My mother's kitchen like that in many another village farm house was located in the ell of our home. It was spacious and uncluttered but dark and wearyingly inefficient. The only furniture was a sturdy drop-leaf table and two well-worn, thumb-back chairs pushed against the wall near the door to the dining room. On this table, besides its multitudinous other uses, appeared each Saturday morning the oil lamps gathered from all the rooms in the house to be refilled with kerosene, the chimneys cleaned, and the wicks trimmed. Sometimes our lantern was included too.
On the wall beside the table, a bit to the rear, was attached at shoulder level a wall pocket which was usually overflowing with papers, clippings, Youth's Companions, Farm Journals and old almanacs. Hanging below it was rather a large calendar with illustrations of tranquil domestic scenes advertising the offerings of a local entrepreneur.
In the back corner was a hand-operated washing machine which, when electricity was installed (soon after this time), was later replaced by a model driven by an electric motor. (This early electric washer had an exposed motor, suspended on a shelf under a wooden tub, which drove a belt around a large wheel attached to a rotating mechanism incorporated in the lid. Under the lid was a thick wooden disc with finger-like wooden projections which moved the clothes back and forth In the manner of a modern washer.) The tub was filled with hand-carried buckets of hot water and was emptied into pails on the floor through spigot at the bottom. On the other side four the window at the back was an ice chest. This nas used only in summer and was supplied with ice obtained from a bin in a corner of the woodshed where it had been stored and covered with sawdust during mid-winter, a process familiar to Down East readers. Our supply lasted all summer. Only some households in the village had their own supply of ice. Others used their cellars to keep food as cool as possible, which meant that many perishable foods could not be kept for more than a day or two, There was, at the time, no one traveling about delivering ice, although there may have been some person who sold it. On the side wall adjacent to the other back corner was the door to the passage leading to the shed, barns and toilet and along that wall was the ubiquitous black iron cook stove and wood bor. Either beside the stove or on the back wall was a row of hooks to hold work and stormy weather clothes. Broom and mop were kept in the distant back hall.
Beyond the end of the stove at the front of the kitchen was the door to the pantry. This pantry was not a hole-in-the-wall with a few shelves, but a room of generous size with ample walk-around space as large as many contemporary kitchens, with wooden cabinets and wooden counter tops, and the usual drawers and shelf space for the storage of pots, pans, and packaged foodstuffs. At the end of one counter and beyond the cabinets was a space reserved for the breadboard, which seemed to me at the time of enormous size. Across the back of this board and along its sides were attached strips of moulding rising an inch or two above the surface to prevent spills. The front edge was rough and uneven because my mother, when through with dough-making, used to whack it against the top of the flour barrel to shake it clean of flour. Beneath this section of counter on which the breadboard rested were located two barrels, one filled with flour, the other with sugar. (The purchase of flour and sugar by the barrel was a common practice.) Both were attached to metal arms which permitted them to swing easily out from under the counter.
This occurred often since preparing all bread, biscuits, cakes, cookies, doughnuts, and pies was a normal and frequent (almost daily for some items) household activity. Only bread was available in the local grocery store, brought up from Presque Isle, and then possibly only during the summer months. Church fairs from time to time provided other baked food offerings.
The pantry counters were entirely free of electrical appliances, since we had no electricity at the time. On them were containers only for coffee, loose tea, pepper, salt and sugar, along with bottles of ketchup and vinegar and a jar of molasses, which had to be purchased in your own container by the mugful. Molasses was a favored ingredient used In cooking, as was maple syrup, which not infrequently was served on a slice of bread as a dessert. Compared to the lavish assortment of spices found today In most kitchens, my mother's supply was somewhat slender, consisting mostly of ginger, cinnamon, cloves, mustard, whole ...(missing line)... cranked appliances were part of the kitchen equipment. these consisted of an apple peeler, a nutmeg grater, an egg beater and, of course, a meat grinder (never known as a food processor) used mostly for making hash. And, of course, there was the indispensable can opener, a simple all-metal utensil with no moving parts except for a cork screw which folded into the handle. It was sturdy, absurdly reliable and had, I expect, generations of devoted users. It probably cost no more than seven cents. It had a blade at one end, and a sharp blow with the palm of the hand at the opposite end would drive the blade through the top of a can. Then by a pumping motion around the edge of the can the top was thus opened up. Unforgettable, It must be said, were the rough and crinkly sharp edges left on the lid and inside the top of the can. I remember seeing only two kitchen knives -- a butcher knife and a paring knife -- but these seemed to be adequate for all purposes.
The kitchen was dark because a single small window at the front over the sink and-one at the back were the main source of light. This hardly adequate source of daylight was further diminished by walls covered from floor to ceiling by dark-stained hard pine sheathing. After darkness set in, a single small lamp in a wall bracket provided such feeble light that a pedestal hand lamp or two were always needed.
