Hundreds turn out for fun with history. The Windham Historical Society’s harvest festival on the Village Green

By Walter Lunt
Special to The Windham Eagle

It was mostly sunny and the temperature hovered on both sides of 70 degrees – one of those perfect fall days that greeted between 400 and 500 attendees at the Windham Historical Society’s 2nd annual Harvest Festival which featured three music groups, community booths, local vendors, antique autos, relay races, games and tours of the Society’s historical museum buildings, including Windham’s 19th century “Old Grocery” mercantile store, the Windham/Little Falls library, Windham Center Library and the replica of Windham Center’s one-room schoolhouse.

Visitors tour the 2024 Harvest Festival held on the Village
Green and hosted by the Windham Historical Society on
Saturday, Sept. 28. PHOTO BY WALTER LUNT 

A throng of lively ukuleles opened the festival in the Village Green gazebo. The Sebago Lake Ukulele Association played an array of popular and historical tunes that were easily recognizable and set the tone for a fun and interesting day.

Later, the Windham 8th Grade Band kept things upbeat with several numbers, including one by John Phillips Souza.

Throughout the five-hour festival, a multitude of patrons could be seen milling about, talking, and enjoying the dozens of events and booths while reconnecting with friends and neighbors. One family “from away” told a museum docent, “We just moved back (to Maine) and this makes it feel like a real home town.” Another commented, “What an impressive turnout. People (are) casually milling about, coming together, and celebrating their hometown history.”

In addition to the community booths, which included Friends of the Presumpscot River, Maine Insurance Benefits Group, Windham Public Library, Windham Adult Education and Age Friendly Windham, seventeen vendor tables attracted scores of visitors who pored over a vast array of creations including crafts, fabric art, totes, crocheted and needle-felted items, books, photos, paintings, and jewelry. Many folks were observed carrying away bags of treasures from the white elephant sale area.

But make no mistake, one of the most popular spots at the festival was the food booth: hamburgers, hot dogs, cider, and baked goods.

One of the most poignant moments of the day, as relayed by a docent at the South Windham/Little Falls library museum, one patron was brought to tears by the memory of the small library building of her youth – the books, the scent and fond remembrance of a special librarian she loved. “Quite moving,” said the docent. Another reminder of what we do here. And why we do it.

Similar sentiments were heard throughout the day. It was opening day for the Windham Center Library, following years of structural and code issues with the building. It was the town’s first public library and was formerly located across from Corsetti’s Store at Windham Center. Several visitors recalled checking out books there before it closed in the mid-70s. One commented, “Quaint and beautiful, I’m delighted that you saved it.”

Among the busy museum buildings were the Old Grocery and one-room schoolhouse where the docents elaborated on the historical contents and practices of the 1900s. It was observed that those tour guides did not go on break all day.

The musical high note of the day came at the end of the day as the highly entertaining Saco River Jazz Band enthralled festival goers with the music and the history of the late 1800s, followed by the booming big band sounds of the 40s and 50s. Toe-tapping and knee slapping were observed throughout the performance. Said one patron following the band’s rendition of In the Mood, “I could close my eyes and see Glenn Miller leading them.”

As one Windham third grader once said of the historical society’s efforts, “We had fun with history.” <

Staci Warren: Her Mainely Girl Adventures

By Staci Warren

On Sept. 5, 2024, I harvested my first bear in at least two years. I was quite thrilled, and it was an exciting hunt to boot.

Staci Warren harvested her
first bear in at least two
years on Sept. 5 in Maine.
SUBMITTED PHOTO 

My husband and I drove an hour and a half to the mountain where we hunt. After getting dressed into my hunting clothes and muting my phone so that it’ll make no noise, I take my four-wheeler up the mountain, about two thirds of the way in and park it on the trail. I then walk the remaining distance on foot while I carry my rifle and my backpack. The walk can get hot, so I dress light, and carry the rest of my gear into my stand.

