September 14th 2026

We walked hand in hand to the benefit. The weather was stunning. While fall comes fast in upstate New York, summer was doing its best to hang on. The late afternoon sun was warm on our bodies; the elongated shadows however from thick maple trees still densely foliated, old brick Sears catalog and once grand Victorian homes was chilly in contrast.

About two blocks away we could begin to hear the music, a local band was playing popular songs from decades long gone. One of the band members had cancer and the local VFW was hosting an event to raise money for his treatment. It wasn’t far from the church, maybe half a mile from our home. Outside there was a big tent set up alongside the building, filled with people laughing, talking, eating hot dogs and pulled pork piled high with potato salad and thick slices of pickle spears. There were bottles and cans of beer and mixed drinks in little cups held by people in small groups that occasionally called out to another group to introduce a newcomer or hug an old friend.

I had never been inside the VFW. David had been when he dropped Harrison off there for a birthday party last spring. Upon entering it though, I wasn’t surprised… they all look similar, as if every VFW in the country had been built or renovated only in the 1970s. There was the usual large open space with the parquet flooring, the drop down ceiling tiles and fluorescent lights, and the tired wood paneling and hung high nearly to the ceiling, were the rows of old black and white photos of the local veterans dating back to the early 1900s all in their military uniforms, all in the same gold colored frames. The main room hosted the dance floor and the live local band in the back corner. There were plastic folding tables and chairs set up for seating that ran the width of the large space and then three long rows of folding tables running the length of the room. Those tables were filled with baskets and a random assortment of everything from planters to battery operated lawn equipment. In front of each item was a small piece of paper with a handwritten description of the item and then a brown paper bag, like the kind you’d pack your lunch in affixed to the table so you could bid on the item and drop your ticket in.

The room was busy and loud. There were small groups of people slowly making their way around the basket tables, dropping a ticket or two inside the corresponding paper bag, silently placing their wagers. A large group of dancers took to the floor whenever the band played another hit from a decade long passed. Most of the music you remembered as the “classic rock” that your dad would play in his old Datsun with the hatchback… the one that you and your sister would lay in the back and look out at the sky and trees streaming by while dad’s car hugged the tight turns of New England country roads. Now you and David would catch yourselves giving each other the side eye every time the radio would tune in to a “classic rock” station and the music wasn’t that of Chubby Checker beckoning you to do The Twist like you remembered your dad blasting on the little Bose radio, but rather Creed or Nirvana… the music that formed the backdrop of your adolescence (all those years ago).

The tables facing the band were nearly filled with people eating hot dogs and saurkraut or the $15 dollar benefit dinners piled high with pulled pork. People sat and sipped on beer and laughed and patted each other on the back and shook hands when a new friend pulled up a chair to join in. Right next to the door there were a few more small tables set up with four women sitting behind them selling tickets to bid on the baskets and prizes. You did your best to yell over the music, “David… let’s buy some tickets for the basket raffles!” David bought a sheet and then we made our way around the tables. There were booze baskets filled with nips and shot glasses, a beautiful mum in a wrought iron planter, there were squishmallows, smores kits, a three tier plant stand and so much more. You noticed that each bag and prize was labeled with a corresponding number… there were nearly 200 donated prizes… all to raise money for one of the band members.

You remembered being told by several people when you first moved in that ‘basket raffles’ were a really big deal in this town and this generous display made that all the more evident. During a lull in the music you told David that the two of you were going to have to start making baskets for the events. You already had a large collection of mostly unused baskets in a big clear plastic bag on the top shelf of your closet in the basement.

To the back of the room there was a small bar and on the other end there was another room, not quite as large with a large bar packed at least three people deep all the way around. There were more high top tables in there along with a funky yellowish green wallpaper with bright red eagles that looked as if they belonged on some sort of military crest. You loved the pattern and the vintage vibe.

