https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/82b3ebb3915f7bcc57c51ac028a2584c.pdf 1c431426e9ef8005e35c8ac9d86d4dae 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 FEBRUARY 1950 The New Hampshire Troubadour Comes to you every month, singing the praises oj New 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, 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. Each snowstorm finds you trudging up the hill With laughing children pulling sleds. Bright suits flash by, as down the slope you ride, Gay winter hoods on bobbing heads. But, my heart still looks back to that white day, When you discovered snow at two, Your eyes enchanted with the magic way, Your own small footprints followed you. ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor Volume XIX FEBRUARY, 1950 Number 11 Winter Remembrance From The Boston HeraldNEW HAMPSHIRE IN THE SNOW h CM DID YOU EVER spend a weekend in New Hampshire with the winter winds blowing and the snow piling up outside the door? It sounded cold to me and I had not considered it very seriously until my husband and I decided to try and make a trip to our summer home. That weekend was a surprise and a revelation to me. On long winter evenings when I was snug and safe in my easy chair beside my cheery fireplace, I often thought of a place far distant. Up in the hills of New Hampshire there is a brown house set deep in the woods waiting for spring to come. At the end of a beautiful season, gay and full of activity, we all pack up our belongings and leave our summer home for many months. My heart had often returned to it when the bitter winds were blowing and my fireside seemed especially warm and cosy. On the weekend which we chose for our trip, we packed our car the night before and started early in the morning. YVe included in our equipment snowshoes, skates, a pot of New England baked beans, a thick steak and all the fixings, and plenty of coffee. The snowshoes were a happy choice as the dirt road leading off the black top road to our property is half a mile long. It was piled waist deep in snow and the automobile was unable to pass through. It was an exciting journey on snowshoes with each one carrying his share of the equipment and supplies. We puffed and pushed up the hills, enjoying the scenery all the way. What changes we saw in the little road that we know so well dressed in its summer garb! HOLLAND Open slopes on Cranmore Mountain, the Skimobile at left. The pines on either side of the road were wearing their shimmering winter dresses. The gowns were made of lace with delicate tracings on their boughs. The little trails that in summer run so gaily through the woods are resting under a downy blanket. It is a quiet world in winter. We finally rounded the corner and our brown house set deep in the woods came into sight. I wonder if it was surprised and glad to see us! We went inside and built a fire in the huge field- stone fireplace, using the largest logs the woodpile had to offer. It was soon burning brightly, heating the room with the smell ofwoodsmoke warming our hearts. We buckled on our snowshoes and went outside to walk around in the shining white world. We walked a little distance through the woods to the brook. We had to stoop in many places to avoid bringing a small avalanche of fine powdery snow down upon us. The brook which ripples and sings in the warm days of the milder seasons, was frozen and silent. The clear blue lake was covered with ice and a thick layer of snow was spread over it all. How the ice and the skating it promises would delight the boys who enjoy swimming in its crystal depths in warmer days. From the open porch, the view across the snow-covered lands was a striking contrast to the rich green scenery we have been used to. The snow sparkled and glistened like a precious blue white diamond set in a million sister stones. Mount Monadnock, which we have known as purple, regal, and magnificent, was now an artist’s study in dark and light, of snow-covered crest and wooded sides. Even the merry, chattering squirrels were sleeping happily in the sweet straw beds they had prepared for themselves amid their stores of sweet, meaty nuts. One by one we visited our favorite places. The beautifully formed evergreen that stands by the big rock in the center of the clearing was outlined in snow and its green seemed richer and darker by contrast. The stone walls were completely hidden by drifts of snow as if nature knew no limits or boundaries in the beauty she offered so freely. The weekend passed and at the end of it we found ourselves refreshed. The beautiful purity of the snow-covered earth and the clear bracing air of the mountains gave us new inspiration to return to the city and our responsibilities. Our