I entered my stand around 4 p.m. Once in my stand, I put on my hat, my face mask, gloves, and sometimes my coat if it’s not too hot, then I get comfortable for a three hour sit. Based on my experiences, bears don’t usually come into the bait until close to dusk, but you have to be there early enough so that they are not scared off. I keep myself entertained, and most importantly, quiet, for the first two hours by playing a game on my phone that doesn’t require cell service since there is barely a signal.

As I sat there, I listened to red squirrels fight over the bait and chatter incessantly. The birds seemed to be quieter than usual. Then out of nowhere, I heard a huff. Three huffs, which meant that a bear was behind me. I had never heard it come in, which is typical; the small breeze made the leaves rustle just enough to block what little sound you may hear. I sat motionless.

I didn’t hear anything else, so assumed it just smelled me and left. I had been standing since I had swapped out my 45-70 open sighted rifle for my 6.5 Creedmore because I have a scope which works better in low light. The 6.5 Creedmore is longer and I couldn’t get the barrel in my scope unless I stand.

Minutes later, I spotted a bear. It had circled around me and came in downwind on my right. I couldn’t figure if it was a big bear or Little Bear, a cub we saw on our site last year that we decided was too small to hunt. It is usually the first bear to come to the barrel. I stayed motionless. I watched as it approached the barrel. It was very skittish and would not stand still. I watched as it moved to a tree then to the barrel, back and forth, very nervous. I took a picture and sent it to my husband asking, “Little Bear?” Twice the bear made a run for the tree and climbed it.

This time it sat at the bottom of the tree. I had decided it was indeed Little Bear, so I’d just watch him, when all of a sudden, a second bear, a much bigger bear, crossed in the woods and was headed to my left. I watched it and could see its head and ears as it moved toward my stand. I waited and watched it turn and come back to my right. In a flash, the bear charged Little Bear, and drove Little Bear off into the woods. The bigger bear slowly walked toward the barrel.

I readied for the shot. The bear stepped in front of the barrel. It was a good bear based on its height, it stood at the second rung of the barrel. One shot just behind his left shoulder at 25 feet. It made it to my stand and dropped. A clean, quick death is what a hunter wants, and I’m no exception. I made a perfect heart-lung shot.

By the time we field dressed the bear, got it loaded into the truck and headed home, the closest tagging station was closed. Bear needs to be tended to immediately to prevent spoilage. Unlike a deer, you don’t hang it outside, ever, unless you’re caping it. Luckily, it was a cooler day so that helped cool the bear until we got home. Overnight, the bear was stored in our cooler that we built- a room insulated to be a refrigerator of sorts, so that the meat won’t spoil. The following morning, I took it to my local tagging station and paid $5 to tag my bear.

I was happy to use my vacation day to process my bear. I first hung it and caped the fur. All the meat was put into a cooler and was later taken to a butcher who makes bacon and sausage. I saved all the fat from it and it’s now in the freezer waiting to be rendered into lard that I will use to make lotion and lip balm. I have a steady line of customers who rave about how wonderful the lotion and lip balm are to use.

I prepped the hide using a fleshing knife to remove anything left over from the bear so that only the hide remained. I then laid it out so that I could salt the hide to cure it and dry it. My plans are to send it out for tanning and then I’ll make some pillows and mittens with the fur. I saved a few claws to make some jewelry, and the remainder of the bear was placed back in the woods for coyote and any other carrion eating animal. The following day, we checked, and it was gone. I’m ready for some baked beans with my bear bacon!

Staci Warren provides a unique woman’s perspective and column on the outdoors every month. She is a freelance writer whose blog, My Mainely Girl Adventures, is about a woman hunting, fishing, trapping, foraging and living in the Maine outdoors. She also loves camping, star gazing, wildlife watching, and hunting for fossils. She’s an active member and board member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association and is a monthly columnist and feature writer for The Maine Sportsman Magazine. In her free time, she enjoys mentoring women hunters and trappers. <

Windham Raymond Adult Education empowers student to reach her career goals

By Lorraine Glowczak

Adult Education and Family Literacy (AEFL) Week is celebrated each fall and highlights the achievements of students whose lives have been transformed through adult education programs. AEFL week honors students’ dedication and success, raising awareness about the importance of lifelong learning within local communities.