It wasn’t long before David was spotted by a regular at the small neighborhood bar Southside Tavern. David enjoyed going there on Sundays to watch the Buffalo Bills play for an hour or two each week. Soon you were both being introduced to the director of the VFW who invited you both to join and offered to pay David’s first year dues. You were told all about the biannual clam bake… a big deal in the small town and how everyone would love to have you both there in two weeks. It was the last big hurrah before the weather began actively courting Jack Frost.

You drank ice cold Coronas in chilled bottles rimmed with lime that you used your thumb to pop down the narrow neck of the bottle and into the drink. When the two of you made your way over to the table to enter the 50/50 raffle you were introduced by the man from Southside to the women manning the table as “the people who bought the old Spencer Church,” which in turn made you both a bit of a celebrity.

The two women were thrilled “to meet you finally,” as one of them followed your account on TikTok and “absolutely loved what you were doing with the church.” Over the band now rocking loudly just across the room your account follower told her friend your story… recounting in perfect detail how you had bought it sight unseen and moved 1200 miles. Her friend was shocked and you barely made out over the music something about, “that takes balls.”

Then there were people that made a point to come up to you both and introduce themselves and let you know just how much they appreciated what you were doing with the church. It seemed that everyone there was connected to that property in one way or another. It was hard to have a conversation over the music and the loud crowd but you caught bits and pieces and most of it was just sheer thankfulness and excitement for what you were bringing to the community. You always knew that this project was far bigger than you and your family and this just helped to reinforce that reality. Some people offered their help if you needed it, a few gave their cards and let you know that they could do x,y, and z. You met quite a few people who followed your church’s social media accounts or saw you in the paper.

By the time you and David left your hearts were so full that it was a unanimous decision that if you were to win the 50/50 raffle that you wouldn’t take it. You both came to the conclusion that you already had everything you needed… anything from this point on was just a ‘want’ and that you would quietly give the entire win to the man fighting cancer. You could wait on that new driveway and riverrock. You wanted to give this stranger the best chance he could to beat his cancer and keep filling the VFW with loud music and pulled pork dinners and basket raffles for someone else in need.

The sun had almost set when you made your way home while chatting excitedly about the event and laughing about the small town celebrity status. You cemented your decision to join the VFW, both of you agreeing that it would be a great way to further integrate into the community and build your businesses… David his new electrical company and you your paint and sip gig. You had already joined “The Association” another local club and now this would be your second. David told you that there were days that were best for attending each… “The Association” was best for Friday nights, Southside Tavern was best on Saturday or Sunday for football (even though it wasn’t a club) and that you’d have to figure out when to go to the VFW. You told David that you were hoping to be able to do some volunteer work at the two clubs and hopefully in the future do some paint and sip events there where 50% of the profits were donated back to the organization.

Your dad had been harping on you told join the Elks, he was a member in his town and told you that he’d take you to your chapter as his guest when he came to visit. You and David found it funny that you had come into this entire experience wanting to stay ‘below the radar’ but that the small community had other plans… now here you were getting ready to join all the local organizations, your kids were taking dance downtown and you were singing in the seasonal choir. So much for not assimilating.

You had almost made it home when you came upon the group of ‘regulars’ outside of JC’s, a small restaurant with mediocre at best food. “I’ve just never had anything good there,” you told David one time…

“Well that’s not entirely fair…” David had interjected.

“Fine… outside of the French toast… I have never had anything good there,” I corrected myself.

David laughed… “Ok well… THAT’s fair then.”

Now sat the group of half a dozen or so old guys that frequented the place. In the mornings Jackie who used to get breakfast there every day told us they’d push two tables together and gather for coffee, conversation, and not much else. In the evenings they’d reconvene outside to sit at the two round iron tables right in front of the old brick building to have their second cups. You didn’t know any of them by name, probably wouldn’t recognize them if they weren’t sitting inside or outside of JC’s. To you they were the “Coffee Club” an interchangeable group of old white guys.

