My Road To Rotary

Chapter 38

My Valley In These Days

DURING THESE LATTER years, I have paid annual visits to my valley and whenever possible, my lassie has been with me. I have introduced her to the wonders of my boyhood days. Our visits have generally been in the autumn when the rush of summer visitors is past and the autumnal colorings of the foliage is at its best.

"October in New England

And I not there to see

The glamour of the goldenrod,

The flame of the maple tree!



"Vermont, in robes of splendor

Sings with the woods of Maine,

Alternate hallelujahs

of gold and crimson stain."



-Odell Sheppard

There have been many changes since my day; that, of course is to be expected. Though the population of living folks remains quite stationary, the population of the little cemetery on the hill has increased almost beyond imagination. There lie most of the folks of my generation and their places in the community have been taken by their children and their children's children as well as by other folks who have been attracted to my valley by its beauty and its promise of tranquility and peace.

New industries unheard of in my boyhood have sprung up; no one of my day would have even thought of them. For instance: The demand for Christmas trees in the large cities could not have been foreseen. In my boyhood we did not celebrate Christmas in that way. We hung our stockings up near the fireplace if we had a fireplace, and, if we had no fireplace, we hung them on the mantel piece behind the coal stove where bluff, hale and hearty Santa Claus could not fail to find them. It was easier to understand how Santa Claus with his enormous pack could come down the chimney to a fireplece than down the pipe of a coal stove, but the proof of the pudding is in the eating and the proof of Santa Claus' visit was the good things he left in our stockings.



"'Twas the night before Christmas

When all through the house

Not a creature was stirring,

Not even a mouse;



The stockings were hung

By the chimney with care,

In hopes that St. Nicholas

Soon would be there;"

-Clement C. Moore.

Naturally no one ever saw Santa Claus with the goods but no Christmas tree could ever have stirred our imaginations nor awakened the joy in our hearts as did the old-fashioned apple cheeked, potbellied Santa Claus, filling our stockings while his reindeer team stamped their feet on the roof, impatient to get away and gladden the hearts of other youngsters throughout the valley and throughout the world.

We knew not the Christmas tree delusion; we would have said that city boys could have all the Christmas trees they wanted if their daddies were willing and able to pay the price.

In the early days of the industry, the slaughter of spruce trees was indiscriminate and without regard to maintenance of supply. Beautiful trees without number which might have gladdened the hearts of men, were sacrificed for the ephemeral purpose. If it had been left to me, I would have said, "Back to the good old days of the chimney corner stocking and leave the trees to the adornment of the hillsides and mountains as the Creator seems to have intended."

However, far sighted men eventually saw that the Christmas tree industry could be made permanent if conducted in conformity with good husbandry and so the selection of trees is now made with due regard to the effect on other trees. In many instances nearby trees are benefitted by the removals.

These trees do not have to be pampered by rich soil; they would not thank one for such luxury. They like best to dig their roots deep into barren and rocky soil and there find anchorage to hold them through the tempestuous storms of northern winters. It is astonishing how much loveliness can come from such soil. Spruce trees thrive in the New England mountains without the aid of nurserymen.

Another source of profit to the residents of my valley which has developed in recent years, is the picking, packing and shipping of brakes, sometimes called bracken, to the markets in the large cities. We never thought of brakes as things of beauty, although we considered ferns beautiful and frequently gathered them to mingle with flowers for decorative purposes. As the brake is simply an overgrown fern, there was probably not much justification for our discrimination against the brake.

Brakes grow in great abundance on the foothills throughout our valley and find a ready market. This industry affords college students an excellent opportunity to make money during the summer months. Florists in the cities use vast quantities of brakes to pack around flowers for shipment and nothing serves to keep fragile flowers so fresh and bright as the lowly brake of the mountainside. They are also used to provide inexpensive greenery for stores and homes during the shut-in season. They ship well in tight little cases and keep fresh until used.

There need be no fear of overcropping; nature attends to that. It takes one season only to grow fresh crops of brakes and they are harvested at their maturity. One does not have to worry as to what a brake might have grown to be as is the case with a baby spruce tree; if human hands do not harvest the crop of brakes and ferns, Jack Frost will harvest them, and as everyone knows Jack is neither respecter of persons nor of things. He reaps where he has not sown and cares not a whit for consequences.

My valley shares also with other valleys throughout northern New England in such profits as may be gleaned from the fleeting visits of winter sportsmen who come north for the skiing and other sports. The railroads, running week end snow trains, try to keep New Yorkers and other sport lovers posted as to skiing conditions in parts most favored by devotees. The weather conditions, however, change so rapidly that disappointments are not uncommon,

Horace Greeley's advice, "Co West, young man!" rang like a clarion note throughout New England during my time. Every hamlet made its contribution to the development of the West. The contribution of some of the small villages was amazing. One little settlement on Cape Cod gave to Chicago the founders of three great institutions, the Swift Packing Company, the First National Bank and the Tobey Manufacturing Company.

