2 10 89 https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/0126babc799ae572146bafe25014101b.pdf f02b1300d8b2ed5f6343f8d1cf99e999 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 1950The New Hampshire Troubadour Comes to you every month, singing the praises of New Hampshire, a state whose beaut y 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. ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor Volume XIX MARCH, 1950 Number 12 Fret not, my soul. While stand I at my menial task, You know you can but softly ask, And then upon our unseen wings We’ll fly, to where all lovely things Are free. Early in the morning air We’ll trudge along, without a care, And climb the hills, a breathless task, In glorious sunshine we will bask Upon the summit. Oh lovely view, My soul, then I shall be alone with you. The birds and beasts and all we see So rapt in quiet simplicity — Then we can gaze upon such beauty unsurpassed. Fret not, my soul. This utter peace Is Nature’s way to give release. And one day, soul, perhaps we’ll see The Heaven New Hampshire means to me. By Lillian Gibbs (of Liverpool, England)WINSTON POTK Covered bridge aver Swift River« Pasxacanait'ay. SPRING IN NEW HAMPSHIRE b(f t^olli <bins Long before the smallest shoots of green grass struggle into sight and the days begin to lengthen materially, the small seasonal timer which every Northerner has within him whispers of the impending arrival of spring. Visual confirmation of the whisper’s accuracy is given by the bare spots on the lee side of the woods, the corn snow, the first sap run, the frantic rush of the smelt, and the muddy roads. These signs not only supply that confirmation, but also that much needed transitional lift from winter to spring. 4 The March 1050What is more peaceful and satisfying to both mind and spirit than a tramp on snowshoes into the suddenly awakened sap orchard? One hears the pizzicato-like note of sap dripping into the buckets, the hushed startled whir of the busy chickadees and white-tailed sparrows, and the crows cawing hopefully in the distance. One’s nose shares in the renewed pleasures as a deep breath brings to it the intermingled odors of fir balsam, thawing earth, and the boiling sweet sap. Hut here winter is not yet in full retreat! The men on the sleds jogging and lunging over snow-hidden hummocks on trips to and from the warm sap house are heavily dressed, and the horses steam in the sun as they doze lazily while gathering pails are emptied and refilled. Overhead a chipmunk has proved himself to be no less ingenious and industrious than man in the gathering of the sweet nectar. He has gnawed a hole in the bark on the under side of one of the small maple branches, and tilting his head backward, is drinking, drop by drop. Let us leave the sedulous activity of the sap yard and ramble down through the deep woods to the brook, which by now should be unfettered from the winter's chains. The mushy, lingering snow shows numerous animal tracks, crossed and criss-crossed, some of which arc diflicult to identify. A squirrel has burrowed deeply for one of the nuts he hid last fall. An old decayed stump, pulled apart and surrounded by fresh tracks, tells us Bruin recently has been in search of food to help fill his clamoring stomach. Further on, freshly stripped young raspberry canes, interspersed with more familiar tracks, announce this area as a favorite haunt of deer, also in search of juicy tidbits. Then our attention is attracted to a nearby maple by muted guttural sounds. There, upon further investigation, we find a large porcupine methodically stripping and munching bark. Occasionally he rejects a strip in favor of a convenient and more tasty newly swelled bud. Our intrusion matters little to him, as he continues his routine perhaps not even aware of our presence.Well before reaching the brook the soft roar of its rushing torrents can be heard. In summer, the brook is small, occasionally gurgling and bubbling as it flows around large stones. These small rapids drop and whirl, making the so-called perfect trout pool — though it is better to avoid a discussion of how perfect, since there arc many differences of opinion on this subject. We will return to this spot some early May morning with rod and reel and then decide the degree of perfection for ourselves. Today our brook is a scene of seething activity. Branches, bark, and leaves are dashing madly downstream, being obstructed intermittently by a rock or jut in the banks, which yet have window-glass sheets of ice clinging to them above the current’s reach. Small temporary freshets which have sprung up here and there on higher elevations as thawing has occurred, have gullied their way through the snow to feed the torrent. Spring is a composite season in the country. In contrast to the woods, out in the open fields only a few patches of snow now Remain, except for a skirting around the woods and walls. The distant drumming of a partridge is heard, as well as the hammering of an assiduous piliated woodpecker on a hollow tree a bit closer. While gathering hobble bush branches, so we may force the season indoors, we become aware of the many different birds about us. Blue jays, robins, song sparrows, and juncos are feeding around us in close proximity. Trudging homeward, one feels physically tired but mentally refreshed. The sap house is quiet now, save for the cheery crackle of the last wood supply heaped upon the fire, an occasional clink in the recently emptied buckets, and the drip, drip from the icicles about the eaves. At home, while removing soggy boots, one feels the rich stimulus of springtime in one’s inner being and the rising of the ever- new spring songs in one's heart. There is no easier way of getting "spring fever” than by taking an early tramp in New Hampshire’s awakening woods and fields.OLD NEW HAMPSHIRE COOKERY Li} 1/yjarion cjCancf <^t)risco(( As my father’s ancestors landed on “the stern and rock-bound coast” of New Hampshire prior to 1687, and my mother’s people were in the first Scotch-Irish contingent to arrive in this country from Londonderry, Ireland, about 1719, 1 have an accumulation of old-time recipes handed down for five generations on both sides of my family. We have all heard the rhyme and played the game of “Bean porridge hot, Bean porridge cold, Bean porridge in the pot Nine days old.” Evupurutin# maple sap in a sii^ur Itousv at Ihthlm. HKKNICK B. I'KKKYGrandmarm Page’s Bean Porridge 3 lbs. corned beef 1 qt. pea beans 1 qt. hulled corn 2 cups corn meal salt Cook beef, strain liquor and put in cool place; soak beans over night; have corn hulled (which used to be done with a lye solution). Next day remove fat and heat beef liquor, drain beans, add with corn to the liquor and cook until the skins of the beans will “pop"’ when blown on. Meanwhile take cornmeal and moisten with cold water until a thin paste, and when beans are done, thicken mixture with meal, and cook slowly about 2 hours. This is to be quite thick and eaten with milk, as any porridge. The old-time way was to pour the porridge into a milk-pan, in which was placed a knotted string, and let it freeze; then when the menfolks went out to cut wood, the frozen porridge was hung on the sled-stake, also an iron kettle, and when dinner time came, either water or snow was heated, the porridge added, and with The General Sullivan hr id fir at Dover I'oini. The col lei'lion oj tolls hrrr nns recently discontinue!. IIAHOI D OKNK brownbread sandwiches (although sandwiches as such were unknown then) made the meal. My own modern version of bean porridge is made as follows: Bean Porridge Up-to-date 1 cup dried beans soaked over night; 1 can condensed consomme and 1 can of water brought to a boil; add beans; 1 can Golden Bantam whole kernel corn, and 1 cup cornmeal prepared and cooked as in old recipe. Serve with milk as a hearty Sunday night supper. Grandmother 1 Iopkinson’s Pork-in-batter Cut salt pork in strips about 6 inches long and 2 inches wide and fry until crisp. Leave the drippings in frying pan. Place pork strips in shallow pan and make a batter of 1 egg 1 cup milk 1 cup flour 1 tsp. baking powder (Grandmother used “salcratus" and cream-of-tartar, or sour milk and saleratus.) Pour this mixture over the pork and bake until done, about 15 minutes. Meanwhile pour off all but 2 tbs. of drippings from the frying pan and stir into them. 1 tbs. Hour, and when smooth, add 1 cup milk and cook until thick, adding pepper and salt, if needed. Cut out each piece of pork-in-batter and serve with the milk gravy. With baked potatoes, a green and a yellow vegetable, it is a grand meal. Grandmother Lang's Fried Pies Before telling you about the pies. I must tell you how the filling is made as they are filled with Cider Applesauce l itis is strictly a New England product, I think, and is made by boiling cider down to a thick, dark consistency, then adding apples “August Sweets” or “Winesaps” preferred, and cooking until sauce is thick. To make the pies, make a doughnut dough of 1 cup sugar 1 egg1 cup sour milk 1 tsp. soda 2 tbs. shortening Flour to make dough stiff Fat out on floured board and cut in squares; in each square put 2 tbs. cider applesauce, and fold to form a triangle or turnover shape. Fry in deep fat until they can be pierced with a knitting needle and come out clean. These can be sugared, if preferred, and make a mighty tasty dessert. The Scotch-Irish brought over the first so-called “Irish” or white potatoes, and so I give you Great-Cjrandnk>thek .\ IacDuffee’s Stewed Potatoes Using 2 potatoes and } 2 onion per person, slice thin into an iron frying pan, adding salt, pepper, and milk to nearly cover. Put on lid and cook slowly 1 hr. When soft, add plenty of butter. These can be browned, if preferred. Grandmarm Page’s Spider Cake This is a variation of the old “journey-cake” which was the Puritans’ standby, but which has, through succeeding years been corrupted into “Johnny-cake.” Grandmarm Page made hers of 1 part white flour to } •> part cornmeal, 1 tsp. soda to 1 cup sour or buttermilk, 1 beaten egg, 12 cup molasses and 'j cup shortening (she used pork drippings). This could be baked, but she made hers by pouring into a frying pan, and when browned on one side, turned and browned the other. Cut into pie-shape wedges to serve. Soda or baking powder biscuits can be made the same way, by patting thin, and when done, split, buttered and served with new maple syrup make a good dessert. Grandma MacDufpee’s Boii.ed Dinner was something “to write home about.” In “Ye olden times’* any cut of beef soaked in brine twenty-four hours was all right, but fancy brisket is the best at the present time. Cook about 2 hrs.,thru add turnips, Yi hr. later add scraped carrots and cabbage cut into Is’s. Meanwhile cook a bunch of beets in a separate kettle, and Y hour before the other vegetables are tender add 1 1 |X)tato per person. When done, serve meat surrounded by the vegetables. When you get up from eating a New England boiled dinner and find there is anything left but the tablecloth, make Red Flannel Hash Grind or chop all the vegetables excepting the cabbage; take fat from the liquor in which the beef was boiled, and fry the hash until brown. Serve it with the cold sliced meat and the cabbage dressed with salt, pepper, and vinegar. The modern way is to heat the hash in a double boiler, adding a generous piece of butter, and having reserved some of the raw cabbage, make it into cole slaw as an accompaniment to the hash. Grandmother Lang’s baked beans were made in the best ‘‘Boston style” and baked in the brick oven 8 or 9 hrs., and served with Grandmother Lang’s Brown Bread 1 cup each of graham (now called whole wheat), rye, and corn meals, and wheat flour; 1 cup sour or buttermilk with 1 tsp. soda; 1 •> cup molasses. Steam 3 or 4 hours, uncover and place in oven to dry out. Karin# on thr l.iitlr UtinlnulL Tuckrrman Kai inr. Mi II asliin#hni. WINSTON POTBGrandmother’s favorite Monday morning breakfast was Brown Bread Crusts and “Toast Butter” The dried top of the brown bread was saved Saturday night, and Monday morning placed in a saucepan, boiling water poured on and as quickly poured off, while a rich cream sauce was being made to eat over it. She also served leftover johnnycake in the same way. Grandmother Hopkinson’s Pan Dowdy This is the old-fashioned idea of an upside-down-cake, although not a cake. 1} > apples per person peeled, cored and quartered and placed in baking dish; add 1 cup old-fashioned brown sugar, molasses or maple sugar, cinnamon, nutmeg, a very little salt and a great deal of butter. Make a rich pie crust, rolling it out to fit the top of dish, but being sure to perforate it. Bake in hot oven until slightly brown, then lower heat until apples can be pierced (through the holes in the crust). Serve upside down with plain cream. Washington, Weil' Hampshire, uas the first town in the VnitM States [1770) tobeincorpo• rated under the name of General George II ashington. On the left is the W ashington Congregational Church, foundtd in 1700 and built in 1840. On the right is the totvn hall built in 1700. These buildings stand at about 1500 feet above sea level, for II osliington is one of the highest villages in the state. KMC M. SANFORDTHE GLORY THAT IS NEW HAMPSHIRE Did you ever walk on a winding road and gaze at a New Hampshire mountain, majestic and still? Or watch a farmer with his ox dragging rocks from the fields so hard to till? The mountains rise from the sides of the village, the fool’s gold in the granite glistening. And somewhere oil in the fields around the mountain sides, a sheep is bleating — listening. My grand-dad was born in a little rustic house somewhere along the dirt road that leads oil the turnpike. His house was built rugged — made from trees off the south acre; put together with wood pegs — big as your fist, and hand wrought spike. Somewhere off along the dirt road that leads up to the lumber camp there’s a cemetery where he lies. The white marble slabs aged by the winter snows and along by the rock fence three birches seem to reach for the skies. Some spring I’ll take time off and walk along an old dirt road, full of New England lore. And I'll stop and talk to a farmer whittling pegs for a hay rake by his door. And then over a covered bridge whose roof hides the view of the mountain still covered with snow. I’ll look to the granite-capped mountain and sec the glory of New Hampshire through a greening birch tree row. Ed. Note — Robert Shively, formerly of Andover, New Hampshire, was 15 years of age and a sophomore at Penn Yan Academy, Penn Yan, New York, when he wrote this poem in 1948.Front Cover: New Hampshire sugar house. Wood engraving by Herbert Waters. Back Cover: Mt. Lafayette from Bald Mountain. (Mt. Liberty is a few miles to the south.) Photo by Douglas B. Grundy. Frontispiece: A farm between Northfield and Canterbury. Photo by Fames Studio. Some coming ski events: March 4, 5 — White Mountains ski jumping and cross country tournament, Berlin. March 12 — AMC 16th annual Wildcat race, Pinkham Notch. March 19 — Eastern Slope Ski Club invitation team race, giant slalom (open), Cranmore Mountain, North Conway. April 1, 2 — American Inferno race (open), Tuckerman Ravine, Mt. Washington. EPITAPHS (Sent to The Troubadour by Marion Lang Driscoll) In an old graveyard in the White Mountains: “Here lies William Green, who died in Manchester, September 18, 1845. Had he lived, he would have been buried here.” An old cemetery in New Hampton has the following: “Under this sod Henry Robinson lies, His mouth and his grave are both of a size. Hush, reader, step lightly upon this sod, For if he gaps, you’re gone to God.” Sugaring, Old Style A Yankee worth his sugar knows When the maple’s nectar flows: Knows the interval between Winter white and April green. He will wait for nights that freeze The turgid channels of the trees: He will tap before the sun Makes the rising fluid run. Only old-time Yankees know The work of wallowing through snow With buckets swinging from a yoke. A pipe-lined orchard would provoke Distrust in any farmer bred To using barrels on a sled For gathering the gift of spring — And since tradition is a thing Honored by his father’s use, Innovations are a truceWith laziness. For him to tap. To gather-in and boil the sap To sirup is to reverence time A faith druidical—sublime And earthy: quickening the blood Like secret stirrings in a bud. Harry Elmore Hurd in The Sew Tor k Sun A recent issue of The Olden Time, published at Milford, was devoted to important dates in Milford’s history. Here is one of the items: “March 2, 1784 — The voters of the Southwest Parish of Amherst, as Milford was then called, voted to erect their new meeting-house (which is now the Eagle Hall) on the bank of the Souhegan at a spot where there was 'room between two stumps.’ The Building Committee was also instructed to provide a barrel of rum, two barrels of cider and one of sugar for the encouragement and sustenance of the workmen. In the previous year, ninety- five pounds (S455) had been appropriated to defray expenses — a sum far from sufficient, as witness the fact that the original structure was built only one story high, of rough boards without any clapboard or shingle sheathing. Nor did it have either window frames or glass, a belfry or pews, or even any floor other than the bare sod. "Beginning in 1785 additional money was raised by selling space inside for pews; and with the help of this cash, doors and windows, a floor and ceiling, clapboarding and galleries, were gradually added. In 1789 the grounds were graded at an expenditure of S50; but it was not until 1794, the year of Milford’s incorporation, that the structure was finally painted. The belfry was added in 1803. "In 1847 the Meeting-House was moved to the north side of the oval, and in 1870 to its present location.” A Commission for the Preservation of Early New Hampshire Historical Sites was recently appointed by Governor Sherman Adams. It is headed by Alvin F. Redden of Portsmouth, who is executive secretary of the New Hampshire Sea- coast Regional Development Association. The immediate task of the commission is to study ways and means of preserving Fort Constitution, which dates from 1630 and is referred to as the scene of the first aggressive act of the Revolution. It is understood that the War Department plans to tlisposc of properties in New Castle, including the historic fort.fanion I wish tonight that I might be The star that tops Mt. Liberty — Arcturus, clear and golden bright, Blazing throughout the mountain night Etching its magic on the snow Oblivious to all earthly woe. Instead nostalgically 1 stray In wistful lowlands far away. 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 4677Troubadour195003 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour March 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 1950-03 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Format The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource 16-page booklet Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire, Passaconaway, Dover, Washington, Milford 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 covered bridges, bridges, food, skiing, churches, town halls, Type The nature or genre of the resource Text bridges churches covered bridges Dover food Milford New Hampshire Passaconaway skiing town halls Washington 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 https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/d06e8997aa28200ac3fb7b41d8e1a9a0.pdf 87a0966a8aca98f6c20570489f512e16 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 JANUARY 1950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. 