Ray Duckler’s story about D.J. Annicchiarico (Monitor, 4/22) reminded me of the following family anecdote. Sometime around 1915, my grandfather, Daniel Herbert Dustin, was driving his wagon in the fine city of Concord when he was hailed by the shoemaker, who stepped out of his shop and raised his hand. This gentleman politely asked if he might be addressing a farmer? My grandfather considered this for a moment and then allowed as how that just might be the case.

D.J. Annicchiarico’s grandfather then wondered whether, being a farmer, my grandfather might from time-to-time have a lamb available, possibly in the spring? After a short pause, my grandfather agreed that the chance for that sort of farm product was likely. For the next decade or so, every spring, Mr. Annicchiarico brought his whole family out to the Dustin farm in Contoocook, where a lamb was roasted outdoors (Italian style) and enjoyed by both families, while the Dustin children were measured for shoes.

Dan Dustin

Contoocook