Patience Deah has been working long hours
at jobs in housekeeping, manufacturing, and
cooking to provide for her family. She
currently works as a dietician at a nursing
home and dreams of expanding her abilities
in the service industry, becoming a chef
at a high-end restaurant with the help of
Windham Raymond Adult Education.
SUBMITTED PHOTO

This year, AEFL week is celebrated from Sept. 16 to 21 and Windham Raymond Adult Education (WRAE) shines a spotlight on WRAE adult learner, Patience Deah of Windham.

Deah was born in Liberia, West Africa until the Civil War broke out in 1989. The war lasted nine years. It was during this time that Deah and her family became refugees in Guinea-Conakry, also in West Africa. Deah lived at the camp for 11 years.

“Patience was in the fifth grade when she was removed from her home,” Cathy Giuffre-Renaud, WRAE Adult Basic Education Coordinator said. “Education was not provided to her while living at the camp, so she had a break in her education. She has been living and working in the world with a fifth-grade education for most of her adult life, until recently.”

Deah eventually moved from West Africa to the U.S., making Maine her new home in September 2001. She and her two daughters moved to Windham in 2015, where she started her journey at WRAE the following year.

Upon arrival in Maine, Deah has been working long hours at jobs in housekeeping, manufacturing, and cooking to provide for her family. She currently works as a dietician at a nursing home and dreams of expanding her abilities in the service industry, becoming a chef at a high-end restaurant.

Her one day off a week is spent at WRAE learning the skills needed to attend a culinary school such as the one offered at Southern Maine Community College. Deah shares that the adult education program has improved her ability to contribute and be a more engaging member of society.

“I can now read, communicate better, pay bills online, write emails, help my children with their homework, and can better explain to my doctor about the health of my family,” she said.

What may seem ironic to some is that Deah’s first language is English.

“Although I come from a country that speaks English, we have different dialects and accents and speak much faster than Americans,” Deah said. “I had to learn to slow down while talking so people could understand me.”

The dialects between the two countries are severe enough that Deah is considered a foreign language speaker and takes English for Speakers of Other Languages (ESOL) classes. She hopes to one day earn her HiSET (high school equivalency tests) so that she can then go to college.

“Patience will soon be tested as a native speaker,” Giuffre-Renaud said. “Together, we are going to keep going until we get there.”

Juggling work, and family commitments with limited time for study along with financial constraints can make continuing education for any adult challenging. WRAE ESOL instructor, Shelley Goad points out that there are additional challenges for immigrants.

“Transportation is always an issue,” she said. “Although some students have a license, most students have to rely on a ride from someone else. Childcare is a problem for mothers who want to come to class. Entering a classroom can make some students nervous. Some have had very little schooling and don't know what to expect.”

Goad explained that the students are tested to be placed in the correct class level so they will be with teachers who can focus on the specific areas they need.

She also pointed out that educated immigrants add to the workforce.

“When immigrants add to the workforce, they add money to the economy, which adds money to the pockets of the people in the community. They also bring new food, new music, and new energy when they bring their families here. They want the same things we do for our families. They want to work and are willing to put in time and effort to make a successful new life.”

Deah, a single mom, wants the life of a chef and she believes she will accomplish this goal with the support of WRAE.

“Adult Ed has been like my second family when I face difficulties and challenges in Maine,” she said, “They have helped me navigate through the challenges of being an immigrant and are preparing me to reach my dream of becoming a chef.” <

Residents cherish local ice cream shops as fall approaches

By Kendra Raymond

I don’t know about you, but for our family, the final days of summertime can only mean one thing: ice cream! Businesses in the Lakes Region are ready, willing, and able to support our habit, offering a profusion of creamy goodness right at our fingertips. This works out great, so no matter in what direction we venture, most any trip can include ice cream.

