8 10 89 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/561c296ba050a650143030348934287f.pdf d037d33283ec50d833e874306eee0d53 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 TOUBADOUR MAY 1950 WINSTON POTE Blossoms of the shadbush or sugar plum at Lake Chocorua. Mt. Chocorua in in the background.ew ^ ^sue // svam/yjnire troubadour Comes to you every month, singing the praises oj .Yew Hampshire, a state whose beauty and opportunities should tempt you to come and share those good things that make life here so delightful. State Planning and Development Commission, Concord, .Yew Hampshire. One dollar a year. Entered as second-class matter. May 31, 1949, at the Post Office at Concord, Yew Hampshire, under the Act of March 3, 1S79. ANDREW M. HEATH, Edlfor Volume XX MAY, 1 950 Number 2 May Morning la ddrede rid 'WJ. Id rand This morning very early, when everything was still, I went up to my garden, asleep across the hill: 1 watched the sky grow brighter, the sun begin to shine, And thought the land was talking to those drowsy plants of mine. It spoke no human language, and yet I seemed to know That it was gently urging each plant to wake and grow, As it had done so often when Spring was in the air. Since someone cleared that hillside and marie a garden there. Then, as I stood and listened, the quiet voice was gone; A fragrant, sun-drenched morning kept the promise of the dawn; Along the ordered rows I saw the green tops lift and nod. And wondered if that quiet voice had been the voice of God.Painting by Harvey Kidder For an inland water has played an important role in the life of Harrisville. For example, the old chapel with the four-painted belfry is almost surrounded by the pond which at one time powered the town’s mills. "A SMALL MILL TOWN” Reprinted from Ford Times Personally, when I am traveling I like to be surprised — the right way, of course. And that’s the way it was with my coming upon, maybe I should say descending upon, Harrisville. I was rolling around the mountain, so to speak, when I came. Driving slowly through wooded upflung country, slanting fields and old orchards, tall stands of pine and hemlock and maple, high rounded hills in gigantic billows to the sky, and at every other turn a blue lake mirroring all the hilly world — that gently rugged country presided over by Grand Monadnock, lord of the mountains of southern New Hampshire. And I literally dropped down, down out of the woods, and 1 was on the shore of yet another lake and in Harrisville. Two minutes, or only one minute, and I was through the town, down a steep hill, and by the shore of a second lake set in wooded wilderness. But I turned around and went back. No guidebook had advised me. Rindge, Jaflrey, Dublin, Peter- boro, all within a short radius, 1 had found listed and extolled. In small print there had been the name of Harrisville with the bleak designation: “a small mill town.” That was all. And it was true enough. But I had had a glimpse — and the sudden hunch that Baedeker would have put a star after that entry and a word of advice: “Artists and lovers of the unusual take note.” For Harrisville is a mill town all right — but with a difference . . . To begin with, the outflow from the long lake now called Harrisville Pond becomes a broad canal and then plunges down a nearlyprecipitous gorge about a quarter of a mile to Lake Nuhanusit. The hills roll up on every side. And on a mere acre of level ground by pond and canal is a small cluster of ancient houses, a little chapel, and a tall church all of brick warmed and weathered by a hundred or more years. And this is the old heart of the town; it really is the town, serene, placid, and dignified. Looking down from the steep hillside are the newer white houses and the one store. And then strung along down the gorge is the mill. Its central building is of granite blocks, its wings of brick, and it has been running continuously for a hundred years. Near it stands what is left of the first mill with its old tower from which a rope pulley 2100 feet long transmitted power from water wheel to machinery. The present mill has recently gone over to electric power, with modern machines in the old buildings, and the place hums and throbs with the speed and efficiency of modern American industry. I spent an hour there following wool from the bag to the finished cloth ready to be shipped to New York, reflecting that here hidden in the hills was a way station for wool on a long journey. There’s a connection between the old brick houses and the peace of them and the interior hum of modern machinery. Abel Twitchell settled here in 1786. brought Bethuel Harris, later to be his son-in- law, here, cast his Yankee eye over the fall of water between two mountain lakes, and built a mill in 1813 for the manufacture of wooden ware. The place was called Twitched Village and was part of Dublin. But the villagers were independent. When they disagreed with Dublin over the gratuity to be voted the railroad that was being laid across New Hampshire, they just lopped off a goodly slice of Dublin, seceded with it, and incorporated themselves in 1870 as Harrisville. Today Harrisville numbers about 500, and 240 work in the mid. So it is a mill town ad right, but the point is — except that one can see the mid with his own eyes he would never know he was in a mid town. There is no traffic in Harrisville. There is no noise.■■■■■■I Doguvod in bloom at Portsmouth. There are no crowds. I saw one truck, and I saw one horse-drawn wagon, and I saw three pedestrians. The old brick houses with their white framed windows and doors, instead of bordering a Xew England common, are reflected in the lake and the canal. And serenity and silence brood over them as they brooded over the place when Abel Twitchell discovered it.lhe beautiful white-spired brick church, The First Congregational Church of Harrisvillc, presides over houses and shore and water. But what catches the eye is the little chapel near it, also of old brick, with a four-pointed low belfry. The chapel stands in the waters of the pond. New England has many beautiful old churches. I wonder if it has another old chapel in a great pond. Mrs. C. M. Miller, the wife of the minister, who received me with the kindest hospitality, explained that the chapel was built in 1840 as a place of worship until the church was built. After the church was completed in 1844 the chapel was for a time a girls’ academy. Now, because of the need of repairs to the church and the lack of central heating, the little chapel is used for services again. It was built on the shore. When the level of water was raised, it was surrounded on two sides, its cellar became part of the pond. It has always been a Congregational chapel, but I could not help but think to what good use Baptists would put it . . . 1 looked from the Millers’ house across the end of Harrisvillc Pond. On a hilly wooded island is the town cemetery. The eye moves right and sees the little chapel standing doubly in water, and beyond it the white sharp church spire, under its protection the handful of old houses. The instant the eye leaves them it catches the long reach of blue water and the wooded hills and distant mountains. Who said industry need be ugly? And a mill town a noisy place? I heard no sound except the notes of a thrush coming across water. I saw only utter serenity, the dignity of age, and watery reflections. “This is really a place of reflections,” I said. "Oh, yes.” Mrs. Miller said happily. “They say this is the most painted village in New Hampshire.” So the artists have found it without Baedeker. I might have known. Trust the artist's eye . . .A. N. HOl'CHARD II hat is this brushy Inal,inn pond? It is a poml ninth by In‘avers in southwestern New Hampshire. The actual loctit ion is not disclose*! for the sake of the fishermen tvho discovend it anil who catch "tdd fashioned" bn nth trout there. Hearers hare moth- a gtnd comcdmck in Xciv Hampshire, ami the state non has a special trapping season whence or the population is believed to be too large. The dams are interesting to the student of the U'oods as well as the trout fisherman. I went down the steep street, paused for a while again at the tiny center, reminding myself that this was a mill town, went over to the postoffice. 1 was the only person on the street. I sent oil a postcard of warning to the editor. Then 1 slipped away very quietly so as not to disturb the town and in a minute 1 w-as in the woods again.AMONG THE GREAT FROM THE GRANITE STATE Fourth Series mine SynireS, p/,2). I. I’hincas Davis (1800— September 27, 1835) On the thirty-first of December, 1949, the newspapers reported that the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad was that day discontinuing passenger service on its Old Main Line. This trackage represented the first successful steam railroad in American history. Its construction had begun on July 4, 1828, when Charles Carroll, the only surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence, had broken ground for the new common carrier. The first American passenger trains began to operate on the thirteen miles between Baltimore and Ellieott City in January, 1830. The Old Main Line ran almost due west from Baltimore and its right of way did not utilize the Potomac River valley until it reached Point of Rocks, Maryland. Five years after the Old Main Line was opened, the B.&O. ran a branch south from Baltimore to Washington. But not until 1868 were the present through tracks laid between Washington and a juncture with the Old Main Line at Point of Rocks. I mil after the Civil War, railway travellers into Washington from the West had to get to the national capital by the roundabout way of the Old Main Line. All this is preliminary to recalling that one of the key figures in the Baltimore and Ohio R.R. in its opening years was that little- known son of the Granite State: Phineas Davis. Born on a farm in Grafton, X. H., young Davis went to York, Pennsylvania in his middle teens, and threw himself into the study of mechanics and steam engines. Those were the days when the possiblities of steam as a prime source of power seemed as fascinating to young in-WINSTON POTS Fishing on the Israel Hirer at Jefferson ami view of Mis. Mntlison, Adams, Jefferson, W ashington, and .Monroe of the Presidential Range. ventors as atomic energy does in 1950. In January, 1831, dissatisfied with the performance of its locomotives in the first year of operation, — even Peter Cooper’s “Tom Thumb” had been found wanting — the B.&O. announced a prize competition which caught the eye of Phineas Davis. The railroad stated that it would award $4000 — equal to at least SI 6.000 today — to that inventor who, on or before June 1. 1831. would deliver the best locomotive to the company. It must burn coal or coke, consume its own smoke, and draw a minimum of fifteen tons at 15 in.p.h.Iii the five* months at his disposal Phineas Davis built suc h a locomotive, named it the “York,” and won the prize. Shortly thereafter the Baltimore and Ohio R.R. offered the successful inventor the managership of all its mechanical shops. In 1832 Davis accepted the position, and took up his headquarters in Baltimore. Quick to improve existing equipment, and alert to all the rapidly-moving developments in steam power, Phineas Davis seemed headed for a brilliant career as the master mechanic of the then principal railroad of the United States. Alas! the bright promise was not to be achieved. In the autumn of 1835, during a trial run on the new trackage lx*ing laid from Baltimore to Washington. Davis was killed in an accident. Today, as the Washington-bound traveller skims over the trunk line from Maryland's chief city to the nation’s capital, it all seems far away and long ago when the “York” was the most efficient locomotive in America. Yet it is worth remembering, at least by all those who love the story of the “Iron Horse,” that Phineas Davis, a native of the Granite State, was one of the most successful of the pioneer locomotive builders of this country. (Next month's article: Salmon Portland Chase) WINNIPESAUKEE L Vest a Sherman I nis year we came early to the log cabin at the lake by the mountains. June finds few campers — either the all-summer or two-week brand —started on their seasons, and I love it! People are grand, and 1 dearly love 'em. but it's a refreshing experience to have the place with its almost unearthly quietness, all for our very own.It’s the same sensation I get when we come up sometimes for a day or overnight in April. No one here but those beloved year round natives — (»od and the u c><>dland crea111res. Tonight the men are out fishing. The lake is that still, quiet water which is almost icelike in its unmotioning. Different every night, tonight it is the color of a huge abalone shell with its gray, green, and soft rosiness tinged all over with a pearly lustre. Soon the lights of the few other early folk will be popping on. In midsummer we often count twenty or more lights on the opposite shore — but tonight probably only one or two will show. Boat house doors — closed tightly since last September — tell us that as yet few families have come for their probably longed-for exposure to loveliness. Night after night, year after year all this loveliness is here - waiting to be taken by tired city bodies, and too world-commotionconscious minds. For myself, tho" I cannot come as early, often, or stay as late as I crave, the very knowingness that this is all here, majestic in its eternal steadfastness, creates and keeps in me a faith without which I could not live! .Veiv limn ft shirr Irnuhutlour 13Front Cover: Apple blossoms at Orford. Color photo l>v Winston Potc. Back Cover: Children at Randolph feed ins; shorn sheep, some of which have yokes to keep them from {joins; through the fence to where the “grass is greener.” Photo by Winston Pote. EPITAPH This masterpiece, sent to The I roubadour by Marion Fang Driscoll, is at New Boston: Nathan Emerson, died July 18, 18-H), aged 75 years. “The good die young.” New Hampshire Books and Authors That Darned Minister's Son (Doubleday and Company, Garden City, N. Y., S3) is by Haydn S. Pearson, an author who is well known to Troubadour readers. It is a collection of anecdotes. Mr. Pearson’s father was minister of a smalltown parish in New Hampshire, blended religion and farming, lifted the mortgage with his fine apples, and could compete with tlx1 best as a horse trader. Haydn himself had a love for small-bov pranks. The volume is a loving recollection of a bygone era. Open for the Season, by Karl P. Abbott, Doubleday & Co., Inc., Garden City, N. Y., S3. Reminiscences of a hotel man. A reviewer says: “This book simply bubbles with humor, good anecdotes, and dramatic incidents. ... It has enough New Hampshire common sense and courage to give you a breath of cleaner air.” ^stos' The voters at the town meeting held two months ago at Colebrook authorized the selectmen to make provision to stop the bell of the town clock between the hours of 10 p.m. and 7 a.m. Many attractive gardens throughout the state are open to visitors during the entire season. Persons wishing a list of them are invited to write to Mrs. Arthur Pennock, Littleton, who is chairman of visiting gardens for the New Hampshire Federation of Garden Clubs. The federation is making plans for Open House and Garden Week in New Hampshire August 7 12. On each day tea will be served at one of the houses or gardens, andhostesses will lie present to greet guests and describe interesting features of t lie home or garden. The series of tours is to be arranged so that anyone may visit all of the places which are to be opened. Proceeds will be for the Crotched Mountain planting project, the 1950 aim of which is to landscape the road leading to the site for the Cripple Children’s Hospital. On August 10 several of the houses in Exeter, including the famous Cincinnati House, the Folsom Tavern, the main building of Phillips F.xeter Academy, and a garden nearby, will be opened. Mrs. Foster Stearns will receive guests at her home. Headquarters of this tour will be the First Church, and refreshments will be served there. A Patent Model Museum is to be opened this summer on the country estate of Mr. and Mrs. O. Rundle Gilbert at Center Sandwich as a new center of interest in New Hampshire, July 1 to October 11. The museum is to contain three or four thousand of the more inter esting originals of working models of the period 1836-1890, when American inventors conjured up nearly every imaginable thing, ami many quite unimaginable. The Gilberts arc converting a large barn with two wings to house the large permanent collection and arranging features to interest the youngsters while their parents inspect and work the models, some of which have revolutionized our lives and some of which are useless, if ingenious, ideas. If your grandfather ever invented anything, chances arc his patent model is up in Center Sand- wich. These models trace the history of railroading, printing, farm machinery, and many other types of inventions; they are the visible evidence of 19th Century American ingenuity. New Hampshire's new toll road between New buryport. Massachusetts, and Kittery, Maine, is to be dedicated and opened for use on June 24. State Highway Commissioner Frank I). Merrill has announced that the rate for using this modern 15-mile high-speed artery will be 15 cents for passenger autos; varying rates for other vehicles.Voyager Returned L Bed ara ^Jernt Cit\ errij kj rimes The stillness of Spring Twilight in New Hampshire awakes emotion deep within my heart. Though other Springs in other lands held beauty, still here I have my roots and knew my start. The stillness of Spring Twilight in New Hampshire awakes remembrance known and loved before. My travels never could too firmly hold me: This is my home, my own familiar shore. MAY 5 WO 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 4677Troubadour195005 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour May1950 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 1950-05 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. 