Of a Summer Saturday's Eve

Tonite we ate a dinner of deviled eggs, carrots and celery sticks, “pirate booty” organic cheese puffs, lemonade, and blueberry quickbread. We ate it on the grass of our town’s parade ground while listening to a live concert by the East Bay Jazz Ensemble. They played classic swing and big band tunes, mostly Dorsey, Miller, Ellington, Jordan, and others of that period and genre.

The Parade is a grassy rectangle in the center of town, about 120 yards by 70 yards. It was once used a drilling ground by the local militia, preparing to head to Portsmouth and points south to join in the war of rebellion against King George. Today, it is surrounded by old New Englander houses, a clapboard Post Office with a front porch, an auto repair shop, a white congregational church, with a bandstand about a quarter way up the eastern end.

As the sun swung lower to the horizon it painted the layered clouds grey and rose as they floated high up over the steeple of the church. Two brown cows grazed with no worries in an adjoining pasture. The air felt fresh and clear, mostly free from the typical summer humidity, just barely balancing on the edge between warm and cool, and marked by just the faintest scent of grass. The children played and danced. The grownups chatted with one ear on the conversation, and another on the music. A good solo was met by applause scattered over the lawn, offered by smiling folks who were just enjoying a nice relaxed Saturday evening in New Hampshire.

At such times, I am filled with a deep and most pleasing contentment.