An official tester samples a cool treat earlier 
this summer at the Ice Cream Dugout
in Windham.
PHOTO BY CHEYANNE GAGNON

So how do we explain this special place held in the hearts of many Mainers? Perhaps it is the sheer joy that winter has ended, or the abundance of dairy farms? Is it part of the local culture to have a locally owned ice cream shop in most every community?

The Visit Maine website says: Ice cream lovers throughout the state are rising to the challenge to make the best, freshest, homemade ice cream. Maine now boasts an abundance of special ice cream, from traditional to innovative.

The answer is obvious – no one knows.

Windham’s Ice Cream Dugout owner Cheyanne Gagnon offers her thoughts on the subject.

“I feel like ice cream is such a big thing in Maine because we wait so long through a cold, awful winter,” she said. “Once we get the first sign of spring, people are excited to get out and try some ice cream.”

Now that we have the “scoop,” let’s debunk a few ice cream semantics mysteries:

Frappe vs. milkshake

So here is a good debate – what is the difference between these equally delicious beverages?

The American Heritage College Dictionary defines a milkshake as a beverage that is made of milk, ice cream, and often flavoring and is blended or whipped until foamy. Also called shake; also called regionally cabinet, frappe, velvet. In New England it is a beverage made of milk and flavored syrup, whipped until foamy.

There we have it – in New England a milkshake has only syrup and milk, and a frappe includes syrup, milk, and ice cream. But everywhere else, a milkshake is a milkshake and there is no frappe. This is as clear as mud!

At her ice cream establishment, Gagnon says that a frappe and a milkshake are one and the same.

“I am not sure about other shops, but people can order one whichever way they’d like,” Gagnon said.

Jimmies vs. Sprinkles

Have you ever traveled outside of New England and ordered “jimmies” on your ice cream, only to be met with a perplexed expression by the server?

Evidently, this is a commonplace source of confusion. The confection was purportedly named after employee and machine operator Jimmy Bartholomew of the Just Born Candy Company in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania in the 1930s. The term is only recognized in New England and Philadelphia.

Gagnon weighs in again here offering her expert opinion saying, “We call them both names interchangeably.”

Parlor vs. Stand

This one is fairly clear, maybe.

An ice cream parlor is an old-fashioned term referring mostly to a sit-down themed establishment, often served by waitstaff. Conversely, a stand can encompass any sort of takeout, walk up, or drive through ice cream business. With so many options, there is something to fit everyone’s taste.

Gagnon says that she is committed to kids and the community at her business, frequently holding fundraisers where a portion of the day’s proceeds benefit organizations such as local sports teams and scout groups.

The Maine Ice Cream Trail is an online directory featuring over 300 ice cream establishments located all over the state. The website provides an interactive map, trip planning tool, and listings of creameries, farms, and stands and establishments serving fresh Maine-made ice cream.

Like the Peanuts song Happiness says, “Oh, happiness is two kinds of ice cream…”

Why not get out there and get some of the good stuff – all while supporting local business.

Learn more about the Real Maine Ice Cream Trail at: https://www.realmaine.com/seasons/summer/real-maine-ice-cream-trail/<

No shortage of unique signs throughout Lakes Region

By Kendra Raymond

They’re everywhere – those friendly reminders showing us where to go, what rules to follow, and spreading helpful information. There’s even a song about signs, aptly named, ‘Signs” written and performed by Five Man Electrical Band and covered by rock group Tesla. While most signs are mundane and typically just plain boring, what about unique or handmade signs?

Camp signs like these shown in a Raymond
neighborhood are a common sight throughout
Lakes Region lakefront access roads and
other private ways.
PHOTO BY KENDRA RAYMOND 

A ride through the Lakes Region is a bit more likely to display signs with character, given the nature of seasonal camps in the area. Most everyone is familiar with the iconic sign in Lynchville, Maine at the intersection of Routes 5 and 35. It’s fondly called the “Maine World Traveler Signpost,” and “Maine’s Famous Signpost” or the “World Places Sign.” Travelers can find out how much further to travel to Norway, Paris, Denmark, Naples, Sweden, Poland, Mexico, Peru, and China which are all towns in Maine.

