AMONG THOSE who have come from cities to take up permanent residence in
our valley and who have endeared themselves to home folks, was Mr.
Addison Stone, a lawyer from Washington, D. C. Mr. Stone married one of
Wallingford's splendid young ladies, Miss Lou Kent, and the young couple
came to Wallingford to make their home on the old Kent farm in the
village.
Addison Stone was a gentleman and a scholar and he looked the part. Lou
Kent Stone had no apologies to make for the husband she had chosen. He
did not ape the ways of old residents but gradually became one of them.
I have never seen him going about his farm work dressed in overalls; his
clothes seemed to have been tailormade and at times he wore gloves; he
did, however, wear a broad-brimmed and somewhat battered straw hat to
protect himself from the hot summer sun. He was a gentleman farmer and
dressed like one. Addison Stone lived the life he wanted to live and
lived it in his own way. Most respectable folks in our village were
prohibitionists; Mr. Stone was not nor did he pretend to be one. Though
the Kent home was exactly opposite the Congregational church, I cannot
recall ever having seen Addison Stone in attendance at the meetings. He
went on the even tenor of his way and Wallingford folks began to think
that perhaps, on the whole, the way of Mr. Addison Stone was a pretty
good way. He paid his debts promptly and was honorable in all of his
dealings; he never high-hatted anyone and sought no honors.
This combination was quite satisfactory to his fellowtownsmen and
recognizing his unvarying fairness and his ability to get along with
folks, they drafted him to fill the office of Moderator of Wallingford's
town meetings. A more dignified, honorable and able moderator than Mr.
Stone would have been impossible to find. Why did he not continue his
career in 'Washington? Manifestly he loved the life in our valley better
than the life in the nation's capital. He loved the country life with
its tranquility and neighborliness. He loved the beauty of the mountains
and lakes.
No towering shaft marks the graves of Addison Stone and Lou Stone, his
wife, but their gift to the town of Wallingford of a tract of woodland
along the shore of Elfin Lake serves as a reminder that they loved the
valley and loved valley folks. No more fitting memorial could have been
selected. In that, we are all agreed.
I can recall several folks of culture and refinement who crept into our
community life so quietly and unobstrusively that they seemed to be home
folks from the beginning.
A beautiful illustration of the friendship which developed between city
folks and home folks is the story of Dr. and Mrs. Franklin Wood of
Boston, who, after spending their summer vacations in a small village in
Maine for some years, resolved to make the village their permanent home
when time for retirement came, Their plans having gone thus far to the
satisfaction and joy of both, their thoughts went further and they
resolved that since the village was a suitable place for them while they
lived, why should not the village cemetery be a suitable place for their
bodies when the call for the last great change came?
With happy expectations they called on the cemetery trustees for the
purpose of selecting and purchasing a lot. One can imagine their
surprise and disappointment when they were told that there were no lots
for sale; that the cemetery was reserved entirely for home people.
Dr. and Mrs. Wood concealed their disappointment and continued to make
the little village their home and to make more friends among the home
folks. Eventually they were surprised again; this time happily. The
trustees called upon them and the chairman of the board, with great
solemnity, stated that the home folks had gotten to love them so well
they wanted to adopt them as their own. They stated that while they
could not change the rule about selling cemetery lots, they could and
would give them any lot they might see fit to select without charge. It
had required a long time for their affection to ripen but when the time
for fruition did come, it was worth the waiting.
"A good deed is never lost.
He who sows courtesy, reaps friendship
And he who plants kindness
Gathers love."
-Richard Brooks.
If you would be happy in your new surroundings, you should cultivate the
acquaintance and friendship of the mountains as well as that of the
folks. It will pay rich dividends. The mountains are always at home when
you call; always available. Mountains never have moods and though storms
may rage against them, they remain ever the same.
Learn the names of your mountains, they will seem more neighborly if you
call them by name. If you are young and vigorous, climb them, Mr. City
Man, and if you are not young and vigorous, go into them by automobile.
Good roads run in all directions; it was very different in my day.
Select an "inspiration point" in the mountains and think of it as
peculiarly your own. Learn the secrets of the mountains; they will
confide them to you if you make them your friends. Go to your
"inspiration point" to witness the glories of the rising and setting
sun. Moonlight and starlight transfigure your mountains into things
weird but fascinating.
"Slowly climb the moon-touched mountains Up their stairway to the sky,
Slowly each white cloud ascending, Seems a soul that passed on high."
-Sam'I Miller Rage man.
Blankets of snow soften the rugged corners of mountains into rounded
curves. He who loves his mountains need never be lonely while in them;
how could he be if they are friends?
As for ponds and lakes, they are legion and each and everyone of them
has its own individuality. Most of them are inserted into likely places
in folds of the mountains and seem parts of them. How refreshing their
sparkling waters look on hot summer days. Strip and plunge into them if
you please; you will find them cool and invigorating and they will make
you glad that you are alive,
While making friends with mountains, folks and lakes, one must not
overlook the birds. They too are friendly and, when given to understand
that you are neighborly, they will meet you more than halfway. A great
variety of birds make their homes in the mountains; some are migratory
but for others the mountains are year round homes. A little suet placed
in sight from the breakfast room window will lure the chickadees and
woodpeckers even on sub-zero days. Bird-feeding stations add
substantially to the enjoyment of mountain and country homes. Make it a
practice to breakfast with your birds every morning and be sure to
scatter seed with a lavish hand. You will be repaid for your trouble a
hundredfold in the thankful songs of your feathered neighbors. Begin
your day, Mr. City Man, in the companionship of your birds.
