the world, and it will all seem as if it was meant to be.

Piasio, who grew up on Casco Bay in Yarmouth, Maine, had became obsessed with aquaculture while working in Europe as an investment banker. He came back to his home state to make his dream a reality, founding Whole Oceans in Portland in 2014. He had a plan and backers,

Bucksport officials tapped Nancy Minott to direct Community Heart & Soul, a program that brainstorms ways to improve lives and livelihoods in struggling towns by drawing on “the collective wisdom” of residents.

but he did not have a location. For the next several years he scouted sites where he might raise thousands of salmon— not in ocean holding pens, but in special buildings using innovative technology, with clean water recirculating constantly. He concentrated his search on a 140-mile-long Maine coastal corridor that stretched roughly from Hallowell to Bucksport and beyond. The site would demand both fresh water and salt water, and ready access to transportation lines to bring salmon eggs in and adult salmon to market. He culled his list to about 18 potential places.

When Piasio first came to Bucksport to kick the tires, he met in secret with Lessard and economic development

The Heart & Soul project came to symbolize a place where people were asserting ownership: This is the town we want.

director Rich Rotella. He toured the mill site: There was the salty mouth of the bay, there was a pipeline to Silver Lake. There were train tracks. And good access to power. He left. He kept looking. He wanted more than a physical site—he wanted to be sure there was a “cultural fit.” He was drawn to Lessard’s optimism about the town and the hope that hung in the air, but when you’re about to spend tens of millions, you move with caution.

Then, months later, he read Still Mill. In its pages he found a story by the town barber whose father had been badly hurt in the mill. The worker refused to sue, saying the mill had given not only him but his friends good jobs. He read about lunch baskets being passed down from father to son. He read how a town lined the walkway to hug the workers leaving their jobs for the last time. He read that “nothing is impossible when hearts and minds work together as one.” He read how Pat Ranzoni looked to the mill crossing into the river and knew what she needed to do. “I was left with profound observations,” he tells me. “It’s the story of a community and how it changes and how it was formed by its mill. I said, ‘Wow! Here’s an opportunity to write a new chapter.’” He had found his cultural fit. He told Lessard he wanted to be the town’s next 100-year-old company.

On December 17, 2017, the third anniversary of the final shift, the town council honored Pat Ranzoni for the gift she had given everyone with her work. At the time, few people knew about what was coming. One was Susan Lessard. She told Pat that her book had been a way to not

forget the legacy of the mill and its people. “This book helps provide closure through understanding,” she said. She called Still Mill the “springboard to the future.” Tears flowed as the past, present, and future entwined in a single moment. Two months later, in early February, Whole Oceans officially announced its agreement to build on the former mill site.

Late one afternoon in early June of this year, I walk north along Bucksport’s waterfront, toward what remains of the paper mill. The sun is strong. Rose bushes press against the bank. Water laps against the rocks. Seagulls swerve over the bay and a loon dives maybe 100 feet out in the water. Weeds grow tall along the train tracks. A young woman jogs by. I walk past the year-old art gallery that anchors the downtown; a few years ago it was an empty eyesore. I pass the new Friars’ Brewhouse Tap Room, where two Franciscan brothers brew craft beer and make the food. Its “Papermakers Lunch” is a special. I dined there the night before, and Danny Wentworth came in. He said he was glad that soon most of the mill would be gone.

Sorting through the more than 400 ideas submitted to Community Heart & Soul, which included everything from expanding local bus and taxi service to building a children’s museum to providing free Wi-Fi downtown.

Walking along the pathway, I come to an interpretative panel titled “Looking to the Future.” According to one section of text, the paper mill’s “sudden closing in 2014 pierced the heart of the

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community. But with ... strength and determination ... the citizens of Bucksport have embraced the reality of ‘going paperless’ and transformed the mill’s passing into a catalyst for new growth and prosperity for the future.” Beneath this is a poem by Pat Ranzoni about the “ancient power” of the Penobscot River.

