Travels With Becky

On taciturnity and frugality

Story with the ring of frugal Yankee truth. Sherman Adams, who started Loon Mountain Resort, served as Governor of New Hampshire and was White House Chief of Staff for President Eisenhower. He was known for both his taciturnity and his frugality. In one story, when asked if he had any children, he said, “Three girls, boy at Dartmouth.”

“Oh,” said the questioner. “Tell me about them.”

“Just did.”

Scott in Lincoln told me these Fred Lee stories:

Fred Lee, carpenter, worked for many years at Loon under Sherman Adams’ management. One day the boss called Fred to his office and announced he was giving him a nickel an hour raise. But Fred was to tell no one else at the resort about it.

“Don’t worry,” Fred said, “I’m just as ashamed of it as you are.”

Another bit of Fred Lee folklore: He was working on the Kank Highway when a vehicle pulled over and the driver asked, with some urgency, “Where’s Lincoln?”

Fred said, “Died 200 years ago.”

 

Spose so

When Andy moved to Marlboro from Boston, he needed some lessons in country ways -- and he got them from his neighbor Ernie.  

Upon meeting Ernie in town, Andy received an invitation:  “Pull into my dooryahd some time and we’ll have a visit.”  Well, Andy didn’t exactly know what a dooryahd was, but he gave it a try and parked in front of the main door on the lawn.  Except the lawn was dirt anyway.
He knocked on the screen door.  Knocked and knocked. And knocked.  

He knew Ernie was around because his truck was in the driveway.  Finally, a voice booms out from deep inside the house, “You’ll be standing theyah forevah if you expect me to come let you in.  Get in heah.  And you might as well grab a couple beers on your way by the fridge.”
That’s what’s known as a warm Yankee welcome.

As for goodbye, Andy learned from Ernie (when Ernie reciprocated a visit), that goodbyes meant standing by the door a good long time, talking, and finally, a “Spose,” and out the door.  
“Spose” -- short I believe for, “Spose I best be getting along home before it’s dark under the table.”

 

That's a fresh one, all right

Fella at the Eppin’ Historical Society told this story with a straight face:

Some UNH boys got to drinking one night at a party in the woods and that was all right except when everybody went home, one poor soul was left behind.  He’d fallen asleep, and when he woke, he was thirsty, hungry, and he didn’t know where he was.  

He started walking on the gravel road, thinking it would lead to civilization sooner or later. He walked and walked.  Came upon a farm house and came up with an idea.  He picked up a dried cow flap in the field and went to the door:  “I wonder,” he asked the lady of the house, “if I might beg a glass of water to drink with my breakfast.”  He held up the cow flap.

Why, no young man would be eating a dried cow flap on her watch. She ushered him in and made up a plate of bacon and eggs.

The young man went on his way.  At noon time, hungry again, he still hadn’t located civilization, i.e., Durham.  So he tried the same thing at another farm house:  “Might I have a glass of milk to go with my lunch,” he asked the lady of the house -- and held up a dried cow flap.

“That’s no lunch for a young man!” she said.  And made him a nice sandwich.   

He went along down the road.  Supper time, he tried once more. This time, I’m guessing, he was going to ask directions.  This time, too, instead of the lady of the house, the gentleman came to the door.  The boy asked the farmer if he might beg a cup of coffee to go with his supper, and held up the dried cow flap.

“That dried cow flap is no good for supper,” the farmer said.  “Come on out to the barn and I’ll get you a fresh one.” 

A heifer mix-up

Ginny Peterson recalled the Hurricane of ‘54 or ‘55 -- might have been Carol or Diane.  

The hosses were wandering in the woods. And the heifers were all muxed up.  

Perley and Austin were making supper when a muxed up and curious heifer come right through the door into the kitchen and tipped the stove over.  

How Austin laughed!  Maybe he shouldn’t have though, because Perley didn’t see the humor in the tipped over stove and ruined dinner.

Maybe bring a seat cushion

The Bee Keepers Association attracted members from all over, even Maine.  At the July meeting, the issue of the Rochester Fair caused considerable discussion.  Seems the fair fell at the same time as the regularly scheduled September meeting.

