MISQUAH — The great card confession began Sunday at the Klatch, when one of the regulars admitted she had bought the Sorensens’ card in the third week of July and hidden it in the kitchen drawer with the rubber bands, believing herself, and I quote, “the only one with the idea.” The table went quiet in a particular way I have learned to read, and then everyone confessed at once. Every household. The same drawer, practically. Half this town spent two weeks hiding the same secret from itself, which the Klatch has voted the most Misquah thing to happen all summer, over stiff competition.

The cards, as reported elsewhere in this edition, totaled two hundred fourteen. Walt maintains he did not count them. He counted them on the receipt spike, which Carol says he then had to un-spike “so the cards would still open,” and if there is a better portrait of that marriage I have not been shown it. The couple’s evening was family and cake; the newest Sorensen slept through it, as is her policy; and the store was open Monday at the regular hour, because forty years does not change what Monday is.

The Klatch itself has returned to open windows and its customary volume. Coffee consumption has descended from the napkin figure — still taped to the register, still eye level, Pat sees you looking — to ordinary record levels. Vern has eaten his way to the far side of the zucchini bread and pronounced the season “strong,” which the bakers involved have chosen to share equally.

And now, on schedule, the canning fever. The lids are moving (see Marlys, see the classifieds, see the look in certain eyes), the dill is being spoken for, and the kitchens of this town have begun their August pivot from bread to brine. Entries closed Saturday; the pickles are committed; there is nothing left but the doing, which is the part this column loves. My bars recipe is on this page for the occasion — company bars, anniversary-tested. Sigrid’s stars are next door, with news about August’s meteors that she asked me not to spoil. The fair is in fifteen days. The kitchens know. It has been, as ever, quite a week at the tables.