Community Heart & Soul ended its two-year program just a few months before my visit. Now the Rosen’s storefront stood empty. The hundreds of comments that had been collected were reduced to a final 82 that were given to the town council to consider. They included a desire to start a farm-toschool food program, a community garden, a dog park, cross-country ski trails, community art classes, bicycling and running clubs, a bocce court on the waterfront. The emphasis was on making Bucksport a town where people wanted to live not just because there were jobs, but also because it was where good things were happening and good neighbors lived.

But there were still signs of a town in search of its new identity. One man in his 20s told me that there remained a disconnect between what he called “the gravel pit boys”—the ones who ride their trucks to the countryside and go target shooting—and the “Heart & Soul people.” He said they needed to know each other. And with so many action plans to consider, I heard concern that the council would need to find a way to know which ones, or even one, they would move forward on.

Earlier that day, I saw Susan Lessard. She had moved her boat to the Bucksport Marina. She and her husband have put their Belfast home on the market and are going to buy in Bucksport what she called “our forever house.” She said that town planners from all over ask to visit, wanting to see what they can graft onto their own communities. Thinking about Bucksport’s promising future, “I get goose bumps,” she said.

I visited again with Pat and Ed Ranzoni. Pat said she welcomed Whole Oceans and its promise to be an environmental steward. But her Native American roots made her sympathize with the fish. “Will they ever see sunlight?” she asked. It was clear she hopes a few will find a way to escape to the sea.

As I write this, I’m hearing that the Maine Maritime Academy will likely buy a slice of the mill site to create a safety and offshore survival institute. The expectation is that several thousand young mariners will stay in town while they study, letting Bucksport reclaim a part of its past as a place where great ships left for foreign seas. There is hope that some of these mariners will even return to live here one day. I also hear about the prospect of a new inn for those travelers who start turning left at the stoplight.

I learn that the Whole Oceans groundbreaking is planned for the end of this year, or soon after. The skeleton of the mill will be replaced by a gleaming indoor

Other town planners come here to learn how to turn hardship into hope. Yet I wonder if such things can even be taught.

Jeff McGlin oversaw the demolition of the mill after it was bought by the metal recycler AIM. McGlin understood what the Bucksport workers were going through, having worked at a Wisconsin paper mill for 20 years before it too was shut down.

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fishery on the spit of land known as Salmon Point to the ancient peoples who gathered there. After the plant is built, the eggs will arrive late in 2019. The first salmon will leave two years later. The first 10 years’ worth of adult salmon have already been presold. Initial plans are to employ 50 workers, and when production grows, so too will the workforce. Piasio says 100, 200, or even more will be needed in the years ahead. The world wants salmon, and America produces only 5 percent of the demand. The sky, I am told, is the limit.

When I reach the mill, I turn back along the river toward town. I think of the town planners who come here to learn how to turn hardship into hope. I wonder if some things, like the relentless character of people who show up in the winter dark at a paper mill for more than 80 years, belong solely to this place, and cannot be explained with a to-do list. Time and again I’m told about how competitive you have to be growing up in Bucksport—whether it’s in football, or wrestling, or softball. Even the high school robotics team made nationals in its first year.

Of all the memories I carry of my time here, the strongest is of the walk I took a year earlier along this path to the mill with Danny Wentworth. I had arranged a tour of the mill site with Jeff McGlin, vice-president of AIM, who was managing the demolition, and Danny had asked to come along. This was already the fifth mill McGlin had taken down. He was taken aback a bit when a former papermaker showed up with me, but he opened the car door and Danny climbed in.

It was like driving through the wreckage of a bombedout neighborhood. Danny played tour guide, pointing out where various machines had once been fired up. He

was surprised to learn that McGlin had spent more than 20 years working for a Wisconsin paper mill, one that had also been closed. Danny showed emotion once, when we came to the walkway between the parking lot and the gate entrance he had once used every day. Now, weeds had overtaken the landscape. “It used to be so cared for,” he said.