Under the front window was the traditional cast iron sink, enclosed in a cabinet and set at such an inordinately low level as to contribute to unavoidable rapid fatigue of the user. The waste pipe from the sink drained into a cesspool. This is mentioned because many sinks in the village merely drained into backyards. Whenever I visited some of my chums, we could not play in their backyards because of the wet grounds caused by sink winter. Each fall a barrel of apples, usually Baldwins or Northern Spies, and one of potatoes were stored there. Probably the potatoes were all gone before winter was over, but the apples lasted into early spring. I always knew when winter was nearly over because by then I had to bend over the rim of the apple barrel and reach far down to pick up an apple near the bottom. By then also I found that some of the apples had started to rot. Near these two barrels was a five or ten-gallon crock filled with eggs in water glass, for use in cooking at times when fresh eggs were not available. (Today, who ever heard of "putting down" eggs in water glass?) Along one wall was installed a number of shelves to hold the home-preserved jars of vegetables, pickles and jellies.
At the beginning of the top of the stairway to the cellar on one side was a long shelf on which rested two sizeable stone jars. Each one needed to be filled frequently, one with doughnuts and the other with molasses cookies. Beside them was a shallow iron pot flaring wide at the top with a bail, always partially filled with lard and used for frying doughnuts.
Our dining room essentially was really very much like the living room with dining area found in many modern apartments today but, of course, not as handsomely furnished and with no wall-to- wall carpet! At one end near the front windows was a couch beside and a which was a marble top table on which rested an oil lamp, and a wooden rocking chair, and at the opposite end nas a china closet with curved glass sides. On the wall near it was a large wooden clock with an open face and pendulum which my father fiddled with frequently. As was the common practice at the time, our parlor, except on Christmas Day, when my sister and I collected our gifts and when we pinned lighted candles on the Christmas tree, was open for use only during the summer, and even in summer it was seldom used, never long enough to rid the room entirely of the stale mildew odor that always reminded me of wet feathers. There was a pull-down oil lamp over the dining table, and around the table were high-back chairs with cane seats, carved panels at the tops with projecting horns, the kind that seems to be now in demand by oak furniture buffs, A hand-cranked telephone hung on the nail next to the clock, the kind with two bells at the top of a projecting bor, and a sloping shelf under the mouthpiece.
In winter near the center of the wall opposite the dining: table a cast-iron stove as large as a small bureau, removed to the back hall during the summer, rested on a zinc-covered pad, provided the only heat aside from the kitchen stove for the whole house. The bedrooms upstairs received indirect heat through registers projecting through the dining room ceiling. The heat from this one stove seemed to be adequate because there were no water pipes to be considered. When filled with "chunks of wood in the late evening, a substantial amount of coals would still cover the bottom of the fire box the following morning, more than adequate to kindle the rood for the new day. I always rushed from my bedroom on cold mornings before the fire got roaring again to stand as closely as possible to the stove to complete dressing. Also, every Saturday evening a large galvanized tub was brought to this same spot and filled with warm water for my weekly bath.
Mealtimes did not appear to be important daily events for me. The usual breakfast always consisted of a dry cereal or oatmeal, a glass of unpasteurized milk, a doughnut, or most often pancakes liberally doused with maple syrup, and sometimes an egg and toast. The best known dry cereal at the time was called Egg-O-See -- rather a curious and enigmatic identification for a breakfast food. Bananas and, I think, oranges were available only during summer, For the noontime meal always known as dinner, we often had roast pork, but rarely roast beef and rarer still any form of lamb. Steak was always well done and never very ten- der because it came from local sources and was not aged properly. Hamburg appeared often as patties and as meat loaf. My favorite dinner was stuffed roast chicken supplied from our own flock. Fish dishes usually consisted of those prepared from canned salmon, salt cod, which came in a durable wooden box with a sliding cover about the size of a thick book, finnan haddie, and, of course, occasionally local fresh water fish. Almost every Sunday during the late fall and winter we had oyster stew as the main meal of the day. The oysters were specially ordered several days ahead from the local grocery store because they had to be delivered on Saturday by train from Bangor. Then, too, year after year every Saturday night, as with most families, the supper fare invariably consisted of baked beans and brown bread.
Strawberry shortcake, made much of the time from local wild strawberries and apple pie were everybody's favorite desserts. Additional desserts that appeared frequently besides apple and mince pies were bread pudding, tapioca pudding, and rice pudding with raisins sprinkled with nutmeg. I never found out until years later that rice was served in any form but as a mushy dessert. And about every other Sunday in summer we had homemade ice cream which, for some reason I never knew, was always coffee- flavored. Raspberries had a short season, and berrying trips were frequent. I accompanied my mother on these in the horse and buggy several times each summer. We always seemed to end up near an an overgrown stone wall on a farm, an old or abandoned barn, or a burnt-over wood lot. Strawberries however could be found within walking distance of the village in the meadows which sloped toward the brook and encompassed the frog pond and along the grassy edges of fenced-in lanes reaching into the nearby fields, Fresh raspberries and strawberries were consumed as desserts with extravagant amounts of heavy cream -- a time when eating cream was not known as a health hazard. Some of the berries, of course, were canned as sauce or made into jelly. So, as well as elder- berries, were turned into wine; and some of the raspberries into non-alcoholic shrub, Wine-making at home, but not mine, nas a somewhat clandestine operation because the impression I always had, based on the talk of grown-ups, was that even thinking about an alcoholic beverage was flirting with God's wrath and consuming such a beverage would bring one inevitably to a bad end, such as the poor house -- the ultimate human disgrace. I couldn't help but observe, however, that there were a few men around town who ostensibly ware rather indifferent to such dire admonishments.