The air was full of stories of success achieved in the West. In fact, the call was so stentorian that the ears of most young men were deaf to the call of service at home, but there were exceptions. One country boy, Redfield Proctor, developed the marble industry in our valley until it became the greatest industry of its kind on earth, not excepting even the world famous Carrara producing area in Italy where the quarries had the advantage of cheap labor and a tradition of craftsmanship. In the fine art of carving marble for statuary, the Italians were supreme and the faultless white marble required for statuary was to be found in the Italian quarries in sufficient quantities to meet the demand for this superfine product.

The development of the marble quarrying industry in my valley is a long story, but briefly it may be said that the Vermont quarries did eventually produce statuary marble. Artists from Carrara were attracted to Vermont by the certainty of steady employment and good wages. Regulatory tariff laws were enacted.

Redfleld Proctor became Governor of Vermont, United States Senator, and, in course of time, a member of President Benjamin Harrison's cabinet. In other words, he learned his way around Washington.

The Honorable Redfield Proctor left no stone unturned. He was an ardent advocate of the protection of home industries as most other Vermonters were and still are. Whether he spread his mantle of protection over his own industry or not, I do not know, but I venture to say he did.

The success of the Vermont quarrying and marble business was not solely dependent on protective tariffs; improved processes played equally important parts in offsetting the advantages enjoyed by the Italian producers. Power-driven drilling machines with diamond studded drill heads made quick work of boring holes for dynamite. Derricks hoisted great blocks of marble from the depths of the quarries to the surface in a twinkling and batteries of power-driven gang saws operated day and night cutting huge blocks of marble into as many sizes as were required by the orders on hand. Twenty-four hours of operation sufficed to saw through a block. How was it possible for saws of steel to cut through hard marble? The answer is simple; continuous supplies of sand and water turned the trick.

Marble was not the only commodity produced by the Vermont quarries. While the marble industry was casting off its swaddling clothes, another industry in the northern part of the state was beginning to be heard of. The granite quarries of Barre, Vermont, now enjoy the distinction of producing more high grade granite than the sum total of all the other granite quarries in the United States. Nature has been prodigal in its gift of Vermont granite and the industrious and thrifty Vermonters have made the most of their opportunity. Barre granite is found in slated layers and not in pockets as is the case with Scotch granite. It is possible to quarry monoliths forty feet long in the Barre quarries without a single blotch or blemish, a result not attained elsewhere.

The supremacy of Vermont granite in monumental work is demonstrable to anyone sufficiently interested to make inquiry at his local cemetery. The durability of granite makes it the overwhelming favorite for such purposes.

The sagas of granite and marble production in the Green Mountains are not rivaled by the production of slate but Vermont slate quarries are among the leaders in that line also. The slate-quarrying industry was, in the days of my boyhood, in the hands of Welshmen from the slate producing areas of Wales. The Welsh not only controlled the production of slate but they also made their influence felt in other activities. They brought and for many years maintained their form of culture, including their famed choral unions. No community was ever the worse for its Welsh element.

All Americans who love their country are interested in its educational and cultural advancement and in wholesome, healthful living. It gives us pleasure to note progress in the direction of high moral, intellectual and spiritual standards and makes us unhappy to note indications of demoralization, disintegration and decline.

It is gratifying to know that the folks who migrate from the cities to my valley and other parts of New England are, as a rule, the kind that country folks can wholeheartedly welcome. There is no better guarantee of character known to me than evident love of God's great outdoors.

While the majority of the newcomers to my New England valley are retired business folks who wish to spend their remaining days in the restfulness of the country, there are a considerable number of writers, artists and educators who have no intention of retiring. They are attracted to the mountains by their love of beauty and their desire to rid themselves of the useless complexities of life in order that they may apply themselves more effectively to their chosen tasks. Vermont has attracted more than its proportionate share of these folks.

The beauties of the country and the attractiveness of country life have always been a lure to men of letters. The superb English lakes drew to them Wordsworth, Coleridge, Ruskin, Southey and other literary lights. Tennyson found inspiration in the charming landscapes and seascapes of the Isle of Wight. Similar examples are to be found throughout Britain; there is the Shakespeare country, the Burns, Scott and Kingsley countries and others beyond number.

Among those who have made their homes in Vermont during recent years are Rudyard Kipling, Will Durant, Dorothy Canfleld Fisher, Sinclair Lewis, Dorothy Thompson, Robert Frost, Frances

Frost, Sara Cleghorn, Frederic Van De Water, Zephine Humphrey, Walter Hard and many others too numerous to mention. In fact, Vermont has become a mecca for writers, artists and publishers. New England is undergoing a literary renaissance.