Twice, Danny told McGlin that “a very good source” had informed him there had been two offers to buy the mill and restart it. McGlin said rumors were always part of the business. “So it wasn’t true?” Danny persisted. “No,” replied McGlin. (Danny remains unconvinced on this point. “I know we had offers,” he will tell me later. “I know we could have kept going.”)

As we walked back toward town, Danny shook his head. He had not expected to like the man in charge of tearing down the mill, but he did. “I can’t blame him,” Danny said. “He’s not the enemy. There’s probably a better market for former paper mills than new ones.”

When we parted, he said, “Look around at other places whose mills closed. People are flying out of them. Not here—I’m proud of my town.”

An artist’s rendition of the planned Whole Oceans facility, which would be the largest indoor salmon operation in the world. Groundbreaking is slated to begin late this year or early in 2019, on the site of the former Bucksport mill.

SCIATICA BACK PAIN?

Are radiating pains down the back of your leg, or pain in your lower back or buttocks making it uncomfortable to sit, walk or sleep? Millions are suffering unnecessarily because they are not aware of this proven treatment.

MagniLife® Leg & Back Pain Relief combines four active ingredients, such as Colocynthis to relieve burning pains and tingling sensations. Although this product is not intended to treat or cure sciatica, it can help with the painful symptoms. “I am absolutely amazed at how it works and how fast it works.” - T Martin. Tablets dissolve under the tongue

MagniLife® Leg & Back Pain Relief is sold at Walgreens, CVS, Rite Aid and Walmart Order risk free for $19.99 +$5.95 S&H for 125 tablets per bottle. Get a FREE bottle when you order two for $39.98 +$5.95 S&H. Send payment to: MagniLife S-YK2, PO Box 6789, McKinney, TX 75071 or call 1-800-532-9177. Money back guarantee. Order at www.LegBackPain.com

SHINGLES PAIN OR ITCH?

Are you suffering from burning or tingling pain or itching even after the shingles rash is gone? Many people are putting up with the discomfort and itching because they are not aware of this new advancement in skin care.

MagniLife® Pain & Itch Relief Gel contains 16 powerful ingredients such as arnica and tea tree oil to deliver fast relief from burning, shooting and stabbing pains. Although this product is not intended to treat or cure shingles, it can help relieve pain and itching. “The MagniLife [gel] is the only thing that gave me relief after my case of shingles.” -

Michele G., CA.

MagniLife® Pain & Itch Relief Gel is sold at Rite Aid, located in first aid. Order risk free for $19.99 +$5.95 S&H. Get a FREE jar when you order two for $39.98 +$5.95 S&H. Send payment to: MagniLife SH-YK2, PO Box 6789, McKinney, TX 75071, or call 1-800532-9177. Money back guarantee. Order now at www.PainfulRashRelief.com

FIBROMYALGIA PAIN?

Are you suffering from deep muscle pain and tenderness, joint stiffness, difficulty sleeping, or the feeling of little or no energy? You are not alone. You should know relief is available.

MagniLife® Pain & Fatigue Relief combines 11 active ingredients to relieve deep muscle pain and soreness, arthritis pain, aching joints, and back and neck pain. This product is not intended to treat or cure fibromyalgia but can help relieve the painful symptoms and fatigue. “These tablets have just been WONDERFUL. I’d recommend them to anyone and everyone!” - Debra, WV.

MagniLife® Pain & Fatigue Relief is sold at CVS/pharmacy and Rite Aid Order risk free for $19.99 +$5.95 S&H for 125 tablets per bottle. Get a FREE bottle when you order two for $39.98 +$5.95 S&H. Send payment to: MagniLife F-YK2, PO Box 6789, McKinney, TX 75071 or call 1-800-532-9177. Satisfaction guaranteed. Order now at www.PainFatigue.com

RESTLESS LEGS?

Are you having trouble sleeping due to unpleasant sensations in your legs, which make it difficult to stay still? You should know about a proven treatment that calms and relaxes the legs so you can rest comfortably.

MagniLife® Relaxing Leg Cream contains vitamins and minerals that quickly absorb to relieve those aggravating symptoms. “You can imagine my surprise and delight when my legs kept still that very first night, and now every night since!.” – Dawn, VT.