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. The chapters of life are years, toni<rht one passes Into the mist as others have gone before. It seems like leaving a house one loved to live in. And softly closing the door. A door that cannot ever, ever, open; The last sunset has tlained within tin* west. The last dear words been said, the last kiss given; The old year sinks to rest. good bye, good bye, and let the heart rememer The hours like golden lights to treasure long. And use like lanterns through the New Year coining. For faith, and love, and song. ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor Volume XIX JANUARY, 1950 Number 10 The Old Year Passes — From Kansas Cilv Poetry Magazine 3EASTERN SLOPE JUNIOR SKIING btj iflfjri. (jeorcje i3. eJlomai The junior ski program of the Eastern Slope Ski Club was organized the first year of the club’s existence in 1936 under the leadership of the president, Chester Emerson. It has been one of the club’s prime interests. Noel Wellman with Mr. Emerson and other members felt that the establishment of a healthy ski tradition for local youngsters was important. Very few of the residents then were participating in the sport. When word was passed around that a junior slalom would be run every Saturday afternoon, it wasn’t long before quite a number of enthusiastic young people were taking part in the weekly races. The prizes of skis, boots, bindings, and poles, awarded by the Rotary Club were a great incentive. By the end of the winter skiing was no longer thought of as an exclusive sport for out-of-town visitors. From then on the junior program continued to expand. In the 1937 1938 season an instructor from the Hannes Schneider Ski School was assigned to teach controlled skiing to the boys and girls of the region. A committee arranged for equipment to be obtained for two dollars a set by young skiers who could not afford to pay the actual cost. In the third season blackboard instruction in a school room was added. By now many of the skiers were becoming successful in outside competition. Then came World War II, and the junior program lapsed for the duration. In January 1946 the program was revived with 85 “eager beaver” North Conway boys and girls enrolled. The instructors were enthusiastic local amateur skiers approved by Hannes Schneider. A few of these were pupils in the original junior program of 1936. A late start and the sudden disappearance ofJUDY MCKINNEY Eastern Slope junior skiers, with their bin numbers, ull set for races in the junior skiing program. snow made the season short. Plans were made to insure an early start the following year and include the whole region. The 1 946-1947 season started with a meeting of representatives from each interested town in the region. Because of transportation and other problems, each town provided its own instructors on local terrain. Center Conway combined its activities with those ofERIC M. SANFORD A slalom racer at Wol/eboro. North Conway. The head instructor was assisted by approved amateur skiers who taught everything from putting on their first skis to the third graders to slalom running for the eighth graders. The usual problem of equipment was solved by donations of second-hand equipment, a required entrance fee to the first club meeting of the year. This collection was supplemented by brand new equipment donated anonymously. That season the junior program members participated for the first time since the war in outside team competition, and returned with prizes. The season culminated in a ski day for all the classes from those who didn’t know how to put on skis the first day to the successful racers on the teams. More than thirty prizes were awarded in the various classes. The junior program was made a part of the North Conway school 6 The January 1950curriculum in 1947-1948, with attendance records and all the fixings. For the second year a paid head instructor was in charge on the slope. Besides the head instructor, Hannes Schneider approved twelve volunteer amateur instructors all of whom were proud to be selected and a little scared at their responsibilities, — most particularly when the head instructor took them to the top of Cranmore Mountain for a pre-school run before assigning them to classes. It was the first run of the year for many of the twelve, and there were those who relaxed so completely that sitzmarks had to be filled in. Close cooperation bad been established by the time they reached die base station. Every week from then on pre-school runs were the order of the day for the instructors, come what might. Arm bands were another innovation, and they were a source of competition and enthusiasm. They were given to each child as he or she wras promoted from one class to the next, each class having a different designation. Again there was the problem of equipment. It was solved from three sources, — donations from some ski accessory manufacturers, donations from club members and friends, and purchases made from the junior program fund. This equipment is loaned to the children. Each child is responsible for keeping his or her equipment in good order. Again the Carroll Reed Ski Shop facilitated matters by making the major repairs free of charge. The junior program went into competition outside on a larger scale than ever before. Eastern Slope raced Hanover twice, splitting the honors; then the Emerson School for Boys, North Conway winning; and finally the Eastern Junior Championships at Stowe, Vermont, where a good showing was made. The finale was ski day for the program members at Cranmore. Three age-groups ran downhill and slalom competition. The top three winners in each group received ribbons and pins. Two special American Legion trophies were awarded for permanent possession to the girl and boy with the highest total points for the day.Tlie junior ski program for the North Conway district had a short 1949 season as there was no snow till the last week in January. It started with an exciting and busy week, however, including time trials, news reel movies and television, plus races. All those who had reached the stem christie classes were eligible for the time trials and the best of these made up the team to race at the end of the week. This policy was followed before each race during the season. Movies for news reels and television were taken, following the children from the time they came out of the school door and boarded the busses, through their classes with their respective instructors, till they left the slope on the busses for home. In the course of the season the children were shown colored slides of the ski troops in the Canadian Rockies and Colorado by the head instructor. Bob Mor- rel. Bob took the pictures while on duty with the ski troops, and explained various snow conditions, activities, and problems that were met. Paula Kami talked to the children of her ski experiences and eventual participation on the Olympic team representing the United States. She explained the hard work of preparation in order to achieve this honor. The grand finale of the junior program season, a graduation for all those who had taken part, wasM IImnikcr. on March 20. Each of the 170 youngsters from Conway, Intervale, and North Conway was provided with big red and white numerals. Some of the small stars found the numbers bigger than they were. Two slopes in good condition, new terrain to all youngsters, were used, and participants were divided according to ability. Slalom races were run for all. Much interest was shown by all in town either as gatekeepers or as audience, and the young entrants received much encouragement. The A group, consisting of the top christie classes, ran a slalom first and then proceeded to another slope for proficiency tests. These tests, which measured the ability of each skier to execute a traverse, snow plow, stem, and stem christie turn, were an innovation this year. Two certified professional instructors scored the children in this event. Five ribbons were given in each group. The American Legion trophies were presented on behalf of Post 95, North Conway, to the boy and girl who each obtained the highest number of points in the combination slalom and proficiency events. These trophies are the highest honor in our junior ski program. The junior program has been fine for the youngsters and successful in establishing local ski tradition.E AMES STUDIO A church at Boscauen. Note the Imre mud, which is typical nj New Hampshire highways in winter. FRIED SALT PORK AND MILK GRAVY Pearion From The Countryman's Cookbook Half a century ago people knew the goodness of fried salt pork, but in recent years this meat has for some reason fallen into disrepute.In the seventeenth century when the settlers from Plymouth, Boston, Salem, and Nevvburyport pushed inland and established new towns, it was accepted practice to set aside a “common” - a community-owned area on which the pigs and cows could graze. It was the job of boys and girls to tend the livestock and at night return the animals to the log-cabin barns and barnyards. In the fall the pigs were driven to the oak and beech groves, where they fattened on the “mast” — the acorns and beechnuts. After the Indians were driven back from the Eastern seaboard, it was a custom in many areas, particularly the South, to let the hogs run wild and hustle for their own living. Wild razorback hogs still roam the hills and valleys of the southern Appalachians. Salt pork was a meat that would keep through the hot summer weather. As the successive steps of the frontier across the nation w'ere taken, hogs went along as part of the livestock. A pioneer would shoot deer and bear and bison for winter's food, and some of this was “jerked” or salted for hot-weather use. The wave of farmers that followed each wave of explorers and scouts brought their livestock. Father Pearson was raised on a hillside farm in Madison, N. H., and more than once he woidd tell us children stories of farm life in the days of the 1870’s to 1890. Those were the times when a family raised practically all its food. Maple sugar or sirup plus molasses was sweetening. Only well-to-do folks could afford white sugar. Families raised corn and wheat and buckwheat and had it ground at the local mill. They never thought of buying vegetables or fruits. A farm raised all its own meat, and salt pork, several barrels of it, was “put down” after butchering time in the early winter. I can remember how, about 1910, we put down a big hogshead full of the meat each winter. It was kept in brine and the barrel stood under the cellar stairs. Sometimes Mother would ask me on a summer morning to bring up a piece of pork for dinner. If I was too lazy to light a kerosene lantern, 1 had to stick my arm into thecrackling, cold-smelling brine, and fish around for the right-sized piece. We always put the salt pork down by sizes. There were the \ ■> pound pieces that went in the big bean pot for Saturday’s beans; there were smaller pieces for use when Mother wanted to use salt pork instead of bacon for frying potatoes for supper. Then there were the 1 1 > and 2 pound pieces to be used when salt pork was to be the meal's meat. For just the six of us, a pound and a half was about right, but in haying, harvesting, and apple-picking time, there were extra men to feed, and a salt-pork dinner was expected once in a while. There’s an art to frying salt pork. Preparations should begin early in the morning, and if you want to know the complete tangy, chewy, goodness of the meat, be sure to get a piece that has generous streaks of lean in it. Cut the pork into slices that are a bit more titan a quarter inch thick and place them in a kettle of warm water on the back of the stove. This takes out some of the excessive saltiness and bite. If you’re using pork for a noon dinner, the freshening should start by eight o’clock; for supper begin the soaking about one o’clock. Change the water two or three times. When it comes time to fry it, remove from the water, let drain a few minutes, and then dip each piece, both sides, in flour. The cooking should not be hurried. Put the slices in a greased iron spider and let the heat increase gradually. Fry until both sides are a rich, crusty brown. The meat needs to be well cooked, so that it is brittle and crackly. With plenty of new boiled potatoes and lots of rich milk gravy, this is good grub. When a man has had half a dozen slices, he has fuel to keep him going at his work. There are differences of opinion about the best dessert to go with a salt-pork dinner. But after the salty tang of the pork there are few things better than a dish or two of Indian pudding with three or four sugar cookies as a final punctuation mark. Recipe for Farm-style Salt-pork Fat-flavored Gravy There are ways and ways of making milk sauce, often called‘white sauce,” hut here’s the only way to get the superb flavor that’s possible in this gravy. Use a double boiler. XEVER use a saucepan directly over the fire. Into the double boiler put 4 generous tablespoons of pork fat from fried salt pork, 3 moderately heaped tablespoons of flour, a little salt and pepper. Cream the ingredients and when blended add 2yA cups of whole milk. Let the mixture cook until of the right consistency. New Hampshire winter scenery ilrans artists, anil t ire versa. Here an artist is intrkinn with ails near Echo l.nke in Franconia Notch. DOUGLAS B. ORl'NIiVFront Cover: Looking north from Cannon Mountain. Color photo by Eric M. Sanford. Back Cover: A snug ski lodge near North Conway. Photo by Eric M. Sanford. Frontispiece: Skiers and chair lift at Thorn Mountain ski area, Jackson, with peaks of the Presidential Range in the background. Photo by Holland. Mrs. Lomas, author of the article on junior skiing in this issue, was one of a group which met at Franconia in January 1949 to form a league for junior skiers of Franconia, Hanover, North Conway, and Sun- apee, New Hampshire, and Rutland, Vermont, each of the five communities entering two-team groups in league competitions. One team included skiers 9 to 11 years of age; the other, skiers who had reached their twelfth birthday but not the ninth grade in school. The New Hampshire symphony orchestra expects to give concerts this season in most of the larger cities of the state. The musicians are from many communities, some of them traveling a hundred miles or more for the weekly rehearsals. NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS Wooden Dollars. By Henry I. Baldwin in collaboration with Edgar L. Hccrmance, Boston: Federal Reserve Bank of Boston, 1949. 127 pages with numerous photographs and charts. Paper bound. Free. A report, “Hayfever Studies in New Hampshire 1948,” has been issued by the State Department of Health at Concord. The 1950 racing schedule of the New England Sled Dog Club includes races at the following New Hampshire towns: Jan. 1,2 — Lancaster Jan. 7, 8 — F'itzwilliam Jan. 14, 15 — Pittsfield Jan. 21, 22 —Jackson Jan. 28, 29 — Newport Feb. 18, 19 — Littleton The locality where races will be held Feb. 11 and 12 has not been announced. The races are usually held in connection with winter carnivals in the towns listed. The first race was at Tamworth on Dec. 31. Further information may be ob- 14 The January 1950tained from Charlotte P. Duval, secretary, the New England Sled Dog Club, Inc., Turnpike Road, Eastjaffrey, N. H. The 1949-1950 circulating exhibition of the New Hampshire Art Association, after showings at the Currier Gallery of Art, Manchester, and the Carpenter Galleries, Dartmouth College, Hanover, in November and December, is scheduled as follows: Jan. — University of New Hampshire, Durham; Feb. The Fitchburg (Mass.) Art Center; March Colby Junior College, New London; April Keene Teachers’ College, Keene; July — Sharon Art Center, Sharon; Aug. — The Ballroom Gallery, Effingham. My wife and I are residents of Illinois, but when vacation time comes we are more than willing to go as far as New Hampshire to spend it. VVe tried it once, with an invitation from my wife’s aunt, Mrs. Robert D. Fletcher, who lives in Concord and spends her summers at Stinson Lake, and liked it so much we have repeated the visit seven times. Fletcher cottiifte at Stinson Lake, Humney. There arc a few things about an old cottage at the south end of the lake which we think would be of interest to your readers. The main room and upstairs were built in 1895. The frame of the house came from an abandoned saw mill on Stinson Brook and the floor upstairs from an old saw mill at West Rumney. The w indows are from the old State Hospital in Concord. In 1896 the front porch floor was built, and the steps came from a hotel in Rumney. In 1897 the porch roof was added. In 1898 the kitchen was built. In 1926 the dining room was added in place of a rear porch, and the house wras wired for electricity. The chimney and fireplace were not added until 1928. The cottage was originally owned by George M. Fletcher, father of Robert I). Fletcher. After all these years the original part of this cottage is still in good condition. Mr. and Mrs. M. A. Hovvk Maywood, IllinoisI have soon tin* hills and valloys Wrapped in silence, soft and white, And (lio moonshine spread its mantle Made of magic silver light. Felt t Ik* warmth of home fin's burning With their ruddy cheery glow Seemed to hoar the voice of angels Singing out across the snow. From a poem. New bJmjhmd Year, by ltut.li It. Field ’ JAN 9 _ ZS50 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 4677Troubadour195001 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour January 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 1950-01 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, Boscawen 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, churches, food Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Boscawen churches food New Hampshire skiing https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/c49ce2daf7b9f3c66465671add633d11.pdf 0de6f872a2af58bf64a74b11f6402bb9 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 ®lje Heto ^ampsfjtre Croubabour ^December 1947Ci)e Crouliabour Cxtenba Sincere <Cf)ri*tma* Greetingsroubaaour ^YJew ^J^laniijsliire COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMP I 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 December, 1947 number 9 THE OLD, OLD JOYS hj ^Jvis lJumer iJrencli I want for Christmas more than anything, The old, old joys, the folks I love all near Beneath the treasured roof of home once more As we have been for every happy year. To gather Christmas Eve for gifts of love. To laugh for sheer delight believing this, The deepest joys of life are simple ways Like words of tenderness, a gentle kiss. I want the atmosphere of mystery As much as when a child, the tinsel glow. To sing the songs that never will grow old, How Christ had come to bless us long ago. On Christmas Day I wish to share with those Less fortunate than I, to freely give, For only by the giving of one’s best Does one grow richer, learning how to live. At last I want to climb a snow-clad hill To watch the miracles of earth and sky, To read within the firmament His law, That good triumphs, that love can never die. I want these joys, oh, more than anything.THE SMELL OF BALSAM from The Boston Herald You can almost draw a line across southern Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine, marking the point at which you begin to see and smell the balsams — or you do if you are proceeding slowly on a back road. The odor of balsam, like the cry of a loon over forest-ringed ponds, is a distillation of the spirit of the North woods. Odors linger a long time, even a lifetime, in the subconscious memory and suddenly experienced again, no matter where or when, awake their train of conscious recollection. At this Christmas season when little balsams by the carload are displayed for sale on city streets many a man comes