Nearly every evening, after chores were done, young Arno Knight went down to the Corner. What was the attraction? His buddies, perhaps a cup or two of hard cider, and a place to hang out. The year? Anytime during the 1870s when Arno was single and in his twenties. The place? Lincolnville Center (Centre to Arno) and very possibly at the California house, the two-story building of apartments still standing at the intersection of Main Street and Belfast Road.

And how do we know? Arno kept a journal, a new one every year until he died in 1940, some 60 little books, kept intact throughout his life and by his descendents, down to his great-grandson, Brad Knight who has loaned them to the Lincolnville Historical Society. A small group of volunteers have been scanning and transcribing them for the past couple of years.

So, the other night, seated at the big windows above the General Store, right next door to the California house, it was easy to imagine Arno leaving behind the day’s work on his parents’ farm, meeting up with his friends nearly on this very spot.

A longtime dream of Briar Lyons, owner of the Lincolnville General Store, The Lincolnville Public House is open for business! Atop the LGS, you slip in a different door, up a long staircase and there it is. A bar with several stools and nice big tables that seat 30. We got to be part of the “soft opening”, and everyone was excited, wondering what it would be like.

The menu – on tap craft beers, wine choices galore, and yes, local Whaleback cider – includes small and large plates – wings, dips, cheeses, salads, a burger, Reuben, grilled cheese, meatloaf, and a children’s menu. At our table we ordered several of the small plates and all were delicious.

Best of all, though, you see Lincolnville -- familiar faces, people who haven’t seen each other in ages. And boy, do we need this, places to gather, now more than ever. We used to have them, but we’d been losing them long before the pandemic sent us all scurrying into our own little pods.

Way back, before television captured us all in front of a flickering screen, there was Grange, Lodge, Eastern Star, sewing circles, church fellowship groups. People got together to play bridge, poker, cribbage. Public suppers were such regular events, people knew who would bring what and looked for the clam casserole or corn pudding or custard pie each woman was famous for (and they probably knew whose beans or  biscuits or pie to avoid).

As most of those traditions faded away, other more public spots became popular. Breakfast at Drake’s or four o’clock coffee around the picnic table is sadly gone, replaced by a sign – “no eating at table”. The stalwarts still gather outside in the parking lot, a form of tailgate partying, but that only works when the temperature’s above freezing.

At the Beach, as long as it stayed open, the Pound attracted a local crowd most Friday nights, as did the Whales Tooth. But for the most part the Beach restaurants are popular with summer folks, not the familiar faces of our neighbors. You’re likely to run into a Lincolnville neighbor at Rick McLaughlin’s Lobster Shack, where you can share a table and eat your fried clams together.

LCS sports – soccer, cross country, basketball, wrestling, baseball – have always been dual-purpose: athletic competition and all that entails for the kids and a chance to gather together for their parents. Lifelong friendships are often made on the bleachers of a stuffy gym or the sidelines of a soccer game. And yes, that still happens with the outdoor sports, but indoors? Only the home team parents can come to the game; better than nothing, but still.

What about other school events? Plays and concerts, class projects. Only students and staff are allowed inside the school these days. Bonding with other parents over school activities is the way I made most of my Lincolnville friends, people I still share so many memories with.

For several years the Lincolnville Community Library sponsored monthly presentations, especially popular during the winter. There were speakers, authors, and musicians, slide shows and programs of all sorts. The Library seats aboåut 40 people at such an event, and most times there were always a few left standing. Their annual Summer Picnic and Auction not only raised money for the Library, but brought together a large, happy crowd to eat Rose Lowell’s pulled pork, Kathleen Oliver’s giant cookies and to laugh along with auctioneer Rosey Gerry.

The Blueberry Wingding came back this summer, bringing together a large crew made up of summer folks and we year-rounders to organize, set up and turn out hundreds of blueberry pancakes. We all wore masks but had long since learned to recognize each other by our eyes.

This summer the Strawberry Festival, long a popular day with families, was held, minus the parade. Still, the excitement of the day was all about seeing one another again. It’s what we’ve all missed.

The pandemic and all its remedies apparently couldn’t have been avoided, politics aside of course. The new Lincolnville Public House feels like a bright spot. Check it out: Fridays-Sundays, 4-8 p.m., no Where Eåreservations. Take a look at Facebook for updates. And maybe I’ll see you there!

On a personal note, this past week-end marks the fifth year since we lost Wally – my husband, my three boys’ father, the core of our family. There’s a reckoning that comes with an anniversary of this sort. What’s changed? What’s stayed the same?  

We weren’t particularly social, the two of us. We were generally content to stay home, were likely to skip gatherings around town. Almost never went to restaurants, early on because we couldn’t afford to, but later, when it was just the two of us, because we’d rather eat at home, because sitting of an evening side by side in our two chairs, he reading to me as I knit, was enough for us.

But five years later? Five years on my own? Much has changed. I’ve changed. And that’s what happens when half of your persona disappears. My companion these past four years saw his own half disappear too, and in some ways we’ve been on the same journey, discovering new ways to be, ways we hadn’t explored with our lifelong partners. We’ve traveled, we eat out, we get together with friends.

In the past year or two many new widows/widowers have found themselves torn in half this way. Am I just more sensitive to the death of a friend’s spouse or is it because I (and my contemporaries) are all old?! But one by one, all over town – and their houses stand out to me now whenever I drive by – people are learning to live in rooms that’ve suddenly become silent, unbearably silent.

As one son said the night Wally died, “I went in and kissed his forehead, but he wasn't there anymore. Instead, he was everywhere. Goodnight, Wolf. We'll talk soon. Although I won't hear your responses, I think I'll know what you'll say.”

I like to think he’d be glad I’ve – we’ve – gone on living.