The ones that had asked you that one time when you were walking by, your arm in your sling, if ‘someone had beat you up…’ They had all laughed at that… which struck you as weird that a group of guys found it funny that a woman might be getting roughed up at home but nonetheless you had been quick and came back with, “No I did this when I was out hunting wolverines on Lake Michigan…”

Their jaws had dropped. You didn’t want them to think that you were some dainty gal getting tossed around by a man, you were out kicking ass and taking names just in case anyone was thinking of getting sassy with you. No one had to know you had picked up a box that was too heavy… although you had further fucked it up with the sledge hammer… but again… wolverines sounded far more cool.

The “Liars Club,” that’s what your plumber told David he called them when somehow your wolverine story came up. He told David he went to school with most of them and that they were the biggest bunch of liars and wouldn’t know the truth if it sat there and drank coffee with them every morning. You both found that hysterical.

Either way the “coffee club” or “liar’s club” depending on whom you were talking to, were out when you and David walked home and one or maybe even all of them must have seen your post on Facebook about the teenagers. You had read David all of the replies a few days ago, and the two of you were in hysterics over all the comments people left about shooting the kids… it was so over the top. Now one of the guys, maybe even the same one that asked you if you had been beaten up, wanted to know “Did you ever take care of that problem with the teenagers?”

This time it was David who ran with it, “Oh yeah… we shot them all dead. Problem solved. Have a great night,” and continued right on walking.

The old guys found that hilarious, hooting and hollering as David and I laughed to ourselves.

“You know all the jokes I’ve told here that go right over people’s heads… it’s funny to me that the ones that land are the ones about shooting children…”

You both found that pretty hilarious, in a dark humor kind of way.

In three days the kids were going to be starting back up at school; fall was in the air, it was time to get back on track with projects, and work, and tackling the ugly portico before the weather turned… but for now you and David walked home hand in hand, delighted to be a part of the community and so thankful for the opportunity to take on this adventure.

Fall is on her way… planting mums outside the portico. Just yesterday we finished priming the whole space. This week we plan on adding stucco to the old concrete wall, replacing a few pieces of rotted wood, and finishing up the remainder of the caulking. Next week we plan on painting the space.

Here’s the portico now before I finished up the rest of the priming… it was about halfway done here. Took me forever to scrape away all the old paint. The grate in the front was a gift from the city’s water management department after I asked their manager where I could get a replacement from… he told me not to tell the mayor (who was standing right there lol) and they brought me an old iron cover. The thing probably weighs a solid 50lbs if not more. Huge improvement over the old parking cone that stood in its place before. The plan is to replace that rotted wood siding then fill in mulch over the old asphalt. I’ll probably add some river rock along the gutter spillways down towards the drain to make a second dry river bed. Then we will add some trellis between the metal column on the left and the old wood piece and a few planters with some sort of vine that can shade the portico from the hot summer sun.

We currently have just out of view of the photo a good sized watermelon patch going along the side of the church. Next year I hope to grow them again or maybe pumpkins as well as some sunflowers. Ideally in this area I’d like to eventually add a group of three nicely made stands… One will be a “little free library” another I’m hoping to add a small food pantry that the community can help stock and take as needed, and one more little box for rotating displays like “take a key chain, leave a key chain… or mug… or toy dinosaur… etc…” just some whimsy because why the hell not?

Here is our inspo for the portico once it’s done. I am SO EXCITED about painting the celestial sky under the little roof. I’m thinking of using gold leaf to do the stars! I’ll tackle the stenciled walkway in the spring. Eventually we’ll also repaint all of the trim on the church but that is going to take a LOT of time, for now though, refinishing the portico is going to make a HUGE difference in the curb appeal. I had guessed that it hadn’t been painted in at least two decades. Our neighbors who have been here 24 years told us that they’ve never seen it painted before so I guess I was pretty spot on with my estimate. That paint is OLD. What do you think of the inspiration photo?