summer retreat is waiting for our return. I wonder why we do not gather together our snowshoes and skates more often, build a roaring fire in our stone fireplace and enjoy all the glories of nature, of New Hampshire in the snow.THE BATTLE OF RANDOLPH MOUNTAIN (u the l^ev. Robert ^-JJatch I FELL IN LOVE with the camp the moment I first saw it. It was located in a wild and lonely spot high up on Randolph Mountain. The trail leading past it was one of those thin, bramblv trails that wander off into the back country and eventually lose themselves in a mass of windfalls. The view from the camp took in Mount Madison, Adams and Jefferson to the south and the summit of Randolph Mountain to the northeast. T he camp itself was a one- room office building left behind by a crew of lumberjacks who South Mast Street, Gojfstown. The photo itas taken by moonlight in January 1947, DANIEL H. VICKERYlogged ihe place several years liefore. Everything about it formed an irresistible temptation for one who has to spend nine-tenths of his life in the noisiest of city streets. Here, far back in the New Hampshire woods, was a promise of peace, solitude and escape. I went to the lumber company that owned the camp and bought it for a song. I got together chairs, a folding bed, cooking utensils, a broom, old clothes, and even some sporting pictures for the walls, and with a mixture of pride and keen anticipation I toted them on my back up the side of Randolph Mountain. Sweat and heavy breathing meant nothing. Neither did the fact that part of the trail was an old streambed where I stumbled and slipped with almost every step. The camp was mine; that was all that mattered. I vowed that I would keep coming to it every year as long as I could climb the side of Randolph Mountain. I fixed up the camp in the most attractive way imaginable — chairs and bed neatly arranged in different corners of the room, sporting pictures tacked to the walls, old clothes hung on hooks and nails, and a pair of old shoes tucked away under the desk which the camp-boss formerly used. It was the perfect picture of a woodsman’s camp in the northwoods. I spent several nights there, often came there for a picnic lunch, and more than once I congratulated myself on having a place which would never be molested. Then the fall came and I shut the door, walked down the mountain and returned to the city. The Hummer resilience, nl New Boston, <>J ehusetts. The house leas built in 1814. ”1 little farmhouse when lie first suw it and boi it up.” The interior scene is the dining roo the Her. Mr. Smith, "the pictures were take NiNext spring when I climbed the mountain I could hardly wait to see my camp. I imagined it just the way I had left it. All winter I had remembered how neat it looked, with the chairs and the bed and the pictures and the old clothes all in their proper place. Even the broom had been left standing firmly against the wall. Absorlx-d in such pleasant dreams. I reached the top of the ridge, went around a bend in the trail, and caught my first glimpse of the camp. Something drastic had happened. The tar paper on all four walls had been ripped away. Large holes gaped in the bare boards. Tunnels were dug under the camp from various angles. I ran to the door, opened it, and found the place a shambles. The canvas was eaten completely ofT the folding bed. The chairs were chewed to pieces. The entire handle of the broom had been devoured. Nothing was left of the sporting pictures and old clothes. All that remained of my shoes was the metal tines and eyelets. It was late in the day, so I spent the night on the floor. I had hardly dropped off when I was stabbed awake by a chorus of weird sounds — whines, squeals, plaintive cries, grunts, and the blood-curdling rattle of teeth. Then the invasion began. Up through a hole in the floor came a huge porcupine. Another advanced through a hole in the wall. A third kept waddling back and forth in front of the door. A fourth began to chew vigorously at the wall. The place was infested with them. All night they came and went, squealing and grunting until long after daybreak. REV. H. ROBERT SMITH i. II. Holh rt Smith of Gloucester, Massa- ns a ran Joan, dirty, smrlly, ubande.ned t it iu 1*110. In a modest a ay n*> have Jixi-d formerly the kitchen. ” hidden tally,~ says y my old school hoy box camera, a BrownieA vast engineering job confronted me. First, the base of the camp had to be made secure. I consulted a sportsman’s magazine and was told to use logs painted with creosote. I tried this, but the porcupines loved the creosote. 