suddenly upon them, sniffs the pungent and familiar fragrance, and is transported in memory not alone to other Christmas seasons in his childhood, but to the North woods, to trails that climb steeply toward timber line, to camp fires by silent ponds in the forest, to a hundred happy holidays in the wilderness. The balsam belt of course comes much closer to Boston than to New York and our citizens who frequent the White Mountains in such numbers, even nowadays during the winter, probably feel much less of the nostalgic effect of the balsam odor than the citizens of Manhattan — or such of them as know, or once knew, the north country. Below what used to be Herald Square, on what used to be Sixth Avenue (and is now by edict of the Little Flower “The Avenue of the Americas”) lies the Manhattan Christmas tree market. You can walk southward from the mixed odors of Times Square, compounded of perfumes as the theater crowds pour from a matinee, doughnuts frying in a corner coffee shop, exhaust fumes from a thousand motor cars, a stale smell of slush from the pavements, all at once to sniff the cool fragrance of balsam from a stack of trees by a doorway. And if once, no matter how long ago,Skating on a rink at New London no matter how long he has been penned in the great town, the pedestrian climbed Kinsman or camped by the West Branch, his steps will falter and stop, and memories will sweep over him, memories all the more precious because the same odor also says Christmas and childhood and a white world outside and a warm, fragrant world within, lit by candles on a tree and made exciting by gifts. It is hard for a lover of the North woods to say which memory stirs him more.NEW HAMPSHIRE CHOOSES A STATE TREE L W. Cortez M hite birches at Peterborough In May, 1 ‘>47, the canoe birch, Bctula papyrifera, also known as the White Birch, became, by vote of the State Legislature, New Hampshire’s official tree. The bill providing for the action was initiated by the New Hampshire Federation of Garden Clubs through its president, Mrs. James Funkhouser, and was introduced in the legislature by Senator J. Guy Smart of Durham. There are several reasons for choosing the White Birch for the state tree. Not only is it native to New Hampshire — a first consideration — but it is found in all regions of the state, growing as it does on rich wooded slopes and along the borders of lakes and streams. It is a characteristic part of the scenery. Nearly everyone familiar with the New Hampshire countryside, for instance, recalls his first view of Mt. Chocorua through the birches, or remembers the internationally famous birches at Shelburne. The beauty of the white Birch is dramatic against the green of other trees. While all birches are sturdy and graceful and may grow tall, thecanoe birch sometimes reaches a height of eighty feet. Its bark is chalky to cream white, tinged with yellow, and peals in thin film- like layers. Leaves are broadly oval on short, stout leaf stalks. The cylindrical fruit spikes usually droop in contrast to the more commonly erect fruit of the other birches. Historically, both in legend and story, the White Birch goes back to the days of the Indians and early settlers. It has a long record of usefulness to man, not the least gift, on occasion, that of life itself. Economically, the White Birch was to both the red men and the white the source of supply for many of their daily needs. They used its sap for syrup. They learned to dry and grind the inner bark into meal. They fashioned its light, tough, and absolutely waterproof outer bark into cups and spoons, pots and pans, boxes, and even writing paper. They peeled huge strips to make roofs for their wilderness huts. But most thrilling of all they paddled through winding streams or dared the swift rivers in bark canoes. For the canoe birch had provided man with transportation in the wilderness. Birch bark burns whether wet or dry and is therefore a valuable aid to the camper in wet or winter weather. Peeling a live birch seriously mars its beauty, however. The woodsman who needs bark may usually find it nearby on a fallen tree. Present-day industrial uses of the White Birch in New Hampshire are largely confined to the manufacture of small articles such as golf tecs, mop and broom handles, and many types of souvenirs which appeal to summer visitors. For all these reasons — its familiarity in the New Hampshire scene, its striking beauty, and its historical and economic interest — New 1 lampshire adopted as its own the tree which Ernest Thompson Seton calls “The White Queen of the Woods — the source of food, drink, transport, and lodging of those who lived in the forest — the most bountiful provider of all the trees.”This house in llopkinton, near M’eare. mis built in 1799« u«u the bnxhooii home of I ire President II. C. M'iggin of the Shawmut .\ational Hank of Hoston, and looked as shown above in July i9/6, it is re- ported by the new owner, ftifj- sell II. Dreu\ " Drewhaven” as shown on opposite page, i s noli’ the year-around home of Mr. and Mrs. Drew. FRANCONIA NOTCH A CYCLE IN LAND OWNERSHIP L Ja wrance W PatU The Afternoon of October 3 marked a significant milestone in the progress of forest conservation and public ownership of a scenic mountain area when at Franconia Notch Edgar C. Hirst, secretary and acting president of the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests, presented the deed of the Flume Reservation to Governor Charles M. Dale, who represented the people of the State of New Hampshire. The transfer brought the ownership and management of the Flume into the Franconia Notch State Reservation, fulfilling an agreement made nearly 20 years ago. Appropriate ceremonies also honored the far-sighted people whose ideas and elforts, several decades ago, were primarily responsible for this public acquisition of the beloved Franconia Notch area. It is hard to realize that as late as 1831 the Legislature of New Hampshire was concerned with disposal of public lands on whichIn July 1917 * as shown at right, the house and shod had been rwtdornizetL Installations includ'd electrii'ity, telephone, 01/ In‘at, hot and cold running tenter* two bathrooms. three* sf«// Harare, insulation. air conditioning, «w/ Jlnud-light- ing. Construction of a dam across a narrate ravine in Sugar Valley has created a lake of almut I I I acres. stood virgin forests. In 1867 all remaining public lands in Grafton, Carroll, and Coos counties were sold for $25,000. Almost with the last sale thoughtful people were beginning to realize that the mountains and forests needed protection if the forest industries and resort enterprises were to be maintained. In 1881, prompted by widespread and destructive cutting, the New Hampshire Legislature provided for the appointment of a commission to investigate the conditions of the forests and the effect of cutting on run-off of streams which in turn affected the water supplies. After two interim reports the Forestry Commission was made a permanent body. Official progress, however, did not satisfy a growing public interest and so in 1901, under the leadership of Governor Frank West Rollins, the Society for the Protection of New Hampshire Forests was founded. At the end of its first year it boasted a membership of two hundred thirty-two persons from eighteen states. The representation testifies to the recognition of the importance of recreational values by people all over the United States. Philip W. Ayres, the first forester, was from the beginning vitally interested in protection of the White Mountains, and largely under hisleadership the campaign for a forest reserve in the White Mountains started in the 1903 Legislature, which memorialized Congress to take steps in that direction. The White Mountain National Forest became a reality in 1911. In the meantime the Society devoted its attention to the passage of laws to create a forestry department with a state forester and staff (1909), state-wide fire protection, production and distribution of planting stock, and state forests. Franconia Notch, including the famed Old Man of the Mountains, and the beautiful lakes, Profile, Echo, and Lonesome, was the site of the Profile House, considered the finest hotel in the mountains. A disastrous fire burned the hotel and its many cottages to the ground in 1922. When the owners, Frank H. Abbott and son, quarters like this hunting camp at Jefferson Hi nh I at ids are helpful in the of sports at all stetsons of the year. ). LENNOX enjoymentdecided not to rebuild, the opportunity arose to acquire the property for the puposc of perpetual protection, which had been a long-cherished dream. It was understood that the northern part of the 6,000-acrc property could be bought at a reasonable figure. The active campaign for purchase was initiated by Mr. Ayres and with the support of Governor Winant the 1925 Legislature appropriated $200,000 to acquire the Profile and as much of Franconia Notch as possible. It was found that the owners preferred to sell the entire 6,000 acres but felt that S400,000 was a reasonable figure, which was supported by an auditor’s report of the commercial operation at the Flume. Friends of the project rather lost heart, as leaders in the Legislature felt that such an amount could not receive legislative approval. The difficulty was but a challenge to Mr. Ayres and the Society. During the administration of Governor Huntley Spaulding he and Allen Hollis, president of the Society, obtained an option on all the land involved. Fortunately the undertaking had the deep interest of James J. Storrow, treasurer of the Society, who agreed to underwrite half of the additional amount. The remaining $100,000 had to come from popular subscription. In this undertaking the Society turned to the women’s clubs of the state which had consistently been of the greatest assistance in forestry projects. Their help assured the final success, and the property was finally paid for in 1928, from the 15,000 donations, including many nickels and dimes from school children. Administration presented something of a problem as the Forestry Commission had neither the personnel nor basic organization to manage such an enterprise. An agreement was eventually concluded between the State of New Hampshire and the Society whereby the latter took title to the 900 acres including the Flume and the commercial enterprise. The Society agreed to operate and develop the reservation and spend the income on improvements agreeable to the Commission or for other forestry purposes within New Hamp-shire and turn all the real estate over to the State by December 31, 1947. Henceforth the Flume Reservation, together with the rest of Franconia Notch, will belong to the people of New Hampshire, never again to be alienated. The Forestry and Recreation Commission will find itself the focal point of many pressures, but we trust will always be guided in its decisions by the original Franconia Notch Acquisition Act and its subsequent dedication as a memorial reservation. NEW HAMPSHIRE FRIEND To Olive Ewing Place, on her retirement from Erasmus Hall High School, Brooklyn, New York. You bring New Hampshire mountains to the day That has forgotten — or has never known Tranquillity, the unfrequented way Of silence and of peace: Old farms alone In valleys blue with distance . . . roads that climb Above the world to the brightness of a star . . . Sheep bells in cloudy pastures gray with time — These live in you and have made you what you arc. And yet you bring a sweetness less remote: Mint from your garden’s aromatic store, Swallows in twilight echelon afloat Above your chimneys, lilacs at your door — All the friendliness of your mountain land You give in your smile and the pressure of your hand. Florence Ripley Mastin in the New York Herald TribuneOLD FARMER h •anee5 .5\oit Grandfather, tough as a hickory limb, and lithe as a switch of willow, chose clean blue denim to cover him while the kitten purred on his pillow. The small paws rode on his faded shirt out to where day was borning. Grandfather called the star a flirt that boldly winked at morning. Grandfather nodded his windy head like a silver dandelion. He gave the night-born calf a bed of brand-new hay to lie on. He covered the cow with a buffalo rug and then sat down beside her: he drank to her child from a crockery jug of beautifully hardened cider. Grandfather, lean as a sapling birch, arose and seized his sickle; he mowed green hay with a ghost of a lurch and called the faint star fickle. Grandfather, hard as a hickory knot and sound as seasoned timber, sang Yankee Doodle smoking hot to get his muscles limber. His sickle hung in an apple crotch, he took his scythe to the meadow; tall in the wind that blew from the Notch, he hummed to his swinging shadow. Eighty of years and merry of eye, atilt on a tilting planet, Grandfather swung his scythe to the sky and paused a breath to scan it. For the Valley was his at dawn, his still by right of the boundary boulders — sweet earth he loved with his heart and his will and the strength of New Hampshire shoulders.Front Cover: Skiers at the popular Cranmore Mountain Skimobile parking area, North Conway, Mount Pequawket in the background. Capacity of the Skimobiles has lx*en doubled for the 1947-1948 season. Color photo by Wenday. Back Cover: White Horse Hedge and Moat Mountain as seen from Cathedral Ledge Road. Photo by Hunting. Frontispiece: A typical New Hampshire farmhouse, 150 years old, at Kingston, as photographed by moonlight in early January. The photographer, Arnold Belcher, explains that the little white lines in the sky are stars which moved during the four-minute exposure. Miss Place, to whom the poem on page 13 was dedicated, writes from Englewood, New Jersey that she is a displaced person — brought up in New Hampshire, which she loves. There are many like her, who sing the praises of New Hampshire wherever they are, and regret that circumstances keep them away from their state. The photo by Wenday used with Miss Frost’s poem in this issue shows Frank Sanborn of Gilmanton,^summer 1941. Boscawen, Oct. 17 — (AP)— Mrs. Anne Butterworth, secretary of the Sponsor club, had to make her report from memory. She reluctantly told the club: “Our family goat ate the only copy of the constitution and bylaws and also the minutes of all but three of the meetings.” NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND A UTHORS The Ncwbery medal has been awarded annually since 1922 for “the most distinguished contribution to American literature for children,” w'ritten by a citizen or resident of the United States. The latest Newbcry award was given to Carolyn Sherwin Bailey for her book, Miss Hickory. The announcement was made at the 1947 convention of the American Library Association in San Francisco, July 2. The character Miss Hickory is a doll with a hickory nut for a head. Her adventures with various animals through a New Hampshire winter and spring make “a fantasy of peculiar charm of the New Hampshire countryside, little known to most city-bound folks.” Ethel Blake in The Grade TeacherMarlboro, jV. //. April 11, 1947 Enclosed is a picture which I took of a beaver house at Upper Pond, Harrisville, N. H. Two feet of snow on ground, and house is taller than 1 which is six feet, plus. Charles YV. Collins Dayton, Ohio YVhen I was a small girl and our family lived in Massachusetts, I always looked forward to spending our vacations in New' Hampshire. But three years ago, when 1 was twelve, we moved away from New England. It was not until then that I became aware of its beauty, espe cially the rustic charm of New Hampshire. I have spent many wonderful years romping through its wooded hills, drifting lazily on its placid lakes, ana living peace- New Hampshire Troubadour fully in its quiet towns. I have attended services in the quaint little churches with the tall white steeples, and enjoyed all of nature at its best. I have w'atched the seasons come and go, year in, year out, from the first spring flowers in the fields to the last winter snow fall, blanketing mountain, valley, field, and forest in dazzling white beauty. All these things that were so much a part of me now seem so distant, so far away, and in another world. 1 only wish to express my thanks to the Troubadour for bringing them a little closer. Judy Button New literature on New Hampshire’s w'intcr vacation attractions, issued by the State Planning and Development Commission, will be sent on request. The period between “freeze-up” in December until January 15 (inclusive) is ice fishing time for “tip up” fishermen on pickerel and perch ponds in nearly all sections of New Hampshire. On VVinnipe- saukee, YVinnisquam, Squam, and Newfound lakes, noted for lake trout, w'hitcfish, perch, cusk, and pickerel, colonies of bob houses appear in January and remain until the ice softens in March. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N. >1.CALLING ALL POETS The artists of winter Arc holding a show: There are vistas of merit By landscaper Snow. The ponds for the skaters By silversmith Ice Have been fashioned and polished To excite and entice. Frost, with his genius For lace work, has knit For everyone’s window-panes Curtains to fit. There are numerous pieces By a sculptor named Wind, Whose work shows some talent. Though undisciplined. Since the sun will destroy Their creations in time, They’re appealing to poets To preserve them in rhyme. 