One of our barns -- the one adjacent to the stable -- was used as a sort of carriage house in which could be found a buggy and a pung, and at the rear an amazing trove of useable, useless, and discarded tools and implements and bric-a-brac stuff, the equal of which is now and then offered for sale in country antique emporiums, In the upper story was a mow for storing straw to be used for bedding our corr and horse. Hay feed for both animals nas stored in the mow directly over them.
Behind but attached to these structures was the large barn which was filled also with hay and sheaves of grain during the summer harvests, Special crews and heavy equipment has to be hired to bale the hey and thresh the oats and wheat, The men in the crew which came to bale the hay brought along a wagon load or two of reinforced metal plates which they bolted together to form a huge container open at the top with a hinged cover, in dimension about three feet wide and five or six feet long and about fifteen feet high, reaching up to the hay mow. This became the hay baler. After two men pitched it full of hay, they would jump an it and then grab with both hands a horizontal iron rod at the top and together jump two or three more times. After pitching and jumping until the baler was full, they would bolt down the cover, and one would yell to the driver to start the horses to begin the pressing process, at which time a team of horses would be started walking in a circle just outside the barn door hitched in some way to a central drum around which a cable transferred power to the gears of the presser. Most remarkable to me at the time was that both horses seemed to have no difficulty as they made their rounds, knowing when to step over the cable running to the baler. As the cable tightened, the bottom plate was thus raised, crackling and snapping, compressing the hay towards the top. While this was being done, the man on the mow began inserting baling wires under the lid across the top of the bale, and the man standing on a narrow shelf at the beck began pulling them through and pushing them back under the bottom of the bale. When the pressing was finished, the wires would be tied together, the complete bale along with the pressing plate dropped to the bottom, and the bale pulled out. It was then weighed and a ticket, marked with the weight, was inserted under a wire. As I remember, a bale usually weighed on the average about 240 lbs. -- three times the weight of a bale of hay today.
My remembrance of details about threshing grain is with impressions of dust and noise and a tremendous wood-covered box-like object looming higher then a man is tall and extending half way across the barn floor. At the front stood a man on a small plat form adjacent to a waist-high shelf, across which his arms moved with rhythmic regularity intercepting bundles of grain tossed to him from the mow, cutting the binding cord, and then pushing the loose bundle into the opening where whirring blades grabbed it and propelled it through the process of separating the grain from the straw. After passing over a number of shaking sieves, the oats filtered down a chute to a peck-size round wooden container often just called a measure, which when full was emptied into a burlap bag. In the meantime the chaff, dust and straw were carried out the back end to a pile outdoors. The power to drive this machine was by means of a wide flapping belt whirling from a single cylinder gasoline engine set up outside the barn. It had two enormous fly wheels, one on either side, which reached as high as my chin. On top of this engine was a cast iron tank holding a pail or two of water to cool the cylinder, and at one side of it was a glass oil cup about the size of a pint jar adjusted to permit oil to drip slowly to lubricate the piston. Today no belts would be visible in such a machine. The power plant would be incorporated within the structure of the machine. But in 1912 and for years thereafter, the big, black one-cylinder engine was a common sight on farms. They were used not only on threshing machines but also to power saws for cutting firewood.
Besides the cow and horse, we also had a number of hens and chickens roaming through the barns, the barnyards, and sometimes the front yard as well, Early each summer new broods of chickens would appear. From the time I was quite small I seemed to have had the duty each day to feed these hens and chickens and to collect eggs from the various nests in the hay and straw mows. Later a separate structure was built nearby to house the poultry, and so my duties thus were simplified. I do not believe there were at that time any official strictures about maintaining farm animals and poultry within the village, mainly I judge, because most townspeople possessed a horse needed for transporting things and getting about. Besides, within the town limits lived a number of regular farmers whose stables were occupied by horses and other livestock.
Aside from attending school, the way of life -- today called lifestyle -- for a young person, a boy, living in a small town in the early years of the century depended almost entirely on his own imagination and adventurous proclivities. For leisure time amusements there were no institutional athletic events, except the high school basketball and baseball games, and no community-sponsored playground activities. The local church offered no social programs aside from those connected with Sun day school. Although the excitement of living at this time was less cluttered with contemporary diversions such as paid entertainment, professional sports, fast food outlets, electronic games, and rapid modes of transportation, not to mention the more strident aspects of radio and television, there were, however, within or near the pillage myriads of opportunities for an interesting and happy existence.