Similar appearing signposts can be found on River Road in Windham and in downtown Harrison. The eye-catching Harrison sign leads passers-by to locales such as neighboring towns like Bridgton and Norway, the Deertrees Theater, the VFW hall, businesses, campgrounds, restaurants, and local summer camps. Evidently, the sign changes periodically and is kept up to date with new spots as well as destinations that may no longer be pertinent.

But how about those typical last name signs, usually located at the end of a camp road with a separate sign for each family residing in the area? This phenomenon does not seem to exist in typical year-round neighborhoods.

The Carving Company website says, “Your camp needs a personalized sign!” but why? Perhaps it is the opportunity to express your own creativity, choosing various fonts, images, and sizes to share your vibe with the world or at least your camp road. Or maybe, no one really knows why.

“It’s a contagious idea. We have a name sign at the end of the road because everyone else does it. The signs are part of camp culture – it’s how things have always been done,” said Raymond resident Neily Raymond. “Maybe the signs served a purpose years ago, but now they’re just for fun,” she said. “We just replaced our sign last year, so it should last quite a while.”

Raymond property owner Dennis Frappier is an Airbnb host and real estate investor.

“I see signs as an aid so family and guests can find their vacation destination,” he said while emphasizing that he has no additional insight into the camp signs culture.

At a different Raymond neighborhood with a large population of seasonal residents, another camp owner said that he believes old-fashioned camp signs to be from a bygone era. He has never had a name sign and doesn’t plan to, ever, saying that if he wants to be found, he will tell people where to go.

Maine Sign Company’s website has a post claiming that often signs are left to mass-production, and they believe artisan skills making signs by hand by craftsmen creates signs “the way they used to be.”

Going a step further is a more personalized family crest sign. Raymond residents Tom and Ann Ewig proudly display their family crest on a signpost in front of their Raymond home and even on a vehicle.

“Ann and I constructed the sign incorporating the Ewig family crest with two oak leaves with the Sheldrake family crest, the drake,” said Tom Ewig.

He explained that the sheldrake crest was an old crest from the Franklin side of the family, which is his wife’s maiden name. The combined crest holds a lot of significance for the Ewigs.

“We have used this combined crest for over 40 years symbolizing our union. We designed the crest together,” he said.

He emphasized that they have been married for 56 years, much longer than the development of their combined crest.

Alex Gaskarth’s quote says, “Our street corners keep secrets, and our road signs only suggest, never deciding for us, never knowing if the destination to which they lead, is where we truly belong. Life’s greatest tragedy is not that it will someday end, but that most of us just live to follow directions, and many times we end up totally lost.” Well, maybe that’s a bit too deep for our purposes here, but it is food for thought.

To learn more about the iconic Maine World Traveler Signpost, visit: https://visitmaine.com>arts-culture <

Staci Warren: Her Mainely Girl Adventures

By Staci Warren

Bear baiting season kicked off the last week in July and the season begins on Aug. 26. I’m excited to report that we’ve had several bears, a few large, a couple medium and some small ones, visiting our baits.

Staci Warren

While I would target a single dry sow, I don’t even consider sows with cubs as an option. I watch them and hope that the sow doesn’t get too aggressive. Their noses know when I’m there, but their eyesight prevents them from easily spotting me covered in camouflage. I usually give my foot a good stomp on the treestand, if I think that she is getting too close. It usually sends them all scattering. This year there has been a sow with one cub, and a sow with two cubs, so far. The cubs are cute as can be, and they love to try to climb into our barrels.

