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