When summer came around, the time for small adventures arrived. The sunny days prompted my chums and me to contrive out- door games, to gather for scrub baseball in the meadow, in which patches of Ice were sometimes still present, to go fishing, and to make frequent visits to the "old swimming hole" in the brook which bubbled along the lower edge of town, through thickets of alder bushes amid trees I never identified, and along whose banks appeared luxuriant patches of fiddle heads in spring. Also there were many days of aimless visits to numerous places in the village. One day it could be to the saw mill to watch logs being drawn inside to be cut into boards, and timber pieces and shingles sawed from cedar blocks, On other days, to the starch factory or the flour mill, but especially to the work shops of the harness maker, the blacksmith, and the cooper who made oversize barrels for ship- ping potato starch. One place gave me such a joyless jolt that I never desired to make a return visit, ever. This place was the boiler room of the saw mill. There in front of the mountainous steam boiler was an expansive concrete apron In which was a hole of enormous size to my young eyes but probably no more than two feet square, with no protective railing. Through this hole I could see roiling, seething flames that seemingly threatened at any moment to burst up through the opening, but neither flames nor smoke appeared above the floor or was of concern to the man nearby who continuously pushed pieces of soft wood slabs, waste from the mill, down into the flames. I watched from afar consumed with fear lest I accidently tumble through the hole, and quickly departed. We didn't know it at the time, but we were having what is today called "learning experiences!"
On Sundays, however, no fishing, no sports, and no games were allowed, and one had to wear his best Sunday school suit, tie, and starched collar all day. Consequently, on pleasant days the only acceptable recreational activity was walking, which before any of my chums and I had bicycles, was restricted to the village and its close environs, and thus became in our minds a moat boring time, But sometimes on Sunday I went with my family on a drive into the country for a picnic.
In our meanderings we couldn't help but increase our knowledge of the village to a surprising extent. We learned the names of all the streets and where everybody lived -- both our friends and all the people we knew by name. Sometimes we would pass a hardware store on the far side of town, beside which was parked an assortment of farm machinery, and a field nearby next to the railroad yard filled with stacks of bark from the tamarack tree waiting to be shipped, I was told, for use in tanning leather. Today, the local supermarket occupies the space where the hardware store was located, and areas of both fields are now a parking lot.
Occasionally we walked by a house with a bright red card fastened to the front door or veranda post with big black letters warning passersby that some member of the family within had scarlet fever, was quarantined, and nobody was allowed to leave or enter. I seem to remember that everyone in the group, after eyeing the announcement, quickened his pace. Likewise, we discovered that if a house displayed on the door frame a large ribbon rosette with streamers attached, there was a death in the family. A white rosette indicated a child, a purple one, an adult.
There seemed to be three holidays only that were observed or celebrated by most people, namely Independence Day, Thanks- giving, and Christmas. Except for Decoration Day -- now known as Memorial Day -- most other holidays, as far as I was concerned, were just red letter announcements on the calender, May Day and Hallowe'en, although not holidays, were special fun occasions. On May Day pre-teenage boys made May baskets by folding one or two sheets of tissue paper in such a way that when several cuts were made by scissors, the folded sheets could be shaken out and would stretch down about twenty or more inches to form a basket of lattice work. (It has been near seventy years since I last made one and have never seen one since. Perhaps a reader will know about them.) There was space at the bottom for a small gift such as gum drops or other penny candy. This basket would surreptitiously be hung on a front doorknob of a house where a girl of our age lived. She was supposed to rush out and chase the one who hung the basket and give him a kiss. We carried on our leisurely conquests in a group of three or four, so there was always much giggling, cheering, taunting and constant outbursts of hilarity. On Hallowe'en -- this was a time before "trick or treat" was known -- we just indulged in such innocent pleasures as moving porch furniture out to the lawn or hiding a pump handle. Some of the older boys were bolder and somewhat destructive; one of their favorite tricks" was to upset a privy. We considered ourselves outrageously daring when stealthily we hooked a line of twine or thread to the window of some older couple's home and tried to make it squeak by pulling It taught and rubbing it with resin.
Whether Decoration Day was a day on which all merchants closed their shops, I do not remember, but it nas a day on which the graves of Civil War veterans were decorated with flowers, and a small American flag in a special iron holder with the GAR (Grand Army of the Republic) emblem was posted at each one, imbedded in the earth. Also on that day a man with a bunch of small flags under his arm came to our house and nailed one to a piazza post. The next day I would see similar flags tacked to all the houses I happened to pass.