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, Harrisville, Orford 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 railroads, roads, gardens Type The nature or genre of the resource Text gardens Harrisville New Hampshire Orford railroads roads https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/6b9ea736812881786b55b57cb973ea64.pdf a0d86b329945327ffa574bd2fd087c24 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 BEAVER FALLS In Colebrook on the road to Stewartstown Hollow—Not as high as Montmorency, nor as mighty as the Niagara. but as beautiful in its simpiit ity The New Troubadour Hampshire One may now have primitive conditions or all modern comforts in log cabins high in the Xew Hampshire hills. Far from the city streets and city frets, one may find peace, quietness, and inner harmony The New Hampshire Troubadour comes to you every month, sinjiinK the praises of New Hampshire, a state whose beauty and opportunities may tempi you to come and share those good things that make life here so delightful, it is sent to you by the New Hampshire State Development Commission. Donald D. Tuttle, Executive Secretary, Concord, N. H. edited by Thomas 'Dre/er VOL. i NOVEMBER, 1931 A Village Makes Use of Ancient Crafts NO.8 FOR six years the people living in and near Center Sandwich have been developing skill and increasing their incomes by making things to be sold by the Sandwich Home Industries. Hundreds of persons have visited the building which houses the industries to see and to purchase examples of native handicrafts. Each rug, andiron, table, basket, pair of fire tongs, chair, bench, stool, luncheon set, jar of jelly, or what not, has been made within the limits of the town, and each thing is sold on a co-operative basis. Only ten per cent commission is deducted from the sale [trice. All the rest goes to the craftsman who did the work. If it were not for Mrs. J. Randolph Coolidge this organization would not be what it is. She has been the New Hampshirt Troubadour Page 3 the leader and inspirer, and it was Coolidge money, too, thai provided the original capital. More should be done elsewhere in the State to encourage home industries. Governor Winant recently appointed a commission, of which Mrs. Coolidge is the head, to co-operate with leaders in other towns. It is possible that eventually there may be a sufficient amount of home-made- products of the Sandwich kind to justify the formation of a co-operative marketing organization for tin- state as a whole. In tlie meantime the Sandwich Industries offer ideas and inspiration to other small towns. Visitors to tlie state also find a trip to Sandwich a pleasant adventure. The view from the high hill just before one drops down to Center Sandwich on tlie road from Moultonboro is one of the finest in the state. How one Man Bought a New Hampshire Farm IT is certain that there are no better satisfied owners of a farm in our state than Mr. and Mrs. Charles H. Watts. They have a house in Bronxville and another in Florida, but the place that means most to them is their farm home at Effingham. How they went aboul buying their place may interest you. The New Hampshire Troubadour Last spring Mr. Watts told his real estate man to invite proposals from all real estate dealers in Maine, New Hampshire, Vermont, and Massachusetts. Three thousand inquiries were sent out and four hundred replies received. This number was thinned down to seventy-five and that number of sets of pictures were furnished. Mr. and Mrs. Watts went over all these pictures and decided in favor of nine possible places. The first place they visited was in Maine. That on closer acquaintance did not appeal. Next was the George Towle place at Effingham. They liked that at once, but couldn't resist the appeal of another place that offered a house filled with antiques as a lure. This house was delightful but was turned down because, as Mr. Watts says, "there were too many gas stations and hot dog stands in the vicinity." As they were about to start on their second day's journey, Air. Watts and his wife agreed that inas- much as the Towle place was liked by both of them, there was little sense in looking further. They bought it immediately and workmen have been busy there all through the summer months, clearing out under- brush, trimming the fine big trees, opening up vistas, painting buildings, making flower gardens, and giving new life to the place. What adventures did you have in buying your New Hampshire home? / h, i .1 //um/i.s/an' Troubadout bi.r •- Manly boys are helped to become still more manly in Davis Field House and Gymnasium at Dartmouth College, Hanover. Under the inspiration of one of our country's recognized leaders. Dr. Ernest Martin Hopkins, Dartmouth is known as a place where students are taught to think as individuals and by so thinking to prepare themselves for usefulness in world affairs The Bards Stood High in Ireland PEOPLE who sing the good deeds of their country- men ought to be given a high position. Those who go about looking for the best in all persons and things, and who tell others about their discoveries, encourage people who are doing good work to do still better work. In Ireland, in the good old days, the king could wear a robe of seven colors. Next to him was the graduate bard, who wore six colors. Lords and ladies /',,,•,• t, The Hampshire Troubadom were permitted five governors of fortresses, four officers and gentlemen, three soldiers, two and the common people, only one. How many colors should we be permitted to wear, those of us who are singing the praises of New Hampshire and New Hampshire's worth-while people? After renting houses in the Lake Sunapee section for a couple of years, Samuel Crowther, the internationally known author, bought an old farm and is having a great time fixing it up without robbing it of the original simplicity, lie rejoiced especially when he discovered an old dam that was built more than ioo years ago in order to provide power for a little shop that turned out bowls for ships' compasses. The dam is built of blocks fully two feet square. The first thing Sam knows, he'll be a permanent resident and may open that shop again. He ought to practise in New Hampshire what he and Henry Ford talk about in their books — that is, getting people back into the country and providing them with factory jobs out where they can live on their own farms. Last summer more than 50 per cent of the sales made by Stewart Bosson of Meredith were of old places bought for the purpose of restoring them and Thi Wow Hampshire Troubadour Page? maintaining their original type. Old age does make its contribution of beauty. An old house that has been lived in for generations offers its new owners many fine treasures. As our secondary roads are improved, more and more of these old places attract people who want summer homes that may possibly be used all the year. era There Is Solitude in New Hampshire, Too Tut: camp on the shores of Dan Hole Pond, where George Rockwell spends as much time as he can spare from his business in the city, is reached by what is little better than a trail. One who doesn't care much what may happen to his car may get there by motor. The town road which one must take to reach the gate at the entrance to George's place is one over which it is well to drive carefully. When any attempt is made to improve that road, George bursts forth into what sounds like profane language, lie knows that bad roads insure privacy, and it is privacy and solitude that he wants when he goes to the country. Good roads, you see, may be bad roads in the sight of some people. It all depends upon what one wants. We asked (Ieorge one time what would happen if he were to meet another car on that narrow road. ! The New Hampshire Troubadour "If I met another car," answered George without hesitation, "I'd know it was time for me to move elsewhere." One doesn't have to move to the Galapagos Islands to find solitude. George Rockwell has found all he needs on Dan Hole Pond in New Hampshire. One of the newest of our hydro-electric plants. Fifteen Mile Falls Dam, Monroe. Electricity now enables people far in the country to enioy milking machines, iceless refrigerators, and motor-operated machinery, banishes kerosene lamps from the houses and lanterns from barns, provides cheap power for large and small manufacturing plants, and makes life richer and pleasanter The New Hampshire Troubadour Why Not Become Winter Visitors, Too? NOTHING makes The Goose so tarnashun mad as the question summer visitors often ask her when they call at her farm for Jersey milk, or to borrow a cat, or possibly a dog. They ask, "And what do you do up here during the winter? "Their at- titude is, " You poor souls, how can you exist away off here in the country when there is snow on the ground and there are no summer visitors with whom to talk?" The Goose (who in private life is Mrs. Alvin Hatch) printed this paragraph in her column in The Granite State News: "Fellow natives, what is your favorite answer to the remark made at your kitchen door, to the effect that after the summer people have betaken them- selves to their winter activities, we are left in a somnolent state without anything whatever to occupy our hands or minds (if any)? The Goose has never seemed to assemble just the right collection of words politely to convey the idea that we really live in the winter time. The notion seems to prevail that we kind of go to den like Harry Libby's bear and that only with the coming of spring do we dust ourselves oil and resume our normal activities. The pleasant way to clear up this haze would be for the summer folks to see more of us in the winter time. We'd like that tremendously and we feel sure they would too." Page 10 The New Hampshire Troubadour So, if you really want to know what fun it is to live in New Hampshire after the summer activities end, tome up in December or January or February — or any other month listed on your calendar — and you'll learn for yourself. Have you watched the snow drifting white across a meadow? Have you sat with a good look before a blazing fire? Have you gone sleighing? Or taken part in a picnic on the lake, with plenty of hot cocoa and good things to eat? Or had a jolly evening with a neighbor? Or gone skiing? Or taken a walk on snowshoes over the hills? Or stepped out of your house on a clear winter morning and just sniffed the fresh air? Or attended those jolly country dances? Or just dropped in on a neighbor for a friendly chat? There's true neighborliness and rich, quiet, comfortable living in the country era Two Boys and a Donkey TOMMIE HUNTER and Norman Updegraff just drove by in a rickety four-wheeled cart drawn by a somewhat reluctant donkey. They were moving forward, as any one with fairly good eyesight could tell by watching them pass a given mark, but they were in no danger of breaking any speed laws. Judg- ing by their laughter, though, they were wasting I'll-- New Hampshire Troubadour Page 11 Old stone bridges are vanishing from our trunk roads, but for many years you will find them as you see this one on our of the roads near Keene. Lovers of our state hope that in the future old stone and old covered wooden bridges will be maintained to remind us of a life that is past, even though modern traffic creates a demand for a wide steel or conrete bridge a stone's throw away none of their time wishing they were driving a high- powered roadster. Boys here in the country, where city competitive standards have not penetrated, are still fortunate in being able to find their pleasure in simple things. They do not feel compelled to keep up with anybody else'. They live their own lives. Curiously enough they find so many interesting things to keep them occupied that they seldom get into mischief or be- come heart-breaking problems to their parents. Even I, sitting here at my desk in what was once the old chic-ken house, chuckled as I watched the Page /-' I ia New Hampshire Troubadour two boys pretending they were slow race charioteers, or whatever it is they were playing .it being. Their happiness communicated itsell to me just as the happiness of all happy people enriches those who look on and tire at all receptive. Uprising versus Downsitting Our good friend, John Nolen, city planner and landscape architect, who has done so much to beautify cities and towns all over the I fnited States, tells us he heard a very amusing statement as to the lack of progress in communities. A discussion of public opinion brought out the statement thai progress is not impaired by the uprising of radicals, but by the downsitting of conservatives. If we had a great deal of money, which we have not, we would buy one abandoned farm after another and remodel the old buildings. Usually the only ones worth remodeling are the pioneer build- ings. Those built within the past ( tiarter of a century are nsitally ugly. The local contractors evidently wanted to show what they could do with curlicues and bay windows and jogs in the roofs. They saw no beauty in the simplicity of the early colonial. Hut, fortunately, there are left hundreds of the old build- ings that stand as a permanent invitation to those who tire thinking of owning beautiful country homes. The New Hampshire Troubadour One of the studios at the MacDowell Colony at Peterboro. Here, certainly, is a living monument to a great composer, erected by Mrs. Edward MacDowell who has dedicated her life to materialising her distinguished husband's dream. Here writers, musicians, and other workers in the tield of art, are given the opportunity to do their work under conditions that approach the idea! You can find in our state the kind of life you want. You can spend your time in luxurious hotels. You can own your own cottage at some exclusive country club like Bald Peak. You can rent or own a farm and live as simply or as luxuriously as you please. Free camping sites invite you to pitch your tent. You can find a location for your own cabin in a national park. Scores of over-night camps offer different qualities of accommodations. Even in the dead of winter you can find what you need if you are a lover of weather that makes your blood fairly sing through your reins. "It is our ultimate hope," said Governor John (',. Winant in one of his VVBZ-WBZA broadcasts, "to have our visitors sufficiently impressed with life in New Hampshire to become ultimately identified with community and state activities and join us as legal citizens of the state." Perhaps, if you continue to read The Troubadour regularly, you will respond to that invitation. Why not plan to join the Boston and Maine winter trips which are to lie held again this year after the snow falls? On some Sundays last winter over 1,000 persons filled the special trains. Eventually these Sunday trips on special trains will develop into week-end trips. More and more of our present summer hotels will become all-the-year-round resorts. New Hampshire Troubadour Jeanne Phelps, thirteen, who lives with her mother and grand- mother on a farm near New Boston every summer, takes care of two horses and her own flock of hens. She waters, feeds, and cleans the horses, and handles her chickens like a young business woman. She had 190 hens this past summer. Not many girls have more real enjoyment. Jeanne would like to live on the farm all the time. Possibly if you have children who do not know what to do with them- selves, or cannot keep out of mischief, a farm stocked with animals of their very own may be the solution of your problem. I Those city people who own New Hampshire homes are forming the habit of eating Thanksgiving dinner in them. Thanksgiving par-ties in the country are great fun. For forty years Dr. Charles Jefferson, one of America's most influential and best loved preachers, has been summering at Fitzwilliam, not far from Mt. Monadnock. He came first as a student preacher. Later he built bis own cottage and persuaded many of his friends to follow his example. When he preaches in the tillage church on the last Sunday in I'h? New Hampshire Troubadour August, people drive for a hundred miles or more to hear him. At 71 Dr. Jefferson still plays tennis. New Hampshire helps people to live long and happily. Winter visitors find much sport in our state. Why not enjoy your Thanksgiving Day turkey in New Hampshire this year? Strenuous Alpinists may struggle up the steep face of this cliff and refresh themselves afterwards by bathing in the clear waters of the little lake. Mountains and lakes are tossed hittier and thither for the amusement of the lovers of out-of-doors Ibige Is The Simple Things of Earth are Loveliest By Margaret E. Bruner A lire on the hearth, the lamplight's glow The hour when the heart rinds peace and rest, A mother's lullaby crooned soft and low The wayside blossom, tiny woodland stream That sings a happy, lilting roundelay Solt, Billowy clouds that drift as in a dream, The hush of dawn, the sun's last flaming ray The friendh' trees that give of fruit and shade. The tendrils of the grape-like clinging hands I I there are scenes more gorgeously arrayed, But these the heart has known and understands. Mankind has reached the pinnacle of potter, Idas Conquered land and skv and ocean's crest, And yet. when comes the heart's deep, prayerful hour, lie knows the simple things are loveliest. 