4 10 89 https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/3f30cbeb9080c6fb9f3555881afaf69f.m4a d638e93dba53380c5ae317fdf0a3e82d https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/c4f88f0c6379dbbf39941d76015d8bd8.jpg 57c6de0a81514d994946b10f70901dbe Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Oral Histories with New Hampshire State Library Staff Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Library Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1970-2020 Description An account of the resource This is a series of interviews with New Hampshire State Library staff. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource mp3, m4a Language A language of the resource en Spatial Coverage Spatial characteristics of the resource. New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource In Copyright Subject The topic of the resource New Hampshire Public libraries Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NHSLINTERVIEWS Type The nature or genre of the resource Oral histories Oral History A resource containing historical information obtained in interviews with persons having firsthand knowledge. Interviewer The person(s) performing the interview Bobbi Slossar Interviewee The person(s) being interviewed Ruby Matott Location The location of the interview Concord, NH Duration Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.) 2:33 minutes Subject Line The content of the subject line of the email New Hampshire State Library Transcription Any written text transcribed from a sound Interviewer: This is Bobbi Slossar interviewing Ruby Matott on 24th of February, 20202. Good afternoon, Ruby. Ruby: Good afternoon. Interviewer: Did I pronounce your last name correctly? Ruby: Matott. Interviewer: Matott. Pardon me, Matott. Ruby: That’s ok. Interviewer: Ruby, how many years have you been working at the State Library? Ruby: I’ve been at the State Library for 45 years. Interviewer: Wow! And what year did you start working here? Ruby: 1974 Interviewer: 1974. Can I ask how old you were when you started working here? Ruby: Twenty. Interviewer: Twenty. Now how did you learn about the job here at the State LIbrary? Ruby: Actually during my last year of high school I took a state exam during one of my office practice classes and that’s where the job application came in from. Interviewer: Oh, that’s really interesting. Now what was your first position here at the State Library? Ruby: I worked in technical services processing incoming books and typing up library catalog cards. Interviewer: Typing up library catalog cards? So there were no computers then. Ruby: No, there were no computers. Interviewer: And what was your role in typing up those cards? Ruby: I would take the cards as they came in and type in the subject headings and the title headings and anything else that needed to be added to them. Interviewer: And did you also have to file the cards into the card catalog system? Ruby: Yes. I did have the file the cards in the catalog. File one card in the shelf list downstairs in tech services and the rest of the cards came upstairs into the regular card catalog. Interviewer: Well, that is a fascinating portion of our library history that we just don’t deal with very much -- except for you! What are you doing now with the cards in the card catalog? Ruby: Well, I’m pulling the cards from the catalog for items that have been added to the online catalog. We’re trying to [remove] the rest of the titles that are in the online, regular card catalog. Interviewer: So it’s a never ending job, you’re saying! Ruby: Yes, it is a never ending job. It seems like the cards just never go away. Interviewer: Well, thanks for that information, Ruby. And we will be doing more oral histories with Ruby in the future about the different aspects of her time here at the New Hampshire State Library. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource Oral History: Ruby Matott, part 1 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Library Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource February 2020 Description An account of the resource An interview of Ruby Matott, a 45-year employee of the New Hampshire State Library. Ms. Matott discusses her first job at the library. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource m4a Language A language of the resource eng Spatial Coverage Spatial characteristics of the resource. Concord, NH Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available New Hampshire State Library Subject The topic of the resource New Hampshire State Library Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context NHSL-OH002 Type The nature or genre of the resource Oral History New Hampshire State Library https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/9efd7b7128611af19177cef6fccdc084.pdf a1f700df2f2e4ab359ede3933dc7fae0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour The New Hampshire Troubadour October 1940 699,000 acres of land in New Hampshire and 45,400 acres in Maine are included in the While Mountain National Forest, which is visited annually by 3,000,000 people. This picture dimes the entrance to the Dolly Copp Camp in Pinkkam Notch, most popular of all the many camps in the White Mountain National Forest THE NEWHAMPSHIRE TROUBADOUR comes to you every month, singing the praises of New Hampshire, a state whose beauty and opportunities should tempt you to come and share those flood things that make life here so delightful. It is sent to you by the State Planning, and Development Commission, Concord, N, H. 50 Cents a Year DONALD TUTTLE, EDITOR VOLUME x October 1910 NUMBER 7 Autumn's Charms THE SMELL of burning leaves, the thud of foot falls and the bite in the night air presage the arrival of autumn soon the hillsides will he wearing their bright garments of gold and crimson, the sun will lose some of its warmth, and the darkness of niuht will come early to wrap the world in sable folds. Autumn's loveliness has been proclaimed in song and story. Poets, those gifted creatures whose imagination soars unendingly, have long embraced the beaut} of autumn and found in it the inspiration to stir mankind. But one does not have to be a poet to appreciate the beaut} ol autumn, ll is all around us. and we are inlluenced by it. whether we know it or not. It is part of our existence as much as light and air and water. The hill Mowers, so much hardier than their summer sisters, be- cause of the immutable ways of nature, seize the opportunity lor a final display and splash their brilliance in a prodigal way. Their presence affects us. whether we stop to commune with them or not. Along the roadsides, the season's colorful crops are placed on New Hampshire Troubadoar Paga 3 view. The squash and the pumpkin arc piling high. Fruits and vegetables of autumn seem to have a special flavor. In the summer New England has advantages known to no other pari of the land. In the winter ii competes with other areas toat- tracl the winter sports enthusiast who finds his pleasure on the swift, exhilarating ski run or on the glistening surface nl smooth ice. But autumn is really New England's time. There is something in the air thai quickens the spirit. The heal of summer has gone. and with it has vanished the lassitude that is part of its being. The bitterness of winter is still far enough away to be out of mind. Ifays are bright and clear, and in the cool nights the serene blessedness of quiet, resl I til sleep comes back to people who have been wearied by the heat and the dust and the noise of summer. Family life, disrupted by the similiter quest for recreation and excitement, resumes its normal way when autumn comes. The blessings of home and family reappear in full measure and appreciation of them becomes more keen. As the days pass and autumn's end approaches, the home steadily grows in influence and charm. Around the fireside chil- dren are gathered with their school books, while parents settle back ill their east chairs and find comfort and joy in the most ideal atmosphere oi all. There is something typically New England about autumn. One thinks of New England hillsides and meadows and little school houses and count) lairs, and quiet country streams, and rugged farmers contemplating their preparations for the winter. The cord wood is stacked up, the hay is in the barn, everything is reach for the rigorous season ahead. And the- farmer pauses, content with the labors of the summer, satisfied that he has prepared well lor the- long, cold days of winter Autumn is a time for contemplation, for the counting of blessings, for giving thanks. - Editorial in the Boston Post Page 4 The October 1940 Trampers on the Crawford Path approaching Mt. Washington. Mt. Monroe [5,385 feet) and Lakes-of-the-Clouds Hut in the distance The Fellowship of the Timberline By TALBOT JOHNS FOR a small but constantly growing group of New Englanders who are usually considered by their friends to be not quite right in their minds, fall means but one thing - the best time of year in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. For them it is the season when goofers (tenderfoot tourists) and black flies are absent from "the hills," when birches splash in golden torrents down five-mile slopes, and summer's heat haze gives wax to the The Hampthin Troubadour Page 5 On the headwall of Tuckerman Ravine looking south clear, cold days that make climbing a pleasure and every view an experience thai makes lib- a good thing to be living. Every year finds more addicts to this inspired type of divine lunacy trudging from Crawford Notch up the blunt ridge of the Southern Peaks, or pausing at Eagle Pass to admire its fantastic cliffs before heading for timberline on Mt. Lafayette directly opposite New Hampshire's Great Stone Face. It's a sport and a religion, too for everybody who loves trees and gaunt rocks and moss and bubbling streams. Last summer I met in the same day a sturdy, tanned, little nine-year- old girl and the cruiser-built youngster of over fifty who holds every distance and speed and altitude record in the mountains. Page 6 The October 1940 Doctor, lawyer, merchant, chief they're all there with their sisters and their cousins and their aunts. Contrary to the general opinion, there is nothing tiring about climbing in the White Mountains once a fundamental truth is realized that the hills have been there a good many thousand years and are sure to wait at least until you reach the top. For two years, before I learned my lesson, I ran my 210 pounds into a perspiring wreck, counting tn pulse at 140 when 1 stopped for rests. But everybody has his pace and when you find it you'll discover that you inarch steadily up the steepest slopes without ever stopping for rests. Nothing is more unhealthy, or less fun, than hiking yourself into a stale of exit a its lion, then slopping lor a quivering, shaky "recovery." Your wind hardly ever comes back -- your legs never do. Take it easy and enjoy yourself. Take a census of any Hundred of The Irue timberline fraternity and you'll find that ninety-nine of them carry a little red or green book, five hundred pages long and small enough to put in your pocket. That is the mountains' first real necessity the White Mountain guide of the Appalachian Mountain Club. With it you are never lost or afraid. Its maps and descriptions lay the mounains open at your feet for a daj or a week or a sutinner. Through fog and storm it leads you to the nearest haven. Around the evening campfire it supplies wonderful reading matter. It is the hills bound in a cover and delivered to you lor your everlasting enjoyment. Maybe you still have your first climb to do. It so, you don't necessarily have to be a goofer join the timberline fraternity from the start and be one of them. Otherwise you'll feel left out of things. Look at these three, dusting down the ridge of Jefferson to the Gulfside Trail, bound for the Lakes-of-the-Clouds hut nestling under Washington's shoulder. Two of them are wearing dark colored shorts (yes, even in the fall). The third, older, is wearing New Hampshire Troubadour Page7 a pair of khaki pants, roomy and main times laundered until they are streaked with white because cleanliness is appreciated in the hills as elsewhere. You wonder at their heavy boots, just ankle- high, until you see them clattering and striding confidently down jagged rock pastures just like the ones you slipped and slithered tenderly Over ten minutes ago in your sport shoes. You look at their faded, light-weight wool or flannel shirts and neat, well- weathered knapsacks and feel a little ashamed of the gaudy sweater tied awkwardly around your waist. The heavy woolen socks rolled down to their shoe-tops make your blistered, silk- clad, perspiration-slippery feet ache with envy. You find that two of the trio have shoes studded with heavy hobnails while the third has plain leather soles. Both types are good, but nails tire preferred by main. Advanced goofers wear sneakers "for coming down the rocks." Sneakers are fine excepl when crossing brooks, wet logs, roots, moss patches, wet rocks or jagged ones in other words, they tire treacherous about ninety percent of the time. Nailed shoes (costing from six to eighteen dollars) hold everywhere in all weather. Invest in them - they tire your only real expenditure and your safety and happiness depend on them. After you have bought your shoes and raided an Army and Navy Store for a rain shirt or windproof parka, long work pants or shorts (never knee boots and riding breeches) and knapsack, your outfit is practically complete. Compass and guidebook are necessary -- treat these mountains as though they were peaks twice as high and you'll never get on the front page of the local papers with "Climber lost in early sleet storm." If you have the right outfit don't worry about its looking new. It won't look that way very long, and even veterans have to renew their outfits ever} once in a while. They are a friendly bunch, this fellowship of the timberline. Whenever the} meet von on the trail thev stop and pass the time Page 8 The October 1940 Interior view of the beautiful New Hampshire Building, on the grounds of the Eastern States Exposition, Springfield, Massachusetts. Over 300,000 people attended this year's Exposition during the week of September 15 to 21 of day. If you should happen to hurt your knee they will tape it up for you (though you should cany your own tape). When you drag at dusk into one of the rough log leantos that are located a day's trip apart till through the hills lhey will offer you a cup of coffee, a blanket or supper if you are lacking, and good companionship all the time, Get into the hills this fall. You'll be a lot better for it when you come out, as long as you're careful of your feet and the weather —and both are easy to watch. New Hampshire Troubadour Page 9 Not long ago I look a neophyte up for his first trip. He'd been pretty blue over something for a couple of weeks and a touch of the hills was just what he needed. After a night at Lakes-of-the-Clouds hut we rambled down the magnificent Boott Spur of Mount Washington and rested for a moment in a rocky nest fifteen hundred feet and more above the floor of Tuckerman's Ravine. Little clouds, bright in the sunshine, drifted lazily past Nelson Crag and over Huntington's headwad1. J " Gets you, doesn't it. " 1 asked. "That cloud,'' said the former blues expert, "looks like a lace handkerchief tucked in a blond angel's belt." You see? —Courtesy of Leisure Magazine The Stone Walls of New Hampshire By David Dowling WHEN I was a boy I attended a school in a State other than New Hampshire. We had an old school teacher — I say old, because her hair was gray and she seemed old to me at that time. She was a native of New Hampshire and hardly a day went by but she had some little story to tell us about that State. Circumstances compelled her to live elsewhere but her heart was in her native country. She instilled in us something of her own enthusiasm and instead of growing weary of her stories we looked forward to them. She told us man things about New Hampshire, describing the de- lightful old houses with their cheery fireplaces, but most of all she loved the old stone walls. She not only described their beauty but she told us of the labor incident to their building. We felt that we knew every step in the task and shared in the pride of accomplishment. She frankly stated that there were no other stone walls elsewhere to compare with those of New Hampshire. She didn't Pagt 10 The October 1940 "And he likes having thought of it so well He says again, 'Good fences make good neighbours.'" From Robert Frost's poem, "Mending Wall" make that statement boastfully but rather with the calm assurance of one stating a truth that could not be challenged. It never was for we accepted it without question. "If you ever get a chance," she would say, "you must go to New Hampshire and see those stone walls." It was many tears later that I did get a chance to go to New Hampshire and the first thing I looked for was a stone wall. Since that time I have seen many of them and have become better acquainted with New Hampshire. Now I am not so sure but that old school teacher was right in believing that the stone walls of New Hampshire are the most beautiful in the world. New Hampshire Troubadour Page 11 The Connecticut Valley By LOCKWOOO MERRIMAN PHYSICALLY, New Hampshire is different from Vermont in several ways. Those differences to some may appear obvious to others, they may scarcely exist. But the appeal of both states is equally strong the scenery and countryside of each equally lovely although in slightly differing ways. The Connecticut River, at its least a boundary line between the two states, at its best the fostering genius of a natural setting peculiar to itself, shows on its two banks, both immediately contiguous to the water and for miles into each state, a type of scenery which cither New Hampshire or Vermont would be proud to call its own and which unites the best of each. That particular section of the valley which appeals most to me and which I know the best, may be found around Plainlield and Cornish in New Hampshire and across the river around Ascutney, Vermont. Truly in this region we have all the best thai anyone Can ask from New England. There we find cascades tumbling front the hillsides into the river. There we have the quaint old Blow- Me-Down Mill, with its dam and shimmering fall, its stone bridge and overhanging trees. The picturesquely winding road skirts the mill pond, later emerging through regularly colonnaded whitepines on the way towards I'lainlield. Across the river rises Mt. Ascut- ney, regarding benignly the best part of the Connecticut Valley. Small wonder, then, that such men as Augustus Saint-Gaudens. Winston Churchill, and Maxfield Parrish should choose this part of our state to live and work in. They unquestionably found both inspiration and relaxation in the rustic atmosphere and natural beauty of this selling. 'Those of Us who live in this section of the country and the more of us who travel so often through it cannot fail to enjoy in some measure its green hills and its winding river, Page 12 The October 1940 The stone bridge over Blow-Me-Down Brook in Cornish to absorb its spirit of serenity, to experience occasionally its exquisite loveliness, to feel its profound agelessness. Often I like to sit by the river next to the old covered bridge which crosses to Windsor (the longest bridge of this kind in the world) and muse, reflect, perhaps, thai long ago down this very river, by this very spot passed Major Rogers on his raft escaping from the French and Indians and seeking aid for his starved companions miles upstream. It is a river of tradition it is a river of sentiment it is a river of beauty. And it winds through a section of country which partakes of all these traits in the full measure of bountiful Nature, New Hampshire Troubadour Page 13 This mont's cover picture is from the studio of Sawyer Pictures, Concord. "Something in a florist's window today reminded me how lovely Bittersweet is at this time of year on gray stone walls — that Crotched and the Lyndeboros will be blue and hazy in the warm sun at noon and black etched against the deepening night sky — that on crisp nights there will be shooting stars arching across the heavens and there will be the scent of wood smoke in the air as the evening fifes are lighted, "One of the grandest things about having lived among the New Hampshire hills is that a bit of color in a flower shop in Michi- gan can release a whole train of memories and in a split second transport at least my thoughts home again. " Am borrowing a line from a poem by Rupert Brooke I think when I say, 'These things 1 have loved. . . .'" — MARJORIE BEAN PHILIITI, Detroit, Michigan The seventh annual fair of the League of New Hampshire Arts and Crafts which was held at Holderness in August was by far the most successful one yet, both in attendance and in sales. The 1940 fair season in New Hampshiree nds on Columbus Day, October 12, with the famous Sandwich Fair. Our Roving Reporter who "spe-cializes in irrelevant and disconnected happenings" notes that at a big outdoor picnic he recently attended, the 50-yard dash for, men was won by the husband of the woman who won the rollingpin contest. He thinks it was merely a coincidence bin submits it for our consideration. New Hampshire will celebrate Thanksgiving Day on November 28. The annual autumn foliage show is now on and will continue until the middle of the month and in some sections of the Stale even later. This office is again issuing weekly autumn foliage bulletins showing the condition of the foliage in various parts of the State. Page 14 The October 1940 An exhibition called "Design Decade in New Hampshire" will be held at Carpenter Galleries, Hanover, from October 1 to Octo- ber 31, under the sponsorship of the Department of Art. Its pur- pose is to exhibit sketches, plans and photographs for the dramatic presentation of the progress made in New Hampshire for the past decade in designing buildings, bridges, manufactured products, recreational facilities, community layouts, and other subjects in the field of useful arts. The National Shut-in Society was started sixty years ago by three invalid girls who wrote each other cheery letters. Ten years later it was incorporated and it is now a national association with headquarters in New York City and members in forty-six states. The Society does not give material aid to its members, who are those crippled or bedridden or blind, but sends them literature and letters of sympathy and encouragement. The State Representative of the Society, Mrs. Glaydis S. Little, 623 Belmont Street, Manchester, New Hampshire, will be glad to tell you how you could help along this wonderful work. Nfii Hampshire Troubadour RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD.N.H. Home Thoughts By Odell Shepard October in New England, And I not there to see The glamour of rhe goldenrod, The flame of the maple tree! October in my own land. . . . I know what glory fills The mountains of New Hampshire And Massachusetts hills. I know what hues of opal Rhode Island breezes fan, And how Connecticut puts on Colors of Hindustan. Vermont, in robes of splendor. Sings with the woods of Maine Alternate hallelujahs Of gold and crimson stain. The armies of the aster, Frail hosts in blue and gray, Invade the hills of home and I Three thousand miles award I shall take down the calendar And Irom the rounded rear Blot out one name, October, The loveliest and most dear. For I would not remember. While she is marching by, The pomp of her stately passing, The magic of her cry. From: The Home Book of Modern Virse—Stevenson Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available State of New Hampshire Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194010 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour October 1940 Description An account of the resource <span>The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. </span> Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1940-10 Type The nature or genre of the resource 16-page booklet Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 16-page booklet Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource COPYRIGHT UNDETERMINED Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource New Hampshire State Library, 20 Park Street, Concord, NH 03301https://nh.gov/nhsl Language A language of the resource eng Subject The topic of the resource Blow-Me-Down Brook Cornish Lakes-of-the-Clouds Hut Stone Bridges Tuckerman Ravine Blow-Me-Down Brook Cornish Expo Lakes-of-the-Clouds Hut Stone Bridges Tuckerman Ravine https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/a17953dcbc85028b94a90a61488d0ada.pdf 43d943a007de8c02422188d53de4b54c Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour The New Hampshire Troubadour COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW
HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES
SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS
THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY
THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT
CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR One morning soon he will look out. To see that ice has left his lake
And let spring in beyond a doubt. The shining world will all but break
The patient strings that bind his heart; For here the ancient miracle
Renews the secret of its art, To make life brave and beautiful. The mayflowers will peek through like stars
Beneath the elemental brown, And cows will wait at pasture bars
For milking when the sun goes down. Then he may live his dreams again
In furrows opened by the plow, To learn that spring is made for men, And heaven is not distant now. ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVI March, 7947 NUMBER 12 ANNOUNCEMENT l,j juju n he man Yew Hampshire Troubadour — Courtesy, Boston Post 3WINSTON POTK The Presidential Hnihuav (V. S. 2) at Jefferson THE HIDDEN TRAIL With eyes closed I see the hidden trail, for memory retains a
picture of snow under trees in late winter days. This is the scene: A shack in a sugar orchard surrounded by tapped trees with
wooden buckets hooked under dripping spiles. Constantly sap is
slowly dropping, filling the clean, yellow pails with water-colored
fluid. Threading between the trees, treading on deep snow with
snowshoes, I gather overflowing containers and fetch them to
huge kettles, used to “boil down” the sap. Under the kettles or inside the shack in rusty, warped stove, are
brisk fires; from burning birch wood odors of smoke fill the air
with pungent fragrance, — not unlike the taste of spice and tang 4 The March PUTof hot gingerbread, covered
with homemade, sweet butter;
or the acid sting of hard cider
after father had plunged a red-
hot poker into the cracked,
brown pitcher filled from a
barrel, downstairs, in the cold
cellar. Wind is sparring with brown
oak leaves. They are scolding
with husky voices, telling the
boisterous boaster to sweep the
carpet covering forest’s floor,
and to seek clouds burdened
with spring- time moisture; twist
them together, wring out show-
ers to wash away all ice and snow, and feed pregnant soil, vibrant
with life, waiting to give birth to buds, all seeds and roots of ver-
dant, sleeping children conceived by nature. Perhaps that is the
reason clinging oak leaves remain on guard all winter: merely to
guide vagrant winds and send them about their business. Returning to the sap-house for warmth of fire and steaming
kettle, 1 try, very gingerly, to taste the bubbling syrup. It is too hot!