MagniLife® Relaxing Leg Cream is available at Walgreens, CVS/pharmacy, Rite Aid, Kroger and Amazon, or check your local retailer. Order risk free for $19.99 +$5.95 S&H for a 4 oz. jar. Get a FREE jar when you order two for $39.98 +$5.95 S&H. Send payment to: MagniLife RC-YK2, PO Box 6789, McKinney, TX 75071, or call 1-800532-9177. Complete satisfaction guaranteed, or your money back. Order now at www.RLScream.com

LEG CRAMPS AT NIGHT?

If you experience painful muscle cramps in your legs, back, feet, or hips, you should know relief is available. Over 100 million people suffer from unnecessary muscle cramps, which may interfere with sleep, because they are not aware of this proven treatment.

MagniLife® Muscle Cramp Pain Reliever contains eight active ingredients, such as Magnesia Phosphorica to help prevent and relieve cramps and radiating pains that are worse at night. “Your product has severely helped me and I thank you so very much.” - Marie

MT.

L.,

MagniLife® Muscle Cramp Pain Reliever is available at Rite Aid Pharmacy and CVS/pharmacy. Order risk free for $19.99 +$5.95 S&H. Get a FREE bottle when you order two for $39.98 +$5.95 S&H. Send payment to: MagniLife L-YK2, PO Box 6789, McKinney, TX 75071 or call 1-800-532-9177 at www.LegCrampsRelief.com

AGE SPOTS?

Are unsightly brown spots on your face and body making you uncomfortable? Liver spots, also known as age spots, affect the cosmetic surface of the skin and can add years to your appearance. Millions of people live with the dark spots and try to cover them with makeup, or bleach them with harsh chemicals because they are not aware of this new topical treatment that gently and effectively lightens the shade of the skin.

MagniLife® Age Spot Cream uses botanicals, such as licorice root extract to naturally fade age spots, freckles, and other age-associated discolorations, while protecting skin from harmful external factors. “It is fading my liver spots. This product actually works!!!”

- Patricia C, NJ.

MagniLife® Age Spot Cream can be ordered risk free for $19.99 +$5.95 S&H for a 2 oz jar. Get a FREE jar when you order two for $39.98 +$5.95 S&H. Send payment to: MagniLife ACYK2, PO Box 6789, McKinney, TX 75071, or call 1-800-532-9177. Complete satisfaction guaranteed. Order now at www.AgeSpotSolution.com

She said, “I Don’t Know If This Is Possible”…

“If I wanted to order something over the phone, could you ship it to me?” I said, “Yes, of course,.” “What would you like?”

She described the ring, gave me her finger size. We resized the ring overnight and shipped it right out. She had her new ring to unwrap on Wednesday.

Our brick and mortar store is open for you to come and explore. Check out our website, over 1,000 awesome jewelry gifts, you can click and call 9:30am to 5:00pm, Monday - Friday. We’re open to click and buy on our website 24/7, 365 days a year.

Shipping is Free, Anywhere, U.S.A.

We ship thousands and thousands of packages all over America.

Special Thanksgiving to Christmas Open Saturdays

ADVANCED HEARING AID TECHNOLOGY

For Less Than $ 200

How can a hearing aid that costs less

The answer: Although tremendous strides have been made in Advanced Hearing Aid Technology, those cost reductions have not been passed on to you. Until now...

MDHearingAid® uses the same kind of Advanced Hearing Aid Technology incorporated into hearing aids that cost thousands more at a small fraction of the price.

Over 300,000 satisfied MDHearingAid customers agree: High-quality, FDA-registered hearing aids don’t have to cost a fortune. The fact is, you don’t need to spend thousands for a hearing aid. MDHearingAid is a medical-grade hearing aid offering sophistication and high performance, and works right out of the box with no time-consuming “adjustment” appointments. You can contact a licensed hearing specialist conveniently online or by phone — even after your purchase at no cost. No other company provides such extensive support. Now that you know...why pay more?

