Weather. 18°F, overcast and still. A thin snow fell between two and four in the morning and stopped without accumulating. The lake surface is the same colour as the sky.

The Town Is Keeping Track, Which Is Its Own Kind of Answer

By Wren Aldercott

On the morning of Monday, November the third, this editor opened the lost-and-found box at seven forty-three and found six letters, the folded note, and one new item: a small envelope, not cream-coloured but grey, tucked behind the others as if it had been there a while and simply not presented itself. It is addressed to no one. The return address is, again, The Greywater Gazette, 4 Mill Road. It contains a single index card on which two words are written in the same deliberate hand: 'Nearly now.' This editor placed the card in the box with the others, noted it in both notebooks, and poured the coffee.

Doreen Halloway opened the bakery at seven and had nine Standings on the tray by eight. She told this editor, when asked, that she had moved the reserved plate to a shelf behind the counter, where it can be seen from the door. She said: 'Now someone coming in will see it straight off, won't they.' She said this as if she were describing a sensible arrangement of display pastries, which it is, and she began wiping the counter and did not look up, which is how Doreen Halloway closes a subject she considers settled. The plate is still cream-coloured. It still has the blue border. The Standing on it is fresh.

Russ Dunmore came by the Gazette at nine with his freeze-date sheet still in his breast pocket — he produced it to show this editor that November the fourteenth is circled in pencil, which is, he said, 'eleven days from today, give or take.' He said 'give or take' with the careful tone of a man who is used to giving the law a margin and is finding, this week, that eleven days is a margin he can work with. He asked, again, whether there had been any further correspondence indicating a specific arrival date. This editor showed him the grey envelope and the index card. He read the two words. He put the card down. He said: 'Nearly now is not a date.' He went back to his office. He did not ask for the card. He did not file a report. This editor has noted that 'nearly now' is, in fact, more information than the town had yesterday, and that Russ Dunmore is aware of this, and that he left anyway, which is its own form of acceptance.

Marigold Vance said, when this editor stopped in at the Kettle at half past ten, that she had looked up the name 'Harrow' in the county agricultural register — the one she keeps under the counter because her grandfather farmed and she grew up with it — and that there is no Harrow listed in any district within forty miles. She said: 'It's not a farming name around here. But harrow is what you do to a field after the planting, to break it open, to let the air in.' She said this looking at the register, not at this editor. Gerald Pith was at the counter. He wrote something in the blue notebook and closed it. The coffee was good. The morning, Marigold said, was right. This editor believes she almost meant it.

From Around the Falls

Gerald Pith Writes the Longest Entry Yet; Does Not Read It Back; Closes the Notebook in the Usual Way

Gerald Pith arrived at the Kettle at eight twelve, which is his standard Monday time. Marigold Vance had the coffee ready. He opened the blue notebook, wrote for approximately four minutes — longer than any previous entry, by Marigold's estimate — and closed it without reading back. He did not share the number. He did not say the number. He finished the coffee, said 'morning, Mari,' which he says every morning, and left at eight twenty-nine. Marigold told this editor that the only unusual detail was that he paused before writing, the way a person pauses before beginning a calculation they already know the answer to.

Halloway's Bakery: The Standing, Monday Edition; The Plate Has Moved to the Front Shelf; Doreen Does Not Explain Further

Nine Standings prepared. Eight served by half past nine. The ninth remains on the cream plate with the blue border, which Doreen Halloway has moved from the back of the bakery to a shelf visible from the street-facing window. She told this editor the light is better there. This is true. The bakery smelled this morning of brown butter and cardamom, which it has smelled of every Monday since Doreen introduced the winter spice blend in 2009. Some things are exactly what they are.

A Grey Envelope Arrives; Two Words; The Box Now Holds Eight Items

The Greywater Gazette lost-and-found box, as of this morning, contains: six cream envelopes addressed to residents not yet present, one folded note on unlined paper, and one grey envelope containing an index card reading 'Nearly now.' The box was supplied by this office in 2019 to hold unclaimed scarves and reading glasses. It is now holding a correspondence. This editor has no policy guidance for this and is developing one as she goes, which is, she will note, how most of the Gazette's policies were developed.

Lake Watch

Toby Fern filed his tenth Lake Watch report at seven this morning. The lake surface is flat and the colour of the clouds above it, which makes the water and the sky the same unbroken grey from the shore. Bottom visibility has extended to twenty feet with the ice shelf pulling back from the centre; Toby reports the lakebed at that depth is 'silt and something older, hard to say.' The four returned were gathered at the dock pilings at dusk last evening and again at dawn. The sparrow arrived sometime in the night. It is perched on the dock rail and is, Toby writes, 'doing what sparrows do, mostly, which is sit and look cold.' The hum continues at the same pitch it has held for nine days. The Route 9 sign still reads 7. Toby counted it twice.

Classifieds & Notices

LOST: One red mitten, child's size, last seen near the Kettle steps. The other mitten is also lost. If found separately, please hold both. — T. Fern
FOR SALE: One box of storm lanterns, barely used. Asking $12 each or three for $30. Practical item. — Mossley Hardware, 7 Mill Road
NOTICE: The Kettle will be open Tuesday through Saturday next week. Monday hours are suspended while the counter stools are re-padded. We apologise for the inconvenience and will have coffee available at the window. — M. Vance
FOUND: One blue wool glove, men's, left hand only, near the shore access path. Claimed at the Gazette office. — Ed.

The Record

Grey envelope received, lost-and-found box, 4 Mill Road, contents: index card, two words. Logged 7:43 a.m. Monday.
South shore ice: no new measurement filed today. Gerald Pith's notebook closed before the number was spoken.

Letters to the Editor

“I looked it up and I want to be on the record about it. A harrow is a frame with iron teeth that you drag across a field after the planting — not to plant again but to open the ground up, to break the crust, to let the rain and the air down to the roots. My grandfather used one. It is a perfectly ordinary agricultural implement and there is nothing strange about a name that comes from it. I just thought people should know what the word means. That's all I wanted to say. The coffee this morning is a medium roast and the soup is lentil. — M. Vance”

— Marigold Vance, The Kettle

“Nearly now is a good answer. It is the same answer the ice gives, and the geese, and the light in November. Nobody finds that strange. — A. Crewe”

— Agnes Crewe, Shore Cottage

A note from the editorThis office received, this morning, a question from a resident who asked whether the Gazette intended to 'do something' about the letters. This editor explained that the Gazette has been doing something about the letters since the first one arrived: recording them. The resident appeared to find this insufficient. This editor understands the feeling and stands by the answer.