My tongue is burned. The first maple sugar hardens when a tin
cupful is poured on the snow outside. There is no sweeter candy
than frosty maple cooled in the forest on crystalline snow. Later, at home, we decide there is no better nectar than maple
syrup, generously spread over hot, brown flapjacks. To fully enjoy
these, breakfast must be served in the kitchen near the hot, wood-
burning range; the table must be covered with a checkered red
cloth with white fringe. Over the faint odor of wood-fire and
slightly scorched cakes an aroma of sizzling bacon and freshly
brewed coffee greets a hungry boy. Xew Hampshire Troubadour 5Is this the hidden trail? It stretches back over the years away
from war and shackled hopes, fettered ambitions, back to the days
of wishful thinking. Then faith lighted the pathway yet to be blazed
along the trail. One cannot go over the years again except in mem-
ory following lights of faith that still remain undimmed. I decide
the trail is not hidden at all. VACATION THE YEAR-ROUND I am not a native of the State, and my work has been in New
Hampshire for over fifteen years, so I can have neither the joy of
returning to her as my boyhood home, nor the out-of-stater's
anticipation of the coming summer. In spite of that, I won’t be cheated out of the greater joy and
anticipation which belongs only to us who live here all the time. I’ve been in love with the State since I went to Phillips Exeter
in 1919. And now in these later veal's, having married a Concord
girl, Eleanor, daughter of the late Dr. Charles Duncan, Secretary
of the State Board of Health, and having lived in turn in Salem,
Franccstown, West Lebanon, Hollis, and now Auburn, I find my
love for New Hmapshire continues to grow. Other writers to The Troubadour may sing their praises of
olden times or summer days or winter holidays; let me sing of New
Hampshire the whole year through. I was not always thus. Not that I didn't love the State, but I
took her for granted, as we arc so wont to do. Then one summer
day, being impressed by the number of cars from other states, it
suddenly dawned on me, “Why, here these folks arc spending hun- 6 The March 1947dreds of dollars to drive over these roads and see this scenery and
I'm being paid to live here!" From then on 1 had a new pair of eves
and a heart which beat with greater and continuing appreciation. I’ve found this. There’s a clump of birches I have to pass two
or three times a week. They’re the same, but different, as you
know, each time; and they’re mine the year round with continual
joy and anticipation. Some vacationer spends, say, a hundred dol-
lars to go by them and love them. There’s two or three hundred
dollars a week I’m paid beyond my regular salary. Then there’s a fine lane down back of our house. It leads
through a lovely wooded spot, with a small brook, pines and all
that, and more wildflowers in the summer than I can find names for.
A walk down that lane full of joy and anticipation is mine any-
time I want it. How many hundreds of dollars do I gather in
twelve months there? Again, I have to drive quite
a bit. Each time I start out I say
to myself, “If you were on vaca-
tion you’d pay for this like the
others do — all right, you’re on
vacation!” So I don’t know how-
many vacations a year I have,
from five minutes to several
hours long. I don’t have to wait for snow
or summer, or fishing or hunt-
ing. New Hampshire is mine for
the whole year round of one
grand vacation as I work. 1
have twelve months of joy and
anticipation, for, because of my
love for New Hampshire, I live
here now. Ktmtlnl/ih -intrlnmi vallry from Hantlolf>h
Mountain WINblON poie A ew Hampshire I roubadourPROGRESSING BACKWARD Ltf la if dn S. jf^earson Standisu Corners is itself again. The natives are satisfied; the new
folks who live here like it, and the summer folks are happy. The whole upsetting episode was due to Obadiah Phren’s good-
heartedness. His wife, Patience, was heard to remark that Obadiah
may have a good heart, but it wouldn't have done any harm to ask
before he went ahead. It was a year ago that Obadiah suddenly decided he wanted to
modernize. When we heard the first faint rumors, we simply paid
no attention. “Phren’s General Store” was the mecca of the coun-
tryside. It was one of those traditional institutions that simply
goes on and on. Obadiah’s father had run it for sixty years; Oba-
diah himself had had it for forty. Now he was going modern!
Streamlining! It was difficult to think of the Corners without the General
Store. Here was New England storekeeping at its best. One side
of the big room held groceries; the other side was the dry goods
area. On a huge counter down the middle were heaped clothes and
shoes. There were glass cases with toilet goods, candies, and small
tools. Spread helter-skelter everywhere were cardboard advertising
signs left by traveling salesmen. Near the rear of the store was
a huge, round, wood-burning stove. From early fall until late
spring it never went out. Around it were two or three broken chairs
and several kegs and lx>xes. This was headquarters for the town, the
forum where local, state, national, and international issues were
really settled. In the back room were grain, kerosene, harnesses,
molasses, and farming tools. Obadiah held the agency for a dozen
and one things. You could get a mowing machine, oil burner,
sewing machine, or set of furniture through him. 8 The March 1947MOODY STL'DIO General store at West Spring field He has never revealed when the thought of change entered his
consciousness. All the town knows is that one day, without warn-
ing, a group of city men descended on the store. In a twinkling, the
wide front porch disappeared. In a couple of days there was a
brand new front, all shining and aggressive in bright colors. Two
big plate glass affairs took the place of the dusty, cobwebby, many-
paned windows. Obadiah was vastly pleased. He had done something for the
community! Inside, the shelves were rebuilt; the middle counter
was eliminated. Modernistic showcases came into being. The old
stove went, and Obadiah sold himself an oil burner. “Phrcn’s
General Store” was catching up to the twentieth century. He
chuckled mysteriously as folks asked, “What next?” One couldn’t
help smile, he was so obviously having the time of his life! Before the modernization was completed, one began to hear the
first rumblings, like distant thunder on a sultry August afternoon. New Hampshire Troubadour 9If one lived in the country, why couldn't he trade at a country
store? \Vc didn't want the chromium-plated, blatant-colored,
streamlined effect in the store where we spent our money! To add
the final straw, several smart-looking signs went up. “Cash only.” Now all of us paid our bills. If folks didn’t Obadiah soon weeded
them out. His genial friendliness didn’t mean he was an easy mark.
But most of us liked to pay once a month. Through it all, Obadiah beamed and smiled. He apparently felt
that he was doing us all a great service — giving us an up-to-
the-minute atmosphere in which to do our shopping. No one knows for sure just when we began to doubt the ways of
progress. Standish Corners is not a bustling, hustling, streamlined
community. We take things “in our stride,” but moderately.
Hurry for hurry’s sake doesn't go with country living. Perhaps
there was a subtle, mysterious atmosphere of disapproval in the
community. The free-for-all discussions were no more. A radiator
doesn’t do the things to a man that a friendly stove does. “Phren’s
General Store” was gone. The Peterborough Town Library, established in IH33% the first free public library in
America supported by public taxation 10 The March 1947Obadiah was and is a stubborn man! He doesn’t give in easily.
Through the spring and summer, his chin kept the angle that we all
know well. It was the angle that won the bandstand, the Recrea-
tion Hall for the young folks, and the uniforms for the baseball
team. It was because of these things that the town remained loyal.
But the new folks and the summer folks put on a good deal of pres-
sure. The second change was effected as suddenly as the first, except
that Obadiah called in Seth Warner, the local carpenter, and his
crew. Before our eyes signs of modern merchandizing disappeared.
All was as before, except the new heating system stayed. But
the wood stove came back! Obadiah hasn’t said much. Once in a while he rubs his chin and
smiles quietly. He is a Shakespearean scholar and likes to change
quotations a bit. Anent another subject he murmured the other
evening, “O that a man might know the end of a day’s business
ere it comes.” SHEEP ON OUR FARM L ft.Andrews, Our farm in Sanbornton is like a good many other summer farms
in central New Hampshire — a few acres of fields, a woodlot, a fine
garden and a blueberry patch. We’re inclined to brag a bit because
it's home and many hours of toil have gone into its rejuvenation.
It is true we see the Belknaps as others are not favored, and when
the first forethoughts of winter send cool nights in August we look
out across Lake Winnisquam over a billowy sea of fog that keeps
our friends along the lakeshore wondering about the weather for a
few early hours in the morning. New Hampshire Troubadour 11Mother ami lamb on a Chichester farm When my folks acquired the place more than fifteen years ago
it had weathered a hundred and a quarter years of storms and
peaceful change. Time was, a century ago, when Sanbornton was
a mid-state metropolis and across what is now our front lawn ran
the range road straight as an arrow for miles. Now much of it is
dense forest, but a part, kept open by a neighbor's cattle and cord
wood hauling, guides us to our blueberry patch up on the hillside.
Along the old road are the cellar holes of homes of yesteryears —
generations who bent the rocky granite hills into submission for
a time then, when the cities and the level prairies called their sons,
relinquished their precarious grasp and the woods have crept back.
Yet they live and they will for a long time to come in the solid
field-stone walls and crumbling foundations overgrown with
raspberry bushes, and maybe a lilac or an old rose lingering on, 12 The March 1947and certainly some apples gone wild through the woods and in
overgrown pastures. just as a love of the rural life and the old ways of the past have
gradually seeped into me after twenty years of following New
Hampshire trails I have hoped these last few years that my own
small sons would come to really feel the spirit that lingers on here
in the hills. Our winter home in St. Louis eliminates the possibility
of week-end visits, but they look forward to the summer vacation. For years Dad has let native friends use our eight or ten acres
of hayfield for mowing, for oats, or potatoes. It kept the land
“gainfully employed” but never created much enthusiasm on the
part of the family. But by last spring our next door neighbor, a
Sanborntonian of old and enduring stock, had increased his flock
of sheep to the expansion point and bargained for use of the field
as a pasture. Dad is a great vegetable gardener; there are few old
timers in town that could better the long succession of delectables
that load down the table but we know now, perhaps somewhat
belatedly, that animals make a farm, and last summer the third
generation of us fed yellow transparents to the sheep on their regu-
lar traverse past the back door. Sheep, like ourselves, my older son
found, have their likes and dislikes. Some disdained these summer
delicacies from the start, others munched a bit half-heartedly and
trotted off with a baa . . . that conveyed little gratitude, but a few
were regular customers and obviously mourned the fall of the lone
tree’s last apple in late August. A century ago our sheep in New Hampshire meant clothing for
the immediate family that winter, and stories are told of busy and
efficient housewives who could shear, clean, spin, and weave, then
tailor a pair of trousers within two days time when occasion called.
Well — we have a spinning wheel on the farm too but we do not
especially hope for that particular occasion. Although the sheep
are not our own we feel that they are part of the farm and last sum-
mer it was more alive than it had been for many years. . Yew Hampshire Troubarlour 13Front Cover: Sugar house and
gathering sap in a New Hampshire
maple orchard at Randolph. Color
photo by Winston Pote. Back Cover: Skier at Jackson.
Photo by Harold Orne. Frontispiece: Ice breaking up
on the Contoocook River. Photo by
Eric Sanford. Correction: The January front
cover showed Mt. Adams from the
Glen. The photograph of Governor
I )alc and his family, which appeared
in the January Troubadour, was
taken by A. Thornton Gray. Pauline Soroka Chadwell’s poem,
Winter Garden, which appeared on
the back cover of the February
Troubadour, appeared originally in
The Flower Grower. Ralph Page, of Nelson, popular
singing square dance caller who
put dancers at the New Hampshire
Folk Festival through their paces
last June, recently sang his w'ay
through six sides of square dance
recordings, including one recording
appropriately titled “ Monadnock
Muddle.” It was recently announced that
the Agricultural Experiment Sta-
tion at the University of New
Hampshire, under the leadership
of Dr. A. F. Yeager, is developing
new varieties of fruits and vege-
tables suited to our climate, in-
cluding apples, strawberries, rasp-
berries, blackberries, peaches, blue-
berries, hazelnuts, hickory nuts,
butternuts, lima beans, tomatoes,
squash, watermelons, cantaloupes,
shell beans, and pop corn. The Rhododendron Reservation
and Cottage in Fitzwilliam, a 300-
acre tract including 16 acres of
rhododendron plants, was offered
to the state by the Appalachian
Mountain Club last December, and
accepted by the Governor anti
Council. This unusual growth of
rhododendron plants, the largest
known natural tract in this latitude,
should be especially interesting to
New Hampshire people as the
beautiful flowering shrub is rare
elsewhere in the state. Rhododen-
dron Cottage, a farmhouse said to
be over 200 years old, was given
modern facilities by the Appalach-
ian Mountain Club without losing
its original charm and character.
The property is stituated two and
one-half miles from Fitzwilliam on 14 The March 1947Rhododendron Cottage, l ilzu illiiirn the old Richmond Road. The State
Forestry and Recreation Com-
mission plans to continue the per-
petuation of the area and the
cottage for the use of the public The first “ PBX,” or private
branch exchange in history, tele-
phone engineers say, was installed
at Concord, New Hampshire. Young Charles F. West, teleg-
rapher and chief dispatcher for a
little railroad, went from Concord
to Boston in 1879 to explain his
idea to the engineer of the year-old
telephone company. “If,” he said in substance, “I
could connect my office telephone
whenever I wished directly with
the offices of the yard master, the
master mechanic, and a few others,
it would be a great convenience
and time-saver. Here’s my rough
idea of how it can be done. What
do you think? New Hampshire Troubadour The engineer designed a “gadget”
to carry out West’s suggestion, and
some weeks later it was installed in
West’s office at Concord, mounted
on a sewing machine table. A recent issue of Collier's con-
tained this item about Claremont,
New Hampshire: The Chamber of
Commerce returned traffic fines
paid by three dozen motorists, as a
good-will gesture. NEW HAMPSHIRE
BOOKS AND AUTHORS A chapter on the stone ruins at
Salem of a village believed to have
been built more than 1,000 years
ago appears in New England's Buried
Treasure by Clay Perry, recently
published by Stephen Dave Press,
New York. The Concord Monitor reports
that Nearby, the latest book written
by Elisabeth Yates McGrcal of
Peterborough, has been selected
by the People’s Book Club as one
of its choices, and an additional
100,000 copies have been ordered
from the publisher. A new book of poems by Marion
Francis Brown of Center Harbor
has been published under the title
High Flung Banner. 15 RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N N.SKI SONG I '/ TIERE on the hill we pause for flight
11 Over a trackless sea of white, A silver sea of moonlit snow
Now with a slow, soft swish we go! With stars overhead and stars below
Where snowy diamond crystals glow. The song of our skis is the song of wings, A soft, swift skimming of white gull’s wings. Space and time are left behind
Where city lights gleam and pathways bind.
Here we are to fly through the snow
Over the hills as the white hares go. White spray splashes our faces with light
As on we skim through the limitless night;
Over the hills and over the snow, Sweet is the song of our skis below. From The Christian Science Monitor Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194703 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour March 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-03 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 16-page booklet Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource sugaring, general stores, Type The nature or genre of the resource Text general stores sugaring https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/14745e8ca926df782bc0db6a1580b827.pdf 560a5274ceee1b98dec65b659b3efff6 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour The happiest man is he who learns from Nature the lesson of Worship. —EmersonCOMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW
HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES
SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS
THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY
THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT
CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII April, 1947 NUMBER 1 COUNTRY CUSTOM ly ^JJarry (Elmore If you are a stranger, come to the front door — Come to the front door as strangers do - Come to the front door and lift the bronze knocker, And we will open the door to you. You will sit sedately in a Boston rocker And talk about the weather, or whatever you wish, While we place a birch log on the fire And serve you apples from a willowware dish, Fit for the taste of a Yankee squire. But if you are an old friend, come to the back door —
Come to the back door as country folk do — Come in without knocking, with a lusty “Hello,” And toast your shins by the kitchen fire, For old friends are welcome and old friends are few.
