Shortly before this, in my hometown of Poultney, (it must have been around 1973 or '74?) there was a little Boutique called "Bombadils" that was owned by this beautiful woman by the name of Mary Jean Lobdell. She was slightly plump, with very long brown frizzy hair in a Carol King sort of style, that she had grown down to her buttocks. Her face, to me was angelic, in an almost Victorian sense. Today, I would label her as an all-natural woman, who was an authentic "hippie". She wore peasant blouses and halter tops over large breasts and long floral skirts, with dangling earrings. Being young and impressionable, I was always mesmerized by her style. 
Bombadil's was located in the basement underneath our town's laundry mat. I remember the round sign that hung over the doorway on which were the round popular '70's style writing bearing it's name. Each time I would walk into her shop, my sense of smell would be filled with fragrances that I have never forgotten. Nag Champa incense, essential oils and mostly I remember sniffing the strawberry scented candles.
Her clothing inventory was geared toward the "College Girls" - from Green Mountain College - with high quality India Imports, brass and wooden incense holders, Indian bedspreads, candles and jewelry. Ravi Shankar and George Harrison music frequently played while she ironed clothing.
Growing up on Main Street, I would walk down to see her. One day when I was preparing to do so, my sister and her friend Carol Jones stopped me to ask where I was going. I told them I was going to visit Mary Jean. Carol held the Rutland Herald newspaper in her hand, and handed it to me.
I remember that a woman named Harriet Holcomb and her boyfriend Ben took over the store when Mary Jean died. It was never the same.
About a year or two later a store called "Pearls", which used to be occupied by an old A&P Store on Main Street, came to be. They had shirts made in India, and I remember buying a few of them over the course of one summer. If I recall, they went out of business around 1978 - the year before my parents moved my little brother and I to Williamstown.
I still think of Mary Jean. I don't clearly remember her face any more. She crawls into my mind when I enter into certain boutiques and smell the incense or essential oils. In particular, when I smell a strawberry scented candle, I think of her. I think of her little Gremlin that was parked on the street the week before she died, and can't help but wonder, what made her loose control of her car? These are things I may never find out, and all I can say is that her spirit truly lives within me.