Can a Hearing Aid Delay or Prevent Alzheimer’s and Dementia?

A study by the National Institute on Aging suggests older individuals with hearing loss are signifi cantly more likely to develop Alzheimer’s and dementia over time than those who retain their hearing. They suggest that an intervention — such as a hearing aid — could delay or prevent this by improving hearing!

Hearing is believing and we invite you to try this nearly invisible hearing aid with no annoying whistling or background noise for yourself. If you are not completely satisfied with your MDHearingAid, return it within 45 days for a FULL REFUND.

Invisible

“I was amazed! Sounds I hadn’t heard in years came back to me!”

— Don W., Sherman, TX

Nearly

EnergAire continuously puri es up to 4,000 cubic feet (a large room) of air and makes it breathable and invigorating. Restores natural ion balance to unhealthy environments caused by industrial pollution, automobile exhaust, central airconditioning, and heating, smoke, dust, pollen, animal fur. . . removes microscopic pollution particles not removed by any other method of air puri cation. EnergAire was rated Number One for speed of removal of cigarette smoke by the leading U.S. consumer protection magazine. It has no noisy fan, no costly lter, and requires no maintenance. Uses less than 2 watts. 9" high. 3" diameter. Weighs less than 1 pound. $69.95

Made

RODAR is the super-powerful professional ultrasonic pest repeller with up to 60 or more times the power of other devices — and power is what makes RODAR so e ective. RODAR ultrasound equals a jet engine — noise unbearable to pests but at frequencies humans and pets cannot hear. RODAR units are completely safe. RODAR drives pests out and keeps them from getting in. Handsome simulated walnut cabinet 5-5/8" high. Weight 1-1/2 pounds. Uses less than 5 watts.

90-day money-back guarantee — 12-month warranty.To order: Send cost for unit(s) plus $10.00 each for shipping and handling (in Mass. add 6.25% tax) by check, money order, MasterCard, Visa, or Discover number and expiration date to Micron Corp. Call Toll-Free 1-800-456-0734

www.MicronCorp.com/yankee

by klein design inc.

Please check your proof carefully. Approval must be returned by Publisher is not responsible for errors once proof has been signed— or if not returned by the above date. Please note that color proof/pdf is to show color break only. Colors do not accurately represent actual

Statement of Ownership

(Required under Act of August 12, 1970, Sect 3685, Title 39, United States Code.)

September 21, 2018: Yankee-Bi-monthly, published at Dublin, Cheshire County, New Hampshire 03444. Published by Yankee Publishing Incorporated. Publisher: Brook E. Holmberg., Dublin, NH. Editor: Mel Allen, Dublin, NH. Owners: Christina G. Bell, Dublin, NH: H. Hansell Germond, Dublin, NH: Melanie G. Germond, Dublin NH: Rachel T. Germond, Dublin, NH: Judson D. Hale Sr., Dublin, NH: Beatrix T. Sanders, Dublin, NH: Cornelia T. Trowbridge, Dublin, NH: James R. Trowbridge, Dublin, NH; Philip R. Trowbridge, Dublin, NH.

Average preceding 12 months: Press run: 346,026. Paid sales through dealers: 21,834. Paid/req. subscriptions: 259,455. Total paid: 281,289. Office use, etc: 6,118. Total distribution: 290,191. Returns from news agents: 55,835. Total: 346,026. September/October 2018: Press run: 341,976. Paid sales through dealers: 21,052. Paid /req. subscriptions: 257,331. Total paid: 278,383. Office use, etc.: 2,556. Total Distribution: 283,734. Returns from news agents: 58,242. Total: 341,976.

I certify that the above statements made by me are correct and complete.

Brook E. Holmberg, V.P., Publisher

Fine cotton polo shirts with the Lobster logo Hats Too!