Stay on for supper, and when you must go, Leave, as you entered, by the unlatched door. Reprinted by permission of Good Housekeeping New Hampshire Troubadour 3GUY SHOKKY Local color at Cilleyville. Some prefer the leisurely pace oj former days. BLACK NORTH Lit ^J^ennelL ~^4nd(e We usually think of New Hampshire as sylvan, colorful, placid,
rural, homey, staidly New England, consistently beautiful. It is all
of these. But there is about it, at times, something else, something
northern and wild, a mood of darkling menace, sinister and vaguely
threatening. These moods don’t last long as a rule, but while they
last there is a chill in the air, and in the cold hard light beneath
lowering clouds, the familiar, usually friendly landscape suddenly
seems like something conjured up from the music of Grieg. There is, in such an atmosphere, not only a foreboding but a
loneliness. It is not the loneliness of the heart, however, but of the
spirit; not the loneliness of “peopled places,” nor of nostalgia for
times far away and long ago, nor yet the melancholic loneliness
of Matthew Arnold’s Dover Beach. It is more the aloneness which
Babette Deutsch describes in her poem Solitude, in the Peterborough
Anthology, 4 The April 1947“Single is all up-rising and down-lying, Struggle, or fear, or silence none may share. Each is alone in bearing, and in dying. Conquest is uncompanioned as despair.” But it is not principally loneliness which we feel when our
mountains and weather combine to produce this atmosphere. There
is more an air of mystery. Certainly there is an eerie feeling about
a night in March or late November, when, through the bare
branches of the tossing trees, you see the moon racing among the
clouds, and you hear the wind relentlessly surging out of the north;
or again, in the winter when you look across a frozen lake, dim in
the starlight, to the darkly looming bulk of mountains against the
sky. It is borne in on you at such times that this land is a northern
land and its moods are northern moods, wild, disquieting, chal-
lenging and yet having about them that lure which the north is
said to have. The Northern Lights, too, which seem to have become more
frequent of late years, produce an eerie effect as they shoot up
from the hill-rimmed horizon like searchlights, greenish white,
growing bright, fading, then growing bright again. There is a
mystery about them as you see them sweep across the night sky,
and no amount of scientific explanation can quite dispel it from
your mind. They are the North made visible, these fingers of light
which reach up to erase the stars. But even though our countryside, particularly our mountain
country, has times when it seems especially wild, even sinister,
mysterious and eerie, there is never a gloomy or depressing note.
For in these moods of our hill country there is always a charged,
an electric feeling in the air which, far from depressing us, puts us
on the alert, sometimes quite suddenly, and almost makes us say,
“What next?” The village of Acworth is a charming old Colonial settlement
silting remote on its hilltop up there under the sky, but there is to New Hampshire Troubadour 0the northwest of it on the upland reaches of the township an ex-
panse of abandoned forest country known locally as Black North.
The origin of the term is obscure, but I think I know how the person
felt who first named it. He probably was working about his farm
in the late afternoon of a November day when his attention was
called to the chill, forbidding appearance of the country out there
under the eaves of the sky where the level frigid light seemed to
fade away unwelcomed. He probably shivered as he looked and
went into the lamplit kitchen to sit by the stove. He remarked to
his wife that it looked “bad’' in the “Black North.” And the name
stuck. That’s my guess. But the term could be applied to those moods of weather and
landscape so common throughout the state, for it expresses the
feeling of them in two words of unusual and poetic combination.
And not for all the sunny south would a New Hampshire man
trade this wild and rugged grandeur of his north country, this
stormy music of the hills. ANNIVERSARY OF UNUSUAL PRODUCT The year 1947 is a milestone in the history of Miniature Precision
Bearings, Inc., of Keene, for it was just ten years ago that its first
miniature ball bearing was installed. This bearing, approximately
one-sixteenth of an inch in outside diameter, is still operating in
the watch of the chief engineer of the company. The premises which the company owns are completely air-
conditioned, and comprise a one-storv main factory building
connected on one side to a plant cafeteria, and on the other to a
modern brick and glass block office building. A separate structure
houses the tool room and development laboratory. 6 The April 1947The originator of the processes used
in the manufacture of these bearings is
Winslow S. Pierce, Jr., who has invented
more than 150 different mechanical
items. Standard sizes of ball bearings, such
as are used in bicycles, automobiles,
and other modern machinery, are famil-
iar to many people, but complete as-
semblies, with inner and outer race-
ways measuring on the outside from
one-eighth to five-sixteenths of an inch are almost beyond imagin-
ation. Realization of the midget size of some of these bearings can
be had by comparing the smallest to the head of a common pin. The tiny bearings get their start from solid bars of metal, from
which accurately dimensioned rings are manufactured to become
inner and outer races of the finished bearing. The rings may be
made of chrome steel, stainless or beryllium copper. Hardening is
accomplished in electronically controlled ovens. Further finishing
processes take place, then assembly of the rings into bearings by
inserting balls between the two races. At last the product of busy
hands manipulated by skilled women workers is ready for packing
and shipment. But this is no major operation, for the day’s produc-
tion could sometimes fit in a lady’s sewing thimble! Contrary to what might be a popular picture of bearing parts
flowing out of machines in a constant stream, the manufacture of
these bearings is a slower and more painstaking operation, with
each part measured and tested many times during the manufac-
turing processes. Tolerances from exact sizes are controlled to as
close as one ten-thousandth of an inch. The company manufactures more than 40 different types and
sizes of miniature ball bearings, thousands of which were turned
out during the war for use in such instruments as the Bendix gyro 7 New Hampshire TroubadourGorham, llir Carter-Moriah ami Prrsi Gorham lies in a valley formed by the noblest of New England’s
mountains, eight hundred feet above sea level and situated where
the rivers Androscoggin and Peabody join. Gorham is the nearest
village to practically every peak of the famous Presidential Range.
Close by is the Carter Range; and to the northeast, the Pilot Range.
On every hand, exquisite scenery delights the eye. Gorham is 8 The April 1917•nlial Ranges. and the A ndrosatggin River centrally located and a natural starting point for excursions in all
directions, whether tramping, motoring, fishing, or hunting. A better vacation playground than Gorham would be hard to
find; those who go there each year say, “It can’t be done!” In the
words of Edna Dean Proctor, “Whatever skies above us rise, the
Hills, the Hills, are Home.” New Hampshire Troubadour 9fluxgate compass, polaroid inclinometer, Sperry gyroscope, Link
trainer, fire control instruments for the Navy, radar equipment,
and many other devices. Quantity production of such minute bearings might well be a
claim to fame, but MPB prefers to cite its record for acceptance of
99.7 per cent of its production and maintenance of extremely fine
tolerances equivalent to the highest of five grades of larger ball
bearings. The company was commended for excellence of pro-
duction by the chief naval inspector of New York. For the past year the company’s production has swung over to
peacetime applications of war developments such as maritime
navigational aids, commercial aviation instruments, weather sta-
tion equipment, etc., and into new uses for miniature ball bearings
in small electric motors, cameras, textile machinery, business
machines, dental tools, and laboratory and testing devices. Many
in the roster of MPB's customers are household names, but it also
includes such clients as the recent winner of the Great Lakes fiy
casting championship, and custom model railroad builders. As well as manufacturing these standard bearings, the company
designs and produces many special bearings, and does consulting
and development work on precision instruments for aviation,
radio, optical, and other companies. MPB bearings are sold and used all over the world. The com-
pany maintains its own office in New York, and has representatives
in 26 cities in the United States and Canada. From an article in the Morning Union (Manchester, ,V. //.)
Mr. Pierce formerly lived in New Jersey and Long Island, New York.
The company’s treasurer, H. D. Gilbert, was a Chicagoan for eighteen
years. Although New Hampshire has for many, many years been pro-
viding leaders who have gone out and helped to develop other sections
of the country, it is interesting to note that New Hampshire also draws
people of enterprise and talent, who take important parts in the
state’s industrial and community growth. 10 The April 1947F* GUY SHOREY Trout fishing on the ITest Brunch oj the Peabody River in the shadow of the Presidential Range. THE GREAT ANNUAL DECISION by J^ot n i3r Ten nan “Sometimes vve caught plenty and sometimes few, but
we never came back without a good catch of happiness/’ — Henry Van Dyke This is the month when New Hampshire fishermen and women of
all ages haunt tackle shops by day and tinker with angling equip-
ment by night, all the while pondering their most important annual
decision — where to go fishing on May first, the opening day of
trout fishing. The uncontrollable fishing fever rises in their veins
like the sap in budding maples as each day becomes warmer and
the landscape acquires that fishing-time look. Where to go trouting on opening day is no small problem and
for each angler the decision must be made according to personal
taste and ambition from the wide variety of brooks, streams and
ponds in the Granite State. For some a dark-flowing meadow brook
winding slowly between under-cut banks fringed by alders and
willows, where well-fed, brilliant “brookies” are quick to take
advantage of sunken roots. For others a forest brook shaded by-
spruce, cascading over granite and pausing in clear pools before .Xew Hampshire Troubadour 11tumbling into foam again. Here the trout are sometimes not much
over legal size but later curl in the pan and sputter with a superior
aroma. The trout ponds are popular, too. Many fishermen, some too
old, some too lazy, and some just plain not inclined to tramp the
brush on brookbanks or wade swift currents, these fishermen prefer
to visit the trout ponds nature has tried to hide among New
Hampshire hills. Here the ardent fly fisherman often has his best
opening day luck, alongside devotees of the angle worm. It is traditional in New Hampshire to play hookey from school
or business on opening day. No other species of fish rates this alibi.
Several New Hampshire schools now have fishing contests on this
important date and lure the youngsters back to classrooms with
prizes and recognition of their angling prowess. The boys at Wilton
High School last spring suffered the indignity of having their
fishing contest won by a girl. It is also traditional for nature to provide early-season fisher-
folk with smells of wakening buds and arbutus, with the musical
sound of running water, the hum of early insects, the lulling
whisper of wind in the pines, and complete regeneration of mind
and body. It is difficult to measure opening day success. No feeling of greed
or desire for power motivates the ambition of anglers who are
willing to rise in the quiet chill of dawn in order to be on the stream
early. Of course there is immense satisfaction in being lucky enough
to catch a larger trout, or a few more trout, than one’s neighbor or
one’s wife, and it is a callous fisherman who does not cheerfully ask
his fellow-angler “what luck” and appraise his catch. To bring
home a really big trout, large enough to wrap in a damp towel
and keep for a few days in order to show one’s friends, brings a
glow of satisfaction; but to catch one large enough for display in
the local tackle-store window is a major triumph, furnishing
conversation for many years to come. 12 The April 1947Most fishermen arc content
just to be “afishin”’ on May 1st.
A few trout for eating, a “nice
one” for showing is all they ask
in addition to the natural sights,
sounds and smells provided in
a New Hampshire setting. Although each opening day
finds a larger number of fishing
couples afield, husband and wife
sharing the thrills and satisfac-
tion of May Day morning, the
majority of anglers’ wives be-
come “fishing widows” on this
special day. To console these
partners who stay at home the
following lines* were written by
the late Reverend Henry Van
Dyke in the dedication to his
wife of his book Fisherman’s Luck. GUY SHOREY Coosauk hall on Rumpus Brook, Randolph. Here is the basket; I bring it home to you. There arc no great fish in it.
But perhaps there may be one or two little ones which will be to your
taste. And there are a few shining pebbles from the bed of the brook,
and ferns from the cool, green woods, and wild flowers from the
places that you remember. I would fain console you, if I could, for
the hardship of having married an angler: a man who relapses into his
mania with the return of every spring, and never sees a little river with-
out wishing to fish in it. But after all, we have had good times together
as we have followed the stream of life towards the sea. And we have
passed through the dark days without losing heart, because we were
comrades. So let this book tell you one thing that is certain. In all the
life of your fisherman the best piece of luck is just YOU. * Through courtesy of Charles Scribner's Sons New Hampshire Troubadour 13Front Cover: Pussy Willows.
Color photo by Guy Shorcy. Back Cover: Sunset on the An-
droscoggin River near Gorham.
Photo by Guy Shorey. Frontispiece: Shadbush blos-
soms, formerly a harbinger of the
shad runs in the Merrimack anti
Connecticut rivers. The photo-
graph by Guy Shorey shows the
Peabody River in Pinkham Notch. This month the Troubadour fea-
tures the photographs of Guy
Shorey of Gorham, a photographer,
lecturer (with color photo slides),
and small-town druggist whose
work, modesty, love of everything
beautiful, whether in scenery or
poetic expression, and earnest re-
gard for the welfare of all is well
known to many. Troubadour read-
ers have been denied a more fre-
quent enjoyment of Mr. Shorey's
work only because he has for twelve
years been a member of the Com-
mission under which the Trouba-
dour is published, and in the cir-
cumstances has been reluctant to
submit material. By request he
has collaborated in the preparation
of this issue, suggesting illustrations
from his extensive collection and
the text which appears under tin-
frontispiece, in the center spread on pages 8 and 9, and on the back
cover. Fishermen who look forward to
early lake trout and landlocked
salmon fishing will be interested
in the following average “ice-out'*
dates of four popular New Hamp-
shire lakes. Other popular lakes
include Winnisquam, Squam, New-
found, and Merrymeeting. Winnipcsaukec (average for 60
years) April 22 Sunapee (average for 78 years)
April 26 First Connecticut (average for
27 years) May 3 Second Connecticut (average for
27 years) May 5 A number of New Hampshire
woodland owners have learned, to
their advantage, about the services
offered by the New England For-
estry Foundation, a non-profit cor-
poration set up to increase timber
production by bringing private for-
est lands under continuous manage-
ment and by providing complete
forestry service at cost. Manage-
ment plans have l>een prepared for
more than 26,000 acres, and more
than 40,000 acres are under man- Tht April W47 14agcment agreements. Owners have
found that they can substantially
increase their timber production
through a plan for selective cutting
every few years, and at the same
time increase their income from
woodlands. The Foundation's head-
quarters are at 3 Joy Street, Boston
8, Massachusetts. It is reported that people in some
parts of the country (in their igno-
rance!) are saying that New Eng-
land is slipping. New Hampshire
readers are invited to help the
Troubadour counter such stories
by sending short articles on the
advantages or satisfactions which
they or others enjoy in making a
living here. The Curtis Dogwood reservation
is located within the town of Lynde-
boro about one mile north of Wil-
ton village, along the road from
Wilton village to Per ham corner.
This area of flowering dogwood
(cornus florida) covering many
acres in pure stands was made a
state reservation through the gen-
erosity of Frederic H. Curtis of
Boston, a summer resident of Wil-
ton. As the flowering dogwood is
a relatively rare flowering shrub New Hampshire Troubadour in New Hampshire, the state seeks
to protect this beautiful and ex-
tensive growth from the blossom
vandal and perpetuate the annual
display of white and pinkish blos-
soms for the benefit of those who
come from near and far to appre-
ciate and enjoy them in their nat-
ural setting. NEW HAMPSHIRE AUTHORS AND BOOKS Fishes oj New Hampshire, a guide
to the 62 known species and sub-
species of fresh-water fishes of the
state, from the tiny Bridled Shiner
to the lordly Lake Trout, was re-
cently issued by the New Hamp-
shire Fish and Game Department.
As it is intended to provide the
layman with an accurate means of
identifying some of the compara-
tively little-known fish, the book
avoids technical terminology as
much as possible. It was written by
Ralph G. Carpenter II and Hil-
bert R. Sicgler, director and biolo-
gist of the department respectively.
Drawings were made by Oliver R.