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/. Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available State of New Hampshire Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context troubadour111931 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource State of New Hampshire Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour November 1931 Description An account of the resource Enjoy the November 1931 issue of The Troubadour!<!--more--> [gview file="http://nhlibraries.org/history/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Troubadour1931NovemberFinal.pdf"] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1931 Type The nature or genre of the resource Magazine 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: This Rights Statement should be used for Items for which the copyright status is unknown and for which the organization that has made the Item available has undertaken an (unsuccessful) effort to determine the copyright status of the underlying Work. Typically, this Rights Statement is used when the organization is missing key facts essential to making an accurate copyright status determination. URI: http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/UND/1.0/ Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource New Hampshire State Library, 20 Park Stree, Concord, NH 03301https://nh.gov/nhsl Language A language of the resource eng Subject The topic of the resource Dan Hole Pond Mile Falls Dam Monroe Peterborough Stone Bridges https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/01db59c192e5ed0a12cd0543ba655c5d.pdf 4f7c59f11bef36fa2d90347f58510513 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 NOVEMBER 1944 Mt. Lafayette from Mountain View House, Whitefield " There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground But holds some joy of silence or of sound. Some sprite begotten of a summer dream." — Laman Blanchard 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. DONALD TUTTLE, EDITOR volume xivNovember, 1944number 8 THANKSGIVING1944 by Kenneth Andler Someone has said that not all the darkness in the world can put out the light of one small candle. That's about the way it is with Thanksgiving in this year of 1944. There's a lot of darkness. A woman in my law office the other day sat across the desk from me and with tears in her eyes told me, in a voice held under control only by will power, of the plans she had made for her oldest son, of the sacrifices she had made for her family, of the sort of boys she had raised, and how word had recently come that the oldest boy had been killed in action in the South Pacific. The letter from General MacArthur, the medal for heroism, she had put in a drawer and only within the last few days had she begun to cherish them. Her other boys were now going overseas. "I don't expect to see them ever again," she said. "You get an insight into these things. It never occurred to me I'd lose Buddy. I don't know how he New Hampshire Troubadour3 A. THORNTON OKAY Market Square and Pleasant Street, Portsmouth. Left to right: Portsmouth Savings Bank. First National Bank. New Hampshire National Bunk and Portsmouth Trust and Guarantee Company. Piscataqua Savings Bank. died, they won't tell me. But he's gone. It*s just as though you were sitting in a brightly lighted room and someone snapped out the lights." It's a sombre background for Thanksgiving this year. But the custom itself was kindled in the darkest times and the light from it has never been extinguished. More than half the Pilgrims had died in that first grim winter on these shores when the few survivors gave thanks for their initial harvest. The first President to issue a Thanksgiving Day Proclamation was George Washington. After that the custom was observed unofficially and on varying dates in different localities. In 1863 4The November 1944 , Abraham Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday of November as Thanksgiving Day and this was uniformly observed by all succeeding Presidents until these last few years, when this custom got shoved around a bit. The official origin of the day — Abraham Lincoln's proclamation — was brought about only after persistent efforts by Sarah J. Hale, one of the most remarkable women of modern times. .As editor of Godey's Lady's Book, she campaigned for seventeen years to nationalize the holiday. This proclamation of Lincoln's (actually written by Secretary Seward) came in the midst of the Civil War, darker days than these, and it found much to be thankful for. It stated also, "No human counsel hath devised, nor hath any mortal hand worked out these great things. They are the gracious gifts of the Most High God. who, while dealing with us in anger for our sins, hath nevertheless remembered us in mercy." The famine winter of Plymouth, the bloody days of the Civil War •— here is no background of moonlight and roses. And how about Mrs. Hale? Was she one who'd always been in clover? Hardly. Born and reared in Newport, New Hampshire, the wife of a lawyer in that town, she had been married only nine years when her husband died. She already had four children at that time and two weeks later gave birth to a fifth. She was left poor, which didn't bother her for herself but she was deeply distressed to think that her children would never receive an education. She resolved to give them one. For six years she tried to support her family by sewing, by running a millinery business, but without success. Then this woman, largely self-educated, tried writing, and at the age of forty in 1828, when woman's place was in the home, got a job starting the Ladies' Magazine, the first woman's magazine in America. For more than forty years she was editor of Godey's Lady's Book, she helped organize Vassar College, she was the first to suggest publicplaygrounds,shebeganthefightforadvancementof r« REGINALD R. STEBBINS Keene High School women's wages, raised the money that finished Bunker Hill Monument, wrote the best known children's poem in the English language, "Mary Had a Little Lamb," — and was responsible for Thanksgiving being a national holiday. So, on the whole, it seems that Thanksgiving has much to do with the victorious overcoming of hardships and with thankfulness for whatever we have. The day itself has a special atmosphere, It's distinctively American. The tantalizing aroma from the kitchen of baking turkey, of pies and spices, the excited cries of the children, the November hills touched with the first snow, the chill of approaching winter outdoors and the warmth of the house within, the harvest gathered and under cover, and through it all, despite the darkness of war, or the loneliness and longing for those now absent, a certain warmth about the heart, a thankfulness even if unspoken, which makes this truly Thanksgiving. The November 1944 HEMONTHOFFLAMINGLEAVES by Mrs. Rollo B. Potter October has pushed September back into the sea of memories and from the lofty elms clusters of yellow leaves are falling telegrams from the high places to tell us that Summer is gone. I am writing from the little town of Acworth bringing to you boys and girls in service, as well as to the many summer people who have had to return to their city homes, just little reminders of the beauty of October that might be anywhere in New Hampshire and not in Acworth alone. To the many who, during the summer, climbed the hill back of Our Elms, with your tin berry pails catching the glint of the August sun, and where one almost forgets to pick the clusters of frosty, sapphire-like berries when they see the splendor of the view from this high point — Old Ascutney and the Green Mountains in the west, Monadnock at the south, and the Sunapee and Lempster lesser mountains at the east. You would, on these October days, find the view more extended and more beautiful than ever. The Great Artist's hand guiding the brush of Jack Frost has completed a canvas, reminding one of a huge oriental rug of marvelous colors, covering the landscape. The blending of the flaming soft maples, the golden yellow of the graceful white birches with the dark green of the evergreens, and in the foreground the mass of crimson blueberry bushes, the flaming torches of the sumac, and one may even catch a touch of the orange bittersweet berries just popped open by the frost, their beauty against the old gray stone wall is beyond description. Should you chance to be at the top of the hill at sunset you will see the steeple of our grand old church, all pinky white as the setting sun hits it. This church is 123 years old, the highest church in all New Berlin, fourth largest city in the state. Home of the Brown Company, famous as leaders in the pulp and paper industry. Home also of the Nansen Ski Club, the c America. Top: The city from Cate's Hill, with Presidential Range of Vt hite Mountain Bottom: Alain street, showing corner of Berlin City National Bank at left. Brown Berlin Ski Jump. The steel ski tower is the highest in the world. ^7 >v. 3P i SSSflS5* *T - a4 'i»i jtjii HAROLD ORNE TheUncle Sam House at Mason in the Monadnock Region where the gentleman who symbolizps the United States once lived (See page 14) Hampshire, and its architectural beauty as it stands with only the sky for its background, is worth traveling far to see, especially in the setting of an October day with the green common in front and the brilliant foliage and blue of autumnal sky framing it. On the woodsy back roads one sees the reflection of the foliage and the white birches at "Chatt's Pond," the screaming bluejays and crows, the red squirrels and chipmunks chattering as they busy themselves storing their supply of butternuts for the winter. In one old cellar hole not far from the village these busy and thrifty little fellows had filled boxes, rusty old pails, and cans with nuts. 10 The November 1944 At a brook by the roadside I saw as many as fifty trout, or more, from four to ten inches long, huddled together in a shallow pond. Perhaps they too were holding a conference, even as Roosevelt, Churchill and Stalin, making their plans for the days ahead when you boys are coming back to wander along the banks of these brooks once more. Possibly the trout were planning how best to elude the fascinating lures these boys will be casting into the pools — wet or dry flies, so realistic no trout feels quite safe when a Royal Coach, a Gray Hackle, or a Mickey Finn floats temptingly within an inch of his nose. Yes, all this beauty of New Hampshire will be unchanged when you return, which we sincerely hope will be before the falling leaves of another autumn turn cart-wheels on the lawn. THEFIRSTREADER by Harry Hansen IN NEW YORK WORLD-TELEGRAM Robert Frost once wrote a poem about the need of being versed in country things I felt that need in Franconia. He wrote, too, about the leaning birches of New England that bend over like a girl drying her hair. They are still standing there, white reeds against the darker green of the pines, waiting for the boy who shall swing from their topmost branches. This was Robert Frost's land, and is Ernest Poole's, and there I went to take my eyes from the pages of books and let them rest on the hills. Over-reading is like over-eating it harms the body and chokes the mind. For an antidote I sought vistas of white-painted houses that stand far apart, spacious yards that lead right up to the forests, New Hampshire Troubadour11 tall pines that send the smell of balsam right down to the valleys. Who cares to open a book on Cannon Mountain, where the eye roams over 50 miles of tumbling heights? There were books in Farmer Keen's house — George Eliot, Mary Johnston, Dumas, E. W. Hornung, and Dragon Seed and Presidential Agent. I inspected their spines but was not tempted. In my unregenerate days in Megalopolis I had read them all. I was here to tramp through Franconia Notch, climb the rude forest trails of the foaming Pemigewasset and at the end of the day look forward to the superlative cooking of Farmer Keen's wife. Just once I had a narrow escape from being surrounded by books again. My daughter stopped before a yellow-brick building, wholly out of tune with the white wooden houses of Franconia, and suggested that I visit the public library. But it was noon and the librarian had locked up and gone to lunch. We went on to the frugal grocer's, who had on sale picture postcards still showing the Profile House, which burned down in the 1920's. We went to a church sale, too, where linens, cake and preserves were sold to raise money for the astonishing purpose of sending two boys to camp. From Franconia we journeyed to the Weirs, where I encountered an interesting relic — an aged member of the G.A.R., with broad-brimmed hat and blue coat, being led to a meeting of the American Legion. Even if he enlisted in the final months of the Civil War he must have been around 95. I had not seen veterans for years, but in my boyhood saw them parade, nearly every one a postmaster and indubitably a Republican. So I did not read a book on my vacation trip, but stored up a dozen suggestions. Robert Frost's lines about the State that had one specimen of everything will mean more to me henceforth Thoreau's distress at the ravages of industry will be better understood. When I read Hawthorne's tale of the great stone face again. DOUGLAS ARMSDEN Looking across Lake Winnipesaukee from the Libby Museum near Wolfeboro I shall think of the profile as Hawthorne saw it a century ago. Cornelius Weygandt and Ellen Bowles will tell me things I can comprehend better now. And then I will feast my eyes on the pictures of New England doorways and Marblehead that Samuel Chamberlain made for two incomparable books before he went to the wars. Even when I read about democracy in books that have nothing to do with the White Mountains, I shall esteem it the more because I have breathed its air in Franconia. Front Cover: A hunter and his dog temporarily lose interest in everything except the view across Loon Pond to the autumn-clad Gilmanton Hills. Kodachrome by F. R. Wentworth. Back Cover: A New Hampshire farm home near Canaan. Photo by Harold Orne. In reference to the Uncle Sam House at Mason shown on page 10, the following paragraph is quoted from the New England Historical Register, Vol. 8, p. 277: "Samuel Wilson died at Troy, N. Y, July 31,1844, aged 88 years. It was from him that the United States derived the name of Uncle Sam. It was in this way. He was a contractor for supplying the army in the war of 1812 with a large amount of beef and pork. He had long been familiarly known by the name of Uncle Sam, so-called to distinguish him from his brother Edward, who was, by everybody, called Uncle Ned. The brand upon his barrels for the army was, of course, U. S. The transition from the United States to Uncle Sam was so easy, that it was at once made, and the name of the packer of the United States provisions was immediately transferred to the gov- ernment, and became familiar, not only throughout the army but the whole country." Laconia, Oct. 31 —For years it has been the custom of wiseacres the country over to answer innocent queries concerning the whereabouts of a fire when an alarm is sounded with the stock answer to the effect that "the steel bridge is burning." Well, fire actually did break out at the steel bridge over the Winni-pesaukee river this week, and firemen from the Central station were called out on a still alarm. Painters working on the bridge had accidentally ignited with a blowtorch some shavings used to insulate a conduit under the bridge. Hunting game, anyone will tell you, is