Although I write about life as it was during the last Ice Age—a time when people had to procure all of life’s necessities from Nature, my childhood in small town New England was far easier. We didn’t have fancy stores, or even a “real” grocery store, but we did have Donald Doane’s. 

Donald Doane’s was located in the heart of town. This store (shown in photos) is now called The Brewster Store, but back then it was Donald Doane’s, named for its proprietor. The shop carried all life’s essentials, along with a few delightful nonessentials, such as rubber-band-powered balsa wood airplane kits for just ten cents, jars filled with penny candy, and a selection of comic books.

While we occasionally stopped in for grocery items, every Sunday, Dad would fire up his truck—a 1954 International—and take one or more of us kids to Donald Doane’s to pick up the Sunday paper and a dozen donuts. This was one of my favorite weekly rituals.

The store had a warm and inviting atmosphere; a central wood stove served as a gathering spot for locals to enjoy a hot beverage and share stories. The wonderful aroma of freshly ground coffee and roasting peanuts often filled the air.

Mr. Doane, though somewhat taciturn and stern in appearance, had a softer side. If business was slow, he would invite us upstairs to marvel at his collection of antique toys, offering a fascinating glimpse into playthings from a century ago. It was nice to see this gentler aspect of a man who once replied to a tourist asking why he didn’t carry the New York Times with, “Because I don’t give a damn about what happens in New York!”

Mr. Doane is long gone now, but his store remains at the center of town. It likely carries the New York Times these days, but it still exudes a charm and sense of nostalgia that are hard to find elsewhere.

(Photo credits: E. A. Meigs. Brewster Store images posted with permission from the Brewster Store.)