Some species of birds think so much of their human friends that they
will take up residence with them if they can find a suitable cornice on
which to build their nests and raise their families.
Give Jennie Wren a chance, Mr. City Man, and she is likely to move right
in on you and so it is with the robins and turtledoves. The bobwhites
respond readily to friendly gestures and how sweet their friendly calls
at eventide.
Rabbits and squirrels may become even too neighborly and chipmunks,
after their hibernation, almost run over folks. Mamma Skunk and her long
line of children will waddle through your garden from time to time if
they are not molested and they had better not be molested either by man
or dog. When friendly relations are once established, they make good
pets.
Sly foxes raise their heads above rocks and tree stumps, pause for a
moments glimpse of their most dreaded enemy, man, and then vanish from
sight.
Not infrequently one sees an inquisitive deer or even several of them in
the mountains, and, once in a long time, one sees a bear which has
wandered down from the mountain fastnesses into pasture lands and into
the outskirts of small villages.
These creatures all serve to make the country interesting to folks from
the cities if they will open their minds and hearts to them.
One who plans to have a home in the country must view it as a serious
undertaking. First and foremost, he must examine himself and determine
whether or not he is really prepared in mind to embark on such an
important undertaking. It is not enough to be captivated by a beautiful
piece of scenery or by an attractive old New England home. It is far
better to try one's self out by frequent visits to the country, by
renting perhaps or at most building, a summer home in such manner as
will make it possible to convert it into an all year round home if he
becomes satisfied that it has proven itself; that it has found a
permanent place in his affections.
Having satisfied himself in this regard he can move forward with greater
assurance and in safety. He must examine the offerings of real estate
men most carefully. There must be an abundant supply of pure water; the
drainage must be good; the foundation of the house must be secure and
the timbers dependable. If he seeks happiness in his home, let him make
certain that it is a home he is building, not a castle.
If one would enjoy beautiful scenery, he must look well to the site and
particularly the southern exposure; it makes a great difference in the
winter, when one is shut indoors much of the time, whether the outlook
is pleasing.
If one of the rooms of the house commands a fine view of the mountains
and valleys, one should capitalize on the view by building a picture
window. (My wife and I have capitalized on one unusually good view at
"Comely Bank." Our picture window is enjoyed by neighbors and friends
from all parts. Not less affectionately regarded by my wife and me is
our breakfast room window by the good grace of which we take breakfast
with our birds.)
Mountains and valleys, seashores, lakes and rivers and birds, all play
their respective parts; we admire and love them; the very sight of them
sends a warm glow through our hearts. We can sit at some vantage point
and drink in the scenery for hours at a time. We listen with joy to the
songs of the meadow larks, catbirds, thrushes and warblers. We may view
the swift flights of the larks, the twists and turns of the swallows as
they snatch their food in mid-air. We may intoxicate ourselves with the
sweet smell of spring flowers or the scent of new-mown hay at harvest
time, but all this falls short. Friendliness and neighborliness are
essential.
When the day is done, what can be more refreshing and satisfying than a
fireside chat with a good neighbor who has "just dropped in." The
conversation need not be, in fact must not be, fast and furious, if one
is in need of rest. If the nerves of one coming from the city are too
highly strung, he will find relaxation in the composure of folks whose
lives have been more wisely organized than his.
The folks of the valleys and mountains being off the beaten path are
sell-contained and are not subject to the mental and moral contagions
which sweep their courses over travel-worn routes. Such people have
obtained that very desirable state of being neither very rich nor very
poor. Their yearly crop of worries are endurable because they seldom
permit their ambitions to go beyond bounds; the business of "keeping up
with the Joneses" is not recognized as a worthy pursuit. In fact, there
are few "Joneses" among the best people. The folks of the mountains live
well-regulated lives and new comers would do well to emulate their
example.
A good philosophy of life is better than riches and it serves at all
times, in prosperity and adversity. Strange as it may seem, it was not
the poor folks of the great cities who took their lives during the
period of the great depression; it was the well to do; many of them,
were rich but they had no sufficient sustaining philosophy of life.
Chicago school teachers worked for months with not a dollar of pay; they
had a sustaining philosophy of life; their work still needed to be done
and they did it.
There is a saying that New Englanders do not believe in doing anything
the first time, which, of course, is equivalent to saying that they are
not given to fads and modes, preferring the true and the tried. As a
matter of fact New Englanders are not averse to doing things the first
time. For instance: New Englanders introduced the institution, the town
meeting, which is the foundation upon which our democratic form of
government was built.
New Englanders are charged with being non-cooperative and yet the six
New England States work in unity unequalled elsewhere. The so-called New
England Council is an institution the purpose of which is to promote
co-ordination of government efforts for the solution of the problems
common to the six States-Maine, Vermont, New Hampshire, Massachusetts,
Rhode Island and Connecticut. This institution is the most successful
example of regional co-operation known in this country. The governors of
the six states were sponsors and are now supporters of the council.
Naturally my own thoughts of New England are of roseate hue. Though more
than a half century has rolled past, I still see My New England Valley
through the eyes of a boy. Tender recollections of my grandparents who
did so much for me still hallow the picture.
As if it were but yesterday, I can see old Judge Button standing at the
garden gate, his little gray shawl thrown over his shoulders, and I can
hear his booming salutation to grandmother, "Good morning, Mrs. Harris!
It's going to be a fine day!" I can see him deferentially cupping his
most dependable ear as if he feared he might miss some word of her
reply. I can hear grandmother's oft repeated answer, "Good morning,
Judge! Yes, it is going to be a fine day; the good Lord never made a bad
day, Judge Button." Good folks were they! Yes, they were good folks.
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