Next to town meeting day, the Fourth of July drew the largest number of people to the center of the village. There were games and contests for the young people, and the band marched down Main Street. Most likely there were a few food and drink stands scattered around. During the day the male part of the population spent much of their time engrossed in setting off noise makers, It was a time when every type of fireworks was available, Including such very dangerous items as six-inch firecrackers. In the evening a few neighbors gathered downtown with their own fire- works and contributed to a sort of community fireworks display. One gear my friends and I decided to make up our own parade; so after one boy was able to borrow a horse and wagon, we dressed up in motley bits and pieces of discarded garments, painted or blackened our faces or donned masks, tied tin cans on the wheels of the cert, threw some bales in it for seats, gathered red, white and blue striped paper horns, old pots and pans, a kazoo or two and an old school bell, added colorful ribbons to the horses harness and set off along Main Street tooting and banging away, laughing and posturing and sometimes walking behind waving flags. One of us had heard the word "calithumps" -- I haven't heard or come across it since -- which we decided we were. Our performance was really not greatly different from some of those put on by the craft guilds, at least I like to think so, in town celebrations carried on in the Middle Ages, although of course, we didn't know about Medieval History or have any acquaintanceship with ancient traditions.
Our Thanksgiving dinner was probably nearer to the original than most are today. All the food except coffee beans, nuts, and probably apples was homemade, homegrown, raised in the community, or a gift from a neighbor: the chickens, stuffing, vegetables (home canned), potatoes, mincemeat, jams, jellies, pickles, cookies, bread, butter, and cream. Our dog fared well, too. He was, I like to believe, given a bigger plateful of the table scraps that he had eaten in all his life.
By 1912, Christmas was not as important to me as it had been at an earlier time, when I wondered how Santa Claus got into our home, which was without a fireplace. There was, however, one local custom in existence until about 1909 and possibly some years later, that I have never heard of as being observed elsewhere. Each Christmas Eve in the Baptist Church there was the usual concert with carols and Bible reading. Then in addition, there in a front corner of the church was an enormous evergreen tree reaching to the ceiling. On it and around it on the floor were scores of boxes of candy and popcorn and gifts for every youngster who attended Sunday school. The women of the church had prepared the boxes of confections, and the parents had delivered a gift for each of their children. After the religious services were over, the distribution of gifts began. To walk up front to receive your gifts after your name had been called was a heady experience and one I long remembered. I can still recall my keen disappointment one Sunday when our teacher said she was recommending that the custom be abolished and instead that a community Christmas tree be erected in the field across from the church. I would have received, of course, the exact number of presents regardless, less, but this rather special tradition had brought me unalloyed pleasure, and I was much disturbed that it might end. I was then six or seven years old.
It is my guess that the year 1912 about ended the era of traveling medicine shows and itinerant motion picture exhibitors. I feel quite sure that the last medicine show came to Washburn before I was ten. One of the best known traveling groups of this type was called the Kick-a-poo Indians. At the town hell the Kick-a-poos presented a number of vaudeville acts, and in between them members of the cast circulated among the audience and sold boxes of pills and bottles of lavishly praised medicine allegedly having remarkable curative powers, The "Indians" may have been imposters, and the medicinal properties of their nostrums without merit, but unquestionably they were superb showmen and, as far as I know, favorably received by small-town audiences everywhere.
The people who came to town to present moving picture programs brought along a sizeable tent which was erected in a vacant lot near the center of the village, The seats were raised like those in a circus, and the films shown consisted of short episodes with emphasis on trick photography with little extended story development, There must have been two or three instruments besides the drums used in connection with these programs, because I remember much staccato and glissando on whatever instruments were used, and drum rolls being played frequently and loud.
About this time or some months later, a small local movie theatre was opened that offered two shows a week. On Tuesday night was a main feature, often with Pearl White or Kathryn Williams, and on Saturday night, frequently a western, invariably with Bronco Billy (C.M. Anderson) righteously defending the good guys against scheming belligerent Indians, followed by a comedy with John Bunny. This was a time when only one projector was used, and in between reel changes slides were shown on the screen containing community announcements or local advertising, On rare occasions the program included what was called illustrated songs. These told a story, usually about a young man and a young woman entangled in a complex emotional situation, as the hand-colored pictorial slides flashed on the screen while the song progressed. I was not, of course, at the time really aware of what was going on, but now understand that the couple was supposedly, more or less, going through a gamut of highly dramatized emotions, starting at first with mutual and unassailable devotion and continuing with growing jealousy, then recrimination, sudden remorse, sorrowful desperation (in some scenes each alone), yearning loneliness, hesitant reconciliation, modest temporizing, and much more until finally, joyful reunion in a bower overwhelmed with pink flowers. I do not know whether the singer was a local person or a traveling professional but I did not care much for either the singer or the pictures, although they seemed to have had a popular following.... missing line ... never came again. Once In a great while, however, during the next few years a traveling theatrical group would visit Washburn and put on a play in the movie theatre. One I remember that had nationwide popularity was "Uncle Tom's Cabin." On another occasion a male performer appeared on the stage in full Scottish regalia with a crooked walking stick and sang Scottish songs accompanied by funny patter after the manner of Harry Lauder, an international music hall favorite. Lauder's songs had become widely known, even to families in Washburn, on Edison cylindrical phonograph records (if I remember correctly.)