Shattuck, and Dr. Reeve M. Baily,
University of Michigan, gave tech-
nical assistance. Copies may be pro-
cured from the Fish and Game De-
partment at Concord at 30 cents
each. 15 RUMFORD PRESS
CONCORD. N. H.Tiikre’s a glory on the water
and a splendor in the sky, When the day has come to sunset
And the night-winds sing and sigh There’s a golden pathway gleaming
And the clouds are touched with light; When the sun, in love, is leaning
On the bosom of the night. There’s a leap of love and longing,
And there’s something in the air,
When the day has come to sunset,
That is close akin to prayer. William L. Stidger Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194704 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour April 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-04 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource manufacturing, fishing, Andover, Randolph Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Andover fishing manufacturing Randolph https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/85cac325409ff9e8bc43f619e269ef94.pdf 6b8404cdd4337f50e1a5a8276efa9182 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour The New Hampshire BVTROUBADOUR 1947 . indfure ^Jroubadoiu COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR These things are spring: The flash of golden wings, a ruby throat that sings, Thick lilacs clustered o’er a weatherbeaten door; The strong, good smell of newly turned-up earth, Long, brown, and purple furrows glistening in the sun; The creak and clack of harness — and the clang of plow on stone, And “gee” and “haw” as the weary team turns home. Blue haze o’er all the mountains, new freed from snows and cold; The rocky ribs of Cardigan thrust sharply through the white — Backbone of old New Hampshire come once again to light. The thick, brown mud of an old logging road, And the suck and slush as the wheels splash through. On a high and rocky pasture the first wild apple blossom And yellow violets hiding by the brook below the wall; The thin, sweet air of evening, and the cool, clear call of birds, A dart of blue among the alders and the birches waving green, A sturdy lad intent upon the pool beneath the dam, His rod held firmly in his grimy, freckled hand; A little lamb ashaking on his slender, straddling legs; New life — new thought; These things are spring. ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII May, 1947 NUMBER 2 SPRINGWINSTON l*OTK (’.onfinnational Church amI Tmcn Hall at Hancock* I’icuvd across \ttncav I'oml. SEEKING A BETTER COUNTRY From “Along New England Roads,” by W. C. Prime, published by Hakper & Brothers, 1892. Reprinted by permission. It was certaint y as beautiful a spot for a home as one could find in this world. As my horses walked slowly up the hill road we approached a house which, at a little distance oil, looked picturesque and pretty, but as we came nearer was found to have only the beauty of ruin. It was a deserted farm house. . . . 1 drove on, still slowly uphill, and after a little saw the customary burial-ground, enclosed by a stone wall, only a few rods from the roadside. ( Joing to it I found four upright stones, and on one of them read a name, and an inscription which was somewhat startling: “But now they desire a better country.”Why do so many people make the mistake of expecting to find that lx*tter country by going off” on railways? There is nowhere on earth a lx-tter country than this northern New England country. When wc get a reasonable amount of common sense into legislatures and law-makers; when they get to realizing what a good country theirs is, and how good it can always be if they will preserve the glory of their forests from the axe and the purity of their streams from the saw-mill, it will be safe for anyone to make a home in it for the time he must spend among the things that are uncertain. Vermont and New 1 lampshire are becoming wide awake to the extensive abandonment of farms and the gradual decrease of the best element in the population. The people are inquiring into the cause, with a view to finding a cure for the disease. It is a disease, and it is a disease which affects the community and the state by affecting the individuals. The inscription on that gravestone suggests the explanation of the disease. Those old people who are never going to travel off in search of a new home in the Far West were contented and happy enough in the red farm house, looking for a better country beyond all seas, all possibilities of travel in the flesh. Later generations were not contented. Life was hard, and they thought to find a place where it would be easier. They went to a large town, to a city, to the West. It is beyond a doubt that they went to less happiness, to harder labor, with smaller reward. Not one in ten bettered his condition by the going. If you had known the personal history of as many country families who have moved away from the old places as I have known, you would understand why 1 am so ready to affirm that the great body of New England emigrants who have gone away from these farms have done worse than they would have done had they remained in the old homes. It is probable that the efforts now made to turn the tide of emigration and lead it into instead of out of New 1 lampshire and Vermont will succeed?Why not? The land is fruitful and beautiful. The climate is wholesome and enjoyable. What is there to keep people away? Nothing, except that vague idea which is so universally deceptive that the better country, where one may grow rich with ease, may live well without much labor, lies far oil'at the end of a railway or a steamer journey. . . . Hut if you suggest to the persons struggling on small incomes in city life that they go to the far off country villages of New England to live and be happy, they shrink with apprehensions they cannot define from what seems miserable exile. I am not the one to make light of those desires, tastes, habits of life which form the comforts and shape the pleasures of all of us. No one can be happy for anyone else. But if the people who cling to life in cities and expensive towns could be persuaded to consider with common sense the question whether, after all, life in the country, with its abundant enjoyment and employments, and its small expense, is not the life they ought to adopt, it is probable that we should see a beginning of the repeopling of abandoned farms, and a new growth of a valuable population. A new generation might grow up to love home well State House at ('.uncord, where the legislature enough to li\( and die ill it. is now concluding its biennial session. It js not at ap probable that C. KDWARD HARBOUR « the New England states will recall to their homes the same people, or call to them the same kind of people, who have left them. A new age has begun for all the eastern country. Wealth has increased in cities. The custom of having a country as well as a city home is largely on the increase. Before many years all parts of the country which are healthy andattractive will draw purchasers of lands for country homes. Where a few will seek such homes in fashionable localities for society pleasures, hundreds will seek them in more economical and quite as enjoyable places. More and more families will go into the country for the whole year. More and more men will retire from active business on small fortunes, instead of remaining in it to increase them, with the hundred to one chances of coming to grief and losing all. People of moderate means, and people of wealth, too, will learn how much nobler is a race of children brought up in the country than a race brought up in the city. And, to bring this to a close, the man who . . . will be wise enough to go where he can buy a house and fifty or a hundred acres of land . . . even there he must work. . . . Work and weariness he must have forever on this soil of earth, nor will there be work without weariness anywhere until he shall reach the better country far away, which the inhabitants of the old red farm house desired and I hope found. Events of the past half century seem to have confirmed Mr. Prime's confidence in northern New England. — The Editor AT THE END OF THE ROAD Take a winding road past brooks and streams, don’t stray from its beaten path down through the hanging maples and towering pines. Let it stir you gently as the wild berries and rainbow-colored flowers line your aisle-way to the unknown that lurks ahead. Bask in the rays of a healthy sun as they seek your person through virgin forests. Watch closely as the rainbow and square-tail trout adds panoramic color to the rushing streams. Now breathe deeply of the sweet pine fragrance. Now continue on your way past the old farmWINSTON POTE Fishing at Swift River Falls% Passaconway, Wt. Passaconway in background. that marks the beginning of this town you have never seen. Notice the rolling corn fields as they sway with each passing breeze. Watch the contented cow graze among the green grasses that border this old century-weathered farmhouse. Yes, that barn has been there for years, and will still be there when you and I have withered to dust. That's new mown hay you smell, the farmer who lives here was up at the crack of dawn to fill his loft. That hemp-rope swing the boy is swinging in was enjoyed by his grandfather. And the old hound dog has been around for nigh onto fifteen years. But we'd better hurry before these folks insist we stay for supper and we won’t feel like refusing after we smell that fried chicken. Besides there's a town at the end of this road you have never seen. Did you see that woodchuck dash between those rocks? Who built that stonefence? Gosh, I don’t know, and I doubt if anyone in this next town could tell you. You see those rocks came with the glacier, and for all we know the glacier might have left them that way. That was a chipmunk you just saw scurry across the road. There's another one. Look up ahead. There are three barefooted boys going down to the old swimming hole. Who are they? Well, that one with the freckles is the son of the local constable, and that tow-head belongs to the preacher. The other one, his daddy is a farmer and his grandpa was a farmer and so were all of his folks all the way back. Now just over this little hill we'll find a town of happy people. Look, you can just barely see the white church steeple rising over the village, ever serving as a goal for its congregation. That was a hedgehog you nearly hit. Those needles on his back wouldn’t be too good for your tires. Here’s the top of the hill. Let’s stop for a minute. There it is, nestled down like a settin' hen. With its high banks of mountains and sentry-like timber. See, there’s the main street. That's where we’d be if we stayed on this road. Yep, that's the village store. Bill Brown has operated that store for nearly fifty years. He's seen the town through fire and drought, good times and bad. Across the street is the fire house. The people pitched in and bought a fine pumper, and whenever that siren sounds you ought to see the menfolk run. They are volunteer firemen, and have fought fires up in those hills and right next door where Mrs. Jones lives. Her house burned down last winter, when there were three feet of snow on the ground and the temperature read 5 (degrees) below zero. The neighbors took her in and within a month the townspeople had built her that house and filled it full of furniture. That’s the way these people do things here in this town. Over there on the side of the hill is Johnny Davis’ place. He owns 50 head of cattle and over 300 acres of land. That house was built 10 years before the Revolutionary War. And down the road there a piece is the old schoolhouse. There’s the town hall where all the townspeople meet. These people take their town seri-mis and they really hold some mighty interesting meetings. That big hill behind the schoolhousc is the favorite of all the kids in the w inter. You ought to see them come belly-bustin' down that hill. Well, we could go on like this for hours, but if you really want to know this town better and see what makes these people happy, you had better go on down the road and sit on the piazza of that general store and just listen. You won't hear any fancy words or big talk, but you'll hear plenty of good common sense and the best recipe for happy living. — Kearsarge Independent, July 12, l*M<i REFLECTIONS ON SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE Lj CtizaLtli Wason Back roads are the pathway to nostalgic memories and sometimes to adventure in New Hampshire. Spring sucking at the tires, 1 have plunged deeper and deeper into the hills of the Granite State, with an elf in my blood singing, “Come on, come on, and see what is beyond the bend.” One day in Nelson it was an old cellar hole on the hillside and jonquils springing around the granite doorstep. Thoughtlessly I stooped to pick the flowers, and then paused as, in imagination, 1 saw the housewife come to her door, wipe her work-worn hands on a ragged print apron, bend to stroke the tabby cat, then straightening, gaze with lighted face at the gold blossoms. “Pretty aren’t they, Tabby,” she said, “too pretty to pick after waiting all that long, snowdrifted winter.” Then 1 could see her sink on the worn step, and taking the purring cat in her lap, she dreamed of far places and other beauties she had never seen, and so forgot the daily toil of farm life. No, I could not pickBKRNICB H. I'KKKY Looking from Pack Monadnock toicard North Pack and Crotched Mountain. The village of (ireenfield is in the valley. the jonquils, because I knew she was there on the step watching still, and beauty was seeping deep into her spirit, as it was into mine, as I too looked and thought of far places where 1 might some day see spring flowers. Another day it was coming, in Alstead, upon a high-booted, silent, trout fisherman opening the season, with gleaming eyes and the confidence that “this will be a buster — just feel that tug.” The water swirled and sparkled by — the trout tugged the man played gently on his line, scarce breathing, until finally speckled, shining, prey to man’s skill, the big fellow was cast gasping upon the grass. Again, climbing the pine-needle strewn heights to Dundee, 1 have thought of the early Scotch settlers tending their Hocks, and looking as I did out over deep valleys and up at vapor-veiled heights, and down at the ice-swollen brooks carrying winter from Washington to the sea.Among the evergreens of Thorndike and Rindge I have Seen myriads of pale Rhododendron buds open in rosy glow until the forest flamed. So I have wandered, drinking deep of clear lilac-scented air, admiring the young lambs at their mother’s heels on the slopes of Sandwich, the Hcrefords at Tamworth, until finally at Eaton Center and up the hill, I looked down on the tiny lake reflecting a slender church spire, and shimmering in the afternoon sun. In the spring too I have taken a sandy turn towards the beach, between marsh grasses, and come suddenly out at Rye to catch a glimpse of tumbling waves, and still quiet beaches — gulls promenading — no raucous humans in their path. Spring comes to other places, but not gently or lingeringly as it does to New Hampshire It bursts forth in sudden glory after California’s rainy season. It riots in North Carolina, but subtly it comes to New Hampshire’s soft hills and rugged mountains, its valleys and rocky shore. Poignant, not blatant, are spring memories. Artfully they draw the wanderer back to New Hampshire, where nature has created sometimes with strong sharp strokes and again with soft shadings, a pattern of varying unfading loveliness. CURTISS DOGWOOD RESERVATION tg . Janies -J. 3Uk louSer Why Nature with all her bounty of beauty in New Hampshire should decide to add one more gift to our New Hampshire glories is a mystery never to be solved. In a state where flowering dogwood (Cornus florida) is only native along the Connecticut valley, a fifteen acre tract of flowering dogwood was found on the slopes of a ridge in the town of Lynde- boro near Wilton. This tract had been bought by Mr. and Mrs. Frederick H. Curtiss of Wilton and Boston and has been given to the State. There is no spring flower more beautiful and the plan is to make this a park where all may enjoy the beauty but not destroy it. Legend tells us that the Dogwood (Cornus llorida), once a great hardwood tree, wept bitterly when it was used for the cross on which Jesus was crucified. Nature in her sorrow said that never again should the tree be used for such a purpose, so now it is a small, almost shrublike tree. Its flowers represent the cross, and the nail marks and bloodstains are to be seen in the flower. In warmer climates there is usually a companion tree, the red bud or Judas tree. Dogwood is an unpleasant name given to a tree so lovely, but it comes from England where the bark was steeped to make a cure for mangy dogs. The Latin name Cornus is more appropriate as it means horn and calls attention to the hardness of the wood. The Curtiss tract of Cornus florida gives to New Hampshire another natural beauty. There is no sight more pleasing to the soul than to look up to the blue of New Hampshire spring skies through the white blossoms of the flowering dogwood. The people of the State should be grateful to the many in Wilton and its vicinity who helped to make this a state park. DnHtHHtil Nos so ms in thr Curtiss tract.Front Cover: Mts. Madison and Adams and apple trees in bloom, as seen from Randolph Hill. Color photo by Winston Pote. Back Cover: Lake Sunapee and Loon Island Lighthouse. Photo by William V. D. Kitchin. Frontispiece: Spring scene looking north from Plymouth. Photo by Winston Pote. NEW HAMPSHIRE IN HIS SOUL “I think the picture of Chocorua Village and Mt. Chocorua on page 11 of the February issue is the best picture I have ever seen in a copy of any Troubadour. “The vista of the mountain is similar to what I view from my home on the south shore of Lake Wentworth in Wolfcboro township. “When a boy of ten years of age, I, a native of Manhattan, New York City, first had a glimpse of Chocorua and the Ossipee range in the early summer of 1888 from the shore of Lake Wentworth. New Hampshire is in my soul, and the same goes for the New York City girl I brought up there in 1899 as my bride. “The Stevens family have had a homestead in Pleasant Valley, Lake Wentworth since 1814 (when the house was built). Now the fourth generation of Stevens spend much time in it. We haven’t altered the interior a bit since we possessed it in 1895, except to electrify it and equip it with every conceivable electric device, including a quick- freeze cabinet. A long way from our first year there with its outdoor pump, also ‘plumbing,’ and kerosene lamps!”—C. E. Stevens, Wolfeboro, New Hampshire. The first New Hampshire Conservation Camp, for New Hamp- shire youth of high-school age, will be held at Spruce Pond Camp, Bear Brook State Park near Allens- town, from June 22 to 27, it has been announced by C. W. Wad- leigh of the University of New Hampshire Extension Service, who is chairman of the conservation camp committee. The camp will give young people a chance to learn about conservation of soil, forests, aquatic resources, and wildlife by studying with experts in these fields. Sponsored by a large group of organizations and state agencies, it is expected the camp will be a valuable aid in training youth leaders in conservation.NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS NEW YORK, March 9—The Exposition Press of New York announced today the publication of “Tribute of Triumph,” an anthology of post-war verse, which includes the work of Gertrude A. Stoddard of Bradford, N. H. Numbering among its contributors many of America’s best-loved contemporary poets, the book, which is a dedicatory tribute to those who fought for America in the last war, contains a special section of biographical material concerning its contributors.—From the Manchester (JV. H.) Morning Tnion Apple blossom time in New Hampshire is usually at its height about the middle of May, varying somewhat according to altitude. Many of the most extensive orchards are in the Monadnock and Seacoast Regions. The purple lilac. New Hampshire’s official flower, which has been cultivated in the state since the time of Colonial Governor Benning Wentworth, usually blooms, appropriately, for Memorial Day. The Monadnock Re gion has announced that mountain laurel tours will be marked during the first part of June in the towns of Greenville, Wilton, New Ipswich. Mason, and Fitzwilliam. Many fishermen have discovered the fun of fishing for pickerel from opening day, May 28, through the month of June with “streamer” flies. This sawtoothed savage is said to !*• very susceptible to such flies as the red and white bucktail, Mickey Finn and Black Ghost during the period when it prefers shallow water habitat. Fishermen proclaim the pickerel to be. very gamey on a light rod, and the savage strike as it hits the fly is said to lx- surpassed only by the landlocked salmon. Also in its favor, the pickerel is a common sport fish in many lakes and ponds throughout the state. The New Hampshire Federation of Garden Clubs has a list of interesting gardens which may be visited. The 1946 list included more than 150 attractive gardens in all parts of New Hampshire. Requests for the 1947 list may be sent to Mrs. Earle W. Philbrook, Littleton, New Hampshire. Mrs. Philbrook is the state chairman for the Visiting Gardens list. RUMFORD PRfc'SS CONCORD. N. H.ANOTHER YEAR Another year has passed. Deep snow has lain where now the wild llowei grow, and ice has gripped the lake with fingers of steel, hushing its clear, sweet voice. But now the lake is free to laugh, to shake a million sapphires loose before the sun’s bright gaze. