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We thought having a skunk in the yard was cute. He didn’t bother anybody and who cares about the birdseed at the bottom of the feeder, anyway. A few days ago he moved on. He’s not moving any more. Run over by a car. No doubt it was him. Shortly after the body disappeared. Life goes on.

Incidentally, the stuff we put on the hostas recently seems to have kept them away. Supposed to be good for thirty days. Been a couple of weeks now.

Dick

What beautiful creatures! Lithe, graceful, filled to bursting with fluid movement, they live in the dark woods and bother no one. People, that is. But Hostas? They are a delicacy. Finally, with but one small change to our household this season, the deer population have discovered the Hosta people. Who would have thought a thirty-five pound ball of fur could have made the difference? But he did. Maxx died last year and since then our Hostas have become – as they say – fair game.

Well, if we can discourage them until mid-August without them making too much trouble, I guess they can eat all they want. It’ll save me some later labor.

Within the last week we’ve had two full grown females nibbling in the back yard and yesterday I saw one heading east in front of our place at a near gallop.

Oh, and Flower, our resident skunk, seems to have moved on. He was cute, but the upside is, he didn’t leave any odiferous residue as a going away present.

Dick and Holly

Milton resident Blaine Cota of Saw Mill Road died on June 28 of a heart attack.  Blaine was 83 and had been in failing health for the past several years.

Those of you who knew Blaine and his late wife Eleanor will certainly remember the wonderful celebrations they held at their old 1740 saltbox, the Deacon Peter Buell house.  Blaine would greet guests with, “Welcome to the 18th century,” and, indeed, one stepped back in time by crossing his threshold.  The only light in the house came from lanterns, candles and the fires in the big hearths;  along with the period furnishings, the smell of the wood smoke, and (in their early decades in Milton), the hosts dressed in period costume and musicians providing colonial-era American and British music, the effect was magical.   Sticklers for authenticity, the Cotas provided an experience rivalling Williamsburg or Sturbridge, to whom they consulted on 18th century colonial living over the years.

Blaine was a complex man. He was born into a working class family from St. Johnsbury, VT, but could be a terrible snob.   He joked that his Yale education provided not only knowledge but entitlement to act this way.  He was a purist about the 18th century but his favorite art was Cubism and Abstract Expressionism.  He loved animals but could be gruff and abrupt with people.   He was at times incredibly fascinating or insufferably boring, depending on his subject and your interest in his “lecture de jour.”  Blaine was one of the people instrumental in getting Milton listed as a state of Connecticut historic district as well as a national historic district, but, as he said, “I meant well, but probably alienated a lot of people along the way.”  Such was Blaine.

When I first met Blaine over 16 years ago I asked him if his name was Coda with a ‘d’ or Cota with a ‘t.’   “Oh, it’s Cota with a ‘t’,” he said. “Coda would be too final a name.”   Blaine might even smile today if he heard me name this notice to his Milton neighbors, “Mr. Cota’s Coda.”

Sincerely,
Frank Kerrigon
99 Saw Mill Road