Two families in town that I
was very close to were the Merriams and the Fields.
The Merriams lived at the junction of Concord Road and Merriam Street in
a house dominated by Grampa Merriam, a picturesque man with a long white
beard. You would often see him walking absent-mindedly along
the Sidewalk on his way to Cherry Brook Station — or maybe driving his
horse down to the Golf Club for a round of golf with Uncle Andrew Fiske.
These rounds were not particularly appreciated by
golfers, because neither he nor Uncle Andrew could hit a ball very far
and on weekends they got in everyone's way.
When Grampa walked to Cherry Brook Station, his family
were never sure when he might walk back again — perhaps the same day or
perhaps weeks later. He never told anyone where he was
going and, as he was a poor correspondent, the only
news to reach home came from friends who happened to run
into him somewhere. Once my Grandfather Dickson was sitting
on the porch of a hotel in Switzerland watching a group of