sometimes like looking for a four-leafed clover. It may be found right in your own backyard. At any rate, Philip Morse, who has had spine-chilling adventures hunting big game in the wilds of Africa in pre-war days, with his well-known dad, Ira H. Morse of Warren, journeyed to Canada recently to hunt moose. No luck came his 14 The November 1944 way.Hedidn't even asmuch as cast his optics on such an animal. Bound for his Massachusetts home after hisunsuccessfultrekinthe Canadian woods, Phil stopped for a brief visit at his father's abode and was there just long enough to learn that only a few hours before his arrival, a huge moose was seen in a nearby field. — Leo E. Cloutier in "Sports Shavings Column" of Manchester Union "In 1803, Jonathan Buxton was appointedbellringer.Hisduties consisted in ringing the bell on Sundays for divine service and in tolling it at funerals. His compensation was ten dollars a year. The town also voted unanimously to pay a bounty of twelve and one-half cents for all crows killed in town. The dead crows came in so fast that after a year's experience, under the suspicion that some of the birds presented for bounty were not killed in town, the vote was rescinded and the town saved from threatened bankruptcy." — "History of Milford," by George A. Ramsdell ■ REMEMBERTHESE Remember these when days are melancholy And war puts lines of grief on every face When persons push, and skies seem far away Or buildings cramp the stretch of width and space: Cool misty morns in hidden valleys deep: Shifting of dusty blue to darker night Bright silver streams cascading among trees Short sepia streaks of hurried birds in flight Flashes of lightning through the tops of pines Loose tent doors flapping wildly in the gale Pure peaks of mountains stretching high through clouds White flowers that smile along the muddy trail. — Tomi Little Poem for fall The stock is in from pasture, the barn is full of hay, the youngest flock of pullets has just begun to lay, the crops have all been gathered to heap the cellar bins there’ll only be the chores to do when wintertime begins. But I’m not looking forward to all the season brings: the table on Thanksgiving, the Christmas caroling These days that meant reunion Will come again this year Too brimming full of longing for those who are not here. But we will set the table as we have done before, and hang the wreaths of Christmas on every waiting door Hoping that the time will bring us the end of war and then the lads, whose safe returning will make us gay again. by Frederick W. Branch 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 troubadour111944 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource State of New Hampshire Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour November 1944 Description An account of the resource <em>Enjoy the November 1944 issue of The New Hampshire Troubadour! </em> [gview file="http://www.nhlibraries.org/history2/wp-content/uploads/2017/08/Troubadour-November-1944-FINAL.pdf"] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1944 Type The nature or genre of the resource Magazine 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: This Rights Statement should be used for Items for which the copyright status is unknown and for which the organization that has made the Item available has undertaken an (unsuccessful) effort to determine the copyright status of the underlying Work. Typically, this Rights Statement is used when the organization is missing key facts essential to making an accurate copyright status determination. URI: http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/UND/1.0/ Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource New Hampshire State Library, 20 Park Stree, Concord, NH 03301https://nh.gov/nhsl Language A language of the resource eng Subject The topic of the resource Berlin Franconia Keene Keene High School Mason Portsmouth Sarah J. Hale Uncle Sam House Whitefield https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/1db2ff6a51edf56d9090c653e2e66e58.pdf 81fb622e37a9f4158439dfbaa5764622 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 TROUBADOUR November 1947 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 ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor volume xvii November, 1947 number b THE PRIMEVAL FOREST From “Among the Northern Hills” by W. C. Prime, published by Harper & Brothers, 1895. Reprinted by permission. Lonesome Lake cabin stands three thousand feet above the sea, in the primeval forest. It is reached by a zigzag bridle-path, cut in the mountain-side, which leads up from the Franconia Notch road. The cabin and lake are a thousand feet above the road. Both road and bridle-path go through the primeval forest. No axe of lumberman has, hitherto, desecrated this forest sanctuary. The expression “primeval forest” is little understood by many who use it. While there is an almost universal desire to preserve portions of our American forests from the saw-mill, there seems to be everywhere a prevalent notion that this end can lie accomplished by a judicious system of forestry, which includes the plan of thinning out the woods, selecting and cutting from year to year some of the older trees, guarding the younger to grow up and grow old, thus preserving and cherishing a perpetual succession of shadowy groves. Well meant though this plan doubtless is, and suited to preserving parks, it would, if carried out, be destructive to theprimeval forest, whose grandeur in things large and beauty in things small can only be preserved as they have been created, by letting alone. The forest can take care of itself, but is jealous of interference. It is not a park, nor docs it resemble a park. The one is mere nature, the other is art. The natural forest is a world of innumerable creatures, animate and inanimate, who have from time immemorial lived in community. You can never tame the wildness of those people. Why not call trees people? — since, if you come to live among them year after year, you will learn to know many of them personally, and an attachment will grow up between you and them individually. They will be companionable to you, as are your horses and your dogs, and after a while you will have the same sympathy with them that you have with the next higher order of living beings whom you call animals. First Connecticut Lake, Pittsburg, where the deer hunting season continues through iVovember. HAROLD ORNEThere are hundreds of white-birch trees on the mountain-side, and on the ridge, and around the lake, each of which I know, and of these there are perhaps twenty or thirty with which I have had long relations of friendship. 1 would not have the woodman's axe touch any tree on this mountain for any money. Every one is a friend. Some, I cannot say why, by reason of one or another peculiarity, are special friends. You would not find it very easy to say what characteristics, differing from those of other persons, make the friends you chiefly love specially dear to you. Nor would it be possible to say why certain trees in this vast forest always seem particularly precious in my eyes; whether it is because of stateliness, or grace, or firmness, or calm strength that speaks of trustworthiness, or because this one looks jovial and tosses his arms more recklessly, or that one is a seemingly sad old fellow, whose forlorn and weary look asks for sympathy. Often I have questioned one old friend concerning his life story, and he has silently told much of it; wherein is instruction. For the life of a ttce has its resemblances to the life of a man, and the latter may find good example in the former. His youth was passed among difficult surroundings, and the labor of living was arduous. He adopted early the motto of success, whether of a young tree or of a young man, “patience and perseverance.” The mountain-side was rocky, and the only soil was the dead dust of his ancestors, clinging among the stones, and mixed with the gravel of decaying granite. At the very start, when he sent out his young roots, they encountered bowlders on every side. Haste and impatience would have ruined him, and left the bowlders masters of the situation. He directed his roots warily around them, feeling along their sides, and drinking rain that dripped from them, and thus the youth grew strong with the help of the obstacles that were in his way. So his full strength was attained, and his roots reached far and interlocked with the roots of his young friends, and they helped one another to stand up.All the time there had been one bowlder especially obnoxious and obstructive. But he had been patient, and thrust a root between this and another, greater, which almost touched it. And that root thrived, and though strangely shaped and flattened between the rocks, was healthy, so that when the day of his strength arrived the bowlder was to him no more a trouble; for with the abundant force in that root he quietly shoved the great rock out of his way and forgot it. So patience in the time of weakness prepares for victory in the time of strength. It is strange that with our changing llesh we bear always the scars of mishaps in childhood. It must be some hundreds of years since a squirrel in midwinter (when squirrels feed on the tender tips of birch branches) ate rather deep, and stopped forever in the sapling the growth of that twig. But just below the end was a branching twig, which the squirrel let alone. Why? I don’t know. HAKOLU orne If hat lovelier memory for a bride than a wilding in Xeu Hampshire! Here is a uedilinH scene of a few ueeks ago at the Union Church, Randolph. The bride's parents, the James S. Alexanders oj Scarsdale, Xeu' York, have a summer home at Randidph.How should I know what scared a squirrel on this mountain two hundred generations of squirrels ago? The tree’s history is recorded, but of the squirrel’s nothing can be known except this incident. How do we know it was a squirrel that bit off the twig? I answer, how can you account for it otherwise? Suggest a better theory, and we will accept it. That's the principle on which half the modern ologies go. Devise a theory and accept it as demonstrated truth, and rest your scientific faith on it, because no one has invented a letter theory. I believe in the squirrel, and the evidence that a squirrel bit off that branch is as good as the evidence for nine- tenths of the supposed truths in modern progressive science. The small ungnawed branch grew out nearly at a right angle to the main stem; and there, when I first knew my old friend, was a huge knee, close to the tree trunk, on one of the branches nearly a foot in diameter, where the twig had started out from the little stem. . . There is one mighty old fellow who stands directly on the top of a rock, three or four feet in diameter, and who sent his roots down on three sides of it. So the tree stood on the rock as on a pedestal, and you can see the big stone, hugged by the great roots, under the very centre of the trunk; and he is stout and green and rugged, good, apparently, for a hundred years more. Life and success with him are due to determination and making the most of his small opportunities. There is another, who stood close by my old friend, and who is like some old men, shabby in his attire and utterly regardless of his appearance. He had the best of land, and had grown fat on it and lived sumptuously, and when old age came he grew cynical, despised the young modern slips of trees around him, then grew misanthropic and selfish and careless. You never saw such rags as the old wretch wears. They flutter in the wind around his miserable old body from the ground up for forty feet, streamers of bark, some long and black and scarcely holding to him, some rolled up intight rolls, dingy and dirty. I remember him when he was a noble white-birch, and his dress was snow and gold, and when the afternoon sun shone slanting down the mountain I have seen the fringes of his robes touched with crimson and purple, and his apparel then was altogether royal. Why did not he go down instead of my kingly old friend? The woods are full of graves of great trees, long green mounds, mossy and beautiful. Why has not that old fellow, who has nothing to live for, lain down to be covered up comfortably, and forgotten? . . . One day I was walking down the path, and, as is my custom, sat down often to look at trees and plants and animals. A northwester was blowing, but this side of the mountain was sheltered, and only now and then a whirl of wind shook the treetops. I was looking down the hill-side towards my old friend. A red squirrel was standing on a dead branch, a few feet ofl", looking doubtingly at me. A woodpecker was at work on a trunk almost within reach of my hand. A white-throated sparrow was pouring out that long, sweet refrain which is most melodious of all iorest < hurcb time! A November scene near U ebstei 1 .ake. sounds when heard as the sun is going down. There was a rustle of the breeze, and a sudden rising of the sound of the river down in the valley, which showed that for the moment the current of air was from the southeastward. And then there was a loud, crashing crack, and after it silence. What internal shock.what violent emotion, what that, to the tree, was like the sudden memory of a threat joy or a great grief to an old man, had broken the stout old heart of my friend I cannot tell. Was it that breath of wind? He fell towards it. not away from it. In the silence that followed the sound of the heart-breaking be seemed to be looking downward for a place to lie. Then slowly his lofty branches glided across among the branches of the other trees, and swept gently downward through them. Two of his companions reached out strong arms to catch and hold him up, but he slipped quietly out of their hold — vain hold now that all was over — and so lay down among the mosses. But he did not lie comfortably with his body on some small bowlder, and he lifted himself up with a convulsive spring, and then lay down again. Nor was he yet at ease. For a moment he turned a little, this way and that way, till he secured his lied of rest, along among the rocks, and then there was perfect quiet. The south wind stole in softly over him. And the shabby old fellow, who ought to lie lying there, fluttered his dirty rags, and seemed to be shaking himself from head to foot with unseemly laughter. Much as I abhor an axe, I am tempted to cut down that old tree. Better — some wet October day 1 will set fire to his rags, and see the column of flame shoot skyward around him. It will not hurt, only purify him, and he may send out young branches and be a better tree. No; there is no science of forestry which can preserve the solemnity and beauty of the primeval forest. The one only law to In- enforced from generation to generation is, “Let it alone.” Accessible parts of Franconia Notch were lumbered when the land was in private ownership. Twenty years ago a large tract in the Notch ivas acquired to be a forest reservation and state park for the purposes of providing “a memorial to the men and women of New Hampshire who have served the nation in times of war,” and of preserving scenic beauty.