Mike’s Brick

A few afternoons ago I stopped by to visit my friend John and to drop off some garden produce for him. I’ve known him for over sixty years. His family has been around here for about three hundred and fifty years. So you never know what interesting thing you’ll see or hear when you visit John.

This time it was a brick.

There was an interesting brick on the table.

To digress for a moment, John’s father, a Vineyarder through and through, was an able and disciplined man who like many old Islanders, could do whatever needed to be done, from farming to fiddling to fixing furniture. Though his name was Elmer, most people called him Mike. He was a patient man.

Back to the brick.

John told me a few things about it.

When Mike young, he saw a particular brick in an old cellar hole. It was special. He always wanted that brick. He still wanted it when he grew up. But where was it? Mike was a patient man, maybe he didn’t want to waste time on a wild goose chase, so he promised himself that on the day he retired, he would go look for that brick.

The day he quit work, he did just that.

And he found it.


He found that special, old Island-made brick.

A brick that saves the time when a cat padded across fresh-molded North Shore clay.





3 responses to “Mike’s Brick

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