So Much We Have Lost, And Now We Have To Say Goodbye To Another
I often wonder these days what the world would be like if there were no longer any magazines or newspapers. It was never anything that was given much thought in the past, as our house when I was growing up was full of newspapers and magazines of all descriptions. We had the National Geographic, which had been coming to the house since the 1920s, indeed, nobody ever threw them away, and I used to love to go upstairs in the attic sometimes and read the old issues for hours. We had the Life magazine, and my older sisters who grew up during WWII saved each and every one from the beginning of the war till the end. I used to read through them as well. We had the Saturday Evening Post, festooned with Norman Rockwell’s iconic art, the Look magazine, the US Naval Proceedings, and in later years even for a short time had something called Soviet Life, which was the Soviet Union’s answer to our Life magazine. To be fair, it was interesting, and opened a window to a world that we had never known much about, a polished view for sure, but interesting just the same.
And then there were the newspapers. There was the Manchester Union Leader that came daily, The News and Sentinel that came weekly, as did the Coos County Democrat. The NH dept of Agriculture’s Market bulletin which gave good advice to farmers of all kinds, and also had a column to buy and sell was an old standby, and for a while the Wall Street Journal graced our mailbox. There was also the Coos magazine which morphed into the Colebrook Chronical. There was never any shortage of reading material in our house.
One by one most of the periodicals listed above have disappeared, mostly for good. Of those that came to our house, only the National Geographic, the Union Leader, The Coos County Democrat, the Colebrook Chronicle, and the Wall Street Journal remain.
About 54 years ago, a new paper came on the scene. It was published fortnightly, and was different than all of the rest. We never subscribed to it back then. I don’t know if my parents ever heard of it, as we were probably in the fringes of the area that it covered. Whatever the reason, it never came to the house in the mail, but occasionally someone would buy one at one of the local stores, and it was read through and through by all who picked it up. What was interesting about this paper was that it wasn’t really a “newspaper” in the strict sense of the word. There was no news allowed it seemed, and to top it all off, on the front at the top was the picture of a handshake, with the words, “No News is Good News”. Given that it was during the Vietnam War years, and much of the news was bad anyway, it was a breath of fresh air, just good prose and poetry from local writers, ads from local businesses, and then in the back portion, columns upon columns of items for sale from all over. Anything from guinea hens, shoats, model T tire chains, calves, jeep parts, old tractors, barrel stoves, shotguns, old pictures, furniture, just about anything you could imagine.
I expect by now you know I am talking about the Green Mountain Trading Post.
Times have changed a lot since I lived on the farm in Pittsburg, and even more since I moved to Waterford. So many changes have come about that I got the idea that it would be nice to write down a few stories on how things used to be when Pittsburg was still a community based on logging and farming. I had never written much of anything before really except to keep a journal on a semi regular basis. It seemed important to record some of the stories of the past, some of which had already been forgotten by most, some so narrow in their scope that the few people that knew about them were mostly if not all gone. It also seemed to me that the new folks moving in, (with a few exceptions of course) cared little for the history of the town, or of the people that used to live there, or what they did to keep it going in times that weren’t always hard, but never were easy. So, I started to write a story here and there about this or that, and then one day I happened to pick up a Green Mountain Trader, and after reading some of the excellent stories within, happened to notice the ad in the back that stated that the paper was interested in stories, diaries and so on. They were even paying “check cashing money”! I wondered. Could I do that? Finally, after many months of wondering and worrying about it, I got up the courage to send a story in. I have to say, I expected instant refusal, as I knew that I was not a writer, had completely blown a term paper in English class in school, and since that time, had lacked any sort of confidence in being able to write. So, I proceeded to edit, once, twice, and a third time and more, and finally sent it in. They did not refuse. In fact, Carol at the paper was encouraging, supportive, and gave me the confidence to keep writing. And submitting.
I’m thinking that the folks at the paper must have encouraged a lot of new writers, as it seems the paper never lacked for good stories. I never met Carol personally, though we emailed back and forth a lot over the years. Sharon, who runs things now is a wonderful lady, and now and then I stop in at the office just to say hello and to visit a bit.
It was with much sadness that I read in my last subscription notice that the Green Mountain Trading Post would cease printed publication on the fifth of May of 2026 after 54 years. There are many sad people around that I know, and many more that I don’t know that will miss this wonderful paper. As my friends Janice and David in Bulwer Quebec said to me, “there is nothing like it in the world, and there probably never will be again”. It filled a niche that needed to be filled, and will leave nothing but a raw wound when it’s gone.
I can’t help but think, what will happen when they are all gone, and everything comes to us through the internet, most of it concocted by that new curse on the world, AI?
It will be a cold dark day when something bad happens to the internet, and it will, mark my words, and when there will be no papers to read. I will remember however, the years of good stories from the Green Mountain Trading Post, and will consider myself blessed that I was able enjoy it for many years, and then thanks to Carol and Sharon, to be able to add just a tiny bit to it.
Goodbye old friend…