—The EditorTHE TWO ARTICLES WHICH FOLLOW were written as essays last year in the classes of Miss Dorothy E. Potter at the Andover, New Hampshire high school. When she sent them to the Troubadour, Miss Potter said: “It seems to me rather lamentable that such a large percentage of the literature written which should enhance our New Hampshire traditions is written from the point of view of the grown man, and so little from the viewpoint of youth. True, the grown man may look back upon his childhood, and extol the glories of growing up in this bountiful environment, but his are reminiscences which may lead us to believe that those were the “good old days” which arc now lost. There is a need for evidence of the full, rich experience of youth in the process of living today, of their faith in their inheritance now. In these essays, unadorned and lacking in the skill of the more mature writer as they may be, I believe we sec reflected a spirit of faith in our tradition, and we know that there are young people now growing up in New Hampshire who recognize their inheritance and will keep it beautiful. “New Horizons was written by a girl, formerly of Lowell, Massachusetts, whose parents recently bought a farm in Potter Place. I'm a Country Girl was written by a sophomore girl who lives on a hilltop farm in East Andover.” I’M A COUNTRY GIRL Lj ^4nn (graves That’s right, I'm a country girl. I know the pleasure of teaching a two-months-old calf to lead, the thrill of skiing and snowshoeing over clean, fluffy white snow, and the pride of drawing off the first run of boiling hot maple syrup. I’ve walked over a crisp snow crust to skate on the lake in the moonlight. I’ve ridden a horse through the woods, and come upon a rabbit bounding across the path in front of me, climlx'd a tall tree and watched boats sail on the clear blue of the lake below.1 know the pride of raising a Guernsey heifer and the misery of having to sell the same heifer. I’ve hunted for kittens under the woodshed, under apple boxes, in the hay mows, and under the eaves of the shed and barn. I’ve taken fluffy yellow or black chicks out of boxes and put them on clean shavings under a brooder. I’ve played football on a muddy, harrowed field with a bunch of boys from prep school. I’ve eaten such big dinners when we’ve had guests that Thanksgiving dinner doesn’t seem at all big to me any more. I’ve had roasted pork, mashed potato, fresh green spinach, rich creamy gravy, pickles, and jelly, rich yellow carrots, homemade bread and butter, plenty of milk with ice cream and pie to top it all off— all in one meal. I’ve seen fresh green hay cocked in a new mown field. I’ve also seen the same hay soaked with rain, brown and heavy. I’ve got up at 6:45, and walked a mile only to miss the school bus, and to walk two and a half miles more. I’ve walked home after basketball practice to gaze upon the sunset on Kcarsarge Mountain, or to see the mountain so clear against the sky that it looked like a movie- backdrop. I’ve got the cows in the rain, wearing a jeep hat and rain coat, barefoot and with my dungarees rolled above my knee. I’ve smelled the moist country- air on that same rainy day. I've hiked through heavy brush and rough terrain to marvel at high falls swollen with spring thaws, and to look at the surrounding hills and valleys from mountain tops. I’ve cried over a dead kitten. carried a newborn calf from ('.hildren in New Hampshire's rural country find much to interest them and to enrich their lives at all seasons. WINSTON’ POTF.the pasture to the barn. I’ve ridden our big old work horse bare- back and got horsehair all over the seat of iny pants. I’ve smelled freshly-cut clover and wild roses. I’ve picked big lush lx*rries. I’ve dreamed out of a schoolhouse window at warm spring weather. I’ve fallen to defeat with the rest of our team in many basketball games. I’ve worshipped and admired players on the town baseball team. I’ve gone swimming in the late afternoon to wash off the sweat and hayseed from the day’s haying. I’ve helped lead cheers to spur our boys’ basketball team to victory. I’ve gone to square dances at our town hall and learned an old- fashioned polka. I've had to go seven miles to see a movie. I’ve ridden on a hay load that I loaded myself only to go over a bump, and have three-quarters of it slide ofT the truck. I’ve slid on a homemade sled of skiis and a wooden box. I’ve been in a buggy behind a runaway horse. I’ve done all this and much, much more. Only a country girl could know the freedom and fun of a country life, the abundance of food, and the love of animals that go with a New England farm. To a person who has always lived in a house in the city and only read about Life in the Country, the buying of an old farmhouse has been a dream-comc-truc. To be able to stand on our own hill and look over our many fields and woods is something I had never imagined; to stand in our house or barn that are both substantial after over a hundred years of busy life; to pick vegetables from our own garden and then cook them for our dinner are all new experiences to me. When my mother told me that the timbers in our house and barn were all hand-hewn, I felt sorry for the builders, little knowing then how much pleasure there is in making NEW HORIZONSthings so that your home may stand the test of many generations. When I stop to think that city people have to work a long time to enjoy a short vacation in our midst, I am very happy that my folks chose a place where interesting scenery, as well as all summer and winter sports are our everyday life. To me, the purchasing of a hilltop farm in the country seems the most valuable experience of my summer months because it means I now have a home to work in, a farm to improve, with the feeling that someday in the distant future when the farm belongs to me, I can say, “This farm has been owned by my family since 1946.” This remarkable photo was taken during the past summer by David Byers of the Umbagog Sportsman's Camp in Errol. The cow moose was observed by him and photographed while crossing the entire expanse of Umbagog Lake — a distance oj more than three and a half miles —from Maine into New Hampshire. She sivam from the vicinity oj Dutton's Island to Black Island Cove on the New Hampshire shore, without the slightest sign oj exhaustion.Front Cover: Hunter and dog near Littleton. Color photo by Wesley M. Kretschmer. Back Cover: Snow-capped peaks of the Presidentials from highway 16 at North Conway. From the left: Monroe, Washington, and Adams. Photo by Winston Pote. Frontispiece: A New Hampshire forest scene by the Sawyer Studio. TOAST TO NEW HAMPSHIRE Ernest Poole in The Great White Hills of New Hampshire credits the late Senator George H. Moses of New Hampshire with the following toast: “The songbirds sing the sweetest — in New Hampshire, The flocks and kine are neatest — in New Hampshire, The thunder is the loudest — the mountains are the grandest — and politics the damnedest — in New Hampshire!” Title to the Flume Reservation in Franconia Notch was transferred to the State of New Hampshire from the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests in ap propriate ceremonies held at the reservation on October 3, where the society’s annual forestry conference was held on that date to commemorate 20 years of administration of the Flume Reservation by the society. NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS The Troubadour has received an interesting small volume. Sunsets and Thank-you-mums, by Herbert Francis Quimby of Derry, New Hampshire, giving an account of 50 years of his parents’ married life on the same farm at Unity, New Hampshire. At the time of the golden wedding in 1899 there had not been a death in the immediate family for 50 years, with the exception of a son’s first wife, so there were twelve children (counting the in-laws) and seventeen grandchildren. The elder Mr. Quimby’s two brothers and their wives also lived to celebrate their golden weddings. “Can any reader of the Troubadour tell me of a man who has made or is still making ox yokes?” — Haydn S. Pearson, 50 Hinckly Road, Waban 68, Mass.From Wheeler’s History of Xew- f>ort, j\'ew Hampshire, 1766-1878: Silk. The mania for the raising and manufacture of silk prevailed here lietween 1838 and 1850. It was introduced by Calvin Mcs- singer. The first mulberry used for the raising of silk not proving satisfactory, it was soon supplanted by the Mortis multicaulis, in which for a time there was a wild speculation. Mr. Messinger and the Rev. John Woods built a large cocoonery, in which they fed the worms. Silk was manufactured into thread, twist, handkerchiefs, vests, aprons, and dress patterns. Dca. Henry Chapin, in the northwest part of the town, raised silk, and was engaged in its manufacture by waterpower. During the year 1840 he manufactured a large quantity from silk from the worm. John Puffer & Co. had a factory at the Scribner mill, where they made a large quantity of thread from raw silk, domestic and foreign. Rev. John Woods and Amos Gleason had a factory at the Diamond mills for a number of years. Col. Jacob Reddington and Amos Little, Esq., were also engaged in the business and speculations; — but the climate proving too rigorous for the successful production of the article, the business was abandoned. New Hampshire Troubadour POT O’ BEANS hy Ruth It. Field My grandma baked delicious beans And folks for miles around Knew of her fame and often came To eat them, rich and browned. She’d put a goodly hunk of pork In the bottom of the pot, Then pour the parboiled beans on it All swollen, piping hot. Midway, a peeled potato went, And onion, too, for flavor, Then more beans till the pot was full — Ah, what ambrosial savor. Next, trickling through the steaming beans, Molasses, thick and brown, Sugar, salt and pepper, too, And tangy mustard, ground. In the old Home Comfort oven, then. They baked for hours and hours, Their fragrance drifting through the house, Fit scent for ivory towers. The beans were served with steamed brown bread, Piccalilli, spiced and sweet, With apple dumpling for dessert — And how we’d eat and eat. In memory I still can see The old familiar scenes, And grandma’s kindly face above Her fragrant pot of beans. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD.N.H.BASIC in the Boston Herai.d Last month I saw New Hampshire hills In plaidcd Inverness; A highland garb whose colors hid Granite beneath the dress. Now lies the tartan on the ground, Its crimson dulled and brown, But dour and proud the chieftains stand Wearing a snowy crown. Essential beauty triumphing, On barren slopes I see Enduring loveliness, the blue Of lasting liberty! 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 4677Troubadour194711 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour November 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 1947-11 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, churches, forests, moose, Flume, manufacturing Type The nature or genre of the resource Text churches Flume forests manufacturing moose Randolph https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/2e7a18fd3351f3933fbe002696fb5f3d.pdf 6707d5c5a4383a2a41af82e892aeff94 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 ANDREW McC. HEATH, Editor volume xviii November, 1948 number 8 THE HARVEST SUPPER Ly $utk & Diefd The Town Hall windows are ruddy and bright, The Harvest Supper will be held tonight. Such a hustle and bustle and smiles of cheer, The country folk gather from far and near To partake of rich, deep chicken pie, Hot rolls and butter — oh me — oh my — Salads and pickles and food galore — You eat until you can hold no more. And when you are feeling quite inert, The good wives, beaming, bring on dessert. Pumpkin pies, mince pies, rich fruit cake — You eat some more though you get an ache — And then, upstairs, you hear the strains Of the fiddle, and promptly forget your pains. So you whirl and bow and "docey doe." And waltz a bit with the lights turned low. You forget your woes, know joy and mirth — Rub elbows with the salt of the earth At the Harvest Supper with the Hayshaker Band - Where you dance and dine on the fat of the land. — From Joe Harrington's column, "All Sorts," in Boston Sunday Post New Hampshire Troubadour 3 A NOVEMBER RAMBLE AT WARNER bu {/[/it far a LDe cJLiie in the Boston Globe I was walking up another hill, to get a closer look at Kearsarge Mountain, when I met an elderly gentleman coming down the road. "When the weather's clear," said he, in answer to my question, "you can see the mountain from the top of the rise there . . . but I think we're going to get a storm." He looked away then, not to the north where the mountain lay, but into the west. Just below us, across a near slope filled with the bare candelabra of the sumacs and lighted by a hundred gay red flower-flames, lay the deep, narrow valley of the Warner River. Rugged hills were massed across the valley — the Mink Hills, the man said they were — and clouds were rolling in over them. "And what is this hill we're on?" I asked. "Tory," said he. "Tory Hill." But of the name's origin he wasn't so sure. "Some old families," he said vaguely. I have since learned that in Revolutionary days a couple of families on the hill were not too enthusiastic over the war. They were pacifists, I gather, rather than real Tories; and in later years they joined the peace-loving Shakers. But fine distinctions are rarely made when tempers run high, so the Tories weren't popular with their patriotic neighbors. Warner people have always been quick to offer themselves in every time of public need — as a war monument in the village, right where this road begins, tells each passer-by. The bronze figure of Warner-born Gen. Walter Harriman, Civil War leader and later New Hampshire Governor, stands on the top of it; but the memorial itself is to Warner men of all wars up to the Spanish — 4 The November 7948 Autumn scene at Goffsiown. HAROLD ORNE and you'll find it supplemented by a World War I tablet on the nearby Town Hall, and a later Honor Roll in front of it. I had come up to Warner from Contoocook — traveling a back road that dodges highway traffic for about two miles. It is not a very pleasant road at first, because of a wide clearing slashed beside it for power lines. But eventually the wires swing off, and rocky pasture lands appear, and stretches of young woodlands — and the road becomes a happier place as it journeys among the trees. Have you ever noticed how fresh and brilliant the pine trees seem when the brighter greens of the hardwoods are gone, and the first early snows have not yet shielded the drabness of the roadsides? In spring and summer pines are dark on road and hill — but m a wmter-touched November day they seem gay, and give a youthful touch to the somber garment of the grizzled year. New Hampshire Troubadour 5 When I had got out to the main road, a young man drew up to give me a lift. "I've got to go to Boston myself," he said, when he learned where I came from. "Got to get my leg fixed." "Having trouble with it?" He reached down below his knee, and rapped. "Artificial," he said. "War?" He nodded. "E.T.O.," he said, simply. I thought of him again when, after he'd let me out in the village, I stood before the honor roll at the town hall. Warner's central village is strung out along the valley, where the highway runs above the river. "It's the Warner River," the young veteran had told me, "but I think there's another name to it." Duck hunting east of Manchester. WESLEY M. KRETSCHMER ^%* It was once called the Almesbury (which is perhaps what he had in mind); and the town bore that name, too. "Old No. 1 — 1735" the Warner welcoming sign reads — and Township No. One it was, legally, in those early times. But the first comers were largely from Amesbury, Mass., and they called their new home after the old one. But, somehow, it came out with an "L" in it. New Almesbury the town remained in popular parlance until the present name * was adopted in 1774. It is a busy place, this town — "Lots of business here," I was told — and it has several stores, a bank, a high school that serves neighboring towns, and the Pills-bury Free Library, given years N In honor of Golonal Johnothan Warner of Portsmouth. - - Ed. The November 7948 ago by Charles A. Pillsbury, the flour man of Minneapolis, who was born here and began business in his father's Warner grocery store. Another of the Pillsburys became a Governor of Wisconsin. Incidentally, Warner has also a third Governor to its credit, but I haven't his name at hand. Down by the Warner River a saw whines, and a plume of steam rises, above busy woodworking mills; and across the stream is the ski slope and tow where winter activities are centered. I can see the "slope" as I stand today on Tory Hill again. It is a later day than that in which I met the elderly gentleman on the hill; and the storm that he predicted has come and gone. The "slope" is whitened by the first light snow . . . and there are touches of white here on Tory Hill. And when I go up again to the topmost rise, Kearsarge Mountain lies out ahead with the morning sun bright on it. Its summit glitters. White snowfields are on its flanks. O lift thy head, thou mountain lone, And mate thee with the sun! apostrophizes Edna Dean Proctor; and her wish is come to pass here today. Kearsarge is not a high mountain, but it stands apart from its neighbors, bold and bright and impressive. This is the original Kearsarge, and is not to be confused with the North Conway peak that is properly Pequawket. The Warner mountain gave its name to the U. S. S. Kearsarge of Civil War fame. A boulder from its slopes, given by the townspeople, is the base for a tablet at the grave of Rear Adm. John A. Winslow, commander of the Kearsarge when she sank the Confederate warship Alabama. He is buried at Forest Hills. From Tory Hill I look off at the mountain, which once I had climbed and had hoped to again. It is no climb at all, for there's been a carriage road up it since the 1870's. But this is no time for mountaineering. So, with a last look, I turn back to town. New Hampshire Troubadour 7 AMONG THE GREAT OF THE GRANITE STATE bu /4. cJJuane S^auireSj J^h. JJj. Colby Junior College I. LEWIS CASS (October 9, 1782-June 17, 1866) Just a century ago, in November, 1848, the Democratic party nominated Lewis Cass for the presidency. He was unsuccessful in that quest, but it was only an incident in the long and noteworthy career of this remarkable son of New Hampshire. Lewis Cass was born at Exeter in the same year as Daniel Webster. He attended Exeter Academy in company with young Webster, and many times in his later life crossed the path of that other distinguished Granite State native. In early manhood Cass went to Ohio and participated gallantly in the War of 1812. Following this conflict he was named