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."
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