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194705 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour May 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-05 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Curtiss Dogwood Reservation Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Curtiss Dogwood Reservation https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/bc672663106598c1e21336b6fdb73b66.pdf 6dee5c82b4e5403f112e507ead93e9ee Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour m, c31Te New Hampshire Troubadour June 1947Hie I lew tamp Shire _Sroubadour GOMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR From the October-Novcmber 1946 issue of Wings of Love, Charlestown, Mass., of which Rev. Cutler is editor and publisher Sometimes it seems as if on each successive vacation 1 did less and enjoyed it more. Last summer for instance I attempted no big peaks, nor visited anything new; yet each day in the usual mountain haunts afforded me fresh delight. The sounds and sights of each familiar scene came daily to me with an aroma exhilarating and different. The same birds sang from the same trees, and the accustomed blossoms gladdened the usual nooks, but somehow the quality of life in my quiet mountain existence seemed increasingly beautiful and significant. One of the charms that has meant the most to me on a vacation in the mountains has always been the sense of wildness, remoteness from civilization, and oneness with nature. At the age of eleven or so I used to camp out with a few others for days at a time in the untravelled forests east of First Connecticut Lake, fishing one or ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII June, 1 947 NUMBER 3 FRINGES OF WILDERNESSIKK M.SANFORD -'(iillumf Kruntta on l.nkv Massabrsic, Munrhrstrr another of the branches of the Diamond River. At that time there were parts of the northern woods that had not been cut except for the evergreens, and the hardwood growth was often a truly magnificent sight. One of my clearest memories from those wilderness journeyings is of the floor of the big woods deep in the damp shade, crisscrossed with decaying logs, each carpeted with lichens and moss and other green growth, as if a gardener were constantly tending it. The same delightful effect may sometimes be observed where our higher mountains are still crowned with unharvested trees, and the ground beneath them harbors every fallen tree trunk until the dampness from frequent low clouds has turned it into a deep bed of lowly green growth. During the summers from 1924 to 1941, I seldom missed an opportunity to spend two active weeks in the Appalachian Mountain Club’s peripatetic August Camp. In this way I was made acquainted with a number of little-known mountain regions, such as Grafton Notch in the Nlahoosuc Range, Webb Lake near the Rangeleys, and Kidney Pond west of Mt. Katahdin, all in Maine;and Bunnell Notch under the Pilot Range, the Wild River valley east of the Carters, and lower Crawford Notch, all in New Hampshire. For the last six years these more distant and arduous camping trips have been out of the question, but the edges of nature's great wilderness still impinge upon the outposts of civilization; and every spring and summer 1 have managed to get far enough away from railroads and shopping centers to listen in, as it were, on nature’s private doings. At all events, one of the great charms of an open-air vacation is that the expected almost never happens, and before very long, one is bound to meet the unexpected. One Sunday as I was walking back from church in Randolph, New Hampshire in my very best clothes, but by a path through the pasture two hundred yards from the road, I heard a slight snort just ahead of me among some low spruces; and I stood stock still, hardly breathing in my excitement. In a few moments a doe appeared from behind the nearest tree, looking alarmed but evidently not recognizing my motionless form. The breeze was blowing the wrong way for her to smell my presence, and the beautiful creature stood with raised head and large erect ears pointed my way, not fifty feet from me. She looked at me in a way that made it clear that her none-too-accurate eyesight failed completely to make anything of my appearance. In fact, after a long minute or two of staring now at me and now to one side, she lowered her graceful head and proceeded to browse on the pasture grass. I thought that she might come even closer to me; but instead she veered oil behind some little trees, and when I attempted to sneak a few steps toward her, she heard or sensed the disturbance instantly and vanished so swiftly and silently that I could not tell either where she had gone or whether a fawn had been with her. A few days before this encounter, one of the women at our hotel had been walking along down the road when she chanced to catchsight of a doe in the bushes before the doe saw her. She watched, keeping perfectly still, while the doe looked up and down the road, and then walked out of the woods and crossed to the other side. When the doe turned around and looked back, two small fawns bounded after her and quickly all three disappeared into the forest on the other side. Instances like this one are of course not common, and yet they are not so rare as the uninitiated might think. The reason that we do not all see more wild creatures out-of-doors is simply that most of the time we are too immersed in our own affairs to see what is going on around us, or too boisterous in our sociability to avoid scaring away the exceedingly shy denizens of the woods and farm lands. So I have been enjoying my vacations in the country more and more, although I may have been walking less and less, because I am gradually learning to approach nature more respectfully and with a minimum of preoccupation. COLDBROOK FALLS MEMORIAL RESERVATION T he Town of Randolph, New Hampshire, at its annual town meeting on March 11, 1947 voted to accept from Mr. and Mrs. John Boothman, the proprietors of the Mt. Crescent House in Randolph, and from the heirs of Louis Fayerweather Cutter, the offered gift of a small area along Coldbrook in Randolph which includes Coldbrook Falls and the Memorial Bridge to the early Randolph pathmakers. Coldbrook Falls is the most striking of the many falls on Coldbrook between the floor of King Ravine and the Randolph Valley. T he area is to be held by the town as a memorial forest reservation to be known as Coldbrook Falls Reservation in memory of the late Laban Morrill Watson and Anna Burbank.4 scenic spot in the netv Coldhrook Falls Memorial Reservation. RamliUph Watson, the parents of Mrs. Boothman, and of the late Louis Fayer- vveather Cutter and Mary Osgood Cutter of Salem, Massachusetts. The terms of the gift require that the reservation be kept by the town as closely as possible in its present natural state. It is to be held for the benefit of the inhabitants and summer residents of Randolph, and of visitors to the town. By the terms of the deeds, access to the reservation will be limited to footpaths. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were early members of the Appalachian Mountain Club. Mr. Watson established the Ravine House in Randolph about 75 years ago. This well known mountain inn was long the center of the pathmaking and mountain activity on the Northern Peaks of the Mt. Washington Range. Mr. and Mrs. Cutter were for sixty years summer visitors to Randolph. Mr. Cutter, over a long period, prepared the various Appalachian Mountain Club maps of the Northern Peaks and of the Mt. Washington Range, work on which he started in 1885 while a student at Massachusetts Institute of Technology.Uo-milr circuit roatT* in Jackson I portion of th*THE HILL-ROAD Lt iJ’io DinJt I wish that I might make you see A hill-road that is dear to me. It starts up from a lovely lane, And turns and winds and once again It comes out to an open space Where golden-rod and Queen Anne's lace Are blowing there with gentle grace. High mountains lie in distant view, And clouds are floating in the blue; While far below the river winds. Brushed in with curving, silvery lines. And farther on that road we found A secret spot — a hidden ground, Where many woodland plants abound, Wood-betony and sun-dew rare. And dainty ferns of maidenhair, Pyrola and gold-thread too. And partridge-berries peeking through Their dark-green leaves, with ruddy hue. And then to make our joy complete, Orchids growing at our feet. The breath of summer standing there, I.ike little ladies, sweet and fair. I wish that you might come and see Why this hill-road is dear to me. Note — The Orchid Family Orchidaceae is represented by a variety of species in New Hampshire, the Ladies Slippers being probably the best known. The orchid to which Miss Tirrell refers is the Nodding Pogonia Triphora trianthophora. Miss Tirrcll says that "the poem was born spontaneously” after a climb on Cass Hill. Westmoreland.— The EditorBERNICE B. PERRY Cathedral of the Pines at Rindge, detlicated to First l.t. Sanderson Sloane, overlooks a beautiful valley with A ft. Monadnock in the distance. The altar honors the Neu Hampshire dead of World War II, and the pulpit is dedicated to religious pioneers and to Rindge people who have served in uar. CATHEDRAL OF THE PINES h Jlrcli Wliiteli ouAe From The Churchman, as condensed in The Reader's Digest. Only a part of the article is reprinted here. It was a dark, fog-streaked day of December 1943 in Britain that I first met Sandy Sloane. After a precarious mission over Bremen,he sat there quiet and unseeing, a mug of coffee resting on his knee. “You’re going home?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “To New Hampshire.” The change that came over him was startling. He sat up straight and his eyes glowed. “When you get back,” he said, “go see my father, Douglas Sloane of Rindge, New Hampshire. Tell him and Mom and my wife that I’m fine.” “Sure, I’ll tell them,” I said. “When you get home,” he said, “go up and see my knoll. Remember the hurricane of 1938? Well, my knoll used be guarded by giant pines and it was like walking into a great green cave. Then the big wind blew most of the trees down. “We felt so sick about it that we kept away for weeks. But finally Dad and I walked up one afternoon in late spring. The most beautiful view God ever put together stretched before us. The big trees had obscured it. The branches of the small ones that were left formed an emerald arch through which we looked out toward the whole Wachusett Divide. You should see it in the fall with the colors reflecting in the lakes. “When you see Dad,” Sandy went on, “tell him not to touch my knoll until I get back. One of these days I’m going to build something there. I don’t know what, but it will have to be something worth while. Maybe I shouldn’t even touch it, though,” he added solemnly. “It’s just like a cathedral.” It wasn’t until February that I called Sandy’s father in Rindge. Wouldn’t I come and have dinner with them one night? When I did, Mr. Sloane was in the thick of a Red Cross drive and it suddenly dawned on him that I could help him out — since I had recently returned from the battle front and particularly since I had seen Sandy in England. So we went to the village hall. Everyone was there.I gave them what I could, and concluded with what Sandy had told me about his knoll. Two days later came the stunning news of Sandy’s death. I rkturnkd to Europe for the Normandy invasion and could only imagine the weeks and months of anguish the Sloanes must have suffered. They can't remember how it actually started. But first a few branches were scraped aside to open the path. Rotting boughs were cleared away and rocks piled together for later removal. Without intent the rocks gradually took the form of a rectangular mound. The Sloanes remembered how Sandy had said, ‘‘It's just like a cathedral.” John and Douglas, Sandy's brothers, bought a rugged cross of New Hampshire granite. Seth Cleaves drove his blind horse up to the knoll and went to work. John Crosby, master mason, brought his tools. Men who had never attended church wandered up and looked on. Before they knew it they too were hauling rock. The Sloanes had intended only a modest memorial to Sandy, but as the shrine lx*gan to take form and an altar base was being cemented, it was apparent that there were other Sandys to be con- Front floor of thr old Phil pot House, Hollinsford. The house mis huilt in the late I600's.sidered. Mr. Sloane is president of the New Hampshire Society of the Sons of the American Revolution. To some of the members he expressed the hope that perhaps the Cathedral of the Pines might become a monument to the memory of others who gave their lives in World War II. A simple item suggesting this in the society’s publication brought a nation-wide response. Dozens of boxes and packages began to arrive in Rindge. From every state in the Union came rocks to be incorporated into this shrine. One stone was taken from a barn that had been used as an outpost at Valley Forge. There was a stone from the historic gorge through which Lewis and Clark first viewed the Rocky Mountains. Someone contributed a pebble from the grave of General Lafayette. There’s a stone from Washington's old Fort Necessity. It is strange how this chancel in the clouds attracts men. They walk up the hill and slowly approach the bowered entrance. One of them said, “This is my idea of a man’s religion.” By the summer of 1946 the Cathedral of the Pines had become known throughout the country and several pastors asked if they could hold services there. Benches were brought in, a small portable organ was hauled up and a village choir formed. The road to the shrine was improved, and a nearby field set aside for parking space. In a few weeks more than 10,000 people had visited Sandy’s knoll. The Sloanes realized that they should not attempt to handle all this alone; so a Cathedral Trust was formed to perpetuate the shrine. On Sunday, September 8, 1946, the Cathedral of the Pines was dedicated to the loving memory of First Lieutenant Sanderson Sloane before more than 1500 worshipers. The Altar of the Nation was offered as a memorial to the men and women of New Hampshire who gave their lives in World War II. The fieldstone pulpit was dedicated to the memory of the pioneers who blazed the trail of religious freedom and in gratitude to the men and women of Rindge who served their country in time of battle.Front Cover: Scene at Little Boar’s Head, North Hampton, on highway 1A. Color photo by Arthur Allen Peterson. Back Cover: New Hampshire Pastoral. Photo by Lilo Kaskcll. Frontispiece: Sketch by .John Pratt Whitman. The spot shown on this month's front cover was once a place where debris was left by the sea and by thoughtless people, so Mr. Peterson, who made the photograph, reports. Years ago Miss Mary Frost, who occupied one of the smaller houses opposite, was upon request given permission by the State of New Hampshire to make a garden there. Each year many motorists admire the garden as they pass it, then park their cars and walk back to enjoy the flowers and the whole beautiful scene at leisure. When, after the death of her parents, Miss Frost changed her residence, she sold her house to James Miller of Greenland, the gardener of Greenland whom she had employed to plant and supervise her garden, so that he might live there and care for the flowers. The work of Mr. Whitman, whose ^ pencil painting” is this month’s frontispiece, is on view during the summer season at his Forest Art Gallery at Tamworth, for visitors and picture hunters. He has exhibited at the Arden Galleries, New' York, and at many New England galleries, including the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. An exhibition of paintings by the late Alexander James, outstanding New Hampshire artist, is to be held at the Currier Gallery of Art, Manchester, July 15 to September 15, then at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, October 15 to November 15. To the Editor: As the author, many years ago, of some of the first research reports on community economic development, I speak with some degree of authority upon this subject, and 1 can assure you that my views coincide w'ith yours regarding the probability of an expanding economic development in the New' Hampshire of the immediate future. Dorsey IV. Hyde, Jr. Gilmanton. New HampshireNEW HA MPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS A paper on the traditional tall pines of New Hampshire, “The King’s Pines,” by Henry N. Andrews, Jr., who is associate professor at Washington University and assistant to the director of the Missouri Botanical Gardens, appears in the March 1947 issue of Historical New Hampshire, published by the New Hampshire Historical Society, Concord. The annual Craftsmen’s Fair of the League of New Hampshire Arts and Crafts is to be held at the League’s craft center in Franconia Notch, July 22 through 26. The New Hampshire Symphony Orchestra, a new professional organization w'hich has been working together since last November, had its debut on May 5 at Laconia in the first of a scries of five concerts in different sections of the state in May. Another scries of a “ Pop” nature is to be given in June. It is hoped that public interest will lie sufficient to assure the permanence of this new cultural asset for New Hampshire. Tavern Weavers, Inc., will open a private school at Gilmanton in June of this year for the purpose of teaching weaving, rug making, and old-time crafts to year-round and summer residents of New Hampshire, it was recently announced by Richard L. Small, president and active head of the school. An cfTort to promote the conservation of our New Hampshire green pastures, fields, farm lands, and forests, is being carried on in a “The Land — Our Heritage” program. Churches, Rotary Clubs, and other organizations are joining with agricultural and other conservation agencies to reach all New Hampshire citizens with the message of conservation. Governor Charles M. Dale called attention to “our duty to conserve these productive lands to the end that they may contribute to the well-being of all the people” in his proclamation for Conservation Week, June 1 to 7. The importance of New Hampshire’s land resources in our everyday life is being featured through newspapers, radio, posters, and window displays. The state Grange has declared a Conservation Month and the state’s milk dealers association is distributing 50,000 pamphlets.WARNER RIVER Wind, lovely stream, among the hills, and make A necklace for the little town to wear; Bluer than turquoise when the skies are fair; Heavy with moonstone: colorless, opaque When storm-clouds from their silver coffers shake The raindrops down; or when the sunsets flare Your opalescent crystal is so rare It seems of all the heaven’s hues to take. Wind, lovely stream, and let your purity Make glad the hearts that love your waterways, Till your least ripple is for good a call. Mirror the hills, that everyone may see Their beauty twice, then lift again in praise Of that which made the wonder of it all. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N. H. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194706 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour June 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-06 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Randolph, Coldbrook Falls Memorial Reservation, Cathedral of the Pines, Rindge Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Cathedral of the Pines Coldbrook Falls Memorial Reservation Randolph Rindge https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/1fe496d1d383be735c9b7e0aad58be16.pdf 68a805d6f4666d3ff83013a4db1d4f0e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour Estate u&**ry; Woe TS[etv Hampshire Troubadour July 1947 -she F lew ^I'Tampshire troubadour COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINCINC THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII July, 1947 NUMBER 4 NEW HAMPSHIRE GARDEN L, Wa,rerite 3JL oivi My grandmother loved poppies so That she would always have them grow In every place. They used to haunt their silken heads From all the different flower beds And wave their pinks and whites and reds To greet her face. Above the low grey granite wall They topped the heliotrope, more tall Than it, to turn And watch where little poppies strayed Among verbena beds, or played Where water from the fountain sprayed The vine-filled urn. New Hampshire Troubadour 3CAMPING PLEASURES Lj Job (Joa iei In 1937 we bought a houseless farm up in New Hampshire, sixty acres and a view, thinking that some day we would build a little cottage on it. Until that day we would camp there during our vacations of one month each year, preferably in blueberry season. It is 1947. At last we are going to build. The architect’s drawings are finished — the carpenter-contractor secured. One of two old cellar holes will be used as the foundation. By the end of August we will be living in the luxury of running water, electricity, and a roof over our heads. Yet I am not sure which emotion is dominant, joy or regret. We’ve delighted in camping. It has been so much more adventurous than living in a new house could possibly be. T here were two usable structures on the place when we bought it, a steam bath house and a tool shed. The huge barn in poor repair was a problem to us in our planning, but not for long. The 1938 hurricane leveled it with one crushing blow, leaving us a wood pile of such dimension that we are still using material from it for various needs. The bath house was given a new roof and thoroughly cleaned. The tool shed had some new windows, and it became our store-room. In it we kept our tents, our bed springs and mattresses, dishes, and other equipment. After we made camp each year it became our rainy day headquarters and our clothes closet. With two big tents and one small one we had room for our family of four and four guests, though the sleeping arrangements for the extra four could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered luxurious. What fun it has been! How can living in the new house equal it? With no lights to read by, and with mosquitoes interrupting our conversation, we have gone to lx-d early, glad to get under our nets, away from greedy stingers. The darkness falls late, usually The July 1917WINSTON' POTB W hite Birches at Shelburne. The n hite birch became \eu' Hampshire's offieiul state tree by net ion of the l^’ttis- bn nr e in Muy 1947. about nine, in the hills. Though the children slept late in the morning, my husband and I were up at sunrise, dressing warmly, though staying barefoot because of the dew. As soon as the lire was going on the outdoor grate, the blackened coffee pot was on, and while 1 mixed the batter the pancake griddle would heat. Usually it was a corn batter, and when there were stacks of gold-brown cakes done we would take our plates and our cups of coffee into our outdoor living room, and sit down to eat and watch the distant ranges of hills appear one by one out of the early morning fog that hangs low over the valley. Our outdoor grate, or as we call it, our “little hole-in-the-stone- wall stove,” has been the scene of almost all of our cooking every summer, being abandoned only when rain drove us inside to use a little oil stove we kept for emergencies. There have been years when we had to have only one or two meals inside, when the rains came at night if at all. There have been other years such as 1046 when rains were frequent and long, and we used the storeroom for several meals in succession. The stove was built by big Peter and little Peter, and planned s») well that it is just the right height for the cook. At the right of it is a work table, and at the left, attached to the back of the storeroom cabin, two others, and some shelves for dishes and equipment. There are rows of glass jars of various sizes from half pint to gallon capacity, in which flour, sugar, cereals and numerous in- J\rew Hampshire Troubadour Dgredients art* stored so that no rain, however heavy, can cause spoilage. A fallen apple tree which has still enough connection with its roots to produce leaves, offers a place for nails on which to hang the pots and pans. Under the table is an oven such as is made for the Perfection oil stoves, which is put on the grate over a piece of sheet iron when there is baking to be done, which is almost every meal. There is nothing 1 hesitate to cook on the stove. Cakes, pies, roasts, hot breads, even omelets have been cooked to perfection on it. Broiled chicken is our specialty for Sunday or company dinner. We feel that it has an extra goodness when the coals that have cooked it are the residue of apple logs. Broilers bought from a neighbor are made ready the night before we are to use them, salted and put down in our refrigerator well. We have such numerous and convenient wells that one can be especially set aside for cold storage. If they are to be eaten on Sunday, we do not have our dinner at noon. We are too hungry on returning from church in the village to wait for a big fire to die down. Instead we prepare a light lunch and settle down for our Sunday afternoon rest. About four-thirty the man of the house begins to prepare the fire, and daughter Katie and I begin our part of the dinner. There must be creamy white mashed potatoes, one or two vegetables, perhaps garden fresh string beans and a salad of leaf lettuce with French dressing. When there is a heap of rose-grey ashes, the quartered broilers are brought out, dipped in butter and put between the wire sides of the large, long handled broiler. Not until the other foods are nearly done does the chef begin the task of cooking the chicken, constantly watching it and turning it until its cinnamon brown crust bespeaks perfection. Then it is salted and given a last little finishing heat. There is no need for a dinner bell. All of the family and guests (if any) are standing around watching and waiting, though not exactly patiently. The grace is spoken with more sincerity than The July 19-17 6usual, since the reason for gratitude is so appealing to behold and smell. When the last drum-stick lies bare, and every succulent bone has been stripped of flesh, we rise, glad of a brief interval between main course and dessert. The green apple or blueberry pie, made in the morning after breakfast, has been warming over the coals and is ready to bring to the table. We bless our orchard or our blueberry patch, whichever is responsible, for their gift of fruit. Coffee is leisurely sipped after the pie, and vve are ready to store the memory of another good dinner away for later recollection. Will any of us enjoy the products of our new kitchen with its electric and wood burning combination range, as we have our out-door meals? 