As we learn to identify potential targeted bears, we name them simply for ease in figuring out which one is which. I don’t name the sows or cubs; I only name single bears. Little Bear, a small boar that showed up late in the season last year, is back visiting the baits during the day. I’m happy to report that it is much bigger and looks healthy, but he’s still too small to consider a target bear. “Scar” is the bear that interests me the most due to the large scar down its backside. Scar is an older boar that’s been on my bait since at least 2020, and apparently a very smart one since he’s still around. A few years ago, I had another bear that was a fighter; its name was Scrapper. Its ears were all torn up and it had a big scar across its neck. Scrapper came into my stand right at dusk while I was hunting. It was right behind me and by the time it made it where I could take a shot, it was too dark. My simple move to look through my scope to see if I could get a shot from my blind was enough to send the bear scrambling, and it never came back. You can find the entire story in my blog. That encounter is one of the reasons I love bear hunting. It’s not easy, and even when everything falls into place, it’s not a guarantee.

After baiting, we spend a considerable amount of time working on the road for the landowner. We cut brush and haul it to keep the mile long road from growing in. To keep up with the work, we bought a brush cutter this year, and have spent our weekends mowing down brush and plants that have already begun to grow. We’ll be working on a large washout that the spring storms created so that the owner and hikers can make it to the vista, a remarkable view on the mountain that is the Bigelow range and Flagstaff Lake. We love this mountain and treat it as if it were our own.

August also means I’m busy picking black trumpet mushrooms. If we’re lucky, these episodes of rain will continue to produce trumpet mushrooms right into the fall freeze. I’ve picked trumpets while walking out of my hunting stand in November. These are my favorite mushrooms to forage and this recipe makes for a remarkable soup, to either eat with some added cream, or to add to a crockpot roast in place of the dry mushroom/onion soup mixes. I use this soup in my bear roasts and any venison or moose roast that I make in the crockpot. I can’t take credit for it; my friend Alicia shared it with me years ago. I’ve tweaked it a bit, but here it is.

Ingredients:
2 tablespoons of extra virgin olive oil
3 pounds of fresh black trumpets
1 large Vidalia onion, chopped
1 tablespoon of ground sage
1 tablespoon of coarse black pepper
1 tablespoon of ground thyme
1 tablespoons of minced garlic (dry or fresh)
48 ounces of chicken stock (not broth)
1/2 cup of cream sherry (find it in the wine section)
1 stick of salted butter
½ pint heavy cream

Coarsely chop mushrooms in food processor. Small batches work best to prevent pâté. Using a large stock pot, sprinkle salt over mushrooms to release water. Add olive oil, onion, sage, thyme, pepper and garlic-mix well. Sauté over medium heat stirring with wooden spoon until mushrooms start to stick on the bottom of the pan. Add chicken stock and sherry. Adjust seasoning to taste.

Bring to boil, reduce heat and simmer until soup is thick. Puree soup with hand blender or countertop blender but allow soup to cool before using later. Add butter.

Soup is now ready to be eaten by adding cream to taste or omit the cream and ladle into clean half pint or pint canning jars. Wipe rims, add lids and cook in pressure cooker on high for 25 minutes. Label and store on shelf until ready to use. Save a couple pints for my next recipe: Trumpet Jelly.

Wish me luck bear hunting! Hopefully the right one will appear, and I’ll have bear roast and bear bacon for the winter.

Staci Warren provides a unique woman’s perspective and column on the outdoors every month. She is a freelance writer whose blog, My Mainely Girl Adventures, is about a woman hunting, fishing, trapping, foraging and living in the Maine outdoors. She also loves camping, star gazing, wildlife watching, and hunting for fossils. She’s an active member and board member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association and is a monthly columnist and feature writer for The Maine Sportsman Magazine. In her free time, she enjoys mentoring women hunters and trappers. <

 

 

Windham in the 1960s: Back to school at Field-Allen

By Max Millard
Special to The Windham Eagle

From 1958 to 1988, my parents and their six children occupied the Goold House on Windham Center Road. Out of those years, perhaps the most memorable for me were 1961 to 1963, when I attended Field-Allen Junior High.

The IGA and Windham Center Circulating Library,
circa 1950s in Windham. SUBMITTED PHOTO

My classmates and I had spent the previous year at Newhall School, an aging barn-shaped structure in South Windham with three classrooms of 30 students each. Windham then had a population of about 4,600, and Newhall was sufficient for all the town's sixth graders.

