Travels With Becky

Stories simple and true

Here are two of the stories I collected while being resident storyteller at the Morrison in Whitefield.  Sometimes the simplest story is also the most memorable.

Roosters Belong in the Hen House
When I was a child we had a rooster for a pet.  One day we took him in the house.  He jumped on the table.  Mother said:  “We don’t need that rooster’s foot in our butter!”
--Glenna

How I Learned to Play the Harmonica
My father played accordion and harmonica. I wanted to play harmonica, too.  There were eight of us children, so he hid his harmonica from us. But I watched where he hid it and when he was gone I took it. The others squealed on me!

So I watched again where he hid it. This time when I took it, I climbed the highest tree I could see.  From the top I could see if any of my brothers and sisters were coming around.  I watched out for them and played the harmonica. The tree swayed.  But that’s how I learned the harmonica, in the top of a tall tree.
-- Beatrice Hobbs   

At Allenstown Elementary School, a student asked what my favorite book was.  That can be a stumper, but an answer occurred:  It’s usually the one I just read.  Same with favorite story or book that I’ve written:  Usually the one I just finished.

The book I just read is Carol Harvey Clapp’s " ‘Til the Cows Come Home: The Almost True Story of a Bicentennial Farm in Epping, New Hampshire."  

It’s about growing up on a dairy farm, her big colorful family, the community, the challenges of farming.  It’s candid, funny, sad sometimes, too.  I like the funny parts best, of course.  During our NH winter, Carol and her husband milk cows in New Zealand, where it’s summer.  Through the magic of e-mail I got ahold of her, said how much I liked her book, and may I quote it in my blog.  Sure, she said.

So here’s my favorite story from " ‘Til the Cows Come Home."  

Jim Sullos rarely left his farm and when he did, everyone commented that he smelled of cow manure.  Refusing to modernize, he continued to milk by hand. It was said he wouldn’t spend a nickel to see an earthquake and certainly wouldn’t hire help.  Dad asserted that Jim was clever though, because he saved his money instead of spending it on “frivolous” improvements, like we did.
One story was that Mr. Sullos was so thrifty that he had only one light bulb in the barn. “It’s true!” Matthew said.
Dad had taken our eight-year-old brother “to see how the other half lives” because word was out that Jim Sullos had “walking pneumonia.”  Paul McPhee and Bruce Allen had asked Dad to go talk to the “old coot” and arrange a schedule for them to go help with milking and chores. The young men said Dad was the only person Jim ever listened to (probably because Dad was the only person patient enough to listen to Jim’s war stories).
“We didn’t think anyone was around,” Matthew said. “The barn was dark and there was no compressor or anything running,” observed my brother.  Still, he and Dad knew the smelly bent-over farmer must be there somewhere because they had checked at the house first, where Mrs. Sullos said “James” was milking.
Besides, Dad knew what to expect.  He just wanted Matthew to appreciate the “things-could-be-worse” aspect of dairy farming.
“But we went in there anyway, where it was really dark, and Dad tripped over a sill in the milk room. Then we ran into the cows tied up in a row coughing and rattling their chains.  All we could see was there rear ends where the light came through the windows.  Dad hollered, "Jimmy! You be in here?”  and Mr. Sullos he hollered back: ‘Who is it?’ and around the corner there was a light.”
Matthew was impressed that Mr. Sullos carried a 75-watt light bulb with him to use whenever he needed to see.  He screwed it into a socket, then unscrewed it to screw in again where he went next.

Now that’s Yankee frugality.

Town Meeting: Not a Judgment Free Zone

Dick recalled a town meeting in 1975.  

The town fathers wanted to close a road, subject to gates and bars.  One of the locals objected strenuously and gave an impassioned speech about how his father had driven that road, and his grandfather, and his great-grandfather, by golly, drove his team of horses down that road, and it should be kept open and maintained.

At the conclusion of the speech, another local spoke up:  “Sit down, Walter, and go find a job.”

 

"Moved and Seconded" springing up all over

Spring has come early to New Hampshire.
It’s weird.
My crocuses are popping up in front of the house. Already.  
It’s weird.
But we’ll take it.
Meanwhile, town meeting season blew through and, sadly, my dear Northwood did not partake, having voted in an alternate form of government called SB2 (no town meeting, we discuss issues and money at a Deliberative Session, don’t vote; vote weeks later at the polls -- it’s politicus interruptus).  
Meanwhile, my new book "Moved and Seconded:  NH Town Meeting"  is being sold at, you guessed it, various town meetings and the aforementioned deliberative sessions.  Though the Yankee in me protests, I confess to being inordinately proud of how my chapters on SB2 and the uncertain future of town meeting are being used to support this 250-year-old, uniquely New England tradition.  Here’s a postcard sent out this year in Mason, a very small town, in which some very dedicated people hope to preserve town meeting now and into the future.

 

 

Small towns, big ears

At town meeting the Moderator seemed confused.  He made a couple decisions, then took ‘em back.  He stumbled over procedure and if somebody hadn’t intervened he might have allowed an amendment to an amendment.

Two fellas in the back row were surprised by the behavior.

 “He must be drunk,” one said.

“I guess he must be,” the other said.

The woman sitting in front them turned around. “He’s not drunk,” she said.

“How do you know?” the fellas asked.

“He’s my husband.”

Memories of Saturday night beans

The Arts Alliance of Northern New Hampshire brought me to the Morrison, a rehab, assisted living, and rest home facility in Whitefield for a three day residency.  I love working with elders.  I love their stories and the richness of their experiences.  As part of the residency, natch, I collected stories.  Here’s a little bit from a chat with Ed and Therese.

Ed and Therese:  Our Story
Therese: He had a girlfriend in France, Monique.  All the girls liked him when he was over there. They were all after him. He would go out the side door to avoid them.
When it was time to come home, he said to Monique:  Au revoir.
Ed: Either I get together with her or reform or go to jail.  I was nine years in the army.
Therese:   Six. Almost seven.  We’ve been married sixty years.  I was home in Canada.  My cousin so happened to be married to his brother. He came to visit.  That’s how we met.
Ed:   We’ve lived a long time in Whitefield.  Nice little town.  We had a big house in the village.  Three stories. Well, two stories and we fixed up the attic.
I was born in Woodsville.  Lived in a barn.  The only time my mother let me in the house was to eat.  I had a nice little nook in the barn.
Therese:  That guy, he can tell some stories!  His father was always talking about his pigs.  He was proud of the pigs.  Raised two every year.
Ed:  And rabbits. I called them “hoppy hoppies.”  I’d rather have rabbit than chicken. Stuffed, baked with salt pork. Salt pork and a nice fried egg!  We made beans with lots of salt pork. After it’s cooked, you throw the beans away and eat the salt pork.
Therese:  In one place we lived in Canada, you bring in the bean pot and beans and at the bakery they cook them for you. You pick up the beans on Saturday.  I think it was 25 cents for them to cook the beans.
Ed:  Saturday night.  Beans! 

Too Much of a Good Thing

In the season of town meetings (except in Northwood and other deprived SB2 towns), comes this story from Margaret Perry of Alstead.  Provenance: It comes from her father who may have heard it from his stepfather or maybe the stepfather was the one making the remark. Good enough for me. 

In Alstead one year there was considerable dissatisfaction with the road conditions, and with Alstead being a rather large town, some thought to propose that we have two road agents, one for the east and one for the west parts of town.  The proposal made it onto the warrant.

The matter was duly brought up for discussion in the meeting.  After a couple of remarks, a man stood and, in effect, settled the matter.  "I, for one, cannot support this article.  I should think one road agent is bad enough."