Governor of Michigan Territory, and for seventeen years held that office. In the course of his administration he visited every nook and corner of his vast domain which, in the early days, in addition to Michigan as we know it, comprised most of Wisconsin and Minnesota as well. That famous Minnesota tourist attraction, Cass Lake, was named by Henry R. Schoolcraft in honor of one of Governor Cass's inspection trips there in 1820. President Andrew Jackson appointed Cass Secretary of War in 1831, and later "Old Hickory" named him American Minister to France. He was chosen U. S. Senator from Michigan in 1845, and was Secretary of State under President Buchanan from 1857 to 1860. Although almost eighty years old when the Civil War began in 1861, Cass was actively interested in the course of the conflict, and was often called upon for advice and counsel. Lewis Cass manifested in politics many of the qualities which we 8 like to think of as characteristic of New Hampshire: devotion to public service without thought of personal gain; intense loyalty to the national welfare as opposed to the merely sectional or local; self-control, humor, and hard work. He was a man who should be emulated in our generation. THE NEW SETTLERS by ^-Menry //. ^tndreivd, /4r. During the long winter months when of necessity we pursue a livelihood far away from our New Hampshire farm we try to keep in touch with the countryside and the people of the beloved summer The New Hampshire Highway Department takes pride in the recently completed highway at Meredith, shown above (looking south), which by-passes the business section and eliminates a railroad crossing. Skirting the shore of Meredith Bay, it gives the motorist a beautiful view of Lake Winnipesaukee, and saves him at least four minutes' driving time. PAUL s. OTIS WENDAY View from Bow. months. The Troubadour helps more than a little, occasional letters from neighbors and other tidings of the hills drift in and are all welcomed. But a short time ago in a weekly newspaper we read with a mingled feeling of hurt pride and partial admission of justice a denunciation of the summer throngs who lightly invade the granite hills each summer. All sorts of folks live year 'round on the farms near ours and all sorts pour in for their few weeks of freedom from spring to fall, and even winter now. There are some of these vacationers that we meet on the lake shores, at country auctions, or along the roads who still look on the hill folks as remnants of a curious rural age. We're not proud of this minority any more than the old New Hampshire-men who always see through the veneer of their false city culture. And by contrast I am reminded of some of our summer-farmer friends in Sanbornton—and any other of dozens of towns would tally to the same account. One blustery day a few years ago the Parkers from down Boston way trudged up the steep hill to the old place that Robert Hunkins Jr. built in the very early years of the 10 The November 1948 last century. His father, a founder of one of our first families in town, arrived in 1788 to clear the unbroken forest and build a home for his young wife and growing family. But after more than a century and a quarter of honest wear Robert, Jr.'s home was just another nearly-deserted farm — broken windows, a leaky roof, and all that goes with the beginning-of-the-end for a hill farm. It was a spark of family life that had been nurtured into a glowing flame so long ago, but now just another dead load on the town's tax books. The restoration of this place, creating new beauty while holding the mellow patina of the decades needs no detailed elaboration. With sweat and toil it was fashioned into a living thing again where children play in the shade of old apple trees and fish in a nearby brook. It is not an especially unique story and the fact that another crumbling farm has been saved from oblivion and that a city man provides his family from his own garden — even these do not come quite to the point. But the love that has gone into this re-creation is as fine as the pioneering spirit of the Hunkins who cleared the pines from the hillsides. When these "new settlers" come with the spirit of a Stark, when they come to add their bit to the grandeur of the hills, to leave a better place than they found, then they have come to stay and they will do credit to New Hampshire. There are those who deplore the passing of the old ways, the farm lands grown to forest again, and the cellar holes by the wayside. There is much that was fine in the New England of a century ago, much in the customs, the morals and plain everyday living that cannot be replaced by any number of modern conveniences. We reached a golden age before the old settlers' families began to turn cityward and westward — but there are more golden ages for New Hampshire, and we summer farmers, or new settlers if you wish, are seeing to it that the old beauty is restored and new ones added. New Hampshire Troubadour 11 WILD RESTAURANTS bu s4ohn vDrevinan Abandoned apple orchards, when they are within or on the edge of wilderness areas, are interesting places in the fall. Almost every kind of New Hampshire game seems to visit them, some for the small scabby fruit that lies on the ground, and some to prey upon the smaller creatures that feast on the apples. Some of the wild orchards are small and consist of a few gnarled trees behind a decaying barn or cellar hole; others cover many acres of rolling sidehill; and there are a few that seem miles in extent because they mark several connected abandoned farms. The forest moves slowly into these orchards, first with briars, hardhack and saplings, and then with big trees that slowly choke out the gnarled apples. There is a favorite wild orchard that I remember well for the variety of game I saw in it one November morning. It occupies several acres of a knoll in a semi-circular valley that is enclosed by high ridges topped with spruce. The sun had not risen above the spruces, and the brown grass was crocheted with frosty cobwebs when I entered the orchard. A cottontail rabbit thumped and streaked off through the hard-hack. I did not shoot, because I had grouse on my mind. When I stooped to examine the apples under the first tree a young coon burst out of a thick place and ran up the knoll and quickly out of sight. A few yards further on a porcupine looked sleepily out of a sapling with stupid black eyes. A little later I heard the unmistakable snort of a deer and caught a glimpse of its white flag as it crashed down off the knoll and toward the timbered ridge. This angered a red squirrel that had been drying apples. Proceeding, I saw a field mouse, two porcupines and a varying 12 The November 1948 hare before nearing a clump of thick pines near the end of the orchard. I had not seen any grouse. An open space with two apple trees just beyond the clump of pines was a likely place and I took care not to make noise as I approached. Suddenly I heard the unmistakable ccquit-quit-quit" of a grouse and the rustle of bird feet on fallen leaves. It sounded like a covey, and I expected them to fly when I stepped out of the pines into the open space. HAROLD ORNE Deer hunters are often favored with early snow in northern New Hampshire. The scene above is First Connecticut Lake, Pittsburg, and Mt. Magalloway. I stepped out, tense, with gun half raised, and looked straight into the eyes of a huge bull elk that stood motionless under an apple tree a few feet away. We regarded each other for a very long minute. It looked as big as a horse. Presently it turned its head away and trotted leisurely off. I heard the sound of at least two other elk,* but the underbrush was too thick to see them. The grouse, five of them, rocketed into the timber, too, before I had enough presence of mind to shoot. On the way back through the orchard by another path I heard but didn't see another cottontail and had a fleeting glimpse of a fox (at least I like to think it was), but there were no more grouse. It's funny how vividly you can remember a hunting trip even though you didn't fire a shot! *The elk were evidently part of a herd that was liberated on the Pillsbury Reservation in Washington, New Hampshire, quite a few years ago. The herd multiplied and spread over a large area in the western part of the state, numbering at one time over two hundred head.—J. B. New Hampshire Troubadour 13 Front Cover: Hunter and dog near Randolph. Color photo by Winston Pote. Back Cover: Early snow on the Presidential Range, seen from Jefferson on the Meadow Road, connecting the Presidential Highway in Randolph with Route 115. The mountains (from the left) are Madison, Adams, Jefferson, and Washington. Photo by Winston Pote. Frontispiece : Methodist Church at Stark in Autumn. Photo by Winston Pote. A second series of short biographical sketches by J. Duane Squires, chairman of the department of social sciences at Colby Junior College, New London, is begun in this issue of The Troubadour. The earlier sketches were on T. S. Lowe, Ada L. Howard, William Ladd, Sarah J. Hale, and Horace Greeley, appearing in issues from October 1942 to April 1943. As many Troubadour readers know, the country is generously sprinkled with New Hampshire ''press agents" of all ages, who lose no opportunity to sing praises of the state. Fifth-grader Paul F. West recently gave the following talk in his classroom at Elmhurst, Illinois: "Driving through the White Mountains of New Hampshire, one sees vast stretches of forest and mountain land. As you pass along the highway you see an area of rock which looks like any other rock until you reach a certain point. There you see in Nature's most luxurious beauty, out of sheer rock, the face of a proud Indian chief. "Passing other beautiful mountains and Profile Lake one sees another similar cliff, and coming around another bend in the road, one sees on the cliff a true-to-life face of a man — the Old Man of the Mountains. "The White Mountains are visited every year by many people. On your next vacation why not see the world's most beautiful mountainous area — the White Mountains of New Hampshire." The New Hampshire roadside improvement contest, in its first year, aroused much interest in the value of and need for beautification along our highways. Contestants not only have improved the appearance of "measured miles" but also have provided such facilities as picnic tables and off-the-road parking strips. Prize winners were as follows: 14 The November 1948 first, Woodstock Garden Club; second, Haven Hill Garden Club of Rochester; third, White Mountain Garden Club of Lisbon and vicinity; fourth, Barrington Garden Club; for best planting work finished, Greenleaf Civics Club of Franconia; for poison ivy eradication, New London Garden Club; for individual effort in planting, Julius Mason of Hanover; for most perfectly kept mile, George Proctor, Wilton; for forestry work, Donald C. Kimball, Franklin. It has been announced that the contest will continue for another year. Prizes are donated by Harold Alexander Ley of Melvin Village, New Hampshire, and of New York. The contest is conducted by a committee which was called together by the University of New Hampshire Extension Service, and it is also sponsored by the New Hampshire State Highway Department and several other agencies. In 1763 General Jonathan Moul-ton, of Hampton, a personal friend of Gov. Benning Wentworth, and a grantee of Moultonborough, hoisted a British flag upon the horns of an enormous ox weighing 1,400 pounds, which he had fattened for the purpose, and with drum and fife ac- New Hampshire Troubadour companiment and a great parade, drove it to Portsmouth as a present for the governor. He refused all compensation, but as a slight token of esteem from so dear a friend, he would accept a charter of a small gore of land he had discovered adjoining Moultonborough. The governor pleasantly had the grant issued. It conveyed to the wily general 26,972 acres of land, now comprising the towns of New Hampton and Centre Harbor. — From History of Carroll County (1889) I have seen references in The Troubadour to Frog Rock, but no pictures. I enclose an old print of this interesting old landmark, which in years past was often the scene of our family picnics. Harold C. Hutchinson, Milford, N. H. Frog Rock at Now Boston DIVIDENDS A "buck" a day is all we're paid But yet this morning in a glade I saw a deer, a pretty thing. Until I started working here Just think, I'd never seen a deer. (Of course I may have seen a few Moping and hoping in a zoo.) Another thing I never knew Is what the smell of pines can do In somehow helping you to find The real resources of your mind — I feel — it may seem odd — We're getting extra pay from God. — By a young man enrolled in a New Hampshire CCC camp during the nineteen thirties. 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 troubadour111948 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource State of New Hampshire Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour November 1948 Description An account of the resource The November 1948 issue of The New Hampshire Troubadour. Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1948 Type The nature or genre of the resource Text 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: This Rights Statement should be used for Items for which the copyright status is unknown and for which the organization that has made the Item available has undertaken an (unsuccessful) effort to determine the copyright status of the underlying Work. Typically, this Rights Statement is used when the organization is missing key facts essential to making an accurate copyright status determination. URI: http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/UND/1.0/ Language A language of the resource eng Subject The topic of the resource Presidential Range (photo) Stark (photo) Churches (photo) 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 https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/14709d7dcbafc7818cd77e6cb78931d4.pdf af29008076bce195d422770336004975 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 yon lo come and share those good things that make life here so delightful. State Planning and Development Commission. Concord, New Hampshire. One dollar a year. Entered as second-class matter. May 31, 1949, at the Post Office at Concord. New Hampshire, under the Act of March 3, 1879. Andrew M. Heath, Editor Volume XX NOVEMBER, 1950 Number 8 Pine Chest by Frederick W. Branch Here is a chest that someone built When there were trees of pumpkin pine; And when enough slow time had passed, A country auction made it mine. There have been treasures, through the years Beneath the lid of this old chest, Where proven housewives put away Things they had made and kept for best: Linens from flax their men had raised And they had woven, bleached and pressed, Blankets and quilts against the nights When they would warm some welcome guest. Now it is empty but it stands As sturdy as it was when he Who dovetailed every corner joint, First locked it with its hand-made key. Time, which enriches pine like this And deepens its smooth mellowness. Has made this old and humble thing A treasure chest of loveliness.ORCHIDS FROM CANADA A Letter from Ernest Harris of Montreal Through you, my wife and I would like to extend our appreciation to the responsible authorities of your lovely state for a recent memorable holiday spent there. The well appointed facilities—hotels, “motels,” cabins, picnic and camping grounds in the beautiful state parks, the hundreds of miles of fine profusely marked roads and, greatest of all, the glorious scenery, make a visit to New Hampshire a treasured experience. Our all too brief stay in the Berlin area of the White Mountains was studded with thrill after thrill as we traveled about and feasted our eyes on so many of the scenic wonders of your state. We were most impressed by the efforts you put into assisting visitors to get a maximum of pleasure out of visiting a particular beauty spot. One of our trips comes to mind to illustrate this. It was at Glen Ellis Falls.* We enjoyed the little ritual provided for tourists of signing the visitors' book housed in its rustic case at the beginning of the path leading through the trees to the falls. Then the delightful walk down the winding picturesque trail beside the lively mountain stream and the periodic halts at the vantage points so thoughtfully provided from which to view the progress of the stream as it hustled along to its final dramatic and quite unexpected plunge to the rocky canyon a hundred feet or so below. Here again were provided safe yet thrilling viewing points from which photographers could shoot to their hearts' content. In short, you do everything possible to encourage people to take an interest in the beauties of Nature. They cannot help but be better men and women for having come close to such beauty, though perhaps few would admit it. *ln the White Mountain National Forest.