I’ve read that Mason was once known as Shutter Town. The muntin windows of its quaint, white homes were all framed with board and batten shutters, each set having a unique color. It was the town Gramma moved to as a girl, the place where she married and became a widow. It was where she bore five children and grieved the death of three. She passed her days in a leased saltbox beside the highway—a Quincy Mining Company home with shutters of sage. Only a few feet from her yard, just beyond the thimbleberry patch, stood a reflective green sign with pearly block letters: “Mason,” it read. It was here, in the Mason house, that Gramma wove her stories of the town’s copper-mining past and the ruins it had left.

T. Marie Bertineau

The Mason House

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