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 4677Troubadour194712 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour December 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 1947-12 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 skiing, Cranmore Moutain, skating, New London, State Tree, Flume, Franconia Notch, forests, Newbury medal, Carolyn Sherwin Bailey Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Carolyn Sherwin Bailey Cranmore Moutain Flume forests Franconia Notch New London Newbury medal skating skiing State Tree https://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://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/b9b91597d853a73255eb1de54004a524.pdf 6187a8a1f6f084ebf46fc9152a6f62b0 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour New Hampshire Troubadour COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor volume xvii October, 1947 number 7 MOUNTAINS OF MANY COLORS t>u prattle <jC. j-^errin in the Christian Science Monitor In this Yankee mountain country there still remain abundant traces of the farm and household appliances used by the grandparents and great-grandparents of those of us who admit our own unmistakable membership in those kindred ranks. But apart entirely from this are the practically modernized farms and homes, and modernized schools, churches, and hotels. The prospecting stranger takes his choice. There is a sincere but noneffusive welcome wherever he may go. And there is beauty everywhere. We caught the picture of the meandering ranges, all bathed in their abundance of changing foliage and shifting lights, a day before the first snow flurry that bade goodby to September and welcomed ripe October. The frost had struck the pumpkins and the fodder was in the shock, as Riley would have it at just that time of year. Those were some of the open and obvious signs that our possibly remote New England cousins were making preliminary prepara-tions for an early winter. Such preparedness means, where the farm or village buildings, houses and barns, are not modern, that cellars and stables must be “banked” with leaves and straw, that the remnants of garden and field crops must be harvested, and the last of the apples must be put away from frost and snow. The repatriated Yankee, reared on the level prairie lands of the Middle West, inherits, perhaps, some of the affection of his forebears for this rugged and picturesque mountain country. He may see — or think that he sees — in the grand panorama so lavishly displayed, a crude reincarnation of villages, homes, schools, and churches, somehow made faintly familiar as things and places around which the neighbors and forelx*ars moved and toiled and found their measure of happiness and contentment. It is grand when the years bring with them pleasant and enriching memories. The people of many countries and many races have them, it is true, but to each of us, if we are fortunate, our own seem Portion of the Village of H ilton WINSTON POTEbest and richest. Early New England, crude in its outward habiliments and setting, but enriched by an individualistic culture nourished in homes, in schools and colleges, and in religious conviction, seems to have bequeathed to us all something that was, and is, peculiarly its own. The sympathetic seeker who travels casually along the winding highways which skirt the towering mountains, lingering beside some deep blue lake or hurrying trout stream, feels the influence, if not the presence, of a guiding and directing presence. There, in the granite hills, thoughts are of peace, not of wars and strife. There one might wish that those who seek surcease from fear, from worry, from vain contentions, might come. It is upon such foundations as the enduring rock, and in such a setting as the everlasting hills, that the temples of peace are builded. NEW HAMPSHIRE’S FAVORITE GAME BIRD Inj J/oh n The ruffed grouse, commonly called partridge in New Hampshire, mystery bird of the brilliant autumn thickets, whose plummeting flight challenges the aim of the most skillful hunter, is the favorite game bird of Granite State sportsmen. The thunder of its wings startles the novice, and its habits are a matter of great talk and speculation among experienced hunters. “Grouse,” they conclude, “are where you find them.”Its numbers seem to increase or decrease in mysterious cycles with little relation to hunting pressure, except that during years of scarcity the sportsman is wise to curtail his hunting in order to protect brood stock. In 1945, after hunting had been light for the previous two or three years, grouse were noticeably scarce. In 1946 they showed an increase, and it is expected that the 1947 season, which begins October 1, will find the “pa'tridge” population well on the upward swing of an abundance cycle. Favorite autumn foods of the grouse, notably wild apples, are plentiful this year. New Hampshire is fortunate in having some of the finest ruffed grouse covers in the East, and the prize habitat of all is the abandoned farm where a clump of lilacs hides an old cellar hole, and nearby apple trees have reverted to cider apple status. There are also shaded corners where two stone walls come together where the birds retire in mid-day to preen themselves lazily. But no matter how carefully these favored spots are approached there is too often a rumble of wings as the birds disappear like brown feathered rockets before a gun can be raised to the shoulder. There are “birdy” covers fringed by sumac and unkempt apple trees where the hunter walks with gun half raised, expecting grouse to hurtle out from under his feet. Sometimes these are empty. Later on, when he relaxes to light a contemplative pipe, they burst with startling thunder from a bush not ten feet behind him. Such is the uncertainty of hunting that adds to its appeal. A grouse in the pocket is of minor importance. The main appeal of hunting is to be part of the glorious autumn landscape, free to explore whatever thicket or patch of cover strikes the fancy. Ethically, the hunter is not permitted to shoot birds while they arc on the ground, although too often a silhouette on a stone wall or a flitting shape in a thicket is all he sees of the grouse before it takes off from behind a spruce or pine where a shot is impossible. To the hunter who has fallen under the spell of the ruffed grouse, the noble bird is the symbol of all the mystery and beauty of au-tumn. Its sleek, mottled plumage is more beautiful than the peacock, its sagacity is greater than that of the fox, and its thundering flight is matched by no other bird. Those who have been privileged to seek him in the covers of New Hampshire, whether with the aid of a dog or by “walking them up,” are filled with a sense of gratitude and respect for this king of game birds. The favored haunts of the grouse become shrines to be visited each autumn when leaves are red and the air as invigorating as wine. If the birds outwit the hunter in one cover, there is always another spot up the valley where the leaves arc dropping in the thickets or riding on the dark water of a little brook. If there is a bulge in the game pocket when sunset fades above the mountain ranges in the west as he takes the road back toward the lights of town, the sportsman is humble and content. To bring home the ruffed grouse is no small honor. But the greatest treasure is a store of memories of hillsides aflame with autumn colors, of valleys steeped in solitude, of silent ridges brushed by clouds. For autumn is a season that enters the blood. A Country Auction at AntrimThe Oldest House in Hollis THE HERMIT OF HOLLIS L, Paul W. JCt ieier On my study wall hangs an interesting old broadside, “sold wholesale and retail by Leonard Deming, No. 61 Hanover street, Boston, and at Middlebury, Vt.” It is entitled “Major’s OnlySon.” At each corner of the elaborate flowery border is an angelic countenance. The author and hero of the lengthy poem and his small house are pictured above a brief explanatory paragraph at the head of the verses. For some years I have been interested in searching for the story of this broadside. A stranger, so the story goes, apj>eared at Hollis, New Hampshire, soon after the Revolution, giving the name of John Jones. He let it be known that he came from a good family and that his father, a major in the British army, possessed independent means. While eccentric, both in manner and dress — he wore when he appeared in public a broad brimmed hat draped with a mourning weed and a long plaid dressing gown — he endeared himself to the people of the community with his whimsical wit and ready repartee, and was received with cordial welcome in any home. Frequently he was asked to join in the family meal, when he could be depended upon to offer grace in some impromptu manner. He made it a habit to be in Amherst, the county seat, when the courts were in session there and the lawyers found much amusement in his company. Once, on the occasion of a dinner to the judges, he was placed at the second table. He regarded this as an indignity, and was not pleased with the food remaining from the first table; so, instead of giving thanks in his usual manner, at the end of the repast he delivered these lines, which many New Hampshire children have heard in later years: “Cursed be the owls That picked these fowls, And left the bones For Doctor Jones.” How did he come to be known as “Doctor” Jones? He purchased a four-acre plot on Mooar’s Hill, in the northern part of Hollis, and built a small house, which he named “Lone Cottage,” where he dwelt in solitude. He is credited with being the first person to introduce grafted fruit into Hollis. I le set out an orchard of choice varieties and tended it with care. He cultivated fruits, herbs, and flowers. He supported himself by preparing medicinal herbs, from his garden and from the woods. He mixed various nostrums and peddled them in Hollis and vicinity. He would carry two baskets, one bearing the name of “Charity,” and the other that of “Pity.” Besides his herbs and medicines, the baskets also contained such things as “Liberty tea,” juniper berries when in season, and scions for grafting. He also sold copies of verses of his own composition, particularly the ballad “The Major’s Only Son,” composed before his arrival in Hollis. In this 150 line ballad he recites the story of his own life. Briefly, he fell in love at the age of 18 with his “true love.” But she was “of low degree, and came of a poor family.” His wealthy parents tried in every way possible to break up the match. At 20 “he'd a call at Rochester, to preach, ARTHUR ALLEN PETERSON Pulpit Rock, Rye, on Route I-A, after a nor'easter And there the gospel he did teach. They set by him exceeding high, And settled him in the ministry.” But his parents continued in opposition to the match. Finally the girl’s father:“— unto him did say, Kind sir, for ever stay away; My daughter is as good as you, For ever bid my house adieu; Your parents never will be still, For thus they have set up their will.” The maiden pined away into an early grave, leaving to her lover precious memories, and also “Her rings from her fingers she did take, Saying, always keep them for my sake, And cvcrytimc these rings you sec, Remember that I died for thee.” The young man left the ministry and wandered about thereafter until he settled at Hollis, his mind affected by the tragedy. Many times he was said to have been heard singing the verses of this ballad as he puttered about his lonely house. In those days, too, it was a favorite song with the young people in that vicinity. Many anecdotes have been related about Doctor Jones. One thing, it seems, he would not do — tell his age. He always avoided the question with some whimsicality. A lady customer of uncertain years, when buying some tea of him, made an attempt to discover when he was born. In reply he told her that she might ask him as many questions on the subject as she was years old. The woman was so nettled that she called him “an old cracked fiddle of one doleful tunc,” and demanded that he take back his tea and return her money. The Doctor thereupon made use of his ready rhyming faculty and, without a moment's hesitation, said: “Phebc, my dear, my own sweet honey. You’ve got your tea and I’ve got my money.”Having been educated for the ministry, Doctor Jones enjoyed attending the meetings of the Hollis Association of Ministers, a noted organization in those days. Sometimes he would propose questions for discussion. One of these is said to have been: “Was there ever a man that had a tongue which never told a lie, or a heart which never had an evil thought?” The question was decided unanimously in the negative, and the decision was backed up by quotations from Scripture. The Doctor declared that they were all wrong and he could prove it. He went out for one of his baskets, uncovered it, and showed them in triumph the head and heart of a sheep, exclaiming, “There is a tongue that never told a lie and a heart that never had an evil thought — and they are both mine.” Doctor Jones departed this life July 14, 1796. His gravestone had been ready for some years, prepared for the occasion by three young men whom he laughingly called his adopted sons. They belonged to families residing in the part of town where he had settled, and he associated with them more intimately than with other persons, and remembered them in his will. One young man was bequeathed the rings left to the Doctor by his “true love.” The stone, a large slab of slate, in the cemetery of the Hollis Congregational Church, was completed according to his directions, with the exception of a space left for the date of his demise. The epitaph was his own composition: “In youth he was a scholar bright, In learning hr took great delight. He was a Major’s only son, It was for love he was undone.”GUY SHOREY One of the earliest houses in Shelburne anti some adjoining farm land aptly illustrating Janies U'hitcttmb Riley's lines: "If hen the frost is on the pumpkin and the fodder's in the shock. Is you hoar the kyouck and the gobble of the strutting turkiy cock." Perhaps one should not love a land so well 7 hat leaving it can knot the heartstrings so, Can catch the throat, can cast a shadow spell Over the earth's bright splendor, l et / know My heart is desert that / shall not see October blowing flame across my world. Flaunting on each hill road her pagantry. Or days oj pouring wind when leaves are whirled Away, and the full arch oj heaven appears. And dark brooks hold the moon again, and high Over the gray, snow-hungry hills there veers A wedge of geese beneath an iron sky. From Equinox, A Poem of the Hanover Fall Season By Pennington Haile in the Dartmouth Alumni MagazineFront Cover: Church and autumn foliage at Auburn. Color photo by Guy Shorey. Back Cover: Mounts Pcquavvket and Cranmore and Swift River. Photo by Roger B. Corey. Frontispiece: Mounts Madison and Adams from Moose Brook State Park, Gorham. Photo by Guy Shorey. The New Hampshire Sportsman, an illustrated magazine concerned with hunting, fishing, and other outdoor sports, is being issued quarterly by New Hampshire Sports, Inc., 15 Temple Court, Manchester. The subscription price is one dollar per year. The purpose of the magazine, according to the editor, is — “To further the cause of amateur sports in general, to point out opportunities New Hampshire offers to sportsmen, and to bring to light ways in which the outdoor facilities of our state may be improved and enlarged — in short, to add to the sum total of happiness.” New Hampshire is honored by the election of James F. O’Neil of Manchester to the important post of national commander of the American Legion. Felton, Del., June 17. — A dozen chickens of the New Hampshire strain today was adjudged Delaware's best in the national “Chicken of Tomorrow” contest being held to develop a better meat type bird. A “One Hundred Years Ago” item reprinted about three months ago in the New York Herald Tribune: “Mr. Whitney, the projector of the Railroad to the Pacific Ocean, is at present in Concord, N. H., explaining to the Legislature the character of his scheme. As the Railroad is not intended to touch New Hampshire, it is highly probable that the Radicals of the State will endorse the enterprise with approving resolutions.” SANDWICH FAIR Frum the flower exhibit to the stage show to the merry-go-round to the fancy work to the live stock to the rassling tent they is suthing for every member uv the whole fam- bly to keep amused and interested and having fun and busy spending their hard earned munney. I like to watch the Sandwich Fair Parade. Nobuddy has everben able to figger out where the parade starts or when it starts or its route or where it ends. The Hon Parade Committee know and map it out awl lovely before hand and it starts O. K. Then things begin to get tangled up and before you know what has happened an allegorical float showing Peace and Plenty, Peace and Plenty being two oversized females in cheese cloth and green garlands, is awl mixed up in a bunch uv the horribles, two yokes uv oxen and the drum section of sum band. The frunt half of the band getting cut ofT by three anteek autos which go backfiring up the street whilst the brass section uv the band goes ta- da-da-da and the drums a hundred yards back is going rum, turn, turn, a rum, turn, turn. Hank NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS The Art of Hooked-Rugmaking, by Martha Batchelder of Hampton Falls, New Hampshire, was recently announced by The Manual Arts Press, Peoria, 111. On September 8 the T. Y. Crowell Company will publish Fair Were the Days, by Christine Whiting Parmenter of Concord. This is New Hampshire Troubadour the story of a New England family in the 90’s; and those who read Mrs. Parmenter’s A Golden Age, will recognize many of the characters in this new novel. ^yfOT From Wheeler’s History of Newport, New Hampshire, 1766-1878: Tradition says the first article of merchandise brought into town was a barrel of rum, individuals contributing what they were disposed to; but when it arrived, no one of their number had sufficient knowledge of figures to divide it equitably among the owners, so the matter was deferred until the arrival of Mrs. Christopher Newton, who was able to solve the problem. From Wheeler’s History of New- port, New Hampshire, 1766-1878: Mrs. Ebenezcr Merritt had a family of sixteen boarders. Her supplies consisted of the milk of one farrow cow, from which she made half a pound of butter per week; meal for porridge, and fish caught from the river. The boarders were all satisfied. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N M,TO OCTOBER by 4nnie &a(com k WL.L Proudly you wore the mantle that September Surrendered to you when she went her way With banners flying. We shall long remember The beauty of that Indian Summer day: Rare mountain vistas! Streams full-voiced and foaming Down rock-strewn beds to calmer tides below. Then like a Godspeed to our twilit homing, Chocorua bathed in the afterglow! Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194710 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour October 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-10 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource auction, Antrim, hunting, Pulpit Rock, Rye, Hollis, Mount Madison, Mount Adams, Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Antrim auction Hollis hunting Mount Adams Mount Madison Pulpit Rock Rye https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/af7ddeb890bfce2cec377700aeb47968.pdf d6309ea6840d16cebf36f199708c0d72 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour September 1947 The 7\[eiv:Hampshire Troubadour.4 country r<*ui near llaiun'vr in autumn DAVIO PIKRCR^Jhc r lew ^rrantpAnire roubactour COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor volume XVII September, 1947 number 6 AUTUMN TRAIL h} ^JJarry C^fmore _J4urcl in “ West of East” I know a thousand trails beneath the sun But I shall yearn to travel only one When autumn comes to claim the ripening seeds: My woodland trail is hemmed by rattling weeds And asters purpling the pasture fence. No poet’s art or verbal eloquence Could half transmit the beauty of my trail To page or book . . . printed words would fail To paint the glory of one flaming tree. Come, friends, enjoy this ecstasy with me, For autumn is an all-consuming fire, A heady wine, a madness of desire: Let one scared partridge rise on thundering wings And I am happier than clowns or kings!Pond in Chocorua viliagr OVER THE HIGHLANDS OF WESTERN NEW HAMPSHIRE From “Along New England Roads” by W. C. Prime, published by Harper & Brothers, 1892. Reprinted by permission. IT was a fresh autumn morning when we left the village of New London, high up on the hills of central New Hampshire, and drove westward, without any definite idea of our destination. New Hampshire possesses all kinds of scenery and soil. The northern mountain country falls ofT into a valley which crosses the western half of the State, in no very direct line, from the valley of the Connecticut near Hanover to the valley of the Merrimac near Franklin Falls. South of this valley — the west half of the State —running north and south, is a range of highlands, mostly now or formerly under cultivation, rising in farm-lands at times to a height which I believe is considerably more than 1000 feet above the sea. You know Mount Kearsarge, near North Conway. But few persons seem to know that there is another Mount Kearsarge in the State. This lies at the northern or north-eastern end of the range of highlands of which I speak, and is, in part, in the town of New London, or directly east of it in Warner, the next town. It is a noble hill, rising alone out of the cultivated rolling lands. Away down in the south-western part of the State a similar mountain rises in stately grandeur, Monadnock by name, and thence the highlands of New Hampshire fall off gently towards Massachusetts. This topographical account is not interesting, but it is necessary to understand it if you would understand carriage travel to the southward in the State, west of the Merrimac River. You can