In Stillbridge, Scout Sunday approaches, a mysterious winter voice rehearses, and the town prepares quietly for what’s just ahead on the Common. Winter, Well Settled In By early February, winter in Stillbridge was no longer a novelty or a visitor. It had been around since mid-December, long enough to know everyone’s routines and favorite shortcuts….
As the first snow falls, Stillbridge honors its Veterans, cheers its team, and finds gratitude in the quiet rhythm of November. The first snow flurries of the season arrived over Stillbridge this week, quiet and uncertain, as though they were just checking in to see how things looked before winter made a full commitment. They…
The pale November sky stretched over Stillbridge, soft and gray, the kind that makes you pull your coat a little tighter and notice small details — frost along the rooflines, leaves stubbornly clinging to trees, or the faint scent of pine drifting from a still-humming church furnace. On the town common, the ducks glided with…
The Annual Stillbridge Harvest Festival began early Saturday morning, when mist still clung to the duck pond and the gazebo stood wrapped in bunting, as if it had been waiting all year. By nine, the town common was alive with folding tables, pop-up tents, and the faint, hopeful smell of kettle corn. The festival draws…
This week in Stillbridge, the town common’s duck pond has sparked more debate thanmost national elections. The ducks, dignified as ever, seemed to settle disputes withquiet authority, but the geese claimed the southern edge like generals on leave.Townsfolk were divided: some considered them honorary residents, others mutteredabout forming a goose militia. Reverend Hastings of the…