No one remembered when the gazebo in the woods adjacent to my home was built. Or by whom. It had been there my entire life. Rumor had it, that it had been built of wood that had been hewn by hand by skilled craftsmen living in the area from trees in the nearby woods. It had been deeded to the town by a wealthy businessman who only stipulated that it was to be used for community gatherings. Despite the fact that the generous gift was given in perpetuity by this businessman was sufficient to maintain the structure through the year, the town had neglected its duty and the gazebo had fallen into disrepair.
The gazebo was originally a glorious structure. Octagonal in shape with a two level roof. The upper roof was separated from the larger one below it by a decorative series of slats through which the sun sparkled on the lake behind. The two roofs were covered in wooden shingles. Atop the smaller upper roof, there was a copper point which had achieved a blueish green patina over the years and which supported a rooster weathervane. Six posts connected both roofs to the gazebo’s floor which was surrounded by railings. Two staircases one on the east-most side, the other on the west each had four steps to the gazebo’s floor. It sat in a clearing in the woods surrounded by a green lawn which was, in turn, shaded by pine and oak trees.
To my recollection at least, it had never been maintained - no repairs had ever been done to the stairs leading up to the platform’s floor or to the railings, or the roof, for that matter. It had never been repainted so only scraps of its original paint remained and those flaked off with even the gentlest breeze. Stairs and railings were cracked and loose, the roof leaked during even the lightest rain. Last summer, Billy Thompson broke his left leg when several floor boards of the gazebo broke while he was jumping on the deck and he fell though to the ground. Billy’s parents were furious and sued the town for his medical expenses despite the fact that Billy had been warned many times not to climb on the gazebo. The fact that it had been taped off with yellow tape, much like the plastic tape that police use to tape off a crime scene, never deterred Billy, a rambunctious child. He was always getting into one form of trouble or the other.
The copper top of the gazebo and its rooster weathervane disappeared some years back and had been never recovered.
I do remember that in my childhood the gazebo had been the centerpiece of our summer entertainment. Local bands played there during the warm summer evenings, it was in the foreground of July 4 fireworks displays, and it served as the serving center for neighborhood picnics. In the winter, we would stand in the gazebo and watch the snow fall on the frozen lake behind it. But that was nearly 85 years ago.
The old, uncared-for gazebo was now scheduled to be replaced with one constructed of a vinyl composite, or, at least, that was what was planned for as soon as this season’s snow had melted and the weather started to warm. The gazebo was in such disrepair that it was not feasible to even restore it, we were told at the Town Meeting that was called because of the outcry when news of its demolition had circulated. Demands were made to restore the gazebo in spite of the costs. That was how important this old structure was to the townspeople. But despite our objections, it was the town council’s decision that the gazebo would be removed.
The snowfall that winter had been greater than expected. The first snow of the season occurred in early November, early even for New England. That storm left 3 ½ feet of snow on the roads and appeared to leave even more in the woods where the gazebo was located. Storm after storm blanketed the gazebo that winter until it was almost obscured by the depth of the snow that had fallen and blown on to it during the long and cold season.
The cold that year broke all records. Reports had been that the world was experiencing global warming, but you couldn’t prove it by this winter. Now I do realize, of course, that there is a difference between climate and the weather during a given period, but this winter was just plain old-fashioned cold. The kind of cold that went deep into one’s bones, the kind of cold from which only spring could bring relief. It was the kind of cold that with those of us of advanced age led to never ending achiness of our joints.
It was mid-May before the snow even started to melt. Crocuses were in bloom when the building emerged from its winter sleep. It had been nearly 90 winters that I had walked by that gazebo as the snow began to melt, but this year something was different. Nothing I could put my finger on, but something definitely different. Had there always been a weathervane at the tip of the roof? I seemed to recall there was but the memory had grow faint. But there it was, a green copper rooster sitting on an arrow on a copper point at the top of the gazebo. The rooster shifted as the wind blew from north to northeast and back to north again indicating wind direction. There was a faint sound of metal scraping against metal as the rooster pointed in different directions. And in the background, the slow drip, drip, drip as the snow melted in the warming early spring sun could be heard if one listened intently enough.
The gazebo emerged from its winter sleep slowly -the roof appeared as if it were new. Wooden shingles were refinished with a fresh coat of black paint. The white supports were gleaming in the rising sun. The railings were painted a cheerful red color and the floorboards through which Billy Thomson had fallen the previous summer had been replaced, the old floors had been newly sanded and covered with a shiny coat of varnish making it an ideal dance floor. The two staircases on either side of the gazebo had been refitted with shiny brass handrails.
I thought I heard music, a band playing - softly at first but becoming louder as more and more snow melted. I sat on one of the benches that encircled the dance floor to listen to the music. I glanced at my hands which were no longer those of a 97 year old man, but rather those of an 11 year old child. I was tired, so tired but the pain in my joints caused by the cold lessened as I sat. My eyelids closed as I drifted off to a deep sleep, I imagined I saw my mother and father dancing to the music, my grandparents sat holding hands while sipping their tea, the fireworks display was being arranged near the lake. The picnic tables overflowed with food - something from each resident of the town. There was laughter and conversation. Everyone sang the old, familiar songs accompanied by the band on the gazebo. It was as if I were a chid again.
“And so,” the Town Manager of Brookfield, Vermont said at the open meeting “the Selectmen and I have listened to all of your comments at the last town meeting and taken them under consideration. We realize, of course, that not all of you - mostly the older citizens who have lived in Brookfield their entire lives - will agree with our decision.”
The Town Manager’s comments were interrupted by cat-calls and boos from some in the audience.
“Please let me continue. The gazebo is in extreme disrepair and has become a danger to both our children and the seniors in town and we have voted to tear it down and replace it with a modern, vinyl-composite gazebo as part of an enlarged park area and children’s playground. The park will have walking paths with exercise stops, a slide and climbing bars, and a skate board area. For our dog owners, there will be a dog park for small dogs. In the summers we will continue the tradition of band concerts, and, in the winter, the gazebo will be surrounded by a bench where we can put on our ice skates and enjoy skating on the frozen lake. This decision was not taken lightly but we believe it is in the best interest of the citizens of Brookfield.
Meeting adjourned.”
In the woods that same day, the snow had melted on the old, wooden gazebo. It had collapsed and was now a pile of rotting boards, on the forest floor. Next to it, lay the body of an old man holding what appeared to be a piece of a copper weathervane.