Besides the circus and Northern Maine Fair at Presque Isle, one other summer event that I anticipated with some excitement was the GAR encampment, usually known as The Reunion, The GAR, as I have already indicated, was the shortened form of the Grand Army of the Republic -- the Civil War Veterans. In some populated centers a GAR Hall was almost as prominent as a Grange Hall. Each summer these veterans from a number of towns gathered together for several days, in a different town each time, to live with their families in tents in a park or field and enjoy fellowship together. For the men much of the time this fellowship consisted of extensive reminiscing, gossiping, horseshoe pitching card playing, and for a few others, engaging in the universally popular and convivial sport known as tippling. The women and girls inhabited a world foreign to my ken. I never knew what they did for amusement then, or before, or even most times afterwards. I was only a visitor for half a day since my rather was born quite some time after that war was over and not eligible for membership in the GAR. I was interested only in the midway with its games of "skill" and chance, food and soft drink booths, and amusements such as the merry-go-round and the like, I may have had as much as a dollar to spend, which was adequate because each food purchase or ticket for a ride or a game was usually five cents. Inevitably, the passage of time reduced the number of these about 1911 or 1912, I think, the encampments I knew about may have ended.
Opportunities for outdoor fun during the winter season, it need hardly be observed, were fewer than those found in summer, but indoors, however, there were fun things in abundance. Reading, most often about the extraordinary enterprises of one Tom Swift, and playing with my Erector set kept me occupied much of the time; additional pleasurable divertissements occurred many times when friends were present and with unrestrained enthusiasm we passed endless hours playing checkers and dominoes and card games, especially a joyously popular one called Flinch, popping corn, making fudge and engaging in "candy pulls", a description of which most likely will not be found nowadays In the lexicon of any youth. Another indoor activity for my friends and me, if the weather wasn't too cold, was to practice basketball in the barn, where I had nailed a barrel hoop high up on a barn door for a goal. Of course, both girls and boys spent a great deal of leisure time sliding and skating, but not skiing, although Washburn, being situated in a valley( would have offered excellent skiing conditions all winter long in its highest hill. I do not believe, however, that anyone in town owned a pair of skis. A few times I attempted to ski, with small success, on homemade skis made from barrel staves with pieces of leather tacked on for foot holds. It was an age before skiing became such a widespread popular sport. I did, however, own a pair of snowshoes which were not used very much, because I found that tramping slowly in deep snow to no planned objective was too arduous and not much fun. As most oldtimers would expect, my sled was a Flexible Flyer. It was an early type with the top made of all wood construction, and it lasted many years until, from lone use, abuse, and insouciant neglect, it fell apart. Everybody, old and young, walked to the town millpond for skating, where at least part of the winter the ice was kept free of snow, Until about this time my skates had always been the kind with a lever at the side which when pushed against the skate would tighten clamps against the sole and heel. When I was given a new pair, with a key which was used to tighten the clamps more firmly than the lever type, my elation was boundless, for It was every boy's ambition to own a pair of key skates. Shoe skates were never noticed by me, but perhaps some of the young women may have worn them.
It is my feeling that as much snow fell on Washburn as on any other place In Maine, but It never got quite as cold as the lowest reported temperatures elsewhere. Even so, extensive periods of below zero were not uncommon. Unlike the practice everywhere today of removing snow from most streets after a storm to accommodate motor cars and trucks, snow in 1912 was needed for sleds, bobsleds, and pungs. Except for country roads, it was packed down by an enormous wooden roller about seven or eight feet in diameter drawn by two teams of farm horses, with the driver on a seat fixed over the top (exactly like the one pictured in front of the Exchange Hotel in Farmington on page 31 of the January 1976 issue of Down East.) Country roads, however, were plowed, sort of, not mechanically but by means of a specially built sled which, when pulled along bg a team of horses, shunted snow out to both sides of the road and Left behind two rather shallow furrows about 18-20 inches wide and far enough apart to accommodate sled runners and a team of horses. Pungs, on the other hand, using a single horse had to be adjusted so that the horse could travel in one of the furrows. Thus, the shafts, known to me as thills, had to be attached off-center to the right side of the pung. When not In use, the shafts were tipped up and set against the dashboard Snow- drifts of substantial size often found on country roads could be removed only by hand shoveling. This was a time, of course, when sleigh bells were common either attached to a long leather belt that was hung over the horse's back, or on a metal strip fastened to the under side of a shaft. The bells were metal globes about the size of walnuts and similar to small ones found today on some Christmas decorations or worn as some pre- teenage girls on their sneakers. I have noticed that these old bells can still be found occasional in antique shops.
