In Wilmot we got talking about trains and the round house in Concord they tore down to make a mall. One lady recalled talking with her sister in New Jersey about train travel and the Concord station: “How will you know which track?” the sister asked.
We recalled how a few years ago toll tokens were demoted to worthless. Mary Jane had tossed a few in a coin jar. Her cousin from Pennsylvania was visiting. She noticed the tokens: “What are these?” “Oh,” said Mary Jane, “they’re for the Concord subway.”
John asked if I knew any good hornpout stories. I vaguely recalled one about a lantern falling into the lake and staying lit. Does anybody know that story? Or any other hornpout stories? My dad used to take us hornpouting as kids, but we didn’t have any particularly memorable adventures. We slid out on the dark pond. Baited the hooks. Caught lots of pout. Nobody fell in. I was scared to take pout off the hook because of the horns.
Which reminds me. Last week my dad was talking about native trout and how rare they are these days. Most trout are stocked. You can still find a few natives in little brooks way back in the woods. He told of one brook where he’d located a few last summer. Just five or six inches long. “That’s cool,” I said. “Yup,” he said, “not much to ‘em, but good eatin’.”
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