Field-Allen was named after Charles Field, the first soldier in Windham killed in World War I, and James Allen, a Windham resident who died on Iwo Jima in World War II.

This was the first year that my class had separate teachers for different subjects. It was also the first time I could walk to school, rather than catching the bus. The little store atop Windham Center was the IGA, later to become the Windham Center Grocery and then Corsetti's. Across the street was the tiny Windham Center Circulating Library, where the fine for overdue books was 2 cents a day.

The IGA was a very popular after-school hangout for both junior high and senior high school students, mostly males. They rushed in like a swarm of locusts, eager to consume Devil Dogs, Drake's pretzels, and as much soda as they could swallow before being held to account.

No one waited patiently in line to pay for their purchase, but grabbed whatever they could and paid afterward. The store owner eyed the crowd warily, but it was a losing effort. My buddy Steve Quimby was a master at gulping down two bottles of Pepsi so quickly that he had to pay for just one.

Outside the store, the boys displayed their skills in cigarette smoking. Some competed to see how long they could keep a smouldering butt alive without burning their fingers. Others blew a cascade of smoke rings, or artfully released the smoke upward from their mouth and re-inhaled it through their nose The oral gymnasts would curl the end of their tongue around a very short, still-burning cigarette and somehow maneuver inside their closed mouth, then puff out the smoke.

The big event of the fall was the Cumberland Fair, which had the slogan “Always in September.” Everyone went. As soon as you entered, you were assaulted by a chorus of “quada quada quada.” That's because everything, from the rides to the girly show, cost 25 cents.

There was a hoop-throwing game, run by a man who echoed, “Prize every time!” The prizes were attached to wooden blocks of different sizes. Most of them were cheap junk, but there was also a $10 bill that almost no one could win because the hoop barely fit over the block. I heard that in case someone did manage it, the man would quickly remove the hoop and place it over a cheap prize. Most of the players were kids, so he could get away with it.

Another huckster was a man who called himself the guesser. He would guess your age, your weight, and for those of driving age, the type of car you drove. His routine was to say, “You drive a Ford, don't you?” If the person said no that it was a Chevy, he'd open his hand and show a note that read Chevy. He'd smile smugly and announce, “That was my real guess.”

Then there was the spook house, a large trailer equipped with false passageways and buzzers, and lined with foam rubber. It was completely dark inside. Kids would emerge with foam rubber bulging under their shirts. Others, as hinted by the odor, would use it to relieve themselves.

Field-Allen served lunch in the cafeteria each day, featuring such delicacies as creamed chipped beef, a staple of the U.S. Army, which the kids dubbed “sh** on shingles.” Another offering was bubbling squeak, a mixture of unidentifiable flesh, mushy vegetables, and a pungent broth. By the time it was served, it was no longer bubbling, and though I never heard it squeak, I suspected that some of its components once did.

The meal usually included a dry, crumbly biscuit, which few people ate unless there was a tasty gravy for dipping. But the biscuits were a welcome addition because they always came with a pat of butter – never margarine, even if the rest of the meal was indigestible. It could be used for playing with your food after a meal, adding a touch of greasy yellow to a potpourri of mashed-up peas, milk, and peach syrup.

Best of all, it could be placed on the end of a fork handle and launched into space. If perfectly aimed, it would stick to the ceiling. Some boys got so good that they could design a face by shooting up separate pats for the eyes, nose and mouth. Further entertainment was provided by the frequent unsticking of the butter. Especially on hot days, the stuff would melt and release its grip on the ceiling, sometimes plopping down in kids' lunches, to their great disgust.

My four sisters all graduated from Windham High, but I did not. For Ninth Grade, I was sent away to the all-boys North Yarmouth Academy, which was not an upgrade.

But the five and a half years that I spent in the Windham public schools far exceeded any other school or college I attended, and I have always considered the Windham class of 1967 as my only real classmates. I'm still in touch with some of them today, and we talk nostalgically about those distant days when life was so uncomplicated. <