Strike Up the Band
I'm tempted to say Monday nights hark back to a simpler time, but that would be wrong.
By Michael Burke
Evening is settling over downtown Farmington, the first good day after a week of rain. Meetinghouse Park, across from the brick county courthouse, is coming to life: Chairs sprout from the lawn surrounding the old, octagonal gazebo, blankets are spread on the ground. The audience grows to sixty or so; some stand in clusters or perch on the edge of the war memorial in the center of the park, others stay in their cars. Across the street sits the local bagpiper, a mere observer this evening. Strolling through the park is one of the town eccentrics, a predictor of Farmington as the New Jerusalem.
