Summertime here in Hubbard, Ohio, and the living is . . . ho-hum!
I mean, really, I’m used to rubbing elbows with the beautiful people out in Hollywood. Now here I am in the middle of nowhere, a small town in Ohio where I’m supposed to be running an elegant restaurant. Notice the use of the words supposed to be? That’s because when I got here, I found out the restaurant was really Sophie’s Terminal at the Tracks, a greasy spoon in an old train station.
In the meantime, I’ve been taking a look around town and I came by this little bit of Hubbard history at a local antique shop. North Main Street, the postcard says, and I’ll tell you what, to my eyes, things don’t look much different now than they did way back when. As for the excitement, it looks like Alma, who wrote that postcard so many years ago, actually likes the peace and quiet! If you can’t read her writing, here’s what she has to say:
We are on a farm & I tell you it seems most good after being home for 4 mo. The change has made me fat & am all sun burned. Your mother & Mrs. Mary Holliday Marstellar are good friends. She asked about you. We are at her house. Are nice people Why don’t you write to me?
It looks like Hubbard was just as exciting then as it is now. At least Alma and her friend, Rogene, don’t have to worry about keeping Sophie’s restaurant afloat. Will featuring ethnic foods on the menu turn business around? Maybe. If there aren’t any more murders . . .