drive from the Profile House or the Crawford House to Hartford, following the valleys of the Amonoosuck and the Connecticut, without a hill of any account on the road. The scenery along the entire route is lovely beyond all praise, its variety infinite, its beauty equal in spring, summer, and autumn. The roads are, however, somewhat sandy and heavy, especially in dry weather. You can also drive from either notch, Franconia or the Crawf- ford, through the eastern part of New Hampshire southward to Massachusetts, over roads without severe hills and with varying scenery, most of it very beautiful. But I prefer the hill roads through the highland country between the Merrimac and the Connecticut. These roads are in general good, the roadbeds hard, and the many fine views repay the labor of climbing hills. Withal, horses do better, if carefully driven, on rolling than on level roads. I had come from the Profile House down the Pemigewasset Valley through Plymouth to Bristol, thence across to New London, via Danbury, Wilmot, and Scythcville. At this last place I hadreached the bottom of the crossvalley which I have mentioned, and thence the road to New London was uphill all the way, with Kearsarge on the left and behind us. New London is one of the high hill-towns, and every house in the village looks off many miles over fields and forests. Turning the horses’ heads to the southward, I could have gone down through Sutton and Bradford, and thence over tremendous hills to Washington. Turning them to the west, I should have a short drive to Lake Sunapec, which lies on the upland, surrounded by low wooded hills. I had driven both roads repeatedly. I am never tired of driving the last named, for it is exceedingly beautiful, and we chose it now. In half an hour we were going through the dense woods which skirt Little Sunapee, the upper of a chain of three lakes, and of which you see only glimpses as you pass along by it, until you reach its outlet, which goes down into Otter Pond. Here the road strikes the upper end of Otter Pond, and sweeps around on its open shore for a quarter-mile.The pond is charming, a mile or two long and nearly as wide. The shore is clean sand and the water pellucid. I have waded off on this hard, sandy bottom and taken black bass with the fly, casting out to right and left, while my horses stood waiting on the road. VVe drove slowly around the head of Otter Pond, then through the forest road along its rocky shore, with the water lapping over the stones and making pleasant music in the sunshine. Then we came out of the woods at the little village of George’s Mills. Here is the outlet of the pond, which falls over two or three saw-mill dams in its short course into Lake Sunapec. Sunapee is a large, wandering lake, presenting wherever you strike it abundant beauty of scenery. Bold, rocky headlands, covered with timber, jut out into it, and deep shadowy bays lie between them. 1 never yet have gotten to knowing which way is up and which way is down the lake or how it stretches its chief length. Properly speaking, this principal inlet, the only one of any account at George’s Mills, ought to mark the head of the lake; but a long, narrow arm which goes far away to the eastward, along whose shores are villas and cottages, and which heads at Newbury, on the Concord and Claremont Railroad, always tempts me to consider that the upper end of the lake. However, there is no mistaking the outlet at Sunapee Harbor, into which I drove before dinner. Here Sugar River, a roaring torrent (depending on how high they lift the gate-way of the dam which holds back the lake), plunges down a steep declivity and finds the valley, through which it winds with clear and swift flow to Newport, and thence to Claremont and the Connecticut. VVe dined, and then decided to linger for the day. I took a boat and rowed miles and miles along the shores; landed here and there in golden forests or dark pine groves; cast flies where bass, if not yet gone to their winter sleep, ought to be found; took several that were not eight inches long, and were put back to go to bed and grow next year; and so idled away the afternoon. The night came on cold.Next day we rode with the carriage-cover thrown back, to give us what warmth we might get from the sun shining through the still dense smoke. The road follows the river down to Newport; but we did not stop in that thriving town, except to post letters and send some telegrams. Driving through it, we crossed the valley and took the hill road to Unity or Unitoga Springs. This is a lonesome but very charming country-place, where are mineral springs and an old hotel. We had the house to ourselves; and again the loveliness of the atmosphere, the rich foliage on the near hills, and the dust of gold smoke that made a canopy over us and hid the far views, all tempted us to stay. I spent the afternoon in the woods on the shore of a small lake a mile from the hotel. I went there to fish; but the only boats on the lake were full of water, and there was no spot on the shore where I could get out a cast of more than twenty feet. At that I took some perch and small pickerel with the fly, but gave it up soon and wandered in the woods, rich in ferns and mosses. The next morning I sought and found a road, before unknown to me, by which to reach the Connecticut Valley; for it was Saturday, and I proposed that my horses and I should rest over Sunday in the fine old village of Charlestown. It was only nineteen miles from Unity Springs, but in carriage travel we never, unless from some peculiar pressure, seek to accomplish great distances. Thepurpose is the enjoyment of the passing hours. I often linger along the road and cover only two or three or a half-dozen miles in a forenoon. So it was along this charming road. When I reached Charlestown I had driven only 108 miles from the Profile House in six days. Sometimes I drive 180 in the same time, taking the road leisurely and keeping the horses unwearied. Note — Dr. Prime has used the old spelling for the Merrimack and Ammonoosuc rivers, and refers to the village of Scythevillc, now Elkins. Unitoga Springs, once a popular summer resort and site of mineral springs, burned many years ago and was never rebuilt. Although much of the route taken by Dr. Prime is now a modern highway, the region of which he writes, characteristic ot New Hampshire, is crossed by a network of country roads. Canopied by brilliant foliage and carpeted by crisp fallen leaves, these delightful byways which lead past forgotten cellar holes to peaceful valleys and hidden ponds, are well worth exploring during the autumn season. —The Editor THE RESURRECTION OF A COUNTRY SCHOOLHOUSE lyWorn On the Fourth of July in the little settlement of Lockehaven, township of Enfield, a holiday ceremony took place to celebrate the opening of a tiny schoolhouse, restored as a museum piece for future generations to enjoy. Realizing how rapidly our old country schools are disappearing, Wilson B. Roberts of New Haven, Connecticut, who in his youth attended the Lockehaven school, conceived the idea of restoring and refurnishing this delapidated building as a tangible and lasting record of a type of school now almost extinct. Fortunatelyanother former pupil, Harry A. Nichols, still living on an adjacent farm, was able, with a little local help, to undertake the difficult task of restoration. As a result of his enthusiasm and skilled craftsmanship the building, which was at the point of disintegration when the work began, is now as sound as it was when first built nearly a century ago. While work on the building was progressing, Mr. Roberts and others interested in the project were scouring the countryside for appropriate furnishings. Some of the school's original desks were discovered and others of the same vintage, with seats graduated according to the size of the pupils, were found and installed. A teacher’s desk was salvaged from a country school, and a box stove, old maps, and other school furnishings were donated by interested friends. Now, as one enters the schoolroom, it gives the impression of being still in use, with teacher and scholars about to take their places behind their The Pool, Flume Reservation, Franconia Well-WOm desks. winston pote On the walls of the schoolroom hang framed certificates, old school records and other items of historic interest, including an almost complete photographic record of former teachers. And in the vestibule stands the old pigeonholed desk that once held letters for residents of Lockehaven when that small village boasted a post office of its own. In June, after many months of hard work, the restoration was completed and invitations were sent out to all former teachers and pupils, still fortunate enough tobe alive, as well as to East Hill and Lockehaven neighbors, to attend the formal opening of District School, Number 4. And on the afternoon of July fourth well over a hundred people gathered on the sunny slope in front of the schoolhouse. Mr. Roberts was master of ceremonies. After Miss Marion Locke, standing on the schoolhouse steps, had played the Star Spangled Banner on her cornet, he spoke briefly about his reasons for saving the old school and paid tribute to all who had helped in its restoration. He then introduced many of the former teachers and pupils, the oldest present being Mrs. Mary Jane Fogg Shipman, ninety- four years old, of Enfield who described how she had learned her A,B,C’s here in the days before Lincoln’s inauguration. Other old timers recalled amusing episodes from their school days at Lockehaven, and appropriate poems were recited by young and old. State Senator Earl S. Hewitt of Enfield, speaking of the value of such an achievement, expressed the hope that the State of New Hampshire might take over the school as an historic landmark. At the close of the informal speeches refreshments were served and old schoolmates and neighbors had a chance to talk over the good old days. Throughout the ceremonies the Stars and Stripes fluttered in the breeze above the trim white building and the Fourth of July seemed a very appropriate day for us to pay our respects to District School, Number 4, Lockehaven, New Hampshire, as a symbol of the intellectual freedom fostered there, and in countless other rural schools throughout the United States, during the past century. {Anyone interested in visiting this schoolhouse must find his way via Enfield, to Lockehaven at the outlet of Crystal Lake. He must then keep on up East Hill for a quarter of a mile, past the schoolhouse, to the Nichols' homestead, at the first fork in the road, where a key to the building may be obtained. Less enterprising visitors may get a general view of the interior of the schoolroom by peering through the unshuttered windows, but they will miss many of the finer points of interest.)An old housr at North Conway as sren in Si-pti-mbrr WILD FOX GRAPES L CL. C amp The wild fox grapes are ripening in New Hampshire! They are clinging in plump clusters high in the trees. Their vines are endless and their fruit is nearly hidden by the branches and leaves of the forest. Only those who really search find the fox grapes. They are not to be had by those who sit and wait for good things to fall in theirlaps. These grapes are the rich reward of the lover of the woods — the man who tramps the hills for the joy of being where the wild bees live. The whereabouts of the fox grapes is usually a secret. Like hidden treasure, they are guarded by their discoverer. I am thinking of a man who, each autumn, took his basket down from its nail and melted into the woods. He invited no one, though he was not a selfish man by any means. I think he never risked taking a guest for fear the magic of the trip would somehow be lost. One must appreciate the honor of looking upon the fox grapes growing. So this man went alone, and at nightfall he returned home, tired and radiant and proud of his grapes. Their sweet fragrance is unforgettable. Shut me up blindfolded with a thousand perfumes and I will choose for you the best of all — the fox grape’s poignant, luscious aroma that has remained in my heart since first I breathed it when I was a very little girl. I am making fox grape jelly right now. Fourteen scintillating glasses are finished and the next batch is about to boil. Making jelly is no mean job when it is fox grape. It is romantic and adventurous ! I am capturing all the goodness of our native woods! The swish of the big owl’s flight! The inaudible whisper of the red fox's brush! The sweetness of the partridge berry in bloom! The sharp tang of our oaks! The busy rustle of the towhee under the bushes! Making jelly? I am rather pouring glory into little glasses. The New Hampshire Autumn Foliage Bulletin is issued in four weekly editions for the convenience of visitors during the season of foliage color, which occurs between mid-September and mid-October, according to weather and location. The bulletins, which report the progress of foilage coloration and include suggestions for autumn visitors, will be sent upon request.Front Cover: An autumn pastoral near Greenland. Color photo by Douglas Armsden. Back Cover: East Village School at Croydon. Color photo by Wen- day. Referring to the poem on the back cover, Mrs. Chadwell writes, “I still remember the room in a small school outside of Derry, N. H., where I attended the second grade, and where this poem was inspired, after 25 years.” Philadelphia, Penna. July 16, 1947 Governor Charles M. Dale Concord New Hampshire Dear Sir: I just wrote what you might call a “bread and butter” letter to your Forest Supervisor at Laconia, and felt that the same would be justified to the executive branch of your state. A party of four, two couples, we just completed a trip through the White Mountains. We camped nights and cooked two meals daily at various camps you have provided. The helpfulness and hospitality of the people and rangers seem unbounding, and the extensiveness of your program to help the public enjoy nature at close range is magnificent. With my sincere thanks, I am Sincerely yours, Alfred G. Lambert — Mr. Lambert refers especially to the federally operated White Mountain National Forest. “We feel that, since the Mac- Dowell Colony has become a national institution, with colonists from twenty-seven states and Canada, its support should no longer be borne chiefly by a few, but should likewise be broadened to a national scale. In the current readjustment of the affairs of the Colony, we believe that such nation-wide support would be forthcoming, if all persons interested in the arts were given an opportunity to join the Edward MacDowell Association, and thus for a small charge to help perpetuate the Colony.” — From a recently circulated statement by twelve MacDowell colonists in behalf of the Edward MacDowell Association. Inc.. 1083 Fifth Avenue. Sew York 28, N.Y. Wallpaper showing scenes in the Monadnock region adorns the walls of the old Tavern coffee shop atPeterborough. Mount Monadnock from Pitcher Mountain, a covered bridge in Swanzey, a church in Hancock, and an old saw mill in East Sullivan arc depicted. Troubadour readers are invited to visit the New Hampshire Information Bureau, 10 Rockefeller Plaza, New York, at any time. New Hampshire cordiality and helpfulness are maintained by an efficient staff, which is always ready to provide information on the state’s facilities, attractions, and resources for prospective visitors or home seekers, and on industrial or farming opportunities as well. The New Hampshire country fair schedule began in August with the Mascoma Valley and Pittsfield fairs. Dates of remaining fairs: Aug. 29-Sept. 1 — Lancaster Aug. 30-Sept. 2 — Hopkinton September 1-6 — Pittsfield September 4, 5, 6 — Cheshire Fair, Swanzey (near Keene) September 9-12 — Plymouth September 15-20 Rochester September 25-27 — Deerfield October 6, 7 — Derry October 13 — Sandwich New Hampshire Troubadour Representatives of the state will lx* on hand to welcome the public at the New Hampshire Building on the Avenue of States at the Eastern States Exposition, West Spring- field, Mass., September 14 to 20. Interesting exhibits are being prepared for the first showing of the exposition since 1942. BIG DEER The April 1947 issue of Outdoors contains this interesting item: Editor: I've read with interest the items in Outdoors relating to the size of deer in Michigan and New Hampshire, and particularly the letter from a resident of my state who says that he has seen more than 500 deer weighed, with none heavier than 262 pounds. In 1904 my husband shot a deer near Errol, N. H., that weighed, after being dressed, exactly 327 lbs. This, mind you, is not an estimate, but the figure on the American Express Co.’s receipt. One witness to the shooting and weighing of the deer is still living, and can verify the story if your doubting New' Hampshire reader is still unconvinced. — Mrs, S. J. Crownin- shield, Springfield. N. H. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD N M.Wide, opened windows hold the sky, And silver birches, rustling near, Bow wind-swaved slender trunks beside The crystal brook whose song is clear. Small children, heads bent over books. Arc counting moments, as they pass, Remembering the swimming-creek, And bare feet touched by velvet grass. Pauline S. Chadwell in Ave Maria Magazine Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194709 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour September 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-09 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Croyden, schools, Dublin, wild fox grapes Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Croyden Dublin schools wild fox grapes https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/abdd59544e11cee0f3885a48404d161d.pdf e51e79fc7355511a968cd04d4d5adb90 Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour XVT/^ New Hampshire Troubadour, ' ' )( ( ' \ } - August 1947The House of Baldwin at Concordroubadour ^Jhe ^ Jew ^ Jfampshire COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII August, 1947 NUMBER 5 ANTIQUE SHOP h Drederich W. branch The past crowds close about us here To tell its story written clear In pewter, luster, copper, glass, In candle sticks of tarnished brass, In blanket chests and earthen crocks, In trundle beds and wooden clocks: For gathered all around us is The salvage of the centuries, From cubby-holes of house and shed, Attics, and timbers over head, Where thrifty people tucked away Things they discarded yesterday. And there they stayed until at last Enough slow-footed time had passed To bring the days when they should be The treasures of posterity. The village of Tamuxtrth WINSTON POTE THOSE AUGUSTS IN BOSCAWEN ■Lra 2. m son Boscawen is my mother’s native town; and all our childhood Augusts were spent there, with the result that Boscawen is to us a warm, fragrant, green place where crickets, tree-toads, and whippoorwills enliven the night, where great white summer clouds shoulder their way across the hill, and where berry-patches and cornfields are always ripe and waiting. From hearsay, I understand Boscawen also enjoys the rest of the seasons; but my memories are made up exclusively of Augusts. 