This past pluperfect weekend – even the rainfall was ideal – was full of the last things of the warm time. Several of those last things we had to let go by: the closing days of the Fryeburg Fair was one. The long stretch of perfect weather had to be one of the best fair-goers have enjoyed in many years.

We also missed the Mahoosuc Land Trust’s “Annual Fabulous Fall Foliage Flotilla.” This was not an armada, “just four canoes, three kayaks, and two dogs,” the trust’s Jim Mitchell told me. A beautiful sight nonetheless, vessels setting out to sightsee.

The wife-carrying contest? We missed that, too.

What last thing we did do was to help with the harvest of “God’s Potatoes” out in the Kimball fields. Though he retired as pastor of the Rumford Center Church, Dave Kimball hasn’t retired the custom of planting potatoes to supply food pantries around the region.

Digging potatoes is great fun. First the rig moves down the row revealing spuds of every size, including “pig potatoes.” (Why those little marbles are disdained by some, I cannot understand. Bake them fast with a little oil and kosher salt, et voila: heavenly morsels, company quality.)

Very sociable labor – briefly interrupted by a Red Hill neighbor wanting corn stalks – with Ray Barker working alongside the young pastor Justin Thacker and his wife Mary and Crystal Lake of Praise Assembly of God (that runs one of a number of food pantries in the area). Warm work, and dusty, but it went right along and the yield was 675 pounds of “nature’s most nearly perfect food.”

Staggering gas prices discourage much “just drivin’ around” these days, but another lovely last thing in this season is exactly that: “just drivin’ around.” Aimless, slow driving is good for the soul. Plus you notice things that would elude you on a purposeful trip to Hannaford’s.

After the potato harvest I just drove around for a little while. I noticed a little graveyard on Joe Martin’s North Rumford property that I hadn’t seen before. I noticed that the green patch at the foot of Kimball Road is overgrown, the STOP sign barely visible. I realized that I still can’t tell the difference between a raven and a crow.

We hear a lot about young people leaving Maine, leaving the River Valley. I see – is it wishful thinking? – young people arriving, or at least out and about like the young dad pushing a stroller on our road Saturday, and the new owners of Bob Colby’s house, Ryan and Ashley Dumont.

Last things: the last basil and zucchini, last parsley and beans, last dill and zinnias. Last tomatoes: lots of last tomatoes that must – first thing – be dealt with. And the electric fencing must be baled and stored and the garden left to the wildlife to feast on.

The last lawn mowing: Dan Warner has been taking care of our wild and wonderful “lawns” this past summer. He’ll make one more pass this month, shredding the leaves as he goes.

I hope that the fresh seafood vendor’s visit to Mexico last Friday was not a last thing!

I know the nasty tent caterpillars are done with their work for now. I wish the ladybugs were a last thing – if they’re so great for the garden, why are they in the house?

One last last thing: a visit at Howard’s Pond. Not all the snowbirds had flown when we visited cousins there on Sunday. But it was quiet, so quiet the silence spoke to us.

Linda Farr Macgregor lives with her husband, Jim, in Rumford. She is a freelance writer and author of Rumford Stories.