My dad grew up in a centuries-old farmhouse in Western Maine. There were rolling hills and ponds, and a feldspar quarry at the edge of the near-200 acre property. I grew up there too, on weekends and in the summer. It was simple, quiet, and beautiful. My family sold the farm this past week. It […]
Mary F. Holt is a maker of whatnot, preserver of treasures, consumer of pop, and writer of blogs. She likes Maine.
A Christmas Mystery in Portland: Where's Longfellow's scarf?
With Roy Moore's defeat, we are witnessing the end of the party of family values