4 The August 1947Usually some of our cousins were visiting Grandmother at the sume time we were; so that there were sometimes as many as nine of us to climb about the barn, or play in the garden under the crab- apple trees, or go single-file among the pines on the hill, scooping up acorns and pine-cones which we would later fashion into necklaces or weird animals. There were long, sunny days in the fields at haying time, too, and slow, luxurious rides from field to barn on top of the fragrant, swaying loads. There were wild dashes with the Hose Company when the fire alarm sounded; for Grandfather was Fire Chief, and each of his grandchildren felt a personal responsibility to see that town property was adequately protected in such emergencies. The best day of all — the frosting on the cake of our vacation — was Old Home Day. For us that started early in the morning, when we hurried to the Picnic Grove to climb over the bandstand erected there and run in and out among the wooden benches brought down from the Town Hall for the occasion. There were swings for the children, which would fly high among the tall pines; and horseshoe pitching for the men. For the women — broad tables where they could spread the lunches when the others grew hungry! Gradually, the Grove would fill with friends, neighbors, and visitors from far corners of the country, returned especially for the reunion. Frequently during the day, as we went busily about the Grove on the absorbing business of enjoying ourselves, unfamiliar grownups would stop us to ask our family name. When we had identified ourselves, we might be regaled with some anecdote about our mother when she was a little girl; and how we crowed when this happened to be some piece of mischief which, for the sake of maternal dignity, she had been attempting to keep secret! In the evening, there was an entertainment at the Town Hall, usually a play. In some years, Grandmother took part; and, if she had but one line, we would all applaud her vigorously when she spoke it. Occasionally the Entertainment Committee would callupon our mother a week or two ahead of time and ask if we children would take part in the show. This courtesy always pleased us exceedingly. I remember one year, when I had just mastered the acrobatic feat of kicking the back of my head, that I interpolated this into a classic toe dance. How my teacher would have shuddered if she could have seen that performance! Fortunately for me, I had left her far behind in New Jersey. On one of these occasions, the impulse seized me to slip out of the hall during the entertainment and walk home by myself. Probably because I had never before been out so late alone, that mile walk down the highway through the beauty and silence of the night remains one of my most delightful memories. The town seemed deserted. Scarcely a light twinkled from the windows I passed; and the dark, splendid old trees spread a thick canopy above me, blotting out the stars. It was so still I could hear clearly each little night creature singing to itself as I passed. I walked in the middle of the highway; and I am afraid I strutted a little, thinking myself some great one to be abroad alone so late. On the last morning of our stay, we always climbed the hill for a final view of Boscawen; and it is this that most frequently comes to memory. On the summit behind Grandmother’s house was a little cabin from whose porch we commanded the whole town, half buried beneath its towering trees. Our eyes could compass it all in one sweep, from the white spire of the Town Hall to the last big barn near the town line. YVe could see a miniature train running beside the Merrimack, and trace the broad convolutions of the river for miles. We could gaze far across the intervale to the Canterbury Hills; and we could drop our eyes almost straight down to the garden far below us, where two toy figures moved back and forth — our father and Grandfather, pitching the summer’s last game of horseshoes. —From The Christian Science Monitor The August 1947"TROUT-INTOXICATED AND REASSURED'* Associate Pastor oj the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church, New York City Never have I enjoyed more a visit home — except for the absence of our dear father and mother, though they were present in lively memory — than I did last August. The fields and woods were a heavy green, the lawns and garden inefTably beautiful. The old home, furnished in antique loveliness (yet with every modern electrical contrivance), including the ancestral pieces which had survived the tear and wear of many generations of irresponsibles, bestowed delight, sheer and unalloyed. One sister quickly broke the joyous news that there was a new power lawn-mower. I confessed complete inadequacy in dealing with such a complicated contrivance. At once I was taught to run the contraption. That was all right, but I soon found out that the lawn had been considerably extended; so there was no gain to record in the labor ledger! Then my other sister broached one of her ardent passions — that the old wood- road to the far pasture be “swamped out” again — the road which had been partly obliterated by the birches, Anticipation: Camera fun will snap a picture when her husband hooks a trout. Mas- coma River, Lebanon BOUCHARDalders, hemlocks and pines. Naturally I wished to cooperate, but did you ever tackle an overgrown wood-road after many months of continuous desk exercise? Anyhow, 1 pitched in (with the help of both sisters, who, it seemed to me kept glaring at my waist line and listening to my wheezing!). 1 would not like to boast, in public at any rate, but I did make a fairly good start at it, though I know not why we chose the hottest afternoon of the month to hack our way to the foot of the mountain. Ah, me! Yet there was a sequel. The girls trekked home at last and my path led up the river to the spot where only we few initiated ones ever go. There I secured eight good trout and the dusk-walk home was triumphant joy. No more help around the house from me. The river henceforth uttered imperious commands. (Sisters and wife to their own devices!) The very next day was one of those river days. Clouds, showers. Good old Fred had left the key to the lock on the chain of his noble scow. So, with my brother’s tackle (commandeered again without a single conscience twinge), with abandon I curried the stream. With astounding success, if I may say so, humbly boasting. Proof I have that I brought home the legal limit of specklers on this second foray; you will have to take my word for it that ten of them lined up side by side under a single clump of overhanging bushes, and came aboard Fred’s trim and trusty skiff seriatim. Wouldn’t you have returned for the other five left behind, as I did, the next day which was, alas, the last? And wouldn’t you tell the world about the old man river, about the river and the old man, now young again? In all honesty, dictated by a sometimes irritating “New England conscience,” the trout weren’t large, though they all cleared the law and some were of whole-meal size. But after all, New Hampshire is not a large state! And so, back to the city, trout-intoxicated and reassured. Thanks, girls, and next year never mind the lawn and the road in the far pasture, but hold that river and get that key again! 8 The August 1947A LIFT SHORTENS THE DISTANCE TO BEAUTIFUL CENTER SANDWICH e, Witui ju. In the Boston, Massachusetts, Globe So lovingly the clouds caress his head — The mountain-monarch; he, severe and hard, With white face set like flint horizon-ward. —From “Clouds on Whitejace” by Lucy Larcom. From the hills above Whiteface intervale, on the old road down from VVonalancet, the massive peak of Whiteface shows at its best. Here the vast, high ledges are spread out in full view, and the tremendous bulk of the mountain makes itself evident. It is, I suppose, especially impressive to me, because many years ago I sat one day above those bare cliffs and lunched with Swampscott’s Robert Leonard on the last tid-bits of a once-full pack ... a small tin of anchovies. Today I stick to an easier trail than that which led us to that perch 4,000 feet above the sea. I do my mountaineering here on a friendly road where a rustic sign says “Look to the Mountain,” and I heed it and llranches of a niant pine frame a vista of a beach on Governor's Island. Lake W innipesaukee WINSTON POTEWINSTON POTE Covered bridge and Methodist Church at Stark. A special act of the AW Hampshire Legislature was passed in June 1947 to prot'ide financial aid to the town for repairing the bridge, now more than fifty years old and widely known for its beauty. It had been threatened with destruction to make way for a modern steel bridge. go in past a little red camp to gaze upon the grandeur of the hills. And when my eyes are satisfied and my heart filled, I go on down the Sandwich road again, to ponder now upon the thickening clouds. A bearded patriarch, armed with an ax, is slicing bark from a huge log in his dooryard; so I say, “Good-morning” to him and ask him what he thinks. “Might be showery,” says he, taking a quick look at the threatening sky. And then, with nothing more, he goes back to his task, and I walk on. Later, as I sit on a wall, some miles below. I wonder if the bearded man could have been Wes Tewksbury, “the oxen 10 The August 1947man,” whose picture, with his ox-team, appears on souvenir postcards. I had been told that he lived along this road. I have come now down past the little VVhiteface schoolhouse, at a crossroads where the Sandwich ways dips south, and along another two miles or so through a tiny hamlet with a river that comes tumbling down below it in a series of fine white falls. And, having arrived abreast this inviting wall (and having covered six miles of road, but having walked eight — for I had gone back, after the first mile, to get a forgotten camera) I tossed my pack among the ferns beside it and sat myself down. Here, as I make my notes, I lunch sumptuously on thick sandwiches of egg and ham, and wash them down with great drafts of water from a Wonalancet Mountain spring. Kenneth Hunt’s general store is the only store in the little village of North Sandwich; and there, seven miles from my starting point, I halt again to stock up on cigars and inquire about the road. Center Sandwich, I find, is still four miles away. I was out front, changing a roll of film, when Mr. Hunt said, “How about a ride down? This man's going that way.” Now a true pedestrian, I suppose, will never accept a lift. But in short order I was rolling on my way and getting acquainted with John Weed. New Hampshire Troubadour“This your home town?” I ask. “Yes,” he says, “I was born here, and my wife, too. We’ve just come back here to live.” And by dint of questioning 1 learn how they had moved to Boston when their son started in at Tech many years ago — Mr. Weed giving up his association with his father's prosperous construction business — how first he lived on Harvard Park in Dorchester, which I knew well, and later in Watertown. For 16 years Mr. Weed worked as a carpenter at the Middlesex Sanatorium at Waltham. But his roots were here in Sandwich all those years; and now he and his wife are back and in the old home for keeps. His son is with the Edison Company in Boston. In minutes we had come into this beautiful Center Sandwich village, with its great trees and fine old houses with white fences in front of them, its stone, tile-roofed Wentworth Library (which John Weed’s father, Larkin Weed, built, and on which John worked) and the later Weed-built home of the Sandwich Industries. founded 20 years ago by Mr. and Mrs. J. Randolph Coolidge. There are two wonderful old churches where the North Sandwich road comes in. I asked a woman about them. “That one,” said she, “is the Baptist, and that is the Methodist.” “No Congregational?” I asked; for it is a rare thing not to find an old Congregational church in a New England town. “No,” said she. “But there was a wedding at the Methodist Church recently, and the invitations called it the Congregational- Methodist Church. 1 never heard it called that before.” My lift had saved me four miles afoot and brought me to Sandwich when the afternoon still had hours to run. So I took the lake road, and in two miles was looking down the mirrored waters of Squam — Lake Asquam — which, of the smaller lakes, is the most beautiful I know. I cruised it ages ago with Arthur Graham, now’ of B. C.’s faculty, and learned its hidden rocks. But 1 had not been on this Sandwich shore in close to 30 years.So I stood on the little bridge at the head of Sandwich cove, thinking of those other happy days; and then I walked the two miles back to town again. 0 gems of sapphire, granite set! 0 hills that charmed horizons fret! 1 know how fair your morns can break In rosy light on isle and lake. . . . And evening droop her oriflamme Of gold and red on still Asquam. (Yes, Whittier again.) Country square dancing is popular the year round and is rapidly **catching on" with summer visitors of all ages. Here teen agers are demonstrating at the second annual Netv Hampshire folk festival at Peterborough, uhile Shaker ladies (on stage) and others look on. ERIC M. SANFORD Front Cover: A home in summer at New Castle. Color photo by Douglas Armsden. Back Cover: Along the docks at Portsmouth. Photo by Douglas Armsden. FOR DEMOCRACY The Amos Fortune Forum, which was started July 4 by a group of year-round and summer residents of the Monadnock Region, is a series of Friday evening forum meetings each week through September 5 in the Old Meeting House at JafTrey. Ten distinguished summer residents of the region have contributed their services as speakers. The Forum is named in honor of Amos Fortune, a negro who, by labor and loyalty, succeeded at the age of 59 in gaining his freedom. He came to JafTrey in 1781 and became a highly respected citizen and the best tanner in the region. When he died in 1801, he left to his church, now the Old Meeting House in JafTrey, one hundred dollars for a silver communion service, and to the town left a sum which is now about one thousand dollars for the support of public schools. Amos himself, born a slave, was never allowed to go to school. 14 Promoters of the non-profit lecture series believe the discussions of current issues by the forum resume, in important ways, the discussions held a hundred years ago in the same meeting house and in other gathering places in New England, believe also that such meetings were, and still can be, foundations of democracy. “I have motored through nearly every state in our country, and while opinions may vary with shifting scenes in many places, I always return to my first love — New Hampshire. There is no more charming or beautiful spot. “Particularly interesting to me is the view of Chocorua taken near Scudder’s gate. I have been there some part of sixty years. Then covered bridges, old houses, white churches, rocky fields and zigzag walls and fences — all of them forming the backdrop against which sunshine, snow and rain play a symphony of color, light and music of mystic charm and beauty. No wonder there are fine and gracious folk in New Hampshire. It could not be otherwise in such pleasant surroundings.” Wallace Tibbetts Wellesley Hills, Massachusetts The August 1947NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS Steeple Bush, by Robert Frost, Henry Holt, $2.50, is a new volume from the pen of the poet who has won the Pulitzer Prize in poetry four times and who has been the George Ticknor Fellow in the humanities at Dartmouth College since 1943. Journey into Fame, by Margaret French Cresson, Harvard University Press, $4.50, is about New Hampshire’s famous sculptor, Daniel Chester French. Born at Exeter, he molded the familiar Minute Man at Concord, Massachusetts, John Harvard at Cambridge and the seated Lincoln for Washington’s Lincoln Memorial. The author of the book is the sculptor’s daughter. Surveyor in the Woods is an article in July Harper's Magazine by Kenneth Andler (who has contributed many articles to The Troubadour) about the remarkable woodsman from whom he learned surveying. A historical sketch of The New Hampshire Historical Society (Concord) from its beginning in 1823 is contained in the April issue of the society’s Historical New Hampshire. Look at America: New England, by the editors of Look in collaboration with Mary Ellen Chase, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, is a no- table addition to the travel literature of the area. It is a “handbook in pictures, maps, and text for the vacationist, the traveler and the stay-at-home.” SHOWER BATH ON A LEAF (From the Christian Science Monitor) One day while vacationing at Newfound Lake, N. H., I started out to climb a small mountain on the shore of the lake, after the sun reappeared following a summer shower that had saturated the foliage quite thoroughly. As I followed the trail the raindrops tumbled off the leaves as I passed along. I was dressed for it, so did not mind getting wet. I stopped frequently to watch for birds, which were much in evidence all around me. All of a sudden, I heard a peculiar sound right over my head. Looking up I saw a tiny hummingbird which was taking a bath by fluttering over the surface of a large leaf in such a way that he got a perfect shower bath from the raindrops that were clinging to it. M. H. K.The pageantries Of wealth and conflict of your early days. I walk along your shore, Deserted now By clipper ships whose sails long since were furled. They’ll anchor here no more, Nor bravely plough The ocean lanes and byways of the world. I stand in Market Square A little while, And find it is a busy, modern place. I must confess you wear Your blended style. Of past and presehl '^T< : ***& krming grace. ’ __ r*-.- - RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD.N.H. I Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194708 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour August 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-08 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource New Castle, Portsmouth, House of Baldwin, Boscawen, covered bridge, Stark, African-American, Type The nature or genre of the resource Text African-American Boscawen covered bridge House of Baldwin New Castle Portsmouth Stark https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/1fe496d1d383be735c9b7e0aad58be16.pdf 68a805d6f4666d3ff83013a4db1d4f0e Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour Estate u&**ry; Woe TS[etv Hampshire Troubadour July 1947 -she F lew ^I'Tampshire troubadour COMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINCINC THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII July, 1947 NUMBER 4 NEW HAMPSHIRE GARDEN L, Wa,rerite 3JL oivi My grandmother loved poppies so That she would always have them grow In every place. They used to haunt their silken heads From all the different flower beds And wave their pinks and whites and reds To greet her face. Above the low grey granite wall They topped the heliotrope, more tall Than it, to turn And watch where little poppies strayed Among verbena beds, or played Where water from the fountain sprayed The vine-filled urn. New Hampshire Troubadour 3CAMPING PLEASURES Lj Job (Joa iei In 1937 we bought a houseless farm up in New Hampshire, sixty acres and a view, thinking that some day we would build a little cottage on it. Until that day we would camp there during our vacations of one month each year, preferably in blueberry season. It is 1947. At last we are going to build. The architect’s drawings are finished — the carpenter-contractor secured. One of two old cellar holes will be used as the foundation. By the end of August we will be living in the luxury of running water, electricity, and a roof over our heads. Yet I am not sure which emotion is dominant, joy or regret. We’ve delighted in camping. It has been so much more adventurous than living in a new house could possibly be. T here were two usable structures on the place when we bought it, a steam bath house and a tool shed. The huge barn in poor repair was a problem to us in our planning, but not for long. The 1938 hurricane leveled it with one crushing blow, leaving us a wood pile of such dimension that we are still using material from it for various needs. The bath house was given a new roof and thoroughly cleaned. The tool shed had some new windows, and it became our store-room. In it we kept our tents, our bed springs and mattresses, dishes, and other equipment. After we made camp each year it became our rainy day headquarters and our clothes closet. With two big tents and one small one we had room for our family of four and four guests, though the sleeping arrangements for the extra four could not by any stretch of the imagination be considered luxurious. What fun it has been! How can living in the new house equal it? With no lights to read by, and with mosquitoes interrupting our conversation, we have gone to lx-d early, glad to get under our nets, away from greedy stingers. The darkness falls late, usually The July 1917WINSTON' POTB W hite Birches at Shelburne. The n hite birch became \eu' Hampshire's offieiul state tree by net ion of the l^’ttis- bn nr e in Muy 1947. about nine, in the hills. Though the children slept late in the morning, my husband and I were up at sunrise, dressing warmly, though staying barefoot because of the dew. As soon as the lire was going on the outdoor grate, the blackened coffee pot was on, and while 1 mixed the batter the pancake griddle would heat. Usually it was a corn batter, and when there were stacks of gold-brown cakes done we would take our plates and our cups of coffee into our outdoor living room, and sit down to eat and watch the distant ranges of hills appear one by one out of the early morning fog that hangs low over the valley. Our outdoor grate, or as we call it, our “little hole-in-the-stone- wall stove,” has been the scene of almost all of our cooking every summer, being abandoned only when rain drove us inside to use a little oil stove we kept for emergencies. There have been years when we had to have only one or two meals inside, when the rains came at night if at all. There have been other years such as 1046 when rains were frequent and long, and we used the storeroom for several meals in succession. The stove was built by big Peter and little Peter, and planned s») well that it is just the right height for the cook. At the right of it is a work table, and at the left, attached to the back of the storeroom cabin, two others, and some shelves for dishes and equipment. There are rows of glass jars of various sizes from half pint to gallon capacity, in which flour, sugar, cereals and numerous in- J\rew Hampshire Troubadour Dgredients art* stored so that no rain, however heavy, can cause spoilage. A fallen apple tree which has still enough connection with its roots to produce leaves, offers a place for nails on which to hang the pots and pans. Under the table is an oven such as is made for the Perfection oil stoves, which is put on the grate over a piece of sheet iron when there is baking to be done, which is almost every meal. There is nothing 1 hesitate to cook on the stove. Cakes, pies, roasts, hot breads, even omelets have been cooked to perfection on it. Broiled chicken is our specialty for Sunday or company dinner. We feel that it has an extra goodness when the coals that have cooked it are the residue of apple logs. Broilers bought from a neighbor are made ready the night before we are to use them, salted and put down in our refrigerator well. We have such numerous and convenient wells that one can be especially set aside for cold storage. If they are to be eaten on Sunday, we do not have our dinner at noon. We are too hungry on returning from church in the village to wait for a big fire to die down. Instead we prepare a light lunch and settle down for our Sunday afternoon rest. About four-thirty the man of the house begins to prepare the fire, and daughter Katie and I begin our part of the dinner. There must be creamy white mashed potatoes, one or two vegetables, perhaps garden fresh string beans and a salad of leaf lettuce with French dressing. When there is a heap of rose-grey ashes, the quartered broilers are brought out, dipped in butter and put between the wire sides of the large, long handled broiler. Not until the other foods are nearly done does the chef begin the task of cooking the chicken, constantly watching it and turning it until its cinnamon brown crust bespeaks perfection. Then it is salted and given a last little finishing heat. There is no need for a dinner bell. All of the family and guests (if any) are standing around watching and waiting, though not exactly patiently. The grace is spoken with more sincerity than The July 19-17 6usual, since the reason for gratitude is so appealing to behold and smell. When the last drum-stick lies bare, and every succulent bone has been stripped of flesh, we rise, glad of a brief interval between main course and dessert. The green apple or blueberry pie, made in the morning after breakfast, has been warming over the coals and is ready to bring to the table. We bless our orchard or our blueberry patch, whichever is responsible, for their gift of fruit. Coffee is leisurely sipped after the pie, and vve are ready to store the memory of another good dinner away for later recollection. Will any of us enjoy the products of our new kitchen with its electric and wood burning combination range, as we have our out-door meals? 1 have a feeling that there will be frequent picnics on the spot so near the location of the new house, not only for old time’s sake but for the exquisite pleasure of the hour. I scene in the t illage of FreedomALEXANDER JAMES L Wa„nard WJL No artist ever approached the painting of a portrait with more hesitancy and misgivings than Alexander James. Yet probably he left us a nobler gallery of portraits than any other painter of his time. James knew that to capture the essence of a personality and to put it onto canvas along with shapes, features, colors and other mere externals, required more than a painter's bag of tricks. He hated bags of tricks. Long ago he had resolutely pushed them through the studio door and saw that it was bolted tight against them. In every painting he undertook he set himself the heroic task of creating an honest work of art. He knew it wasn’t easy and he trembled before it. When he failed (and he would lx* the first to admit that he often did), the canvas was consigned to the flames. But when he succeeded, as he so admirably did in most of his paintings which remain, he gave us much more than a “Portrait of Mr. X,” or a “Mrs. Z in White.” He gave us a record of a human being complete with soul, mind and heart as well as nose, eyes and hair. When he could paint the people he knew and loved he was happy. All of his powers came brilliantly into focus, and heart and hand worked unerringly together to produce a vital work of art. Self-portrait uf Alexander James. sNotable are the several portraits of his three sons, and the deeply- felt “Portrait of the Artist’s Wife” now a part of the Murdoch Collection in the Wichita Art Museum. His innate distaste for sham and pretension formed a natural bond between him and New Hampshire folk — his neighbors in Dublin and the Polecat District. He knew the therapeutic benefits to the inner man that can come from manual labor, and there were many times when he himself would have been hard put to say whether he was happier in using spade, saw and hammer or in wielding the artist’s brush. Sharing the simpler and hardier tasks of life with Loric Howard, Tony Betz and countless other friends and neighbors, he came to know them deeply and fully. So when they came to him in the studio and sat for him, he was able to paint them deeply and fully. It was the whole man he saw, and whose portrait was conceived con arnore. We arc grateful, then, for the many interpretations he left of his New Hampshire friends, among them such well-known paintings as “Embattled Farmer”; “Old Hunter”; “Selectman of Polecat District”; “Country Song”; “Winterbeard”; and the portraits of Tony Betz and Lorie Howard. The Currier Gallery of Art at Manchester. uhere a memorial exhibition of the work o Alexander James u ill open July 15.Two of his most sympathetic human studies are of Negroes, also friends. One is the beautiful painting called “Black Boy,” in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the other “Heart of Darkness,” privately owned. Fortunately, too, he left us several portraits of himself and they rank high among his best works. Yet even if no self-portrait of Alexander James existed it would still be possible to know what kind of man he was, and to know him most thoroughly. Zola once said: “What I seek above all in a picture is a man and not a picture.” James, the artist, left us in all his paintings a portrait of James, the man. For only a rare human being with sympathy for and understanding of his fellow-beings in all walks of life could have created these fine and lasting works. THE ORGANIZED SUMMER CAMP IN NEW HAMPSHIRE President New Hampshire Camp Directors Association and Director of Camp Belknap, New Hampshire State Young Men’s Christian Association Camp 11IE organized summer camp, whose purpose is the development of the physical, intellectual, social and spiritual welfare of youth has grown to be a real force in our state. About one hundred and seventy-five such camps were licensed by our State Department of Health last year, with a total enrollment of 12,707 boys and girls, plus 2,153 leaders. These camps have an estimated investment in equipment of over S3,000,000 and an estimated S5,000,000 annual income. Since the first organized camp was established in America, on Lake Winnisquam, New Hampshire, over three score years ago, camping has matured and grown considerably. 10 The July 1947Miss Donna Kofs of Georgetown, Muff., enjoying Silver Lake, \eu> Hampshire, uith .Michael. The quality of leadership is on a par with many of the best educational systems. All camps are not one hundred per cent perfect, and all private camps are not strictly commercial. Neither are all camps good because they are conducted by certain institutions. Parents should study camps carefully before they choose one for their child. The organized summer camp, having a child all summer, works with the child more waking hours than do the public schools. Camp used to be more or less of an outing, a glorified picnic. In our modern day, a camp must offer activities that carry over into everyday life, produce leadership and well integrated personalities capable of taking their best place in society. Recognition of organized camping as a positive influence places it in a peculiar place in war years. Hundreds of boys would miss the leadership of men, except for camps. Thousands were able to make the transition into the services of their country without discomfort. A camp looks first to health. Good food, carefully planned and cooked, with adequate nutrition, constant supervision of health habits, and check ups, a nurse or camp doctor, adequate infirmary for isolation, nearness to a good hospital, check on the food handlersby the medical profession, arc all matters that good camps take into consideration. From the mental and social side, camp is a happy place, a place where youth is wanted, and where youth feels secure. Helpfulness and cooperation arc the keystone. The objective of the modern camp is a program devoted to learning to love the out-of-doors, the teaching of fundamentals that give a foundation to activities that later become adult hobbies; tested and mature leadership, setting the example by doing — teaching a realistic point of view with a rational attitude toward the fundamental issues of life, and adequate in numbers to give personal attention to youth. The separation of parents and campers is good for both. A follow-up by parents of the ideas and ideals taught at camp brings a rich reward. Camping soon may be carried on by the public schools, and the values then passed on to all youth. GRANDEUR IN NATURE Neither the breadth of plain, the depth of valley, the height of hill, nor the sweep of water, accurately defines the limitations of what we mean by grandeur in Nature. To have true grandeur we must find these in some combinations that appeal to the very soul of man. Nature itself exists without man, but its grandeur is in part an expression of man himself as he views what nature has wrought. Indeed man’s own effort to view Nature becomes a part of his appreciation of what he sees. The hidden lake deep in the woods, or the horizon from the mountain top, which man has worked to reach, become more grand through his own satisfaction with his accomplishment. Did you ever stop to think of the opportunities which Nature inNew Hampshire offers to those who seek her beauty? Even from our highways, in luxury transportation, one may here find her grand — but off the beaten path, by hard-won trails, here in New Hampshire man may feel that he has reached the very heart of Nature, may learn what grandeur really means, and may carry away with him lasting memories that make life itself worth living. — Louis E. Wyman Mr. and Mrs. Orrin if'entuarth, North Ixincaster. This sturdy couple, unassisted, pul in HO holds of hay in one rerent year. Mr. Vote adds the fidlouing information: These old I anl.ee farm people are real material. In their late sixties or early seventies, they out-do many young people. They do not hate help, liut tap over 000 maple trees, lend rmvs and rhickens, make hatter, do housework, etc., and in the summer there is a program of farming that irould discourage many young people! Orrin It entuvrlh is do,remits! from Governor tf'entworth, and Mrs. ICentuorth is from Clarksville, and her great grandmother uas a sister to Henjamin Franklin. WINSTON POTKFront Cover: Camp Huckins, a Young Men’s Christian Association camp at Ossipee Fake. Color photo by Winston Potc. Back Cover: A scene at Rye. Photo by Harold Ome. Frontispiece: A garden at Greenland, Photo by Harold Ornc. The peace and beauty of Jaflrey, New Hampshire, gave the late Willa Cathcr an ideal setting for her literary work. Each autumn for the past quarter-century she occupied the same room at the Shattuck Inn, her window giving a view of Mt. Monadnock. She lies in the final resting place of her own choice, in the corner of a JafTrey cemetery under trees which frame a view of the mountain. The Nashua Gummed and Coated Paper Company of Nashua, which has grown steadily over the years in plant, production, and organization, has recently completed a five-story, reinforced concrete building to increase its manufacturing and storage facilities. The company converts paper, cloth, cellophane, and other materials into products for packaging, box making, and numerous special purposes. Waxed paper and printed cellophane are used largely by the food industry, and many of the nationally known bakers and confectioners are among the firm’s customers. Coated and fancy papers — embossed and printed — are used for box covering and display purposes. A line of so-called Velours, though not textile products, give the appearance of rich velvet. Fhe Goyette Museum of Americana at Peterborough has issued an attractive booklet of pictures and information about the Museum. Entitled “Turning Back the Pages of Time”. The booklet is available on request. A memorial exhibition of the work of Alexander James, one of New Hampshire’s best known artists, will be held at The Currier Gallery of Art in Manchester from July 15 to September 15. It will later be shown at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, and the Corcoran Gallery of Art, Washington, I). C. The exhibition, which is the first comprehensive showing of the artist’s work, will cover all phases and periods in his career, from 1916 14 The July 10 nto his latest portraits done shortly before his death in 1946. Oils, pastels and drawings will be included. In addition to the works owned by Mrs. Alexander James of Dublin, there will be loans from the Addison Gallery of American Art in Andover, Mass., the Fogg Museum of Art in Cambridge, the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, the William Rockhill Nelson Gallery of Art, Kansas City, Mo., and the Wichita Museum of Art, Wichita, Kans., as well as from numerous private collectors, many of them New' Hampshire summer residents. Alexander James, son of William James, the philosopher, and nephew of Henry James, the author, was born in Cambridge, Mass., and received his early art training at the Boston Museum School and later in Paris. In 1919 he settled in Dublin where he spent the rest of his life devoting himself to painting portraits of the New Hampshire people he knew and landscapes of the surrounding countryside. NEW HAMPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS New Hampshire Spring, by Frances Ann Johnson, The Sugar Ball Press, Concord, New Hampshire, S3.50, is a handsome new volume of poems, illustrated with photographs by Dan Stiles. The 13th annual session of the Institute of World Affairs is to lie held at Warner, August 23-30, with a vital program of study under a distinguished facidty. The institute’s purpose is “to stimulate unbiased presentation of the facts about international relations.” The annual revival of Denman Thompson’s famous old play, “The Old Homestead,” is set for July 4, 5, and 6 at the Potash Bowl, Swan/.ey. The experts report that many vacationist bass fishermen neglect to fish during the best time of day — the period from sundown until dark. Though usually found near rocky reefs, the larger bass sometimes invade the “crawfish coves” as darkness approaches. Fly rod surface lures of thc“ bug” type have become popular with many fishermen for twilight fishing, while other anglers prefer live bait or small plugs.BEAUTY’S BREAD in the Hartford (Conn.) Times Although the body be well fed With sweet food and with tart, There still is need of beauty’s bread To feed the hungry heart. Something there is in us that longs For more than meat and drink; Something that yearns for lilting songs Of thrush and bobolink. The soul has need of field and flower, And trees against the sky, And stars and moonlight for an hour, To still its hungry cry. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N. H. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194707 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour July 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-07 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Alexander James, Currier Gallery of Art, summer camps, Willa Cather, manufacturing, fishing Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Alexander James Currier Gallery of Art fishing manufacturing summer camps Willa Cather https://omekaclassic4.nhlibraries.org/files/original/bc672663106598c1e21336b6fdb73b66.pdf 6dee5c82b4e5403f112e507ead93e9ee Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour Subject The topic of the resource Troubadour Description An account of the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour was a publication of the State of New Hampshire's State Planning and Development Commission in Concord, NH from 1931-1950s. Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource The State of New Hampshire Publisher An entity responsible for making the resource available The State of New Hampshire Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1930s-1950s Contributor An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource NHSL Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource State of New Hampshire Troubadour PDF files of the Troubadour OCR OCR of the Troubadour m, c31Te New Hampshire Troubadour June 1947Hie I lew tamp Shire _Sroubadour GOMES TO YOU EVERY MONTH SINGING THE PRAISES OF NEW HAMPSHIRE, A STATE WHOSE BEAUTY AND OPPORTUNITIES SHOULD TEMPT YOU TO COME AND SHARE THOSE GOOD THINGS THAT MAKE LIFE HERE SO DELIGHTFUL. IT IS SENT TO YOU BY THE STATE PLANNING AND DEVELOPMENT COMMISSION AT CONCORD, NEW HAMPSHIRE. FIFTY CENTS A YEAR From the October-Novcmber 1946 issue of Wings of Love, Charlestown, Mass., of which Rev. Cutler is editor and publisher Sometimes it seems as if on each successive vacation 1 did less and enjoyed it more. Last summer for instance I attempted no big peaks, nor visited anything new; yet each day in the usual mountain haunts afforded me fresh delight. The sounds and sights of each familiar scene came daily to me with an aroma exhilarating and different. The same birds sang from the same trees, and the accustomed blossoms gladdened the usual nooks, but somehow the quality of life in my quiet mountain existence seemed increasingly beautiful and significant. One of the charms that has meant the most to me on a vacation in the mountains has always been the sense of wildness, remoteness from civilization, and oneness with nature. At the age of eleven or so I used to camp out with a few others for days at a time in the untravelled forests east of First Connecticut Lake, fishing one or ANDREW M. HEATH, Editor VOLUME XVII June, 1 947 NUMBER 3 FRINGES OF WILDERNESSIKK M.SANFORD -'(iillumf Kruntta on l.nkv Massabrsic, Munrhrstrr another of the branches of the Diamond River. At that time there were parts of the northern woods that had not been cut except for the evergreens, and the hardwood growth was often a truly magnificent sight. One of my clearest memories from those wilderness journeyings is of the floor of the big woods deep in the damp shade, crisscrossed with decaying logs, each carpeted with lichens and moss and other green growth, as if a gardener were constantly tending it. The same delightful effect may sometimes be observed where our higher mountains are still crowned with unharvested trees, and the ground beneath them harbors every fallen tree trunk until the dampness from frequent low clouds has turned it into a deep bed of lowly green growth. During the summers from 1924 to 1941, I seldom missed an opportunity to spend two active weeks in the Appalachian Mountain Club’s peripatetic August Camp. In this way I was made acquainted with a number of little-known mountain regions, such as Grafton Notch in the Nlahoosuc Range, Webb Lake near the Rangeleys, and Kidney Pond west of Mt. Katahdin, all in Maine;and Bunnell Notch under the Pilot Range, the Wild River valley east of the Carters, and lower Crawford Notch, all in New Hampshire. For the last six years these more distant and arduous camping trips have been out of the question, but the edges of nature's great wilderness still impinge upon the outposts of civilization; and every spring and summer 1 have managed to get far enough away from railroads and shopping centers to listen in, as it were, on nature’s private doings. At all events, one of the great charms of an open-air vacation is that the expected almost never happens, and before very long, one is bound to meet the unexpected. One Sunday as I was walking back from church in Randolph, New Hampshire in my very best clothes, but by a path through the pasture two hundred yards from the road, I heard a slight snort just ahead of me among some low spruces; and I stood stock still, hardly breathing in my excitement. In a few moments a doe appeared from behind the nearest tree, looking alarmed but evidently not recognizing my motionless form. The breeze was blowing the wrong way for her to smell my presence, and the beautiful creature stood with raised head and large erect ears pointed my way, not fifty feet from me. She looked at me in a way that made it clear that her none-too-accurate eyesight failed completely to make anything of my appearance. In fact, after a long minute or two of staring now at me and now to one side, she lowered her graceful head and proceeded to browse on the pasture grass. I thought that she might come even closer to me; but instead she veered oil behind some little trees, and when I attempted to sneak a few steps toward her, she heard or sensed the disturbance instantly and vanished so swiftly and silently that I could not tell either where she had gone or whether a fawn had been with her. A few days before this encounter, one of the women at our hotel had been walking along down the road when she chanced to catchsight of a doe in the bushes before the doe saw her. She watched, keeping perfectly still, while the doe looked up and down the road, and then walked out of the woods and crossed to the other side. When the doe turned around and looked back, two small fawns bounded after her and quickly all three disappeared into the forest on the other side. Instances like this one are of course not common, and yet they are not so rare as the uninitiated might think. The reason that we do not all see more wild creatures out-of-doors is simply that most of the time we are too immersed in our own affairs to see what is going on around us, or too boisterous in our sociability to avoid scaring away the exceedingly shy denizens of the woods and farm lands. So I have been enjoying my vacations in the country more and more, although I may have been walking less and less, because I am gradually learning to approach nature more respectfully and with a minimum of preoccupation. COLDBROOK FALLS MEMORIAL RESERVATION T he Town of Randolph, New Hampshire, at its annual town meeting on March 11, 1947 voted to accept from Mr. and Mrs. John Boothman, the proprietors of the Mt. Crescent House in Randolph, and from the heirs of Louis Fayerweather Cutter, the offered gift of a small area along Coldbrook in Randolph which includes Coldbrook Falls and the Memorial Bridge to the early Randolph pathmakers. Coldbrook Falls is the most striking of the many falls on Coldbrook between the floor of King Ravine and the Randolph Valley. T he area is to be held by the town as a memorial forest reservation to be known as Coldbrook Falls Reservation in memory of the late Laban Morrill Watson and Anna Burbank.4 scenic spot in the netv Coldhrook Falls Memorial Reservation. RamliUph Watson, the parents of Mrs. Boothman, and of the late Louis Fayer- vveather Cutter and Mary Osgood Cutter of Salem, Massachusetts. The terms of the gift require that the reservation be kept by the town as closely as possible in its present natural state. It is to be held for the benefit of the inhabitants and summer residents of Randolph, and of visitors to the town. By the terms of the deeds, access to the reservation will be limited to footpaths. Mr. and Mrs. Watson were early members of the Appalachian Mountain Club. Mr. Watson established the Ravine House in Randolph about 75 years ago. This well known mountain inn was long the center of the pathmaking and mountain activity on the Northern Peaks of the Mt. Washington Range. Mr. and Mrs. Cutter were for sixty years summer visitors to Randolph. Mr. Cutter, over a long period, prepared the various Appalachian Mountain Club maps of the Northern Peaks and of the Mt. Washington Range, work on which he started in 1885 while a student at Massachusetts Institute of Technology.Uo-milr circuit roatT* in Jackson I portion of th*THE HILL-ROAD Lt iJ’io DinJt I wish that I might make you see A hill-road that is dear to me. It starts up from a lovely lane, And turns and winds and once again It comes out to an open space Where golden-rod and Queen Anne's lace Are blowing there with gentle grace. High mountains lie in distant view, And clouds are floating in the blue; While far below the river winds. Brushed in with curving, silvery lines. And farther on that road we found A secret spot — a hidden ground, Where many woodland plants abound, Wood-betony and sun-dew rare. And dainty ferns of maidenhair, Pyrola and gold-thread too. And partridge-berries peeking through Their dark-green leaves, with ruddy hue. And then to make our joy complete, Orchids growing at our feet. The breath of summer standing there, I.ike little ladies, sweet and fair. I wish that you might come and see Why this hill-road is dear to me. Note — The Orchid Family Orchidaceae is represented by a variety of species in New Hampshire, the Ladies Slippers being probably the best known. The orchid to which Miss Tirrell refers is the Nodding Pogonia Triphora trianthophora. Miss Tirrcll says that "the poem was born spontaneously” after a climb on Cass Hill. Westmoreland.— The EditorBERNICE B. PERRY Cathedral of the Pines at Rindge, detlicated to First l.t. Sanderson Sloane, overlooks a beautiful valley with A ft. Monadnock in the distance. The altar honors the Neu Hampshire dead of World War II, and the pulpit is dedicated to religious pioneers and to Rindge people who have served in uar. CATHEDRAL OF THE PINES h Jlrcli Wliiteli ouAe From The Churchman, as condensed in The Reader's Digest. Only a part of the article is reprinted here. It was a dark, fog-streaked day of December 1943 in Britain that I first met Sandy Sloane. After a precarious mission over Bremen,he sat there quiet and unseeing, a mug of coffee resting on his knee. “You’re going home?” he asked. “Yes,” I said. “To New Hampshire.” The change that came over him was startling. He sat up straight and his eyes glowed. “When you get back,” he said, “go see my father, Douglas Sloane of Rindge, New Hampshire. Tell him and Mom and my wife that I’m fine.” “Sure, I’ll tell them,” I said. “When you get home,” he said, “go up and see my knoll. Remember the hurricane of 1938? Well, my knoll used be guarded by giant pines and it was like walking into a great green cave. Then the big wind blew most of the trees down. “We felt so sick about it that we kept away for weeks. But finally Dad and I walked up one afternoon in late spring. The most beautiful view God ever put together stretched before us. The big trees had obscured it. The branches of the small ones that were left formed an emerald arch through which we looked out toward the whole Wachusett Divide. You should see it in the fall with the colors reflecting in the lakes. “When you see Dad,” Sandy went on, “tell him not to touch my knoll until I get back. One of these days I’m going to build something there. I don’t know what, but it will have to be something worth while. Maybe I shouldn’t even touch it, though,” he added solemnly. “It’s just like a cathedral.” It wasn’t until February that I called Sandy’s father in Rindge. Wouldn’t I come and have dinner with them one night? When I did, Mr. Sloane was in the thick of a Red Cross drive and it suddenly dawned on him that I could help him out — since I had recently returned from the battle front and particularly since I had seen Sandy in England. So we went to the village hall. Everyone was there.I gave them what I could, and concluded with what Sandy had told me about his knoll. Two days later came the stunning news of Sandy’s death. I rkturnkd to Europe for the Normandy invasion and could only imagine the weeks and months of anguish the Sloanes must have suffered. They can't remember how it actually started. But first a few branches were scraped aside to open the path. Rotting boughs were cleared away and rocks piled together for later removal. Without intent the rocks gradually took the form of a rectangular mound. The Sloanes remembered how Sandy had said, ‘‘It's just like a cathedral.” John and Douglas, Sandy's brothers, bought a rugged cross of New Hampshire granite. Seth Cleaves drove his blind horse up to the knoll and went to work. John Crosby, master mason, brought his tools. Men who had never attended church wandered up and looked on. Before they knew it they too were hauling rock. The Sloanes had intended only a modest memorial to Sandy, but as the shrine lx*gan to take form and an altar base was being cemented, it was apparent that there were other Sandys to be con- Front floor of thr old Phil pot House, Hollinsford. The house mis huilt in the late I600's.sidered. Mr. Sloane is president of the New Hampshire Society of the Sons of the American Revolution. To some of the members he expressed the hope that perhaps the Cathedral of the Pines might become a monument to the memory of others who gave their lives in World War II. A simple item suggesting this in the society’s publication brought a nation-wide response. Dozens of boxes and packages began to arrive in Rindge. From every state in the Union came rocks to be incorporated into this shrine. One stone was taken from a barn that had been used as an outpost at Valley Forge. There was a stone from the historic gorge through which Lewis and Clark first viewed the Rocky Mountains. Someone contributed a pebble from the grave of General Lafayette. There’s a stone from Washington's old Fort Necessity. It is strange how this chancel in the clouds attracts men. They walk up the hill and slowly approach the bowered entrance. One of them said, “This is my idea of a man’s religion.” By the summer of 1946 the Cathedral of the Pines had become known throughout the country and several pastors asked if they could hold services there. Benches were brought in, a small portable organ was hauled up and a village choir formed. The road to the shrine was improved, and a nearby field set aside for parking space. In a few weeks more than 10,000 people had visited Sandy’s knoll. The Sloanes realized that they should not attempt to handle all this alone; so a Cathedral Trust was formed to perpetuate the shrine. On Sunday, September 8, 1946, the Cathedral of the Pines was dedicated to the loving memory of First Lieutenant Sanderson Sloane before more than 1500 worshipers. The Altar of the Nation was offered as a memorial to the men and women of New Hampshire who gave their lives in World War II. The fieldstone pulpit was dedicated to the memory of the pioneers who blazed the trail of religious freedom and in gratitude to the men and women of Rindge who served their country in time of battle.Front Cover: Scene at Little Boar’s Head, North Hampton, on highway 1A. Color photo by Arthur Allen Peterson. Back Cover: New Hampshire Pastoral. Photo by Lilo Kaskcll. Frontispiece: Sketch by .John Pratt Whitman. The spot shown on this month's front cover was once a place where debris was left by the sea and by thoughtless people, so Mr. Peterson, who made the photograph, reports. Years ago Miss Mary Frost, who occupied one of the smaller houses opposite, was upon request given permission by the State of New Hampshire to make a garden there. Each year many motorists admire the garden as they pass it, then park their cars and walk back to enjoy the flowers and the whole beautiful scene at leisure. When, after the death of her parents, Miss Frost changed her residence, she sold her house to James Miller of Greenland, the gardener of Greenland whom she had employed to plant and supervise her garden, so that he might live there and care for the flowers. The work of Mr. Whitman, whose ^ pencil painting” is this month’s frontispiece, is on view during the summer season at his Forest Art Gallery at Tamworth, for visitors and picture hunters. He has exhibited at the Arden Galleries, New' York, and at many New England galleries, including the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston. An exhibition of paintings by the late Alexander James, outstanding New Hampshire artist, is to be held at the Currier Gallery of Art, Manchester, July 15 to September 15, then at the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, October 15 to November 15. To the Editor: As the author, many years ago, of some of the first research reports on community economic development, I speak with some degree of authority upon this subject, and 1 can assure you that my views coincide w'ith yours regarding the probability of an expanding economic development in the New' Hampshire of the immediate future. Dorsey IV. Hyde, Jr. Gilmanton. New HampshireNEW HA MPSHIRE BOOKS AND AUTHORS A paper on the traditional tall pines of New Hampshire, “The King’s Pines,” by Henry N. Andrews, Jr., who is associate professor at Washington University and assistant to the director of the Missouri Botanical Gardens, appears in the March 1947 issue of Historical New Hampshire, published by the New Hampshire Historical Society, Concord. The annual Craftsmen’s Fair of the League of New Hampshire Arts and Crafts is to be held at the League’s craft center in Franconia Notch, July 22 through 26. The New Hampshire Symphony Orchestra, a new professional organization w'hich has been working together since last November, had its debut on May 5 at Laconia in the first of a scries of five concerts in different sections of the state in May. Another scries of a “ Pop” nature is to be given in June. It is hoped that public interest will lie sufficient to assure the permanence of this new cultural asset for New Hampshire. Tavern Weavers, Inc., will open a private school at Gilmanton in June of this year for the purpose of teaching weaving, rug making, and old-time crafts to year-round and summer residents of New Hampshire, it was recently announced by Richard L. Small, president and active head of the school. An cfTort to promote the conservation of our New Hampshire green pastures, fields, farm lands, and forests, is being carried on in a “The Land — Our Heritage” program. Churches, Rotary Clubs, and other organizations are joining with agricultural and other conservation agencies to reach all New Hampshire citizens with the message of conservation. Governor Charles M. Dale called attention to “our duty to conserve these productive lands to the end that they may contribute to the well-being of all the people” in his proclamation for Conservation Week, June 1 to 7. The importance of New Hampshire’s land resources in our everyday life is being featured through newspapers, radio, posters, and window displays. The state Grange has declared a Conservation Month and the state’s milk dealers association is distributing 50,000 pamphlets.WARNER RIVER Wind, lovely stream, among the hills, and make A necklace for the little town to wear; Bluer than turquoise when the skies are fair; Heavy with moonstone: colorless, opaque When storm-clouds from their silver coffers shake The raindrops down; or when the sunsets flare Your opalescent crystal is so rare It seems of all the heaven’s hues to take. Wind, lovely stream, and let your purity Make glad the hearts that love your waterways, Till your least ripple is for good a call. Mirror the hills, that everyone may see Their beauty twice, then lift again in praise Of that which made the wonder of it all. RUMFORD PRESS CONCORD. N. H. Dublin Core The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/. Identifier An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context 4677Troubadour194706 Title A name given to the resource The New Hampshire Troubadour June 1947 Creator An entity primarily responsible for making the resource New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission Date A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource 1947-06 Description An account of the resource The New Hampshrie Troubadour was a monthly publication of the New Hampshire State Planning and Development Commission. The magazine was printed between 1931 and 1951. Language A language of the resource eng Coverage The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant New Hampshire Provenance A statement of any changes in ownership and custody of the resource since its creation that are significant for its authenticity, integrity, and interpretation. The statement may include a description of any changes successive custodians made to the resource. New Hampshire State Library Rights Information about rights held in and over the resource No Copyright - United States Subject The topic of the resource Randolph, Coldbrook Falls Memorial Reservation, Cathedral of the Pines, Rindge Type The nature or genre of the resource Text Cathedral of the Pines Coldbrook Falls Memorial Reservation Randolph Rindge