From time immemorial men of letters have turned to nature's beauty spots, there to gain inspiration from nature's handiwork and there to cultivate the muse. Happily we have our own literary shrine in New England and may we hope that literature may flower once again as men and women of genius turn their steps in ever increasing numbers to the beauty, quiet and tranquility of the land of mountains and valleys.

All varieties of tastes are represented by those who come to build summer or all year homes in the country; some settle in high spots; some in low; some in sunshine and others in shade. There are those who bury themselves in the dense woods much as wounded animals flee to the forests to escape from the terrors of men and dogs, to lick their wounds and rest. Such folks are not, as a rule, unsociable; they are simply worn out and need rest.

New Englanders are law-abiding folks, especially those who live in rural districts. Crimes of violence are almost unknown. Like the eternal hills by which they are surrounded, mountain folks are rugged and dependable. During my boyhood days, I never heard of but one murder in the State of Vermont, that of John P. Fair who was murdered in Rutland and the murderer executed m Windsor a few months later. The affair created much excitement throughout the State. I cannot recall any other crime of violence in my valley during my boyhood days.

The list of cases of political graft and corruption are about equally unimpressive. When the Honorable George D. Aiken, now United States Senator from Vermont, was asked how much money he had spent on his campaign for Governor, he answered, "I don't know exactly; it was about thirty cents."

The characteristic answer of Calvin Coolidge to the inquiry of a newspaper reporter as to his being a candidate for re-election to the Presidency, is still fresh in memory. "I do not choose to run is the all-time classic on that subject and an excellent example of New England conservatism and restraint.

The distinguishing feature of Calvin Coolidge's service as President was his rugged honesty and his indifference to what folks thought of him as long as he could maintain his own self-respect; he viewed all questions from an entirely detached standpoint.

I think I know the New England character rather well; Mr. Coolidge and I were brought up in communities only a few miles apart and we would have been schoolmates in Black River Academy had he entered a year earlier or I a year later. Calvin Coolidge's expressions were brief and epigrammatical, but always true to the mark; there are times of national stress when circumlocution is out of place and distasteful; folks want to get down to brass tacks.

When the state of Vermont was visited by its greatest calamity, the flood, proffers of assistance came from all directions. Congress authorized the appropriation of a sum of money to fit the needs but the State legislature refused to accept it and notified Congress that Vermont could take care of its own.

Vermont did take care of its own by issuing bonds for eight million dollars, a very large sum for so small a State. The bonds were readily sold and promptly paid at maturity.

The state has a splendid university located on a superb site above the city of Burlington. The institution was established by Ira Allen, patriot and brother of Ethan Allen, more than one hundred and fifty years ago. It leads in the cultural development of the state.

One of the most astounding recent developments is the Vermont Symphony Orchestra, which would do justice to any city in the country. Its members have to be drawn from many small cities and villages in all parts of the state. An annual musical festival is held in Burlington.

Another cultural development is the assembly of members of high school bands and orchestras from throughout the United States. Only those who have won honors in their local high school bands and orchestras are eligible. These young folks are given intensive courses in musical education to fit them for further advancement in their chosen professions.

Not to be eclipsed by the State University, Middlebury College has established a unique summer school for teachers and writers on the top of nearby Bread Loaf Mountain.

I have heard motorists say that one of the most delightful features of a drive through New England is spending the nights in the grand old homes and exchanging views with New England men and their wholesome, cleanly wives, skilled in the art of good housekeeping.

Most of us know what it means to experience the disappointment of a misspent vacation. After painstaking study of the literature of the chamber of commerce, railroads and tourist agencies, the selection is made and seems favorable. In fact it may be favorable in everything except the character of the host and the patrons. When that fails to measure up, there is nothing to do but to go home and make plans for another year. A vacation cannot be recreative unless it provides relaxation and a sense of well-being. New England housewives are famous for their cleanliness, orderliness, good cooking and careful planning and generally they have matters so well in hand that desperate, last minute rushes are unnecessary.

The importance of cultivating the good opinion and friendship of the residents in a community cannot be over-emphasized if one takes up permanent residence with them. It calls for unremitting patience and constant endeavor. One must get into the lives of the home folks if he is to find the happiness he seeks. The friendship of the folks of New England cannot be rushed; it is a matter of slow growth.

If a newcomer in a New England community will interest himself in the welfare of the community, whether it be through church activities, school activities or what not, he will soon learn the spirit of the community and eventually become a part of it. He must, of course, leave his high hat in New York, Chicago or wherever else he comes from; it will be of no use to him in his new home.

There is room enough in my valley to provide suitable homesites for millions who now merely exist in America's most congested city, two hundred miles south, and the New England States in their entirety may, with propriety, quote the words of the great Teacher, "Come unto me all ye who are weary and heavy-laden and I will give you rest."