1 have a feeling that there will be frequent picnics on the spot so near the location of the new house, not only for old time’s sake but for the exquisite pleasure of the hour. I scene in the t illage of FreedomALEXANDER JAMES L Wa„nard WJL No artist ever approached the painting of a portrait with more hesitancy and misgivings than Alexander James. Yet probably he left us a nobler gallery of portraits than any other painter of his time. James knew that to capture the essence of a personality and to put it onto canvas along with shapes, features, colors and other mere externals, required more than a painter's bag of tricks. He hated bags of tricks. Long ago he had resolutely pushed them through the studio door and saw that it was bolted tight against them. In every painting he undertook he set himself the heroic task of creating an honest work of art. He knew it wasn’t easy and he trembled before it. When he failed (and he would lx* the first to admit that he often did), the canvas was consigned to the flames. But when he succeeded, as he so admirably did in most of his paintings which remain, he gave us much more than a “Portrait of Mr. X,” or a “Mrs. Z in White.” He gave us a record of a human being complete with soul, mind and heart as well as nose, eyes and hair. When he could paint the people he knew and loved he was happy. All of his powers came brilliantly into focus, and heart and hand worked unerringly together to produce a vital work of art. Self-portrait uf Alexander James. sNotable are the several portraits of his three sons, and the deeply- felt “Portrait of the Artist’s Wife” now a part of the Murdoch Collection in the Wichita Art Museum. His innate distaste for sham and pretension formed a natural bond between him and New Hampshire folk — his neighbors in Dublin and the Polecat District. He knew the therapeutic benefits to the inner man that can come from manual labor, and there were many times when he himself would have been hard put to say whether he was happier in using spade, saw and hammer or in wielding the artist’s brush. Sharing the simpler and hardier tasks of life with Loric Howard, Tony Betz and countless other friends and neighbors, he came to know them deeply and fully. So when they came to him in the studio and sat for him, he was able to paint them deeply and fully. It was the whole man he saw, and whose portrait was conceived con arnore. We arc grateful, then, for the many interpretations he left of his New Hampshire friends, among them such well-known paintings as “Embattled Farmer”; “Old Hunter”; “Selectman of Polecat District”; “Country Song”; “Winterbeard”; and the portraits of Tony Betz and Lorie Howard. The Currier Gallery of Art at Manchester. uhere a memorial exhibition of the work o Alexander James u ill open July 15.Two of his most sympathetic human studies are of Negroes, also friends. One is the beautiful painting called “Black Boy,” in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the other “Heart of Darkness,” privately owned. Fortunately, too, he left us several portraits of himself and they rank high among his best works. Yet even if no self-portrait of Alexander James existed it would still be possible to know what kind of man he was, and to know him most thoroughly. Zola once said: “What I seek above all in a picture is a man and not a picture.” James, the artist, left us in all his paintings a portrait of James, the man. For only a rare human being with sympathy for and understanding of his fellow-beings in all walks of life could have created these fine and lasting works. THE ORGANIZED SUMMER CAMP IN NEW HAMPSHIRE President New Hampshire Camp Directors Association and Director of Camp Belknap, New Hampshire State Young Men’s Christian Association Camp 11IE organized summer camp, whose purpose is the development of the physical, intellectual, social and spiritual welfare of youth has grown to be a real force in our state. About one hundred and seventy-five such camps were licensed by our State Department of Health last year, with a total enrollment of 12,707 boys and girls, plus 2,153 leaders. These camps have an estimated investment in equipment of over S3,000,000 and an estimated S5,000,000 annual income. Since the first organized camp was established in America, on Lake Winnisquam, New Hampshire, over three score years ago, camping has matured and grown considerably. 10 The July 1947Miss Donna Kofs of Georgetown, Muff., enjoying Silver Lake, \eu> Hampshire, uith .Michael. The quality of leadership is on a par with many of the best educational systems. All camps are not one hundred per cent perfect, and all private camps are not strictly commercial. Neither are all camps good because they are conducted by certain institutions. Parents should study camps carefully before they choose one for their child. The organized summer camp, having a child all summer, works with the child more waking hours than do the public schools. Camp used to be more or less of an outing, a glorified picnic. In our modern day, a camp must offer activities that carry over into everyday life, produce leadership and well integrated personalities capable of taking their best place in society. Recognition of organized camping as a positive influence places it in a peculiar place in war years. Hundreds of boys would miss the leadership of men, except for camps. Thousands were able to make the transition into the services of their country without discomfort. A camp looks first to health. Good food, carefully planned and cooked, with adequate nutrition, constant supervision of health habits, and check ups, a nurse or camp doctor, adequate infirmary for isolation, nearness to a good hospital, check on the food handlersby the medical profession, arc all matters that good camps take into consideration. From the mental and social side, camp is a happy place, a place where youth is wanted, and where youth feels secure. Helpfulness and cooperation arc the keystone. The objective of the modern camp is a program devoted to learning to love the out-of-doors, the teaching of fundamentals that give a foundation to activities that later become adult hobbies; tested and mature leadership, setting the example by doing — teaching a realistic point of view with a rational attitude toward the fundamental issues of life, and adequate in numbers to give personal attention to youth. The separation of parents and campers is good for both. A follow-up by parents of the ideas and ideals taught at camp brings a rich reward. Camping soon may be carried on by the public schools, and the values then passed on to all youth. GRANDEUR IN NATURE Neither the breadth of plain, the depth of valley, the height of hill, nor the sweep of water, accurately defines the limitations of what we mean by grandeur in Nature. To have true grandeur we must find these in some combinations that appeal to the very soul of man. Nature itself exists without man, but its grandeur is in part an expression of man himself as he views what nature has wrought. Indeed man’s own effort to view Nature becomes a part of his appreciation of what he sees. The hidden lake deep in the woods, or the horizon from the mountain top, which man has worked to reach, become more grand through his own satisfaction with his accomplishment. Did you ever stop to think of the opportunities which Nature inNew Hampshire offers to those who seek her beauty? Even from our highways, in luxury transportation, one may here find her grand — but off the beaten path, by hard-won trails, here in New Hampshire man may feel that he has reached the very heart of Nature, may learn what grandeur really means, and may carry away with him lasting memories that make life itself worth living. — Louis E. Wyman Mr. and Mrs. Orrin if'entuarth, North Ixincaster. This sturdy couple, unassisted, pul in HO holds of hay in one rerent year. Mr. Vote adds the fidlouing information: These old I anl.ee farm people are real material. In their late sixties or early seventies, they out-do many young people. They do not hate help, liut tap over 000 maple trees, lend rmvs and rhickens, make hatter, do housework, etc., and in the summer there is a program of farming that irould discourage many young people! Orrin It entuvrlh is do,remits! from Governor tf'entworth, and Mrs. ICentuorth is from Clarksville, and her great grandmother uas a sister to Henjamin Franklin. WINSTON POTKFront Cover: Camp Huckins, a Young Men’s Christian Association camp at Ossipee Fake. Color photo by Winston Potc. Back Cover: A scene at Rye. Photo by Harold Ome. Frontispiece: A garden at Greenland, Photo by Harold Ornc. The peace and beauty of Jaflrey, New Hampshire, gave the late Willa Cathcr an ideal setting for her literary work. Each autumn for the past quarter-century she occupied the same room at the Shattuck Inn, her window giving a view of Mt. Monadnock. She lies in the final resting place of her own choice, in the corner of a JafTrey cemetery under trees which frame a view of the mountain. The Nashua Gummed and Coated Paper Company of Nashua, which has grown steadily over the years in plant, production, and organization, has recently completed a five-story, reinforced concrete building to increase its manufacturing and storage facilities. The company converts paper, cloth, cellophane, and other materials into products for packaging, box making, and numerous special purposes. Waxed paper and printed cellophane are used largely by the food industry, and many of the nationally known bakers and confectioners are among the firm’s customers. Coated and fancy papers — embossed and printed — are used for box covering and display purposes. A line of so-called Velours, though not textile products, give the appearance of rich velvet. Fhe Goyette Museum of Americana at Peterborough has issued an attractive booklet of pictures and information about the Museum. Entitled “Turning Back the Pages of Time”. The booklet is available on request. A memorial exhibition of the work of Alexander James, one of New Hampshire’s best known artists, will be held at The Currier Gallery of Art in Manchester from July 15 to September 15. It will later be shown at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and the Corcoran Gallery of Art, Washington, I). C. The exhibition, which is the first comprehensive showing of the artist’s work, will cover all phases and periods in his career, from 1916 14 The July 10 nto his latest portraits done shortly before his death in 1946. Oils, pastels and drawings will be included. In addition to the works owned by Mrs. Alexander James of Dublin, there will be loans from the Addison Gallery of American Art in Andover, Mass., the Fogg Museum of Art in Cambridge, the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the William Rockhill Nelson Gallery of Art, Kansas City, Mo., and the Wichita Museum of Art, Wichita, Kans., as well as from numerous private collectors, many of them New' Hampshire summer residents. Alexander James, son of William James, the philosopher, and nephew of Henry James, the author, was born in Cambridge, Mass., and received his early art training at the Boston Museum School and later in Paris. In 1919 he settled in Dublin where he spent the rest of his life devoting himself to painting portraits of the New Hampshire people he knew and landscapes of the surrounding countryside. NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS New Hampshire Spring, by Frances Ann Johnson, The Sugar Ball Press, Concord, New Hampshire, S3.50, is a handsome new volume of poems, illustrated with photographs by Dan Stiles. The 13th annual session of the Institute of World Affairs is to lie held at Warner, August 23-30, with a vital program of study under a distinguished facidty. The institute’s purpose is “to stimulate unbiased presentation of the facts about international relations.” The annual revival of Denman Thompson’s famous old play, “The Old Homestead,” is set for July 4, 5, and 6 at the Potash Bowl, Swan/.ey. The experts report that many vacationist bass fishermen neglect to fish during the best time of day — the period from sundown until dark. Though usually found near rocky reefs, the larger bass sometimes invade the “crawfish coves” as darkness approaches. Fly rod surface lures of thc“ bug” type have become popular with many fishermen for twilight fishing, while other anglers prefer live bait or small plugs.BEAUTY’S BREAD in the Hartford (Conn.) Times Although the body be well fed With sweet food and with tart, There still is need of beauty’s bread To feed the hungry heart. Something there is in us that longs For more than meat and drink; Something that yearns for lilting songs Of thrush and bobolink. The soul has need of field and flower, And trees against the sky, And stars and moonlight for an hour, To still its hungry cry. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N. H. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194707 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour July 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-07 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Alexander James, Currier Gallery of Art, summer camps, Willa Cather, manufacturing, fishing Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Alexander James Currier Gallery of Art fishing manufacturing summer camps Willa Cather https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/abdd59544e11cee0f3885a48404d161d.pdf e51e79fc7355511a968cd04d4d5adb90 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour XVT/^ New Hampshire Troubadour, ' ' )( ( ' \ } - August 1947The House of Baldwin at Concordroubadour ^Jhe ^ Jew ^ Jfampshire COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII August, 1947 NUMBER 5 ANTIQUE SHOP h Drederich W. branch The past crowds close about us here To tell its story written clear In pewter, luster, copper, glass, In candle sticks of tarnished brass, In blanket chests and earthen crocks, In trundle beds and wooden clocks: For gathered all around us is The salvage of the centuries, From cubby-holes of house and shed, Attics, and timbers over head, Where thrifty people tucked away Things they discarded yesterday. And there they stayed until at last Enough slow-footed time had passed To bring the days when they should be The treasures of posterity. The village of Tamuxtrth WINSTON POTE THOSE AUGUSTS IN BOSCAWEN ■Lra 2. m son Boscawen is my mother’s native town; and all our childhood Augusts were spent there, with the result that Boscawen is to us a warm, fragrant, green place where crickets, tree-toads, and whippoorwills enliven the night, where great white summer clouds shoulder their way across the hill, and where berry-patches and cornfields are always ripe and waiting. From hearsay, I understand Boscawen also enjoys the rest of the seasons; but my memories are made up exclusively of Augusts. 4 The August 1947Usually some of our cousins were visiting Grandmother at the sume time we were; so that there were sometimes as many as nine of us to climb about the barn, or play in the garden under the crab- apple trees, or go single-file among the pines on the hill, scooping up acorns and pine-cones which we would later fashion into necklaces or weird animals. There were long, sunny days in the fields at haying time, too, and slow, luxurious rides from field to barn on top of the fragrant, swaying loads. There were wild dashes with the Hose Company when the fire alarm sounded; for Grandfather was Fire Chief, and each of his grandchildren felt a personal responsibility to see that town property was adequately protected in such emergencies. The best day of all — the frosting on the cake of our vacation — was Old Home Day. For us that started early in the morning, when we hurried to the Picnic Grove to climb over the bandstand erected there and run in and out among the wooden benches brought down from the Town Hall for the occasion. There were swings for the children, which would fly high among the tall pines; and horseshoe pitching for the men. For the women — broad tables where they could spread the lunches when the others grew hungry! Gradually, the Grove would fill with friends, neighbors, and visitors from far corners of the country, returned especially for the reunion. Frequently during the day, as we went busily about the Grove on the absorbing business of enjoying ourselves, unfamiliar grownups would stop us to ask our family name. When we had identified ourselves, we might be regaled with some anecdote about our mother when she was a little girl; and how we crowed when this happened to be some piece of mischief which, for the sake of maternal dignity, she had been attempting to keep secret! In the evening, there was an entertainment at the Town Hall, usually a play. In some years, Grandmother took part; and, if she had but one line, we would all applaud her vigorously when she spoke it. Occasionally the Entertainment Committee would callupon our mother a week or two ahead of time and ask if we children would take part in the show. This courtesy always pleased us exceedingly. I remember one year, when I had just mastered the acrobatic feat of kicking the back of my head, that I interpolated this into a classic toe dance. How my teacher would have shuddered if she could have seen that performance! Fortunately for me, I had left her far behind in New Jersey. On one of these occasions, the impulse seized me to slip out of the hall during the entertainment and walk home by myself. Probably because I had never before been out so late alone, that mile walk down the highway through the beauty and silence of the night remains one of my most delightful memories. The town seemed deserted. Scarcely a light twinkled from the windows I passed; and the dark, splendid old trees spread a thick canopy above me, blotting out the stars. It was so still I could hear clearly each little night creature singing to itself as I passed. I walked in the middle of the highway; and I am afraid I strutted a little, thinking myself some great one to be abroad alone so late. On the last morning of our stay, we always climbed the hill for a final view of Boscawen; and it is this that most frequently comes to memory. On the summit behind Grandmother’s house was a little cabin from whose porch we commanded the whole town, half buried beneath its towering trees. Our eyes could compass it all in one sweep, from the white spire of the Town Hall to the last big barn near the town line. YVe could see a miniature train running beside the Merrimack, and trace the broad convolutions of the river for miles. We could gaze far across the intervale to the Canterbury Hills; and we could drop our eyes almost straight down to the garden far below us, where two toy figures moved back and forth — our father and Grandfather, pitching the summer’s last game of horseshoes. —From The Christian Science Monitor The August 1947"TROUT-INTOXICATED AND REASSURED'* Associate Pastor oj the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church, New York City Never have I enjoyed more a visit home — except for the absence of our dear father and mother, though they were present in lively memory — than I did last August. The fields and woods were a heavy green, the lawns and garden inefTably beautiful. The old home, furnished in antique loveliness (yet with every modern electrical contrivance), including the ancestral pieces which had survived the tear and wear of many generations of irresponsibles, bestowed delight, sheer and unalloyed. One sister quickly broke the joyous news that there was a new power lawn-mower. I confessed complete inadequacy in dealing with such a complicated contrivance. At once I was taught to run the contraption. That was all right, but I soon found out that the lawn had been considerably extended; so there was no gain to record in the labor ledger! Then my other sister broached one of her ardent passions — that the old wood- road to the far pasture be “swamped out” again — the road which had been partly obliterated by the birches, Anticipation: Camera fun will snap a picture when her husband hooks a trout. Mas- coma River, Lebanon BOUCHARDalders, hemlocks and pines. Naturally I wished to cooperate, but did you ever tackle an overgrown wood-road after many months of continuous desk exercise? Anyhow, 1 pitched in (with the help of both sisters, who, it seemed to me kept glaring at my waist line and listening to my wheezing!). 1 would not like to boast, in public at any rate, but I did make a fairly good start at it, though I know not why we chose the hottest afternoon of the month to hack our way to the foot of the mountain. Ah, me! Yet there was a sequel. The girls trekked home at last and my path led up the river to the spot where only we few initiated ones ever go. There I secured eight good trout and the dusk-walk home was triumphant joy. No more help around the house from me. The river henceforth uttered imperious commands. (Sisters and wife to their own devices!) The very next day was one of those river days. Clouds, showers. Good old Fred had left the key to the lock on the chain of his noble scow. So, with my brother’s tackle (commandeered again without a single conscience twinge), with abandon I curried the stream. With astounding success, if I may say so, humbly boasting. Proof I have that I brought home the legal limit of specklers on this second foray; you will have to take my word for it that ten of them lined up side by side under a single clump of overhanging bushes, and came aboard Fred’s trim and trusty skiff seriatim. Wouldn’t you have returned for the other five left behind, as I did, the next day which was, alas, the last? And wouldn’t you tell the world about the old man river, about the river and the old man, now young again? In all honesty, dictated by a sometimes irritating “New England conscience,” the trout weren’t large, though they all cleared the law and some were of whole-meal size. But after all, New Hampshire is not a large state! And so, back to the city, trout-intoxicated and reassured. Thanks, girls, and next year never mind the lawn and the road in the far pasture, but hold that river and get that key again! 