—Ed. kik The unusual old wallpaper in the parlor of the Franklin Pierce homestead, Hillsboro, built in 1804, is remarkably well preserved. ERIC M. SANFORD Around all the other famed spots—Mount Washington, Pink- ham, Crawford, and Franconia Notches, the Old Man of the Mountains, Lake Winnipesaukee, The Weirs, etc., and in the dozens of clean, white painted towns and villages also one is struck by the enterprise anil courageous spending of time and money on the part of citizens and authorities alike to enhance the natural beauty of locations to ensure that their state is revisited year after year by enthusiastic tourists. And the courteousness and friendliness of your people was refreshing, particularly officials such as wardens in state parks, who are generally kind and helpful.We arrived in the Milan State Park one evening with the friends with whom we were staying at Berlin, having decided we would eat supper in the park instead of at home. It was pouring rain and the warden was surprised to see us. However, he was so enthusiastic about a picnic party visiting his area in a rainstorm that we were highly amused. Cheerfully bustling about he brought us wood for our fire in the shelter's massive stone fireplace and made sure we were comfortable before leaving us. His obvious love of the outdoors and sincere friendliness warmed us and made the visit a distinct pleasure. Incidentally, that rugged shelter in Milan State Park with its deep protective eaves, solid timbers, cozy stone fireplace and spotless, city-like sanitary facilities is a credit to the authorities and seems typical of your practical thoughtfulness for the comfort of tourists in your state. To sum up this rambling, somewhat disjointed letter, my wife and I say “Thank you, New Hampshire, for a grand holiday. We shall return for more.” A curious sight — tree growth is gradually obscuring these old signs at North Sandwich. WINSTON POTETHK "HOSS” BOATS OF LAKE WINNIPESAUKEE by Rudolph Elie in The Boston Herald “Well,” said Tuftonboro’s chief of police, leaning over the counter of his Melvin Village sporting goods store, “old Cap’n Blackstone was dead and so was old Cap’n Lavallee and old ‘Spinach’ Greene lived way over to Gilford, but if you want to get the dope on the old hoss boats, why don’t you go down to Wolfehoro? There’s a fellow down there,” he added, wiping a speck off his badge, “who’s made quite a study of them. Name of Carol Lamprey,” he said. “Runs a meat market across from the post office.” Mr. Lamprey, a tall, heavy-set, muscular sort of a man with black hair, steel-rimmed glasses and a booming voice, not to mention the well-stained apron of the meat cutter, was sitting in the hack of his store overlooking Wolfehoro Bay, reflecting over an unlighted cigar. “Might know a little about hoss boats." he said cautiously, putting a match to the cigar, which resisted it stubbornly. “My father had one of them before my time, hut I heard enough about them. Fact was old Maggie, the hoss, was still alive and kicking when I was a boy. I ler knees were sprung from the sand hags they used to put on her hack to make her heavier on the treadmill, hut she was 34 before she cracked up. I still remember the day pa had to take her out and shoot her, too.” The horse-propelled boats, which seem to have been invented on Lake Winnipesaukee (the town of Moultonborough claims the honor for a resident of Moultonborough Neck in about 1830, but the resident's name is hard to come by) and whichFISK AUDIO-VISUAL SERVICE BEFORE. This is how the present home of John H. Vincent looked when he purchased it. He moved from Connecticut to Center Sandwich, N. H. ceased to exist about 1880, appear to have never been used anywhere else, at least not to the extent they were on Winni- pesaukee. “In the ten or so years before steam boats came in," Mr, Lamprey went on, “there were 30 or 40 of them on the lake, hauling wood and freight and towing logs. Could make three or four miles an hour, except when the wind was cussed." All they were, according to Mr. Lamprey, whose people for several generations have been on the lake, were scows; opendecked barges about 60 feet long, 11 or 12 feet wide, and maybe three feet high. Picking up a pencil he sketched one on a bill for meat lying on his desk. “Just aft the middle of the barge,” he said, drawing the picture, “there were a couple of paddle wheels. Behind them there was a sort of an inclined chute the floor of which was a treadmill of slats.FISK AUDIO-VISUAL SERVICE AFTER. And this is bow it looked after renovation. Improvements were made gradually from 1940 to 194H. It is a year-around home. “When the hoss walked on the treadmill, which was inclined maybe 45 or 40 degrees, a set of gears turned the paddle wheel, he continued. “Sometimes they used a team of hosses, but they were much lighter critters than we see today. Old Maggie couldn’t have weighed more than 1100 pounds, but she could push maybe 10 cords of wood in the barge eight hours a day.” Behind the horse (or horses) there was a short deck, and on these, overhanging the sides of the barge, were a couple of small shacks. One of them was a bunkhouse with, in the fancier specimens, facilities for cooking. The other contained feed for the horses. “The pilot sat on a plank set between the two cabins,” Mr. Lamprey explained, “and he steered with a long sweep. If the wind commenced to blow, you can bet he steered her right into the nearest cove.” Most of the lake men built the horse boats themselves, Mr. Lamprey explained. “Warn't much to them,” he said. "So far as I know pa built his own boats except for the gears and httin's." Mis father as a hoy of 20 or so, had bought a couple of islands in Green's Basin with the idea of lumbering them off and selling the cord wood to the steamboats, which were by then beginning to appear on the lake. Having prospered with his horse boat, hauling the wood for the steamer's boilers from Green's Basin to the end of Long Island, his father and uncle turned to steam themselves. After that they had a whole series of little steamers, carrying freight between the two railheads at Lakeport and Wolfeboro, a distance of about 16 miles. “The competition was so good pa even got one of those railroad passes," Mr. Lamprey said. “Saw the whole United States for nothing." But the horse boats—and Mr. Lamprey, who has a vast collection of old photos ot the marine history of Winnipesaukee, douhts if there's now a man alive who owned or worked one— were tough on the horses. “Poor old Maggie," he sighed, “it was all uphill for her.” Still, it probably wasn’t any harder than dragging a plough eight hours a day. The only trouble was the horses couldn’t stop. “If they had any headway at all the treadmill would carry them forward into a bar,” the amiable store-keeper said. “If they didn't they’d slip back down the incline into another bar. And I've heard tell as how there was nails there that would touch them up behind. Golly, wouldn't the SPCA have had a held day, if they'd caught on to those hoss boats!”SOCIETY INVITES HELP IN STUDIES OF INDIAN LIFE by Howard R. Sargent The New Hampshire Archeological Society, which was formed in 1947, has begun a scientific analysis of the Indian cultures which existed here before the times of Colonial settlement. One excavation project has been completed. It is at Lochmere on Silver Lake. The sites ol other Indian villages have been discovered. The society is carrying on a survey of the state to locate and determine the value of Indian sites with a view to their investigation. Everyone having knowledge of Indian sites or other information about Indian life of the state is invited to give it to the society, which all interested people are also invited to join. Since the present membership is small, the society feels that such help Osprey and nest on a dead birch "lookout” in the wilderness area near Diamond Peaks. Dartmouth College Grant, a few miles north of Errol. Hunters should retrain from shooting this beautiful bird which lives almost entirely upon fish and has a peaceful disposition. Naturalists claim the osprey seldom catches game fish, preferring the more easily caught "coarse” fish such as suckers and chubs. Many a sportsman has been thrilled by the sight of an osprey soaring above his camp. A. N. BOUCHARDis necessary to make its inquiries complete. All are invited to take an active part in the intensely interesting, though difficult, task. Work at the initial “dig was completed in September of this year. Members have counted 145 stone tools and more than 300 fragments of pottery representing all periods of Indian occupation. The site, which had never been subjected to the ravages of “pot-hunters,” gave the Society the maximum in opportunity for its scientific research. Artifacts consisted of several types of arrowheads, scrapers, knives (including the interesting and prized semi lunar knife), gouges, rubbing stones, drills, and hammerstones. In addition, the potsherds represented about a dozen vessels all of which were decorated with particular motifs and patterns. Records giving the exact position of every item in the site indicate a definite sequence from the very earliest occupation right up to the historic period. The depth of material in the ground gives its relative age and shows the changes which took place in the material culture of the aborigines. The earliest occupation found at Silver Lake consisted of certain stemmed arrowheads, tiny scrapers, drills, and hammerstones. A main characteristic of the period was that there was no pottery. All of the succeeding periods were ceramic periods. Stone tools went through changes, but the development of the more plastic art of pottery manufacture was more pronounced. The first pottery was very crude ware with simple cord impressions. Later a more elaborate form of pottery came into being with decoration in the form of chevrons, parallel lines, and spaced holes. The final pottery style had an elaborate collar with rim notches. The body was impressed with a paddle which had been wrapped with a cord. The resulting design closely resembled the impressions of coarse fabric. Associated with this late pottery weretriangular arrowheads and products of European manufacture such as clay pipes, glass, and hand wrought iron. Other sites which have been examined in the archeological survey have produced evidence of the various periods represented at Silver Lake, so the sequence was developed throughout the state. The cultures were not indigenous to New Hampshire, however. Rather they were the product of contact through trade, migration,and other influences from neighboring regions to the north, west, and south. This is shown by comparative studies in those areas. Those able to supply information may send it to the Sargent Museum at Georges Mills, where files are maintained, and those interested in membership may write to William B. Fisher, the society’s treasurer, at 97 Russell Street, Manchester. All members receive bulletins, newsletters, and notices. Reports and publications are prepared and distributed at the museum at Georges Mills. If the society succeeds in its ambitious undertaking, the story of life in prehistoric New Hampshire will gradually be discovered and revealed. Thus a new body of information may be built, more soundly based on facts than some of the existing legends may be, and of greater interest. WINSTON POTK A huge elm tree at Con tray, eight feet in diameter and healthy.Front Cover: Early snow on Mounts Adams and Madison, as seen from the Glen. Color photo by Winston Pote. Back Cover: Baptist Church at Center Sandwich as seen in late autumn. Photo by Fisk Audio- Visual Service. Frontispiece: A farm house at Dover. Photo by Frederick C. Bourbeau. * Roger W. Babson (Babson Institute), who recently established the Gravity Research Foundation at New Boston, New Hampshire, ordered five subscriptions to the Troubadour, writing as follows: “Since our gravity work has become established, I have spent several weeks in New Hampshire and have come to love it, although I have a nice home and a large educational institution in Wellesley, Mass. "Of all the material on New Hampshire which has since come to me, 1 am perhaps most indebted to the Troubadour. In fact you may be responsible for the further extension of our plans beyond the original program. The kindness and simplicity of the Troubadour appeals to me greatly. It reminds me of what my father used to tell me: ‘Roger, when you get old, you will learn that the world is ruled by feelings and not by figures.’ “To make a long story short, I enclose a check for $5.00 and ask you to put the following names on your subscription list. . . . But here is the important thing—please bill them all to me once each year and not to these individuals until I get them truly ‘inoculated’ with New Hampshire and those things of life which really count, of which New Hampshire specializes and can provide. “Often I am asked to recommend some industries which would help New Hampshire. I am now replying by suggesting industries which will revise the soul and joys and health of the masses. When we consider all the money that is made in manufacturing and selling patent medicine in Americanbig cities, it certainly seems that New Hampshire could ‘bottle and market’ these eternal qualities. God Bless you in your work." 4 FALL TRAGEDY by Airy. Clarence Spanieling The big yellow pumpkin, so firm and so round Sat up on the table, and muttered and frowned. He said: “There I was, hadn’t done a thing wrong My mother vine fed me, her leaves kept me warm The earth was so pleasant, the wildflowers so sweet And little field mice ran with scampering feet. The corn leaves were rustling, the birds were so gay And truly, I wasn't in anyone's way. A great silly farm boy just yanked up the vine And brought me to this kitchen, to sigh and to pine. Ah me, such a short life! I live and I die, Today a proud pumpkin, tomorrow a pie.” The exhibition New Hampshire Crafts, 1950 organized by the Currier Gallery of Art with the cooperation of the League of New Hampshire Arts and Crafts, has been accepted for nation-wide circulation by the American Federation of Arts, Washington, I). C. The exhibition will travel to art museums, colleges and other institutions throughout the country, with the first showing at The Addison Gallery of American Art in Andover, Massachusetts, in late November. 4 Outdoors in New Hampshire, is a new monthly newspaper sponsored by the Federated Sportsmen's Clubs of New Hampshire, Inc., to promote conservation of natural resources, to improve sportsman- land owner relations, to foster higher ethics in fishing and hunting, and to increase general enjoyment of the outdoors. Inquiries may be addressed to Box 373, Claremont, New Hampshire.November by Grace Wight Buckle November—like a ship Sailing straight out to sea— Serene and beautiful, and unafraid, For in her hold she has prepared for storms that are to be. 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 4677Troubadour195011 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour November 1950 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 1950-11 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, Center Sandwich, Hillsboro 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 churches, Franklin Pierce, Milan State Park, state parks, boats, Native Americans Type The nature or genre of the resource Text boats Center Sandwich churches Franklin Pierce Hillsboro Milan State Park Native Americans New Hampshire state parks https://www.omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/01040195a4987b5f6580b3e626ad7122.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 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 October 1940 Subject The topic of the resource New Hampshire 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. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource State of New Hamsphire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available NHSL Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource COPYRIGHT UNDETERMINED Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 16-page booklet Language A language of the resource Eng Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194010 Date Created Date of creation of the resource. 