Travels With Becky

Tippy Canoe

I hadn’t told stories in the neighboring town of Strafford since 2006, so the natives had a lot of stories stored up, when I visited this spring, among them this one from Bill -- who said he’d told it to me before (presumably in 2006), but I’d sort of forgotten it.

It’s a good example of your dry, Yankee humor.

The group was going on a fishing trip on a remote lake via canoes and guided by guides who provided the canoes.  Alfred, a big fella, stepped carefully into a canoe and sat.  The seat gave way and Alfred ended up on the floor of the canoe, seat in splinters, and the vessel rocking precariously.

The one guide says to the other, “There goes your tip, Calvin.”

Good comeback

Julia King of Bartlett sent this story from our recent political season. She thought I’d like it because I’m  “always looking for NH stories that are humorous, and reflective of the New Hampshire psyche.”  How right she is! And this story wins in both respects.

At a candidate’s forum in Bartlett, the Moderator, Norman Head, asked the Road Agent, Travis Chick, how many miles of road the town currently had to plow. "Fifty," was Travis's short reply.

The Fire Chief, Pat Roberts, was sitting next to where Travis was standing. He leaned over to a friend on his other side and whispered," Don't he know you have to come back?" Without missing a beat Travis corrected himself: "That's 100, 'cause you have to come back."

That's Odd

Dave Henry sent me this story. Which, I suppose, might be true.  Can’t say I’ve laid eyes on the gravestone myself.

In our local cemetery is a tombstone with just a man’s first name, “John.” People always wondered about it. It seems it belongs to a man named John Odd. Throughout his life, whenever John Odd gave his name to anyone, they would make jokes about it. 

John became sick and tired of hearing the same old, stale jokes over and over, so in his will, he requested that they put only his first name on his tombstone. John died in 2004 and his tombstone sits there engraved, “1934 John 2004.” 

When visitors to the cemetery see the tombstone with only the first name, they say, “that’s odd.

Now I've Heard Everything

Under the heading of Stories Our Families Tell About Us, Carolyn told this story on herself.  When she was about five years old, she heard elders talking about  doctor named Rose.  Surprised, she said, “Is Doctor Rose a woman?”

“Yes.”

“Do you mean women can be doctors?”

“Yes, Carolyn.”

She mulled this over.  Then said, “I suppose you’re going to say that men can be nurses!”

“Why, yes, Carolyn, they can.”

The little girl huffed, “Now,” she said, “I’ve heard everything!”

Crosscut humor?

At a performance of Crosscut, my program on Berlin, NH, Logging and the Mills, during the discussion that followed, a good joker asked, “Did you know that the surgical procedure called ‘episiotomy’ was invented in Berlin?”

No, we said. We didn’t realize.

Berlin, of course, is also known as Hockey Town USA. For years, its high school hockey teams took every championship, just about, by a mile. Many from Berlin went on to play professionally.

“Oh, yes,” he said, “Berlin was the birth place of the episiotomy on account of  all those little babies born wearing skates.” 

Ouch!

Folding Chairs

In Effingham as the meeting was breaking up, tables cleared, room righted, someone recalled a friend who fully expected that when he met St. Peter at the gate, the question that would be posed to gain entry to heaven would be: How many folding chairs have you put away?

To Fly In the Face of Decorum

We were speaking of memorable town meetings.  My friend Marion Knox recalled with amusement a lively meeting from the late sixties, when she first moved to Northwood.  It seems a resident who worked for the state as a poultry inspector arrived at the evening meeting after his day’s work.  During a discussion, he lost his temper and was asked to leave. Which he did -- returning a few minutes later with several chickens fetched from his vehicle.  He turned the chickens loose in the hall, then walked out for good.

Marion didn’t elaborate on what happened next.  But one imagines the moderator crying fowl, as well as a good deal of scrambling and squawking -- from the voters as well as the chickens.

Something Nice for Mother

Another Warren Angus Wilbur via Heather Pike. I love these stories.  This one uses the unusual dialect of Seabrook -- studied by linguists because it can be traced back so purely to the first English settlers.  Check out the expression that ends the story.  That’s Seabrookian.

One noontime one of the workmen at the Dodge Brothers shoe factory started to go out of the shop.  Fella says, “Where you going?”

He says, “I’m going down to Bon Marchet. Gonna buy my wife a pair of drawers.  You wanna go with me?”

Fella says, “Yes, I’ll go with you.”

So they went down. Went in. Sales lady came along. Fella says, “I want to buy my wife a pair of drawers.”

She says, “What size?”

He says, “I don’t know exactly.  Something fit you be about right.”

 She come out with some drawers, laid ‘em on the show cases.  He says: ”S'pose that hose’ll fit our she.”

Old Coot

From Warren Angus Wilbur via Heather Pike.

Fella went down to his blind one morning.  Been there quite a while and he’d just about made up his mind to go home.  Didn’t seem to be any ducks in the air.  Along comes his Seabrook friend to visit.  The friend comes in and sets down.  He says:  “You seen any ducks this morning?”

“No,” he says, “I haven’t seen any atall. How ‘bout you?”

“Well,” the friend says, “a few scattering. One a flock. One a flock.  Just as I started over here, I see two come along alone.  Plenty of coot through.  You ever eat a coot?”

“Don’t know as I ever did?”

“Well, don’t try it.”

Fella says, “Did you?”

“Well, I took a notion to eat ‘em one time. I was down there last fall. No ducks but plenty of coot, so I shot a pair.  By the way, ever tried to pick a coot?”

“No, I don’t believe I ever did.”

“I’d just as soon pick a cat.  I skun ‘em.  I put ‘em in the kettle, set ‘em on the kitchen stove to cook.  They were terrible.  I decided to give it up and throw ‘em out. Then I happened to think there’d been a old hound dog hanging around there all fall, pretty skinny.  I used to run some table scraps on him once in a while.  I decided I’d give him one good feed. Took pity on him. Give him those coot to eat. Set ‘em out in the shed, called ‘em down. I set out in the yard and called him. He come over. Looked at the coot. Give one whiff of ‘em. He tucked his tail ‘tween his legs and he hypered out of there.  It was three or four weeks 'fore I ever saw him again.”

We’re Not Worried

This may be apocryphal, but I don’t think so.  I’m told a non-voter, a police chief from away, was brought in to explain to the legislative body at town meeting, why Effingham needed a second police officer.  The fellow pointed out that neighboring towns had much larger police forces.  One had five officers, another had fifteen for the potection of the populace.  

The native pointed out that Effingham had no such need.  “Here in Effingham,” he said, “we’re better armed.”