Winter clothing for boys basically was the same as worn in summer, with heavier outer garments added on. The basic outfit consisted of dull grey or brown knickerbockers with long black cotton stockings, high black shoes, a Norfolk jacket and a white shirt with detachable white soft collar, except on Sunday, when a stiff starched collar was worn. As the weather turned colder, a heavy shaker knit wool pullover sweater was substituted for the Norfolk jacket. With the arrival of winter, heavy underwear with long legs and sleeves became necessary. I avoided changing to this underwear as long as my mother nould let me, not only because it nas inconvenient when going to the toilet, but also because the knees bagged exceedingly, and frustration enveloped me every morning when I tried to pull my stockings over the ankle part of the underwear leg, which involved grabbing the end of the leg, pulling it tight around the ankle, and overlapping the surplus so as to make as small a bulge as possible. I had to keep this tight with one hand while trying to pull my stocking up with the other. This procedure was often repeated several times before I got my stockings pulled up my legs just as I desired. By early winter a pair of wool socks was added, and later an additional pair was needed along with a change to heavier shoes. My sister at this time wore gaiters with a row of buttons on the outside of each from ankle to knee, For the coldest and stormiest weather, my regular oil-treated calf-high boots, when not needed for skating, were exchanged for high-topped moccasins without soles, which we called shoepacs. There was a kind of snobbish, superior attitude toward anybody who had to have leather soles added to his worn shoepacs instead of purchasing new ones, Of course, heavy double hand-knit woolen mittens and a knit cap were worn in addition to a heavy woolen short mackinaw jacket, which was known as a reefer. Only in the socks, mittens, knit cap and to some extent in the jacket were any colorful touches added to a boy's inordinately pallid outfit. In summer, the only change made in our clothing was to eliminate the long underware and change to BVD's to go without a shirt collar, and to turn the neck band under and roll up the shirt sleeves. Some summers, after repeated importuning, my parents went along with my desire to near high white sneakers, which were at the time de rigueur with my peers. The main drawback was that the soles of these sneakers wore out quickly, and I needed about three pairs each summer. A cloth cap that pulled down close to one's ears and had a visor that usually quickly bent out of shape over one's eyes was at all times worn everywhere, except in swimming and indoors. For boys and girls and even grownups, the wearing of shorts and socks, cotton knit pullovers and sandals and going bareheaded most of the time was light years away.
My grandmother's farm, managed by my uncle, was located three miles outside of town, and I made three or four visits each summer. Every time I traveled along the road to get there, my journey was filled with a singular musical accompaniment made by vibrating telephone wires strung along the way on the cross arms of telephone (not utility) poles. The bare tires, fastened to thick green glass insulators, quivered in the wind and became a sort of elongated Aeolian harp emitting tense and endless ethereal murmurings. Of course, some professional person may contradict my interpretation and contend the humming had an electrical basis. Nonetheless, although mine may be less scientific, I like it better.
Strongest in my remembrances at the farm were the days when I was allowed to sit high up on a load of hay as it was driven from the field to the barn and to watch it being unloaded. This was done bg the use of a two-tined heavy metal U-shaped fork, almost ss long as I was tall, with flexible points shaped like a fish spear, which was pushed deep down into the load or hay. At the same time a lever was adjusted to turn the points inward to serve as hooks to help lift a segment of hay. The fork was attached to a heavy rope dangling from a pulley at the peak of the barn and ran downwards to another pulley fastened to the barn floor, When pulled by a team of horses, the taut rope sent the fork with a billowing mass of hay soaring up to the peak, where it was coupled with a rolling device on a track and at that point whisked inside the barr! on the track to be tripped into a mow. The empty fork was then drawn back down for the next load.
Another vivid memory was of the times I accompanied my uncle to the "outback" part of the farm, meaning the far edge near the forest growth. From time to time over the years he had enlarged the farm by cutting some of the trees and clearing the land of stumps and afterwards burning the stumps, branches, and unusable small logs. He eliminated the stumps by the use of dynamite, a breathlessly exciting event for me. After preparing the dynamite charge, he would light the fuse, and we would both run some distance and crouch behind a pile of logs for protection against flying rocks. The resulting explosion propelled the stump high into the air amid a fountain spray of dirt and stones. Afterwards, all the stumps were hauled into piles where the burning took place. This gathering and burning was called piling by my uncle, but I have never found such a dictionary meaning for that term. The smoke gave off a pleasant dry aroma and lasted for several days. The aroma of new hay, that of the residue of dynamite blasts, the burning wood odor, and in addition, the distinct and unique odor of burning dry potato tops all left me with pleasant memories.
On one late spring evening after all the hay in the mow over the stable had been consumed by the horses below and the mow had been thoroughly cleaned, a fair number of neighbors were invited to a barn dance. The floor boards of this mow were firm and smooth and in excellent condition and may have been built originally with social purposes in mind. There probably had been other dances over the years, and everybody knew what to expect. As many as fifteen to twenty couples appeared, most having arrived by horse and buggy, The only music needed, of course, was a riddle player, plus a caller, This kind of event, I presume, was the origin of the barn dance which today is held anywhere but in a barn, and moreover, is now called a country dance. About this time of year, also, a number of youngsters arrived to engage In roller skating on the same floor. Most of them, I, feel sure, walked, because few if any possessed bicycles. Perhaps one or two arrived on horseback. But walking fairly long distances was a common practice. I never joined this group for roller skating because I was exceedingly timid and feared I would be greatly embarrassed if I kept falling down. Although I could ice skate acceptably, I never did learn to roller skate.
