local postcards


I was hoping to sit down and write something witty about the honesty of country folk, and my love for the honor box system used up here by so many, but I’ve almost exhausted the topic right there in one sentence. Having spent most of my years in and around cities, the trusting nature of the arrangement at first sent me into shock, and even now I grin when I tuck my money (or even better, my personal check!) into a coffee can with a slot cut in the lid. It’s a beautiful thing.

I wrote a check today for $13 and change and walked away with three pint cartons of raspberries and two filled with gorgeous Maine blueberries. After a thunderous, wet morning, some time at the computer, and a very chilly swimming lesson, the hot hot sun finally emerged, causing both grass and moods to steam. We had to get out of the house, and so we went berry picking. I had taken the girls last week, and the pickings were slim, literally. A few days of sunshine, and we had no trouble filling our baskets and our bellies. A late afternoon in the berry patch was just what the doctor ordered.


Our attitudes much improved, we took the long way home so that we could stop at the farm stand for veggies. It’s out of the way for us now that we’ve moved, so I was glad to be over on that side of town. It’s a gorgeous little place. Today we came home with asparagus, romaine, a zucchini and a summer squash for under $8, and a BIG bag of garlic scapes for free. I have no idea what to do with those curly darlings, so would love to have your suggestions in the comments. Pesto, maybe?


Earlier this month, I got a rare morning out with my mom. I picked her up and took her to the cafe for iced coffee, and then we walked through town, stopping to mail a thank you note at the post office. We were headed for the annual town craft fair at the community center. It was crowded, in a good way, and I picked up a wedding gift, some lip balm for myself, and that adorable dress for my Beans. She ranks raccoons up there with airplanes, and I knew this “woodland animal” print would be a hit (it was). A quick stop to visit Ms. Barbara’s antique shop yielded those sweet hankies. And when I dropped a bag of things off at the swap shed, those pansies were screaming for me to bring them home. On the way home, I grabbed sugar snap peas from the farm stand, local honey and maple syrup from the country store, and the first Maine tomatoes of the summer from a family here in town.

What would your local postcards look like? Mine clearly revolve around food and vintage goodies.

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