Rob Dixon ’83 had a hard time getting his bearings after the shooting. He was 11 years old, and the guys who showed up that afternoon in his Dorchester, Mass., neighborhood came to his house first. When no one answered the door, they went across the street and found his best friend, George. Their plan was simple: they’d steal some cash from the local convenience store; George, the youngest, would be the lookout. Then they’d all share in the take. The robbery was over in a flash.

It was the color that had her worried. Martha Carlson ’09G had never seen syrup like this before—and she’d been tapping maple trees on her Sandwich, N.H., mountainside property for more than 30 years. In 2009, though, the syrup was dark and glistening, more like molasses than the clear amber liquid she and her husband, Rudy, always produced in their tiny sugar shack. It smelled odd, too, and needed extra filtering, leaving behind a sticky residue. . .

One family. Nine children. Countless stories. Readers of Melissa Fay Greene’s “No Biking in the House Without a Helmet” will find plenty of hilarity in this romping account of her boisterous brood.

The tiny crab is fast, skittering just out of reach, headed for cover in a pile of oysters. But Ray Grizzle is faster. “Ha!” He plucks the critter, about the size of a nickel, from the pile of shells and holds it between his thumb and index finger, squinting against the brilliant September sunshine. “See this? He’s one of the main culprits. These guys love baby oysters.”

On a blustery late-September day, beneath a white festival tent in an old New England mill town, young girls in colorful saris bend and twirl across a stage, performing the intricate steps of a traditional Indian dance, dark eyes flashing, gold bangles catching the light. . .

Let’s eat! No two words could be more universal
or — according to three new books — more controversial. These authors have different stories to tell, different flags to wave, but they’re all marching forward in agreement on one thing:
The food we eat is in danger, and so is our environment. Readers who open these covers will hear the shouting on every page: It’s time to take action! It’s time, in short, for a food fight.

On a late December afternoon, Taylor Chace flies across the rink at UNH’s Whittemore Center Arena, carving long arcs in the fresh ice as he whoops and hollers toward the goal.

George Bergeron understands the power of private philanthropy—the indelible imprint left behind by even a single gesture of generosity.