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SUBSCRIBER ALERT

Yankee Magazine has learned that some of our subscribers have received deceptive renewal notifications from several unauthorized companies. Only Yankee Magazine is authorized to issue renewal notifications for our subscriptions. The return address on the envelope provided with your subscription renewal will read: P.O. Box 422447 Palm Coast, FL 32142-2447

Yankee Magazine DOES NOT contract with third parties to solicit or receive subscription payments. If you receive a renewal and are unsure of its authenticity, please call our subscriber services department: 800-288-4284

Easy-On, Easy-Off Snow Plow

Pays for itself

if you currently hire a plow. Don’t struggle snowblowing your entire driveway… give yourself a break with the DR® Redi-Plow™!

For trucks and SUVs.

Attaches to a front receiver hitch (included). Automatically engages when you drive forward and releases when you reverse. Works on gravel or pavement. Can be locked in travel position.

One pass and you’re free to go! Never be trapped waiting for a snow plow again. The DR® Redi-Plow™ is light enough for one person to handle. Clear your parking area, and a path to the barn with ease!

Betsey Telford Goodwin’s ROCKY MOUNTAIN QUILTS Antique Quilts & Textiles c.1780-c.1950

1933 Auburn

Launching a Legend

As Thanksgiving feasts give way to Black Friday frenzy, shoppers in the town of Natick, Massachusetts, may be reminded of another day after Thanksgiving, back in 1984, that marked a high-water mark in local pride, not to mention college football history. Connecting two of Natick’s major retail centers is Flutie Pass, a road whose modest half-mile length belies the outsized feat it commemorates.

After spending his childhood in Maryland and Florida, Doug Flutie moved to Natick with his family in 1976. He was a high school standout in basketball, baseball, and especially football, where he played quarterback. But as a college prospect, Flutie was a tough sell because of his size: just under 5 foot 10. Finally, Boston College offered him its last available scholarship, an almost offhanded investment that would pay off in a big way. By Flutie’s junior year, he had led BC to two college bowls (the first since 1943), ticket sales had almost tripled, and a Sports Illustrated profile dubbed him a “miracle worker.”

Flutie’s real miracle, though, would come on November 23, 1984, during BC’s matchup against the defending national champions, the University of Miami, in the Orange Bowl. Trailing 45–41, BC was on Miami’s 48-yard line with time for just one last play. As some 30 million people watched on television, Flutie launched a Hail Mary pass from his own 37— and against 30 mph winds—into the end zone, where it dropped into wide receiver Gerard Phelan’s arms, as one Boston Globe writer put it, like “an airmail from God.”

Doug Flutie would go on to have a long and varied professional career, retiring from the game at the age of 43 (after playing a last season for the Patriots, in his beloved New England). But that tremendous 1984 pass—the “Hail Flutie”—was the moment, Flutie once said, that “put the label on me as the ‘It’s never over till it’s over’ guy.” —Jenn

Johnson

Already a college football phenom, Doug Flutie became a star in 1984 with a Hail Mary pass that many New Englanders still talk about.

In this 1985 photo, Doug Flutie and his wife, Laurie, unveil a sign in Natick, Massachusetts, honoring his game-winning play during the 1984 Boston College–Miami showdown at the Orange Bowl. Flutie was a star athlete at Natick High, and even today his ties to the town remain strong.

HOME FOR THE HOLIDAYS

Pure cotton throws, brushed European flannel sheets, original patterns and decor…for gifts and for guests, the season’s best has arrived at garnethill.com

hidden away on more than 110 acres in the berkshires, one of the most idyllic locations to enjoy New England’s seasons stands a Tudor-style estate evocative of a 19th century Scottish stone manor. Elegant and distinguished, steeped in history and charm where experiences are infused with lasting traditions, unwavering attention to detail and unparalleled personal service.

Recently reimagined after a multi-million dollar renovation, Blantyre offers pampered pleasures from exquisite cuisine paired with a Wine Spectator Grand Award wine list, a world-class collection of art and an array of complimentary resort activities.

Enjoy the new Bistro, The Conservatory, Spa by Blantyre and The Champagne Salon inspired by Dom Pérignon.

join us for the holidays including special celebrations for thanksgiving, christmas and the new year.

Every great destination has one iconic hotel.