8 The August 1947A LIFT SHORTENS THE DISTANCE TO BEAUTIFUL CENTER SANDWICH e, Witui ju. In the Boston, Massachusetts, Globe So lovingly the clouds caress his head — The mountain-monarch; he, severe and hard, With white face set like flint horizon-ward. —From “Clouds on Whitejace” by Lucy Larcom. From the hills above Whiteface intervale, on the old road down from VVonalancet, the massive peak of Whiteface shows at its best. Here the vast, high ledges are spread out in full view, and the tremendous bulk of the mountain makes itself evident. It is, I suppose, especially impressive to me, because many years ago I sat one day above those bare cliffs and lunched with Swampscott’s Robert Leonard on the last tid-bits of a once-full pack ... a small tin of anchovies. Today I stick to an easier trail than that which led us to that perch 4,000 feet above the sea. I do my mountaineering here on a friendly road where a rustic sign says “Look to the Mountain,” and I heed it and llranches of a niant pine frame a vista of a beach on Governor's Island. Lake W innipesaukee WINSTON POTEWINSTON POTE Covered bridge and Methodist Church at Stark. A special act of the AW Hampshire Legislature was passed in June 1947 to prot'ide financial aid to the town for repairing the bridge, now more than fifty years old and widely known for its beauty. It had been threatened with destruction to make way for a modern steel bridge. go in past a little red camp to gaze upon the grandeur of the hills. And when my eyes are satisfied and my heart filled, I go on down the Sandwich road again, to ponder now upon the thickening clouds. A bearded patriarch, armed with an ax, is slicing bark from a huge log in his dooryard; so I say, “Good-morning” to him and ask him what he thinks. “Might be showery,” says he, taking a quick look at the threatening sky. And then, with nothing more, he goes back to his task, and I walk on. Later, as I sit on a wall, some miles below. I wonder if the bearded man could have been Wes Tewksbury, “the oxen 10 The August 1947man,” whose picture, with his ox-team, appears on souvenir postcards. I had been told that he lived along this road. I have come now down past the little VVhiteface schoolhouse, at a crossroads where the Sandwich ways dips south, and along another two miles or so through a tiny hamlet with a river that comes tumbling down below it in a series of fine white falls. And, having arrived abreast this inviting wall (and having covered six miles of road, but having walked eight — for I had gone back, after the first mile, to get a forgotten camera) I tossed my pack among the ferns beside it and sat myself down. Here, as I make my notes, I lunch sumptuously on thick sandwiches of egg and ham, and wash them down with great drafts of water from a Wonalancet Mountain spring. Kenneth Hunt’s general store is the only store in the little village of North Sandwich; and there, seven miles from my starting point, I halt again to stock up on cigars and inquire about the road. Center Sandwich, I find, is still four miles away. I was out front, changing a roll of film, when Mr. Hunt said, “How about a ride down? This man's going that way.” Now a true pedestrian, I suppose, will never accept a lift. But in short order I was rolling on my way and getting acquainted with John Weed. New Hampshire Troubadour“This your home town?” I ask. “Yes,” he says, “I was born here, and my wife, too. We’ve just come back here to live.” And by dint of questioning 1 learn how they had moved to Boston when their son started in at Tech many years ago — Mr. Weed giving up his association with his father's prosperous construction business — how first he lived on Harvard Park in Dorchester, which I knew well, and later in Watertown. For 16 years Mr. Weed worked as a carpenter at the Middlesex Sanatorium at Waltham. But his roots were here in Sandwich all those years; and now he and his wife are back and in the old home for keeps. His son is with the Edison Company in Boston. In minutes we had come into this beautiful Center Sandwich village, with its great trees and fine old houses with white fences in front of them, its stone, tile-roofed Wentworth Library (which John Weed’s father, Larkin Weed, built, and on which John worked) and the later Weed-built home of the Sandwich Industries. founded 20 years ago by Mr. and Mrs. J. Randolph Coolidge. There are two wonderful old churches where the North Sandwich road comes in. I asked a woman about them. “That one,” said she, “is the Baptist, and that is the Methodist.” “No Congregational?” I asked; for it is a rare thing not to find an old Congregational church in a New England town. “No,” said she. “But there was a wedding at the Methodist Church recently, and the invitations called it the Congregational- Methodist Church. 1 never heard it called that before.” My lift had saved me four miles afoot and brought me to Sandwich when the afternoon still had hours to run. So I took the lake road, and in two miles was looking down the mirrored waters of Squam — Lake Asquam — which, of the smaller lakes, is the most beautiful I know. I cruised it ages ago with Arthur Graham, now’ of B. C.’s faculty, and learned its hidden rocks. But 1 had not been on this Sandwich shore in close to 30 years.So I stood on the little bridge at the head of Sandwich cove, thinking of those other happy days; and then I walked the two miles back to town again. 0 gems of sapphire, granite set! 0 hills that charmed horizons fret! 1 know how fair your morns can break In rosy light on isle and lake. . . . And evening droop her oriflamme Of gold and red on still Asquam. (Yes, Whittier again.) Country square dancing is popular the year round and is rapidly **catching on" with summer visitors of all ages. Here teen agers are demonstrating at the second annual Netv Hampshire folk festival at Peterborough, uhile Shaker ladies (on stage) and others look on. ERIC M. SANFORD Front Cover: A home in summer at New Castle. Color photo by Douglas Armsden. Back Cover: Along the docks at Portsmouth. Photo by Douglas Armsden. FOR DEMOCRACY The Amos Fortune Forum, which was started July 4 by a group of year-round and summer residents of the Monadnock Region, is a series of Friday evening forum meetings each week through September 5 in the Old Meeting House at JafTrey. Ten distinguished summer residents of the region have contributed their services as speakers. The Forum is named in honor of Amos Fortune, a negro who, by labor and loyalty, succeeded at the age of 59 in gaining his freedom. He came to JafTrey in 1781 and became a highly respected citizen and the best tanner in the region. When he died in 1801, he left to his church, now the Old Meeting House in JafTrey, one hundred dollars for a silver communion service, and to the town left a sum which is now about one thousand dollars for the support of public schools. Amos himself, born a slave, was never allowed to go to school. 14 Promoters of the non-profit lecture series believe the discussions of current issues by the forum resume, in important ways, the discussions held a hundred years ago in the same meeting house and in other gathering places in New England, believe also that such meetings were, and still can be, foundations of democracy. “I have motored through nearly every state in our country, and while opinions may vary with shifting scenes in many places, I always return to my first love — New Hampshire. There is no more charming or beautiful spot. “Particularly interesting to me is the view of Chocorua taken near Scudder’s gate. I have been there some part of sixty years. Then covered bridges, old houses, white churches, rocky fields and zigzag walls and fences — all of them forming the backdrop against which sunshine, snow and rain play a symphony of color, light and music of mystic charm and beauty. No wonder there are fine and gracious folk in New Hampshire. It could not be otherwise in such pleasant surroundings.” Wallace Tibbetts Wellesley Hills, Massachusetts The August 1947NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS Steeple Bush, by Robert Frost, Henry Holt, $2.50, is a new volume from the pen of the poet who has won the Pulitzer Prize in poetry four times and who has been the George Ticknor Fellow in the humanities at Dartmouth College since 1943. Journey into Fame, by Margaret French Cresson, Harvard University Press, $4.50, is about New Hampshire’s famous sculptor, Daniel Chester French. Born at Exeter, he molded the familiar Minute Man at Concord, Massachusetts, John Harvard at Cambridge and the seated Lincoln for Washington’s Lincoln Memorial. The author of the book is the sculptor’s daughter. Surveyor in the Woods is an article in July Harper's Magazine by Kenneth Andler (who has contributed many articles to The Troubadour) about the remarkable woodsman from whom he learned surveying. A historical sketch of The New Hampshire Historical Society (Concord) from its beginning in 1823 is contained in the April issue of the society’s Historical New Hampshire. Look at America: New England, by the editors of Look in collaboration with Mary Ellen Chase, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, is a no- table addition to the travel literature of the area. It is a “handbook in pictures, maps, and text for the vacationist, the traveler and the stay-at-home.” SHOWER BATH ON A LEAF (From the Christian Science Monitor) One day while vacationing at Newfound Lake, N. H., I started out to climb a small mountain on the shore of the lake, after the sun reappeared following a summer shower that had saturated the foliage quite thoroughly. As I followed the trail the raindrops tumbled off the leaves as I passed along. I was dressed for it, so did not mind getting wet. I stopped frequently to watch for birds, which were much in evidence all around me. All of a sudden, I heard a peculiar sound right over my head. Looking up I saw a tiny hummingbird which was taking a bath by fluttering over the surface of a large leaf in such a way that he got a perfect shower bath from the raindrops that were clinging to it. M. H. K.The pageantries Of wealth and conflict of your early days. I walk along your shore, Deserted now By clipper ships whose sails long since were furled. They’ll anchor here no more, Nor bravely plough The ocean lanes and byways of the world. I stand in Market Square A little while, And find it is a busy, modern place. I must confess you wear Your blended style. Of past and presehl '^T< : ***& krming grace. ’ __ r*-.- - RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD.N.H. I Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194708 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour August 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-08 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource New Castle, Portsmouth, House of Baldwin, Boscawen, covered bridge, Stark, African-American, Type The nature or genre of the resource Text African-American Boscawen covered bridge House of Baldwin New Castle Portsmouth Stark https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/af7ddeb890bfce2cec377700aeb47968.pdf d6309ea6840d16cebf36f199708c0d72 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour September 1947 The 7\[eiv:Hampshire Troubadour.4 country r<*ui near llaiun'vr in autumn DAVIO PIKRCR^Jhc r lew ^rrantpAnire roubactour COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor volume XVII September, 1947 number 6 AUTUMN TRAIL h} ^JJarry C^fmore _J4urcl in “ West of East” I know a thousand trails beneath the sun But I shall yearn to travel only one When autumn comes to claim the ripening seeds: My woodland trail is hemmed by rattling weeds And asters purpling the pasture fence. No poet’s art or verbal eloquence Could half transmit the beauty of my trail To page or book . . . printed words would fail To paint the glory of one flaming tree. Come, friends, enjoy this ecstasy with me, For autumn is an all-consuming fire, A heady wine, a madness of desire: Let one scared partridge rise on thundering wings And I am happier than clowns or kings!Pond in Chocorua viliagr OVER THE HIGHLANDS OF WESTERN NEW HAMPSHIRE From “Along New England Roads” by W. C. Prime, published by Harper & Brothers, 1892. Reprinted by permission. IT was a fresh autumn morning when we left the village of New London, high up on the hills of central New Hampshire, and drove westward, without any definite idea of our destination. New Hampshire possesses all kinds of scenery and soil. The northern mountain country falls ofT into a valley which crosses the western half of the State, in no very direct line, from the valley of the Connecticut near Hanover to the valley of the Merrimac near Franklin Falls. South of this valley — the west half of the State —running north and south, is a range of highlands, mostly now or formerly under cultivation, rising in farm-lands at times to a height which I believe is considerably more than 1000 feet above the sea. You know Mount Kearsarge, near North Conway. But few persons seem to know that there is another Mount Kearsarge in the State. This lies at the northern or north-eastern end of the range of highlands of which I speak, and is, in part, in the town of New London, or directly east of it in Warner, the next town. It is a noble hill, rising alone out of the cultivated rolling lands. Away down in the south-western part of the State a similar mountain rises in stately grandeur, Monadnock by name, and thence the highlands of New Hampshire fall off gently towards Massachusetts. This topographical account is not interesting, but it is necessary to understand it if you would understand carriage travel to the southward in the State, west of the Merrimac River. You can drive from the Profile House or the Crawford House to Hartford, following the valleys of the Amonoosuck and the Connecticut, without a hill of any account on the road. The scenery along the entire route is lovely beyond all praise, its variety infinite, its beauty equal in spring, summer, and autumn. The roads are, however, somewhat sandy and heavy, especially in dry weather. You can also drive from either notch, Franconia or the Crawf- ford, through the eastern part of New Hampshire southward to Massachusetts, over roads without severe hills and with varying scenery, most of it very beautiful. But I prefer the hill roads through the highland country between the Merrimac and the Connecticut. These roads are in general good, the roadbeds hard, and the many fine views repay the labor of climbing hills. Withal, horses do better, if carefully driven, on rolling than on level roads. I had come from the Profile House down the Pemigewasset Valley through Plymouth to Bristol, thence across to New London, via Danbury, Wilmot, and Scythcville. At this last place I hadreached the bottom of the crossvalley which I have mentioned, and thence the road to New London was uphill all the way, with Kearsarge on the left and behind us. New London is one of the high hill-towns, and every house in the village looks off many miles over fields and forests. Turning the horses’ heads to the southward, I could have gone down through Sutton and Bradford, and thence over tremendous hills to Washington. Turning them to the west, I should have a short drive to Lake Sunapec, which lies on the upland, surrounded by low wooded hills. I had driven both roads repeatedly. I am never tired of driving the last named, for it is exceedingly beautiful, and we chose it now. In half an hour we were going through the dense woods which skirt Little Sunapee, the upper of a chain of three lakes, and of which you see only glimpses as you pass along by it, until you reach its outlet, which goes down into Otter Pond. Here the road strikes the upper end of Otter Pond, and sweeps around on its open shore for a quarter-mile.The pond is charming, a mile or two long and nearly as wide. The shore is clean sand and the water pellucid. I have waded off on this hard, sandy bottom and taken black bass with the fly, casting out to right and left, while my horses stood waiting on the road. VVe drove slowly around the head of Otter Pond, then through the forest road along its rocky shore, with the water lapping over the stones and making pleasant music in the sunshine. Then we came out of the woods at the little village of George’s Mills. Here is the outlet of the pond, which falls over two or three saw-mill dams in its short course into Lake Sunapec. Sunapee is a large, wandering lake, presenting wherever you strike it abundant beauty of scenery. Bold, rocky headlands, covered with timber, jut out into it, and deep shadowy bays lie between them. 1 never yet have gotten to knowing which way is up and which way is down the lake or how it stretches its chief length. Properly speaking, this principal inlet, the only one of any account at George’s Mills, ought to mark the head of the lake; but a long, narrow arm which goes far away to the eastward, along whose shores are villas and cottages, and which heads at Newbury, on the Concord and Claremont Railroad, always tempts me to consider that the upper end of the lake. However, there is no mistaking the outlet at Sunapee Harbor, into which I drove before dinner. Here Sugar River, a roaring torrent (depending on how high they lift the gate-way of the dam which holds back the lake), plunges down a steep declivity and finds the valley, through which it winds with clear and swift flow to Newport, and thence to Claremont and the Connecticut. VVe dined, and then decided to linger for the day. I took a boat and rowed miles and miles along the shores; landed here and there in golden forests or dark pine groves; cast flies where bass, if not yet gone to their winter sleep, ought to be found; took several that were not eight inches long, and were put back to go to bed and grow next year; and so idled away the afternoon. The night came on cold.Next day we rode with the carriage-cover thrown back, to give us what warmth we might get from the sun shining through the still dense smoke. The road follows the river down to Newport; but we did not stop in that thriving town, except to post letters and send some telegrams. Driving through it, we crossed the valley and took the hill road to Unity or Unitoga Springs. This is a lonesome but very charming country-place, where are mineral springs and an old hotel. We had the house to ourselves; and again the loveliness of the atmosphere, the rich foliage on the near hills, and the dust of gold smoke that made a canopy over us and hid the far views, all tempted us to stay. I spent the afternoon in the woods on the shore of a small lake a mile from the hotel. I went there to fish; but the only boats on the lake were full of water, and there was no spot on the shore where I could get out a cast of more than twenty feet. At that I took some perch and small pickerel with the fly, but gave it up soon and wandered in the woods, rich in ferns and mosses. The next morning I sought and found a road, before unknown to me, by which to reach the Connecticut Valley; for it was Saturday, and I proposed that my horses and I should rest over Sunday in the fine old village of Charlestown. It was only nineteen miles from Unity Springs, but in carriage travel we never, unless from some peculiar pressure, seek to accomplish great distances. Thepurpose is the enjoyment of the passing hours. I often linger along the road and cover only two or three or a half-dozen miles in a forenoon. So it was along this charming road. When I reached Charlestown I had driven only 108 miles from the Profile House in six days. Sometimes I drive 180 in the same time, taking the road leisurely and keeping the horses unwearied. Note — Dr. Prime has used the old spelling for the Merrimack and Ammonoosuc rivers, and refers to the village of Scythevillc, now Elkins. Unitoga Springs, once a popular summer resort and site of mineral springs, burned many years ago and was never rebuilt. Although much of the route taken by Dr. Prime is now a modern highway, the region of which he writes, characteristic ot New Hampshire, is crossed by a network of country roads. Canopied by brilliant foliage and carpeted by crisp fallen leaves, these delightful byways which lead past forgotten cellar holes to peaceful valleys and hidden ponds, are well worth exploring during the autumn season. —The Editor THE RESURRECTION OF A COUNTRY SCHOOLHOUSE lyWorn On the Fourth of July in the little settlement of Lockehaven, township of Enfield, a holiday ceremony took place to celebrate the opening of a tiny schoolhouse, restored as a museum piece for future generations to enjoy. Realizing how rapidly our old country schools are disappearing, Wilson B. Roberts of New Haven, Connecticut, who in his youth attended the Lockehaven school, conceived the idea of restoring and refurnishing this delapidated building as a tangible and lasting record of a type of school now almost extinct. Fortunatelyanother former pupil, Harry A. Nichols, still living on an adjacent farm, was able, with a little local help, to undertake the difficult task of restoration. As a result of his enthusiasm and skilled craftsmanship the building, which was at the point of disintegration when the work began, is now as sound as it was when first built nearly a century ago. While work on the building was progressing, Mr. Roberts and others interested in the project were scouring the countryside for appropriate furnishings. Some of the school's original desks were discovered and others of the same vintage, with seats graduated according to the size of the pupils, were found and installed. A teacher’s desk was salvaged from a country school, and a box stove, old maps, and other school furnishings were donated by interested friends. Now, as one enters the schoolroom, it gives the impression of being still in use, with teacher and scholars about to take their places behind their The Pool, Flume Reservation, Franconia Well-WOm desks. winston pote On the walls of the schoolroom hang framed certificates, old school records and other items of historic interest, including an almost complete photographic record of former teachers. And in the vestibule stands the old pigeonholed desk that once held letters for residents of Lockehaven when that small village boasted a post office of its own. In June, after many months of hard work, the restoration was completed and invitations were sent out to all former teachers and pupils, still fortunate enough tobe alive, as well as to East Hill and Lockehaven neighbors, to attend the formal opening of District School, Number 4. And on the afternoon of July fourth well over a hundred people gathered on the sunny slope in front of the schoolhouse. Mr. Roberts was master of ceremonies. After Miss Marion Locke, standing on the schoolhouse steps, had played the Star Spangled Banner on her cornet, he spoke briefly about his reasons for saving the old school and paid tribute to all who had helped in its restoration. He then introduced many of the former teachers and pupils, the oldest present being Mrs. Mary Jane Fogg Shipman, ninety- four years old, of Enfield who described how she had learned her A,B,C’s here in the days before Lincoln’s inauguration. Other old timers recalled amusing episodes from their school days at Lockehaven, and appropriate poems were recited by young and old. State Senator Earl S. Hewitt of Enfield, speaking of the value of such an achievement, expressed the hope that the State of New Hampshire might take over the school as an historic landmark. At the close of the informal speeches refreshments were served and old schoolmates and neighbors had a chance to talk over the good old days. Throughout the ceremonies the Stars and Stripes fluttered in the breeze above the trim white building and the Fourth of July seemed a very appropriate day for us to pay our respects to District School, Number 4, Lockehaven, New Hampshire, as a symbol of the intellectual freedom fostered there, and in countless other rural schools throughout the United States, during the past century. {Anyone interested in visiting this schoolhouse must find his way via Enfield, to Lockehaven at the outlet of Crystal Lake. He must then keep on up East Hill for a quarter of a mile, past the schoolhouse, to the Nichols' homestead, at the first fork in the road, where a key to the building may be obtained. Less enterprising visitors may get a general view of the interior of the schoolroom by peering through the unshuttered windows, but they will miss many of the finer points of interest.)An old housr at North Conway as sren in Si-pti-mbrr WILD FOX GRAPES L CL. C amp The wild fox grapes are ripening in New Hampshire! They are clinging in plump clusters high in the trees. Their vines are endless and their fruit is nearly hidden by the branches and leaves of the forest. Only those who really search find the fox grapes. They are not to be had by those who sit and wait for good things to fall in theirlaps. These grapes are the rich reward of the lover of the woods — the man who tramps the hills for the joy of being where the wild bees live. The whereabouts of the fox grapes is usually a secret. Like hidden treasure, they are guarded by their discoverer. I am thinking of a man who, each autumn, took his basket down from its nail and melted into the woods. He invited no one, though he was not a selfish man by any means. I think he never risked taking a guest for fear the magic of the trip would somehow be lost. One must appreciate the honor of looking upon the fox grapes growing. So this man went alone, and at nightfall he returned home, tired and radiant and proud of his grapes. Their sweet fragrance is unforgettable. Shut me up blindfolded with a thousand perfumes and I will choose for you the best of all — the fox grape’s poignant, luscious aroma that has remained in my heart since first I breathed it when I was a very little girl. I am making fox grape jelly right now. Fourteen scintillating glasses are finished and the next batch is about to boil. Making jelly is no mean job when it is fox grape. It is