MY LOVELY BIRCH
By Frances Oliver
It was the second day of our January ice storm and we awoke to the sound of our woods crashing around us. Trees were bending even lower and our favorite birch now hung on the telephone line. Being already without power, we sensed an imminent loss of communication too, so we maneuvered our small station wagon into position, climbed a stepladder and stood atop the car. Armed with lopping shears and grave misgivings, we started hacking at the tree.
We were interrupted by a cheerful call from a passing pick-up truck, "Hey, could you use a chain saw here?"
We responded enthusiastically and a slight young man in hip boots and a slicker emerged from his truck. With our help holding a rope, he climbed the snow bank and in a few minutes dispatched the offending branch.
He refused any offer of money, but instead extended us a cordial invitation. "I have a transformer. My house has heat, light, hot water, television and you are welcome to any or all of the above. Just come on down any time."
We still marvel at his friendly, true North Country spirit.
Town of Franklin
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