1 knew that they could not chew stones, so I hauled great rocks from a nearby stream and piled them to a width of several feet around the base of the camp. This worked. Then I tackled the second, more difficult phase of the operation. A friend in the metal business got me some large metal sheets which an aircraft company had discarded as surplus war material. I enlisted the help of a man who later became the Episcopal bishop of New Hampshire, and to this day I am convinced that his experience on Randolph Mountain helped to toughen him for his duties as bishop of the Granite State. Together we carried the metal sheets up the side of the mountain on our backs — a job that required many trips. At last we had all the sheets assembled at the camp, and with a grim feeling of triumph we nailed them to the walls. 1 was certain now that my camp was secure. 1 went back to the city that fall without a worry in my heart. But next spring when I returned I found that my trouble was only beginning. One day 1 looked up at the ceiling and saw a wasps’ nest teeming with its busy inhabitants. Another time I looked down at the floor and saw a snake weaving its way through a crack in the boards. Then one afternoon I happened to look up at the ridgepole and saw two white-footed mice playing tag. The pay-off came when I saw a red squirrel scamper up to the nail where my hat was hung, seize the hat in his paws and, without a trace of either fear or shame, promptly start to devour it. A second engineering job was required, this time on a smaller scale. I nailed strips of metal over every crack and cranny that 1 could find. I stuffed old rags into the tiny openings where the mice and wasps entered. I made the camp as tight as 1 knew how, andwhen I went hack to the city that fall I had no doubt that the place belonged to me and to no other creature. However, I was wrong. The climax came the next summer. When I returned to the camp in the spring I found the whole outside of the building coated with mud. Great prints, larger than the human hand, covered the metal sheets. Above the sheets the tar paper was ripped off in jagged patterns. Mud from the belly of a black bear was smeared over the door. He had leaned against the building, reached up, and torn at whatever he could get his claws on. I repaired the damage that the bear had done. 1 nailed more metal on the building, above the metal that had been intended for the porcupines, so that the whole exterior is now covered with metal sheets. I made a metal shutter to cover the window, so that Low clouds at Mt. If us hi n ft ton, looking south from the summit on u frosty morning. Boot! Spur is in center, Tucker man Harine at left. Mountains to the south are obscureti by cloutls and fog in the lowlands. WINSTON POTEthe bear would not see his reflection and perhaps smash the window in anger. I put two strong bolts on the door. I think that I licked the bear. One day I saw hint skulking dejectedly through the tall grass in front of the camp. Since I bought the camp I have had little chance to relax and drink in the beauties of nature. Instead, I have found myself engaged in a running battle with porcupines, snakes, wasps, mice, red squirrels and bear. A woodsman reports that he has seen a rare sight in the snow in front of my mountain camp — the clearly defined footprints of a large fisher. Maybe the battle is now won, but I have my fingers crossed. Editor's Note — The Hatch camp is far off the beaten track, and the experiences described were much more extreme than those of Junior skiers receiving instruction on a Hanover slope. COURTESY OP HANOVER INN %most summer camp owners. The author wrote: “I am a lover of animals, even of porcupines, and I would not want to have the article printed if it made any of these animals seem too destructive and thereby turned people against them.” DRIFTED BEAUTY Once in a generation comes a winter when conditions ordain a deep covering of snow on Earth’s breast. At periodic intervals moisture, wind and temperature join forces and successive layers of frozen crystals fall from nimbus clouds. If the snow be light and dry and air currents pulsing with power, drifts form in sculptured beauty. On a sunny February day when ultramarine sky stretches in a great arc from mountain rim to mountain rim, there is poignant loveliness in the whiteness. Snow is never blank white. He whose eyes search for the beauties of Nature looks to the drifted snow for many shades of soft colors. Oo to a hillside on a peaceful day where the snow is deep against a granite boulder. Look at the rolls of white overhanging the meadow brook or into the deep drifts in the ravine by the plank bridge. Along country roads where the white windrows follow the lichen-etched stone walls is a good place to see the beauty. Who has seen all the colors in the sunshine-blessed drifts? Who has seen all the grain and texture of the heaped snow? As the gold