1940-10 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 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/c369a5c8da771178a0011c254e770e0c.pdf dfc42e75d4db9e9cf1f3d20bed3012b1 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 1944 PEACEFUL SENTINELS. "The birch, most shy and ladylike of trees." James Russell Lowell Saywer Pictures 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. SUBSCRIPTION: 5O CENTS A YEAR EDITOR OF OUTDOORS Dere Editor — DONALD TUTTLE, EDITOR October, 1944 HANK SAYS: Last week-end I was down to Saleratus, setting on Hooker Hanson's store steps, cleaning my pipe and settling the affairs of the world with Smeller Smith and his hired man Jug Hed Murphy ^^^k^^ff ^^ IV ^^^^f~*" and Hooker hisself and the Hon. Jug Peavey. We was just starting to get world affairs settled in good shape when Slim Jones, a late Sergeant with the U. S. Marines, comes along in his pick-up. He goes in to get hisself a coke and a deck of cigarettes, a roll of barbed wire, a bag of flour and a cupple of pickril hooks. When he comes out and loads same into his pick-up, Smeller Smith says, "I will buy you a cupple of seegars if you will know off the crow in the field over there, for I need him to hang up in my garding." Slim, who carries a Jap slug in his left hip as a life-time sooveneer New Hampshire Troubadour of his recent travels, limps over to his truck and extracts his Model 70 Winchester and slips the caps offien the Alaskan and gets into the sling and sets down and squeezes off two or three times. Then he slips a catridge into the chamber. Jug Hed Murphy asks, "Which eye you going to take him in, Sergeant?" "The right eye," Slim sez, and massages the trigger very gentle. There is a loud noise. Way out in the field the crow gives a kick and cupple of flutters and lays very quiet and peaceful. The Hon. Committee walks out to view the remainders. When we pick up said crow his right eye is missing. Jug Hed Murphy says, "That is almost as good shooting as I used to do with my old .44 Winchester carbine. I could drive the cork in a bottle with that gun two out of three times at two hundred yards and not bust the glass." "That wasn't good shooting. Jug Hed," says Slim. "That was a miracle just like this shot was. The best rifle made will hardly shoot into two inches at one hundred yards or four inches at two hun- dred, using a machine rest in dead air. When you figure the factors of error of aim, error of hold, powder load variations, barril whip, bullit drift and wind drift, it's a miracle you hit anything. A crow is just about a two-inch bullseye after you peel the feathers off. Hitting him anywhere at two hundred is just bull luck, let alone shooting his eye out." The Hon. Jug Peavey he hikes his paunch up into a more com- fortable posishun and sets down on his box on the store porch and says, "We are glad to hear an honest man for a change. I was deer hunting up in the Magalloway five years ago. After due delibera- tion and consideration I took with me a lightweight .45-70 fitted with a large aperture sight on the rear and a large ramp-mounted red bead on front. Due to my excess poundage I sit and watch. I am not an active hunter. On this particular afternoon, the weight of evidence seemed to indicate that I should watch a certain tote road. 4 The October 1944 Lake Winnipesaukee from Abenaki Tower I did. Just at dusk a large, I might say a very large, buck stepped along the road toward me. The wind was from him to me. The sun was behind me and in his eyes. I was sitting in the shade. "I congratulated myself that I was going to drop him right in that tote road, only two hundred yards from the auto road. I laid the red bead on the center of his chest and squeezed off." "How much he weigh?" asked Hooker. "Weigh, my dear fellow? Weigh?" asks The Hon. Jug. "I never had a chance to weigh him. I missed him at thirty-five yards. It was the best miss I ever made in a long life in the hunting field." "I made a better miss than that once," sez the late Sgt. Jones. "I was leading a patrol and came around the bend of the trail. jXew Hampshire Troubadour 5 HAROLD ORNE m *M "The Square" Miljord. Soldier Memorial and Town Hall HAROLD ORNE There were two Japs beating their gums and waving their hands at each other not twenty-five yards off. That was duck soup. I just unlatched the Tommy from the hip. The burst never touched them. They jumped like two burned cats." "They get away?" asks the Hon. Jug Peavey in a mournful voice. "No, not exactly. The feller next me was a North Carolina duck hunter and he made as nice a double as you ever saw. Very, very nice." Hooker Hanson drives a match through his seegar butt so to get a few more drags officii it without starting to make a conflagrashun out of hisself. "I ain't never made such dramatic misses as that, but I made wun wunce that cost me more money. Last spring they was a old buck skunk coming into my wood shed every night and 6 The October 1944 scaring my dear wife about to death." We all looked at each other when he sed that, for we knowed that nothing short of a bull ele- phant would scare Mrs. Hooker. "And my dear wife she ast me to shoot it. So I brang the old .44-40 Frontier home from the store. Now I am pretty handy with a Frontier if I do say so. That night I took me and a five-cell flashlight and the Frontier into the shed. "When I come out into the shed I snapped on the light and it lit right onto that skunk. He was on a pile of kindling about fifteen feet away. Him and me drawed and fired simeltaneous." "He hit you?" asts Smeller. "Nope, and I didn't hit him either. The first bullit went through a brand new wash tub hanging on the wall. No. 2 ruined a per- fectly good cross-cut saw. No. 3 went into the garage behind the shed and blowed a tire on my home brew tractor. No. 4 was never accounted for. No. 5 opened up a five-gallon can of kerosene. No. 6 hit the last bottle of good Scotch I had hid to celebrate the day sumbuddy shoots Hitler. That concluded the festivities as far as the skunk was concerned. He sort of sneered at me and waddled off. Me, I went into the house, after picking up the pieces. My dear wife kept jawing at me till midnight." "Speaking of misses," says Jug Hed Murphy, "another crow has just lit out in that field. What do you say, Sarge?" Slim he treads over to his pick-up and gets another catridge and slips it into the Model 70 and slides the caps oflen the Alaskan and tightens up the sling. "Make it the left eye this time," says Jug Hed. When the Hon. Committee went down to examine the remain- ders we found that the left eye had been removed neater than a hundred-dollar-per-day doctor and the Mayo clinic could of did it. Nobuddy said nothing for quite a while. Not even Jug Hed. Up and at 'em, HANK — Parker Met. Merrew in Outdoors Magazine New Hampshire Troubadour 7 MANCHESTER — The Queen City Originally known as Harrytown, it was granted by Masonian proprietors in 1735 to the "Snowshoe Men" of Capt. William Tyng at Tyng's Town. It was incorporated in 1751 as Derryfield. In 1810 the name was changed to Manchester after the cotton center of England. Pictures, left to right: 1. Notre Dame bridge, Merrimack River, and small part TR^IL \u\i of famous Amoskeag Mills. 2. Boston and Maine Railroad station. 3. Currier Gallery of Art. 4. Market Street, City Hall and Federal Reserve Bank at left, Franklin Street Church at right, Amoskeag Bank Building in background. 5. Women's Center, U.S.O. 6. City Post Office. 7. Manchester Central High Schools. 8. State Armory. Pictures by Manchester Union-Leader. x> tmw^: •c„^pw .•-,-.....,• -'% ,.rA- *-s-- v^.. ivjfc feft^S^HS**'!***T?J « 1 * I.,:.. 'l.*i<7&'. -A'^'TK*. A "New Hampshire Cottage" at Wakefield O suns and skies and flowers of June, Count all your boasts together. Love loveth best of all the year October's bright blue weather. HELEN HUNT JACKSON CHORE TIME by Haydn S. Pearson IN THE CHRISTIAN SCIENCE MONITOR CHORE TIME in winter on the farm. Soft, large flakes of snow drift down past the apartment windows in the city. Four 10 The October 1944 o'clock. Streets are lighted. Indistinct figures hurry along the avenue. Four o'clock on a winter afternoon. On a New England farm, years ago, that was the signal to start the "chores." A homely, peaceful, story-telling word. The family was known in the town as a "reading family." Sometimes at four o'clock it was hard to put aside Dickens or Scott or Shakespeare. For in this family stormy winter days were reading days. The school was three miles distant and experiences with winter storms had convinced the father and mother that lessons would better be done at home. How the children worked to finish them! And when the mother had heard the lessons and was satisfied as to their completion, the rest of the day- was free for reading. But chore time was a happy time. And after a day with books we welcomed a period of activity. We bundled up in the kitchen — boots, stocking cap, overalls, sweaters, mackinaw and mittens. First the paths had to be shoveled — to the barn, to the hen- house, and to the mail box. John, the hired man who had been with the family forty years, and father, enjoyed it as much as the children. There were snowball flurries, and shovelfuls of light snow that descended on one's head unexpectedly. It was fun to go into the big barn. The cow tie-up was warm. The cows mooed softly and rattled their neck stanchions. They wanted some of the good clover hay. The Jerseys were gentle. No harsh words or actions were permitted. We children scrambled up the ladder to the great mow. We pitched forkfuls of hay down to the floor. Twenty cows, four horses, and a dozen young stock ate a lot. Then we jumped from the mow to the hay on the floor. It was a jump of a dozen feet, and we would sink completely from sight. Up the ladder we would scramble again chuckling and shouting. New Hampshire Troubadour 11 Dover High School and Civil War Monument John had usually fed the hens, but we gathered the eggs and emptied the drinking buckets so the water would not freeze during the night and break them. We children took most of the care of the young stock, fed them, watered them, and curried them. For each year we entered our own at the County Fair and the money we earned went mostly into the bank toward college. When the barn was clean and the cows brushed, the cows were 12 The October 1044 A. THORNTON GRAY milked and the cream separated. The skim milk was given to the pigs and calves. Then the cows were turned out into the yard to drink. On cold days pails full of hot water were brought from the kitchen to temper the water in the tank. "Why can't the cows drink cold water if the deer and birds and foxes do?" we asked John. "Well," said John in his thoughtful way, "they don't have to give warm milk that makes cream so children can have shoes and books and sleds." It was lots of fun to take care of the horses. We were allowed to lead the two Belgian mares, Nell and Bess, to the trough. We put the home-raised corn and oats into the mangers. We spread a deep layer of clean oat straw for a bed. The colts were too skittish and lively for children to handle. John used to let them out last, slip off the headstalls, open the yard gate, and let them run. How they loved it. Through the snow they galloped, heels flying high, heads up, shorting and whinnying with exuberance. Across the fields, they went, disappearing in the dusk. A moment later they came back, flashing past us, into the orchard, round the barn. Then John would bring a wooden measure half full of corn and shake it as the colts went by. Sometimes they tried to stop so quickly they almost sat down, and they followed John into the barn. After the stock ate their grain, the mangers were all heaped high with hay. Then we put big shovelfuls of sweet-smelling pine sawdust under the cows and in the calf pens. The kerosene lanterns, hanging from nails in the timbers, cast soft yellow gleams of light. Corners were full of mysterious shadows. Outside, the barn door was carefully closed, the milk house se- cured, and in single file, the lanterns glowing and our figures throwing long shadows, we went to the house for supper. Chore time was over. New Hampshire Troubadour 13 FRONT COVER: Autumn scene in Canterbury. Kodachrome by F. R. Wentworth. Color plates, courtesy Rumford Press. BACK COVER: Looking toward Dixville Notch from Errol. Photo by Douglas Armsden. NEW BOOKS "Apple Rush," by Katherine Southwick Keeler. A delightfully written and illustrated book, primarily for children but also interesting to adults, about the apple picking season in a New Hampshire Orchard. (Thomas Nelson & Sons, New York, $2.00). "New Hampshire," Country stories and pictures arranged by Keith Jenni- son. (Henry Holt and Company, New York, $2.50). The start of an old deed conveying property in Grafton County reads, "Beginning at a stick in a hole in the ice." Avis Turner French, author of the poem on the back cover, lives in Antrim, New Hampshire. 8500 Dartmouth men, representing 38 per cent of all living alumni, are in the Armed Forces. 14 We cannot express our appreciation of the help rendered by clubs, organizations, and individuals in securing the names and addresses of New Hampshire men and women in the Armed Services. It is of particular importance at this time that these lists are kept up to date, and we shall appreciate your continued cooperation in making sure that each copy of the Troubadour is delivered without delay by sending in all of the latest addresses. We regret that limitations of time and facilities make it impossible for us to reply personally to the hundreds of fine letters we have received from Service men and women stationed in all parts of the world. To all of you we send our appreciation and best wishes. Donald Tuttle, Editor The October 1944 The other day Thomas H. Alger of Cottage street, this city, was in a local lumber yard spending a fortune for a stick of soft pine and a man in clean white overalls was just ahead paying his bill. The clerk gave him his change and said, "Thank you, Mr. Peaslee." "Peaslec—that sounds like New Hampshire to me," remarked Mr. Alger. The carpenter wheeled around partly suspicious, " Who do you know in New Hampshire?" "Well, I got a 60-acre farm up in East Weare," Mr. Alger replied, " a n d it's known as the Peaslee place. My next door neighbor is mowing my fields right now and his name is Leon Peaslee. Do you know him?" "Well, I ought to, he's my brother," the man replied. Finally Mr. Peaslee said, "By the way, who are you, a Yeaton or a Straw, or somep'n?" "No," Mr. Alger said, "I'm just a local guy. My name is Tom Alger of Brockton. I don't really belong up there. My family is about as thick around here as you Peaslees are up in the hills." "Well," Mr. Peaslee said, "that kind of evens things up cause I just bought the Frank Alger farm in Raynham." — Brockton Daily News. New Hampshire Troubadour RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD,N.H. Ordination Rttck, Tamtcorth. A part of the inscription rtmds: "Memorial of the Ordination on this Rock September 12. 1792, of Reverend Samuel Hidden, as pastor of the Congregational Church of Tamworth instituted on that day. He came into the wilderness and left it a fruitful field. To perpetuate the memory of his virutes and public services, a grandson bearing his honored name, provided for the erection of this cenotaph—1862." <LTTJ For the present, at least, we can accept a limited number of Christmas gift subscriptions to the Troubadour. A special Christmas card is sent with the current number stating that beginning with the January issue the Troubadour will be sent, either for one or two years, as a Christmas gift from you. 15 LETTER IN OCTOBER Avis Turner French in the Boston Herald I shall not write of troubled times, But everything that stills The heart to peace, how blue mist falls Across majestic hills, How crimson maple leaves shine through The late October sun, How crickets play their symphonies When autumn days are done. I shall write simple things, how geese Fly south in letter V, So sure up there alone they bring New values home to me, And if he glimpses past my words To some I do not tell, Perhaps he will be proud and think "She plays the game quite well Thus I can do my best at war," Then he will smile I know To learn the quiet ways at home, For he has loved them so. 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 troubadour101944 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource State of New Hampshire Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour October 1944 Description An account of the resource <em>Enjoy the October 1944 issue of The New Hampshire Troubadour! This issue has a photo spread of Manchester. </em> [gview file="http://nhlibraries.org/history/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/October-1944-FINAL.pdf"] Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1944 Type The nature or genre of the resource Magazine 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: This Rights Statement should be used for Items for which the copyright status is unknown and for which the organization that has made the Item available has undertaken an (unsuccessful) effort to determine the copyright status of the underlying Work. Typically, this Rights Statement is used when the organization is missing key facts essential to making an accurate copyright status determination. URI: http://rightsstatements.org/vocab/UND/1.0/ Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource New Hampshire State Library, 20 Park Stree, Concord, NH 03301https://nh.gov/nhsl Language A language of the resource eng Subject The topic of the resource Canterbury Dixville Notch Dover Dover High School Manchester Milford