Stillbridge – Episode 1: This Week in Stillbridge News
This week in Stillbridge, the town common’s duck pond has sparked more debate than
most national elections. The ducks, dignified as ever, seemed to settle disputes with
quiet authority, but the geese claimed the southern edge like generals on leave.
Townsfolk were divided: some considered them honorary residents, others muttered
about forming a goose militia. Reverend Hastings of the Baptist church suggested a
prayer vigil; Father Alvarez of the Catholic church quietly muttered something about
stew. The town, predictably, remained undecided, though everyone agreed someone
should probably mind their own business.
At the historic Stillbridge Inn, Hank Whitman introduced a “continental breakfast” of
toast and a modest dish of marmalade. “Internationally sophisticated,” he announced,
with a flourish that suggested he might also have invented Europe. Visitors from
Boston, however, looked disappointed. “Where are the eggs?” they asked. Hank
explained, patiently, that in Europe, eggs are optional. True in some sense, irrelevant
in every sense that mattered. Marmalade, meanwhile, continued its quiet reign as the
town’s most controversial condiment.
Meanwhile, Walt Higgins at the hardware store restocked the left-handed
screwdrivers. Nobody requested them, nobody remembered needing them, but Walt
insisted, “If you don’t know why you need one, that’s exactly why you need one.” A few
townsfolk purchased one out of curiosity—or suspicion. Some swore it changed their
lives, others merely added it to their collection of things-that-might-matter-someday.
June Parker at the diner faced a minor crisis when she ran out of blueberry pie. Roy,
ever the quiet genius, suggested she rename the apple pies “blueberry-adjacent.”
Patrons noticed immediately. Patrons ate anyway. Coffee, as always, remained the
true hero of the day, with pie playing only a cameo role.
At the Baptist church, Reverend Hastings announced a fundraiser combining hymn
singing with a bake sale. When asked why another bake sale, he replied simply,
“Because they work.” The congregation nodded, secretly hoping someone had baked
an extra loaf of banana bread, in case inspiration—or hunger—struck. Nearby, Pastor
Whitmore of the Congregational Church offered calm advice to anyone willing to
listen, Reverend Lane of the Methodist Church distributed caffeinated encouragement,
and Pastor Vogel of the Lutheran Church tended her meticulously organized garden
just beyond the common.
Elsewhere, life in Stillbridge continued with its usual rhythm: ducks quarreled with
subtle sophistication, geese marched in strategic formations, toast disappointed
grandly, and left-handed screwdrivers found new homes. Visitors arrived, often unsure
what they wanted, and townsfolk delivered exactly what was needed—or a little less,
just to keep life interesting.
The small wooden bridge over the river creaked faithfully, a reminder that
Stillbridge’s namesake is both literal and philosophical. The town endured not through
grand drama, but through steady observation, dry humor, and the appreciation of
small absurdities that made daily life peculiar and charming.
That’s the news from Stillbridge this week: ducks squabble, geese stage strategic
invasions, marmalade confounds, pies are creatively renamed, and even ordinary days
carry lasting stories. Here, the bridge holds steady, the coffee is strong, and if
anything exciting happens, it’s almost certainly by accident.
