Annie Hawkins

Dry commentary

With 92 percent of U.S. homes running clothes driers, an inordinate number of Americans wouldn’t recognize clothespins if they were clipped to their noses

Last night, my friend Bayo called to tell me about her shopping triumph. For several weeks, she'd been searching in stores and online for good-quality wooden clothespins made in America.

Her resolve to locate the perfect clothespins had reached epic proportions, similar to a quest for the Holy Grail. I'd suggested that she search online for the Penley Corporation in West Paris, Maine.

A couple of nights later, Bayo called to report that Penley had laid off its manufacturing employees in 2002. Now it imports and distributes clothespins made by former competitors.

We lamented the loss of jobs in West Paris and the scarcity of durable goods made in our homeland.

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Mystery malady silences America

A parable for our politically discordant times

Yesterday, as the sun rose from east to west across the USA, citizens awakened to discover that they could not speak. No embodied voices emanated from pulpits or the campaign trail. Michele Bachmann stopped shrieking. In private homes, there were no mister-and-missus tiffs, no squalls of infants, nor whines...

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The bigot within

This summer, a resident of Chester's main street staked a homemade sign in his front yard, a few feet from the road. In bold, black letters, artfully arranged on a white background, it asks, “What part of 30 MPH do you not get?” It must be hellish to live...

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Yes to summer

Yes! Summer! Friends and neighbors come to celebrate the solstice and climb the stairs up to the barn porch, carrying roast leg of lamb, roasted potatoes, black rice salad, lime cheesecake, beet salad, strawberry-mint tea, homemade rye bread, and more: enough deliciousness to feed 20 people. I am convinced that there are more great cooks per capita in Vermont than in any other state. Yes to great cooks and neighborly communion and the privilege of earth's bounty. Yes to the...

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My father, the troll

My father taught me to box when I was still so short he had to get on his knees to spar with me. When I grew taller, he taught me basic self-defense techniques. Both my parents believed that women should be intellectually and physically competent so they could manifest their ambitions and dreams. Real-world skills were an important component of a well-rounded education. Boys and girls, they believed, should know how to cook a meal, clean a house, do the...

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Everything's gone to chaos

I never met “Chaos John,” but I feel like I knew him well. I knew him through the stories of my friend Maria Catell, who had lived next door to him throughout her childhood. He was a considerate neighbor, always greeting Maria and her siblings with a cheery hello and offering help to her family when needed. John also had a streak of gloom and doom that surfaced every time anything went awry, which, according to him, was most of...

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Walk a mile

Far above the village, high in the snow-laden hills, a crone walked under cover of pines and hemlocks, maples, birch, and ash. The hills had always been a refuge for her, but in recent weeks, rumbles of thunder had been rising from the village, shaking its foundations. It was the sound of lawmakers trying to move the church closer to the state. The crone did not understand it. There were serious problems to be solved - poverty, discrimination and other...

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Tending fire

When I get out of bed in these dark, winter mornings, I head straight for the woodstove. My cat Marshmallow materializes out of her shadowy corner of the kitchen, where she keeps vigil in the night, waiting for the wee mice that sometimes emerge from the woodwork. She trots next to me, mewling, as I invoke the blessings of the fire gods and goddesses. “Please, let there be coals.” I kneel on the hearth, and Marshmallow sits beside me as...

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