ball in a washed-blue bowl drops toward the mountain on the other side of the valley there are a few minutes of heart-stirring beauty. Stand a few yards from a drift and look into its heart. You will see bronzes, reds, browns, blues and gun-metal grays. In that fleeting instant of eternity just before the sun drops from sight, he who is sensitive can catch one moment of Earth’s everlasting glory. — From The Boston Herald 13Front Cover: Boott Spur ridge of Mt. Washington from the Pinkham Notch Camp of the Appalachian Mountain Club. Color Photo by Winston Pote. Back Cover: A “federal” house at Orford. Photo by Wendy Neefus. Frontispiece: A lucky combination of new snow and no school in the Highlands section of Milford, December 1949. Photo by Bernice B. Perry. The tracks of the following animals and birds are likely to be found in New Hampshire woods and fields in winter. How many of them can you distinguish? House cat, dog, jumping mouse, red squirrel, gray squirrel, cottontail rabbit, varying hare, porcupine, weasel, mink, fisher cat, fox, wildcat, deer, grouse, and pheasant. Skunks and coons may be abroad during a thaw, and in the west-central part of the state elk or wild boar tracks may be encountered. Bears are sometimes late in hibernating. The large prints of the Canadian lynx are occasionally found. It is interesting sometimes to turn away from the populated ski slopes and skating rinks and hike by ski or snowshoe into the seldom- visited valleys and thickets. Trails in the snow often have stories to tell, sometimes amusing, sometimes tragic. The silent hiker who travels into the wind may even spy some of the animals in the act of making the tracks. Black panther and mountain lion rumors have been frequent in some parts of New Hampshire during the last few years, but although hunters combed the woods during the deer season, there has been no proof that the stories are fact instead of fancy. Most authorities disregard the panther and mountain lion rumors, but there are some who scratch their heads and say that, since elk, boar, and coyotes have been shot in the state, most anything could be possible. New Hampshire Books and Authors From a Troubadour reader: “Under New Hampshire Books and Authors I have never seen the name of Florence Marshall Stell- wagen (Mrs. Edward Stellwagen) whose book. The Pig in the Parlor, (a jolly little book of jingles laughing at people for reading ‘trashy’ 14 The February 1950books) is so very readable. Her sixth health educational jingle book, I think. She was born in VVeare, New Hampshire.” New Hampshire now has almost 21 miles of lifts for skiers, according to the latest tabulation — more than 15 miles of rope tows and more than five miles of major lifts. A group called Friends of the New Hampshire Symphony Orchestra Society has been formed to help bring concerts to towns which do not have halls with enough seating capacity to pay the orchestra’s expenses. Donations of members are to be used to offset the difference. All interested are invited to join the society, sending donations to J. Richard Jackman, Concord. New Hampshire. Research on Mt. Washington is continuing this winter. The Air Force and Navy arc continuing their joint research project on cold weather problems with the Navy conducting most of the work on jet engines. The U.S. Army Signal Corps is continuing w'ork on automatic weather stations at the Horn, while a group from the U.S. ROGER B. COREY Skier on Heirs llighica>\ a ski raring trail on Mt. Moosilauke. Army Quartermaster Corps is camped again at the old C.C.C. camp belowr the Glen House to conduct research on cold weather clothing, and makes periodic trips onto the mountain. The Mt. Washington Observatory is continuing its research for government account into the purely scientific aspects of the weather. Two members of the staff of the Observatory, Noi man E. Turner, and Charles Harrington, accompanied our member, Maynard M. Miller on the Juneau Icefield Research Project this summer. From AppalachiaBare trees against the sky again Shall compensate for winter's cold And fallen leaves once more reveal Lost beauty for the heart to hold. — From a poem, “Compensation,” by Medora Addison FEB 10 1350 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 4677Troubadour195002 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour February1950 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 1950-02 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, Goffstown, 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 skiing, sledding, Cranmore Mountain, Randolf Mountain, Mt. Washington, Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Cranmore Mountain Goffstown Mt. Washington New Hampshire Orford Randolf Mountain skiing sledding