Menu
(web photo courtesy of juneautours) Glacier by Tom Sexton We stood on the deck of a ferry at dawn fifty years ago and felt the cold breath of a glacier that was mirrored in the icy water. Harbor seals disappeared as we approached. When the air…
Read More »Malcolm Sharps is a writer living in Hungary. His account of leaving England is familiar to anyone who has lived in an industrial city whose economy has been upended, something that people living in Lowell experienced during the 20th century. This is Malcolm’s second appearance on RichardHowe.com. The Leaving of…
Read More »On the Thirtieth Day of Isolation (Covid-19) Marie Louise St. Onge Just over four weeks now, no store no pharmacy no haircut no meetings no movies no museum no protests no handshakes no hugs no gym simply solo walks along the shore. Respite indeed when I pull in…
Read More »Jack McDonough, a returning contributor to our blog, lives in Tewksbury, Mass. His writing is included in the anthology of the first ten years of RichardHowe.com, HISTORY AS IT HAPPENS: CITIZEN BLOGGERS IN LOWELL, MASS. (Loom Press, 2017). For many years he wrote and edited publications in the UMass Lowell…
Read More »This is the second week of “virus” diary entries by Paul Hudon of Lowell, scholar and teacher and keen observer of the locale and wider world. He is the author of The Valley & Its People: An Illustrated History of the Lower Merrimack and All in Good Time, a book…
Read More »(Please click the image to enlarge)
Read More »Patriots Day, 1970 By Mike McCormick The sky threatened rain when Jim Laprel, Val Danos, and I headed to Boston in my 1966 red Datsun on Patriot’s Day, 1970. Our Haverhill High School track coach John Ottaviani had excused us from track practice so that we could run in a…
Read More »(please click image to enlarge)
Read More »Isolation Scenes II By Doug Sparks ON AN EARLY Saturday morning in April, I wake up to snowfall. The sight saddens me, because I know how many people are looking to the earth for some transcendent message that will help make sense of our current situation. And it saddens me…
Read More »April Snow by Chath Piersath Saturday morning snow Intense white and shouting birds In a swarm competing for seeds and warmth. The night—dream-shaped flight, Forced to dig my own grave Where death sleeps, Cold feet slow to warm, My bones frost bitten, Aches in all my joints, Spasmodic jumps,…
Read More »