Somebody suggested doubling up on the August meeting.  Hold two meetings one right after the other on the same night to get all the business taken care of, and skip September.

Lee Allen had just one comment:  “You know the brain can’t absorb any more than what the ass can stand.”

Yankee ingenuity

Epping Historical Society hosted an evening of stories. We had a full house, full of good storytellers.  Here’s a sampling:

Known as a frugal Yankee, Pud paid $100 for a car -- and people were pretty surprised at his extravagance -- until he confided:  “I could get $40 just for the battery.”

 

Raise those hands

At Town Meeting, after every article was called, the chair of the Budget Committee quick stuck his hand in the air to explain -- at some length -- all about it.  

After about eight articles, Dudley managed to get his hand in the air before the chair.  

“Did you want to speak to the article, Dudley?” asked the Moderator.

“No,” Dudley said, “I just thought Jim’s arm must be getting tired.”

 

Yes, but is it a fruit?

Carlton Bradford of North Sutton told the story of the Judge and the famous Tomato Apple.

The Judge was a summer person from Philadelphia, owner of the Prospect House.  He was pretty proud of his summer home and his apple orchard.  He would often invite locals to sit awhile on his verandah and enjoy a cool beverage on a warm day.

The boys in town had an idea to play a bit of a trick on the Judge. Early in the season, they sneaked into the orchard and tied a fat ripe Red Globe tomato with a bit of straw to a branch of the Judge’s favorite apple tree.

Sitting on the verandah, one of the boys called the Judge’s attention to the big red, uh, tomato apple. Evidently, upon seeing it, the Judge got excited.  Called his wife out of the house for a viewing.

Meanwhile in the village, another of the boys, the school bus driver, had spread the word about the tomato apple and got a bunch of people (without much else to do) to board the bus and be driven to Prospect House.  “We’ve come to see the tomato apple,” they said.  
There was nothing for the Judge to do but invite the whole gang onto the verandah for cool beverages.

Another of the boys wrote an article for the local paper about the Judge’s wonderful tomato apple.  

And everybody had a good laugh.

Until, a few weeks later, a chauffeur-driven limousine pulled up to the Prospect House and a fine Boston lady with an interest in horticulture emerged.  She had seen the article and wished to discuss it with the Judge. Seems she’d always been interested in crossing tomatoes and apples.  “How did you accomplish it?” she asked the Judge.

“Madam,” he said stone faced, “It wasn’t easy.”

Flickers of memory

On May 11:

I looked at today’s date and remembered: My grandmother’s birthday. She’s been gone since the 1980s, but still it’s her birthday. Funny how some dates stick.

And how one flicker of memory leads to another. Telling and hearing stories with retired educators in Plaistow, one teacher remembered that the most exciting part of growing up in rural Tennessee was going to open-air revival meetings. “We rode in the rumble seat,” she said, “and I remember thinking “God bless the moon and God bless me.”

Which reminded me of Aunt Harriet’s Model A Ford -- the only car she ever drove (or owned -- far as I could tell). Once she took a cousin or two and me for a ride around Danbury village in the rumble seat. I’ll say this: Convertibles got nothing on rumble seats if you’re talking excitement.

You gonna make me?

An addition to the legend of Fred Courser, crusty Yankee:

Fred lived in Warner and attended town meeting there, but he attended school meeting in Sutton; the school district included several towns.
Fred always sat in the middle of the front row of chairs. Always. For years and years.
One year somebody came up with the idea of having school administrators and board members and officials and so forth sit in the first two rows.  Well, Fred got to the meeting early.  Took his regular seat.  Moderator Alf Jacobson said, “Fred, you’re gonna have to move.”
Fred said, “You gonna make me?”
Fred set.
This may be a stretch on the truth, but probably not.  Shortly after Fred died, Warner went SB2 -- no more town meeting, just a boring informational session that hardly anybody attended, followed (a month later) by voting at the polls on everything from the new fire truck to the dog catcher’s salary.  

People say town meeting just wasn’t as much fun after they lost Fred Courser.