romantic and adventurous ! I am capturing all the goodness of our native woods! The swish of the big owl’s flight! The inaudible whisper of the red fox's brush! The sweetness of the partridge berry in bloom! The sharp tang of our oaks! The busy rustle of the towhee under the bushes! Making jelly? I am rather pouring glory into little glasses. The New Hampshire Autumn Foliage Bulletin is issued in four weekly editions for the convenience of visitors during the season of foliage color, which occurs between mid-September and mid-October, according to weather and location. The bulletins, which report the progress of foilage coloration and include suggestions for autumn visitors, will be sent upon request.Front Cover: An autumn pastoral near Greenland. Color photo by Douglas Armsden. Back Cover: East Village School at Croydon. Color photo by Wen- day. Referring to the poem on the back cover, Mrs. Chadwell writes, “I still remember the room in a small school outside of Derry, N. H., where I attended the second grade, and where this poem was inspired, after 25 years.” Philadelphia, Penna. July 16, 1947 Governor Charles M. Dale Concord New Hampshire Dear Sir: I just wrote what you might call a “bread and butter” letter to your Forest Supervisor at Laconia, and felt that the same would be justified to the executive branch of your state. A party of four, two couples, we just completed a trip through the White Mountains. We camped nights and cooked two meals daily at various camps you have provided. The helpfulness and hospitality of the people and rangers seem unbounding, and the extensiveness of your program to help the public enjoy nature at close range is magnificent. With my sincere thanks, I am Sincerely yours, Alfred G. Lambert — Mr. Lambert refers especially to the federally operated White Mountain National Forest. “We feel that, since the Mac- Dowell Colony has become a national institution, with colonists from twenty-seven states and Canada, its support should no longer be borne chiefly by a few, but should likewise be broadened to a national scale. In the current readjustment of the affairs of the Colony, we believe that such nation-wide support would be forthcoming, if all persons interested in the arts were given an opportunity to join the Edward MacDowell Association, and thus for a small charge to help perpetuate the Colony.” — From a recently circulated statement by twelve MacDowell colonists in behalf of the Edward MacDowell Association. Inc.. 1083 Fifth Avenue. Sew York 28, N.Y. Wallpaper showing scenes in the Monadnock region adorns the walls of the old Tavern coffee shop atPeterborough. Mount Monadnock from Pitcher Mountain, a covered bridge in Swanzey, a church in Hancock, and an old saw mill in East Sullivan arc depicted. Troubadour readers are invited to visit the New Hampshire Information Bureau, 10 Rockefeller Plaza, New York, at any time. New Hampshire cordiality and helpfulness are maintained by an efficient staff, which is always ready to provide information on the state’s facilities, attractions, and resources for prospective visitors or home seekers, and on industrial or farming opportunities as well. The New Hampshire country fair schedule began in August with the Mascoma Valley and Pittsfield fairs. Dates of remaining fairs: Aug. 29-Sept. 1 — Lancaster Aug. 30-Sept. 2 — Hopkinton September 1-6 — Pittsfield September 4, 5, 6 — Cheshire Fair, Swanzey (near Keene) September 9-12 — Plymouth September 15-20 Rochester September 25-27 — Deerfield October 6, 7 — Derry October 13 — Sandwich New Hampshire Troubadour Representatives of the state will lx* on hand to welcome the public at the New Hampshire Building on the Avenue of States at the Eastern States Exposition, West Spring- field, Mass., September 14 to 20. Interesting exhibits are being prepared for the first showing of the exposition since 1942. BIG DEER The April 1947 issue of Outdoors contains this interesting item: Editor: I've read with interest the items in Outdoors relating to the size of deer in Michigan and New Hampshire, and particularly the letter from a resident of my state who says that he has seen more than 500 deer weighed, with none heavier than 262 pounds. In 1904 my husband shot a deer near Errol, N. H., that weighed, after being dressed, exactly 327 lbs. This, mind you, is not an estimate, but the figure on the American Express Co.’s receipt. One witness to the shooting and weighing of the deer is still living, and can verify the story if your doubting New' Hampshire reader is still unconvinced. — Mrs, S. J. Crownin- shield, Springfield. N. H. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD N M.Wide, opened windows hold the sky, And silver birches, rustling near, Bow wind-swaved slender trunks beside The crystal brook whose song is clear. Small children, heads bent over books. Arc counting moments, as they pass, Remembering the swimming-creek, And bare feet touched by velvet grass. Pauline S. Chadwell in Ave Maria Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194709 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour September 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-09 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Croyden, schools, Dublin, wild fox grapes Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Croyden Dublin schools wild fox grapes https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/b9b91597d853a73255eb1de54004a524.pdf 6187a8a1f6f084ebf46fc9152a6f62b0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour New Hampshire Troubadour COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor volume xvii October, 1947 number 7 MOUNTAINS OF MANY COLORS t>u prattle <jC. j-^errin in the Christian Science Monitor In this Yankee mountain country there still remain abundant traces of the farm and household appliances used by the grandparents and great-grandparents of those of us who admit our own unmistakable membership in those kindred ranks. But apart entirely from this are the practically modernized farms and homes, and modernized schools, churches, and hotels. The prospecting stranger takes his choice. There is a sincere but noneffusive welcome wherever he may go. And there is beauty everywhere. We caught the picture of the meandering ranges, all bathed in their abundance of changing foliage and shifting lights, a day before the first snow flurry that bade goodby to September and welcomed ripe October. The frost had struck the pumpkins and the fodder was in the shock, as Riley would have it at just that time of year. Those were some of the open and obvious signs that our possibly remote New England cousins were making preliminary prepara-tions for an early winter. Such preparedness means, where the farm or village buildings, houses and barns, are not modern, that cellars and stables must be “banked” with leaves and straw, that the remnants of garden and field crops must be harvested, and the last of the apples must be put away from frost and snow. The repatriated Yankee, reared on the level prairie lands of the Middle West, inherits, perhaps, some of the affection of his forebears for this rugged and picturesque mountain country. He may see — or think that he sees — in the grand panorama so lavishly displayed, a crude reincarnation of villages, homes, schools, and churches, somehow made faintly familiar as things and places around which the neighbors and forelx*ars moved and toiled and found their measure of happiness and contentment. It is grand when the years bring with them pleasant and enriching memories. The people of many countries and many races have them, it is true, but to each of us, if we are fortunate, our own seem Portion of the Village of H ilton WINSTON POTEbest and richest. Early New England, crude in its outward habiliments and setting, but enriched by an individualistic culture nourished in homes, in schools and colleges, and in religious conviction, seems to have bequeathed to us all something that was, and is, peculiarly its own. The sympathetic seeker who travels casually along the winding highways which skirt the towering mountains, lingering beside some deep blue lake or hurrying trout stream, feels the influence, if not the presence, of a guiding and directing presence. There, in the granite hills, thoughts are of peace, not of wars and strife. There one might wish that those who seek surcease from fear, from worry, from vain contentions, might come. It is upon such foundations as the enduring rock, and in such a setting as the everlasting hills, that the temples of peace are builded. NEW HAMPSHIRE’S FAVORITE GAME BIRD Inj J/oh n The ruffed grouse, commonly called partridge in New Hampshire, mystery bird of the brilliant autumn thickets, whose plummeting flight challenges the aim of the most skillful hunter, is the favorite game bird of Granite State sportsmen. The thunder of its wings startles the novice, and its habits are a matter of great talk and speculation among experienced hunters. “Grouse,” they conclude, “are where you find them.”Its numbers seem to increase or decrease in mysterious cycles with little relation to hunting pressure, except that during years of scarcity the sportsman is wise to curtail his hunting in order to protect brood stock. In 1945, after hunting had been light for the previous two or three years, grouse were noticeably scarce. In 1946 they showed an increase, and it is expected that the 1947 season, which begins October 1, will find the “pa'tridge” population well on the upward swing of an abundance cycle. Favorite autumn foods of the grouse, notably wild apples, are plentiful this year. New Hampshire is fortunate in having some of the finest ruffed grouse covers in the East, and the prize habitat of all is the abandoned farm where a clump of lilacs hides an old cellar hole, and nearby apple trees have reverted to cider apple status. There are also shaded corners where two stone walls come together where the birds retire in mid-day to preen themselves lazily. But no matter how carefully these favored spots are approached there is too often a rumble of wings as the birds disappear like brown feathered rockets before a gun can be raised to the shoulder. There are “birdy” covers fringed by sumac and unkempt apple trees where the hunter walks with gun half raised, expecting grouse to hurtle out from under his feet. Sometimes these are empty. Later on, when he relaxes to light a contemplative pipe, they burst with startling thunder from a bush not ten feet behind him. Such is the uncertainty of hunting that adds to its appeal. A grouse in the pocket is of minor importance. The main appeal of hunting is to be part of the glorious autumn landscape, free to explore whatever thicket or patch of cover strikes the fancy. Ethically, the hunter is not permitted to shoot birds while they arc on the ground, although too often a silhouette on a stone wall or a flitting shape in a thicket is all he sees of the grouse before it takes off from behind a spruce or pine where a shot is impossible. To the hunter who has fallen under the spell of the ruffed grouse, the noble bird is the symbol of all the mystery and beauty of au-tumn. Its sleek, mottled plumage is more beautiful than the peacock, its sagacity is greater than that of the fox, and its thundering flight is matched by no other bird. Those who have been privileged to seek him in the covers of New Hampshire, whether with the aid of a dog or by “walking them up,” are filled with a sense of gratitude and respect for this king of game birds. The favored haunts of the grouse become shrines to be visited each autumn when leaves are red and the air as invigorating as wine. If the birds outwit the hunter in one cover, there is always another spot up the valley where the leaves arc dropping in the thickets or riding on the dark water of a little brook. If there is a bulge in the game pocket when sunset fades above the mountain ranges in the west as he takes the road back toward the lights of town, the sportsman is humble and content. To bring home the ruffed grouse is no small honor. But the greatest treasure is a store of memories of hillsides aflame with autumn colors, of valleys steeped in solitude, of silent ridges brushed by clouds. For autumn is a season that enters the blood. A Country Auction at AntrimThe Oldest House in Hollis THE HERMIT OF HOLLIS L, Paul W. JCt ieier On my study wall hangs an interesting old broadside, “sold wholesale and retail by Leonard Deming, No. 61 Hanover street, Boston, and at Middlebury, Vt.” It is entitled “Major’s OnlySon.” At each corner of the elaborate flowery border is an angelic countenance. The author and hero of the lengthy poem and his small house are pictured above a brief explanatory paragraph at the head of the verses. For some years I have been interested in searching for the story of this broadside. A stranger, so the story goes, apj>eared at Hollis, New Hampshire, soon after the Revolution, giving the name of John Jones. He let it be known that he came from a good family and that his father, a major in the British army, possessed independent means. While eccentric, both in manner and dress — he wore when he appeared in public a broad brimmed hat draped with a mourning weed and a long plaid dressing gown — he endeared himself to the people of the community with his whimsical wit and ready repartee, and was received with cordial welcome in any home. Frequently he was asked to join in the family meal, when he could be depended upon to offer grace in some impromptu manner. He made it a habit to be in Amherst, the county seat, when the courts were in session there and the lawyers found much amusement in his company. Once, on the occasion of a dinner to the judges, he was placed at the second table. He regarded this as an indignity, and was not pleased with the food remaining from the first table; so, instead of giving thanks in his usual manner, at the end of the repast he delivered these lines, which many New Hampshire children have heard in later years: “Cursed be the owls That picked these fowls, And left the bones For Doctor Jones.” How did he come to be known as “Doctor” Jones? He purchased a four-acre plot on Mooar’s Hill, in the northern part of Hollis, and built a small house, which he named “Lone Cottage,” where he dwelt in solitude. He is credited with being the first person to introduce grafted fruit into Hollis. I le set out an orchard of choice varieties and tended it with care. He cultivated fruits, herbs, and flowers. He supported himself by preparing medicinal herbs, from his garden and from the woods. He mixed various nostrums and peddled them in Hollis and vicinity. He would carry two baskets, one bearing the name of “Charity,” and the other that of “Pity.” Besides his herbs and medicines, the baskets also contained such things as “Liberty tea,” juniper berries when in season, and scions for grafting. He also sold copies of verses of his own composition, particularly the ballad “The Major’s Only Son,” composed before his arrival in Hollis. In this 150 line ballad he recites the story of his own life. Briefly, he fell in love at the age of 18 with his “true love.” But she was “of low degree, and came of a poor family.” His wealthy parents tried in every way possible to break up the match. At 20 “he'd a call at Rochester, to preach, ARTHUR ALLEN PETERSON Pulpit Rock, Rye, on Route I-A, after a nor'easter And there the gospel he did teach. They set by him exceeding high, And settled him in the ministry.” But his parents continued in opposition to the match. Finally the girl’s father:“— unto him did say, Kind sir, for ever stay away; My daughter is as good as you, For ever bid my house adieu; Your parents never will be still, For thus they have set up their will.” The maiden pined away into an early grave, leaving to her lover precious memories, and also “Her rings from her fingers she did take, Saying, always keep them for my sake, And cvcrytimc these rings you sec, Remember that I died for thee.” The young man left the ministry and wandered about thereafter until he settled at Hollis, his mind affected by the tragedy. Many times he was said to have been heard singing the verses of this ballad as he puttered about his lonely house. In those days, too, it was a favorite song with the young people in that vicinity. Many anecdotes have been related about Doctor Jones. One thing, it seems, he would not do — tell his age. He always avoided the question with some whimsicality. A lady customer of uncertain years, when buying some tea of him, made an attempt to discover when he was born. In reply he told her that she might ask him as many questions on the subject as she was years old. The woman was so nettled that she called him “an old cracked fiddle of one doleful tunc,” and demanded that he take back his tea and return her money. The Doctor thereupon made use of his ready rhyming faculty and, without a moment's hesitation, said: “Phebc, my dear, my own sweet honey. You’ve got your tea and I’ve got my money.”Having been educated for the ministry, Doctor Jones enjoyed attending the meetings of the Hollis Association of Ministers, a noted organization in those days. Sometimes he would propose questions for discussion. One of these is said to have been: “Was there ever a man that had a tongue which never told a lie, or a heart which never had an evil thought?” The question was decided unanimously in the negative, and the decision was backed up by quotations from Scripture. The Doctor declared that they were all wrong and he could prove it. He went out for one of his baskets, uncovered it, and showed them in triumph the head and heart of a sheep, exclaiming, “There is a tongue that never told a lie and a heart that never had an evil thought — and they are both mine.” Doctor Jones departed this life July 14, 1796. His gravestone had been ready for some years, prepared for the occasion by three young men whom he laughingly called his adopted sons. They belonged to families residing in the part of town where he had settled, and he associated with them more intimately than with other persons, and remembered them in his will. One young man was bequeathed the rings left to the Doctor by his “true love.” The stone, a large slab of slate, in the cemetery of the Hollis Congregational Church, was completed according to his directions, with the exception of a space left for the date of his demise. The epitaph was his own composition: “In youth he was a scholar bright, In learning hr took great delight. He was a Major’s only son, It was for love he was undone.”GUY SHOREY One of the earliest houses in Shelburne anti some adjoining farm land aptly illustrating Janies U'hitcttmb Riley's lines: "If hen the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock. Is you hoar the kyouck and the gobble of the strutting turkiy cock." Perhaps one should not love a land so well 7 hat leaving it can knot the heartstrings so, Can catch the throat, can cast a shadow spell Over the earth's bright splendor, l et / know My heart is desert that / shall not see October blowing flame across my world. Flaunting on each hill road her pagantry. Or days oj pouring wind when leaves are whirled Away, and the full arch oj heaven appears. And dark brooks hold the moon again, and high Over the gray, snow-hungry hills there veers A wedge of geese beneath an iron sky. From Equinox, A Poem of the Hanover Fall Season By Pennington Haile in the Dartmouth Alumni MagazineFront Cover: Church and autumn foliage at Auburn. Color photo by Guy Shorey. Back Cover: Mounts Pcquavvket and Cranmore and Swift River. Photo by Roger B. Corey. Frontispiece: Mounts Madison and Adams from Moose Brook State Park, Gorham. Photo by Guy Shorey. The New Hampshire Sportsman, an illustrated magazine concerned with hunting, fishing, and other outdoor sports, is being issued quarterly by New Hampshire Sports, Inc., 15 Temple Court, Manchester. The subscription price is one dollar per year. The purpose of the magazine, according to the editor, is — “To further the cause of amateur sports in general, to point out opportunities New Hampshire offers to sportsmen, and to bring to light ways in which the outdoor facilities of our state may be improved and enlarged — in short, to add to the sum total of happiness.” New Hampshire is honored by the election of James F. O’Neil of Manchester to the important post of national commander of the American Legion. Felton, Del., June 17. — A dozen chickens of the New Hampshire strain today was adjudged Delaware's best in the national “Chicken of Tomorrow” contest being held to develop a better meat type bird. A “One Hundred Years Ago” item reprinted about three months ago in the New York Herald Tribune: “Mr. Whitney, the projector of the Railroad to the Pacific Ocean, is at present in Concord, N. H., explaining to the Legislature the character of his scheme. As the Railroad is not intended to touch New Hampshire, it is highly probable that the Radicals of the State will endorse the enterprise with approving resolutions.” SANDWICH FAIR Frum the flower exhibit to the stage show to the merry-go-round to the fancy work to the live stock to the rassling tent they is suthing for every member uv the whole fam- bly to keep amused and interested and having fun and busy spending their hard earned munney. I like to watch the Sandwich Fair Parade. Nobuddy has everben able to figger out where the parade starts or when it starts or its route or where it ends. The Hon Parade Committee know and map it out awl lovely before hand and it starts O. K. Then things begin to get tangled up and before you know what has happened an allegorical float showing Peace and Plenty, Peace and Plenty being two oversized females in cheese cloth and green garlands, is awl mixed up in a bunch uv the horribles, two yokes uv oxen and the drum section of sum band. The frunt half of the band getting cut ofT by three anteek autos which go backfiring up the street whilst the brass section uv the band goes ta- da-da-da and the drums a hundred yards back is going rum, turn, turn, a rum, turn, turn. Hank NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS The Art of Hooked-Rugmaking, by Martha Batchelder of Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, was recently announced by The Manual Arts Press, Peoria, 111. On September 8 the T. Y. Crowell Company will publish Fair Were the Days, by Christine Whiting Parmenter of Concord. This is New Hampshire Troubadour the story of a New England family in the 90’s; and those who read Mrs. Parmenter’s A Golden Age, will recognize many of the characters in this new novel. ^yfOT From Wheeler’s History of Newport, New Hampshire, 1766-1878: Tradition says the first article of merchandise brought into town was a barrel of rum, individuals contributing what they were disposed to; but when it arrived, no one of their number had sufficient knowledge of figures to divide it equitably among the owners, so the matter was deferred until the arrival of Mrs. Christopher Newton, who was able to solve the problem. From Wheeler’s History of New- port, New Hampshire, 1766-1878: Mrs. Ebenezcr Merritt had a family of sixteen boarders. Her supplies consisted of the milk of one farrow cow, from which she made half a pound of butter per week; meal for porridge, and fish caught from the river. The boarders were all satisfied. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N M,TO OCTOBER by 4nnie &a(com k WL.L Proudly you wore the mantle that September Surrendered to you when she went her way With banners flying. We shall long remember The beauty of that Indian Summer day: Rare mountain vistas! Streams full-voiced and foaming Down rock-strewn beds to calmer tides below. Then like a Godspeed to our twilit homing, Chocorua bathed in the afterglow! Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194710 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour October 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-10 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource auction, Antrim, hunting, Pulpit Rock, Rye, Hollis, Mount Madison, Mount Adams, Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Antrim auction Hollis hunting Mount Adams Mount Madison Pulpit Rock Rye