In my grandmother's house the large room in the ell between her small kitchen and the parlor was used as a dining and sitting room. The parlor, unlike that in my home, was
open all the time because passage through it was the only ac cess to the stairway leading to the bedrooms. These were cozy and small with low, slanted ceilings. Each had a washstand with a pitcher and bowl set and a slop jar underneath and a small bureau. A single wooden chair stood next to a small bedside table used as a lamp stand. The lamp on this table during the night was not extinguished but turned down low so that all night a faint eerie glow engulfed the room and cast wavering grotesque shadows all over the place, no doubt augmented by the addition of phantom figures from my own childish imagination, it was sort of unsettling until I became used to It. All that I remember about the parlor was that there was always a big black stove located alone an inside wall, a horsehair couch, several hooked rugs, a small table holding a lamp with a frosted glass globe for a shade, a stereoscope beside a handful of stereograph, and a forlorn parlor pump organ with Its music rack containing sheets of music entitled "Let Me Call You Sweetheart" and "By The Light Of The Silvery Moon."
When my grandmother was in the kitchen preparing meals I really didn't pay much attention to her work habits, but I did notice that she used an ordinary tin can without a label and with the top out off, leaving an extremely sharp edge to chop potatoes being warmed over in the spider. Then, too, suspended aver the stove were slices of coreless apples strung on strings sort of festooned from the ceiling or from opposite walls. I knew these were being dried but had to guess that during the winter they would become the main ingredients of pies, I may have asked questions about these and the purpose of any number of other things, but if so, any answers have been long forgotten. Vivid in my memory, however, was butter churning time. My grandmother's churn was to me a most extraordinary mechanical marvel. I can't describe it in detail, but it consisted of a number of wooden slats bolted together in such a way that a small barrel -- the churn -- was suspended upright within the assembled parts and nas operated by being tipped back and forth by means of two chest-high levers fastened together at the top by a horizontal piece which served as a handle. Eventually after doing the needed amount of pushing and pulling, you could hear the butter sloshing in the buttermilk, which was the signal to stop churning, open the barrel top, and spoon out the butter. While still soft after removal, it was rolled and patted and pushed around and then pressed into a butter mold, which held a pound. This mold was made of thin pieces of wood with hinges at three corners, the fourth having a latch which kept the mold tight and yet still allowed the sides to open sway from the butter without disturbing its shape. I was always offered a drink of the buttermilk, but I found it too strong for my taste. Buttermilk found in the market today is much milder and has held a special culture added to make it thicker. Some of our buttermilk was used for buckwheat flap-jacks and probably in biscuits, but mostly It was fed to the pigs.
The cream used in making butter was obtained in a way that may seem mysterious to a contemporary youngster who knows only about milk which has been homogenized. Before the hand- cranked De Laval cream separator made its appearance in the kitchen about this time, a special room, called the buttery, had been built on the north side of the house at the juncture of the ell and the main building, with an opening from the dining room. It had a dirt floor and one windows, and along the walls were wide, open shelves on which were placed large pans to be filled with milk. When cream had formed on several of these, it was skimmed off and poured into the churn, and the milk, as with the buttermilk, was fed to the calves and pigs.
Each evening my uncle sat beside the woodbox and prepared the kindling wood used to start the fire in the kitchen stove the following morning. No papers or kerosene were were used, Instead he chose five or six pieces of soft kindling wood for this purpose, and with his jackknife cut out strips on each from near one end to the middle, leaving the strip or shaving attached at the end of each cut. All the shavings or strips together formed wings or fans on the pieces of wood, and when piled together in the firebox provided material quick to catch fire.
One early morning just after sun up in late summer, I approached my uncle, who was walking across the side yard with a handscythe under his arm, and asked him where he was going. He said that he was walking out to the field where the buckwheat was ripening. The buckwheat, he explained, was the fruit of a vine and not a grain growing on a stalk like oats and wheat, and that it had to be cut before the dew evaporated. Otherwise, the ripe buckwheat, if mowed when dry, would fall off the vine and be scattered over the ground and lost. Buckwheat is a small triangular-shaped almost black seed, similar in shape and size to a beechnut. I do not know how or under what circumstances the seeds were later separated from the vines, but when thoroughly dried, they were taken along with the wheat to the mill in Washburn or possibly to Caribou to be ground into flour.
All that needs to be said now is that what I have recorded has loomed most vividly in my memories of seventy years ago, and is set down with some sadness because it was a way of life that can never be again.