A PROSPEROUS TURN

Demand for wool in the first three decades of the 19th century shaped the boom years of agriculture in New Hampshire, at least until the invention of the cotton gin allowed for a cheaper clothing alternative – a condition that was accompanied by a changing American workplace and economy.

The brief but prosperous boom financed many of the Granite State’s landmark large farmhouses and barns as well as the nearly ubiquitous stone fences that are still visible, some in the most unexpected remote forests.

Pay attention while driving along country roads, and you’ll often notice stretches where each house seems to be an evolution among the others. I suspect that what happened was they were all built by one craftsman carpenter and his crew – perhaps itinerants who would stay for a season of erecting a house before returning home – who were invited back in another year to build another, each one to customized specifications. The chimneys, for instance, reveal a progression away from the massive central fireplace of the Colonial era to the use of multiple chimneys after the Revolutionary War – something that has me thinking of how much firewood these houses must have consumed through a winter.

Kodak10 080

It’s possible, of course, that the carpenters and masons and others came to live in the neighborhood as well. But one thing I feel certain: the resident commercial farmers, faced with the demands of their flocks and fields, did not have the time or perhaps even skills to build houses like these.

Kodak10 084

Kodak10 073

Kodak10 075

Kodak10 079

Kodak10 087

Here are some of the fine examples found in a village along a ridge in the town of Deerfield, a neighborhood known as South Deerfield. There are more, I should mention, than I could capture in this outing. Meanwhile, I’d like to know more about the site of the popular Mack Tavern, with its fiddler’s throne to protect the player from the wild dancers.

QUEEN SLIPPER CITY

The train station, perched at the side of downtown, includes Amtrak's Downeaster service to North Station in Boston, in one direction, and Maine in the other. (That run stops in Dover, New Hampshire.) There's also MBTA's Purple Line into Boston.
The train station, perched at the side of downtown Haverhill, Massachusetts, includes Amtrak’s Downeaster service to North Station in Boston, in one direction, and Maine in the other. (That run stops in Dover, New Hampshire.) There’s also MBTA’s Purple Line into Boston.

New England’s waterways are dotted with historic mill towns. The Merrimack River alone could boast of the water-powered industrial centers of Manchester and Nashua in New Hampshire as well as Lowell, Lawrence, Haverhill, and Amesbury downstream in Massachusetts, along with Newburyport and its harbor.

Some of the warren of old mills remains, including buildings converted to offices and housing.
Some of Haverhill’s warren of old mills remains, including buildings converted to offices and housing.
Catch the view of the distant church in the gap.
Catch the view of the distant church in the gap.
Much has also been razed, often for parking lots.
Much has also been razed, often for parking lots.
Here's a bit of scale.
Here’s a bit of scale.

While textiles were the focus of much of New England’s mill output, the power was applied to other products as well. Haverhill, for instance, emerged as a center of shoemaking, by 1913 producing one of every 10 pairs in America and earning it a whimsical nickname of Queen Slipper City. Its earlier commerce rested on woolen mills, tanneries, shipping, and shipbuilding.

Downtown details.
Downtown details.
Still impressive.
Still impressive.
In those days, every building could be a "block."
In those days, every building could be a “block.”
Facing the train station, a reflection of earlier prosperity.
Facing the train station, a reflection of earlier prosperity.
Down the street, around the corner.
Down the street, around the corner.
Not everything was brick.
Not everything was brick.

Like many of these once industrial centers, the city has been struggling to adapt to new directions and refit its legacy of old structures.

By the way, in Yankee style, it’s pronounced HAY-vril and is today a city of 60,000. But the river still runs through it.

The river flows toward the Atlantic.
The river flows toward the Atlantic. The tides fluctuate widely here twice a day.
The railroad crosses from downtown and then follows the river upstream to Lawrence. It's a lovely ride.
The railroad crosses from downtown and then follows the river upstream to Lawrence. It’s a lovely ride.

 

 

SKINK, I HOPE

A small lizard, part of a family of reptiles informally called skinks, rests on the roadway. At least I assume it's a skink. I'll leave the final identification to others. It's under two or three inches in length.
A small lizard, part of a family of reptiles informally called skinks, rests on the roadway. At least I assume it’s a skink. I’ll leave the final identification to others. It’s under two or three inches in length.
I encountered the critter at the top of this incline while walking in Henniker, New Hampshire.
I encountered the critter at the top of this incline while walking in Henniker, New Hampshire.

 

 

 

PEAS, PLEASE

As gardeners know, growing peas can be a challenge. The vines like to climb and tangle ... and they get heavy. This year, thanks to elder daughter, a new design has appeared in our beds. It's quite elegant, I think.
As gardeners know, growing peas can be a challenge. The vines like to climb and tangle … and they get heavy. This year, thanks to elder daughter, a new design has appeared in our beds. It’s quite elegant, I think.
Here's a little perspective.
Here’s a little perspective.

 

NO MATTER THE PRICE

Inscribed on gravestone of John P. Hale (1806-73) in Dover:

He who lies beneath surrendered office, place, and power rather than bow down and worship slavery …

He was the first United States senator to take a stand against slavery.

Earlier, while serving in the federal House of Representatives, he refused to follow the New Hampshire legislature’s directive to support the admission of Texas as a slaveholding state. In the following election, barred by his party from running under its banner, he ran as an independent; none of the three candidates won a majority and the district went unrepresented.

Kodak26 071

Kodak26 068

 

 

GETTING FLOCKED

Don't mock these humble birds. They're great fundraisers, as I remarked in a post the other day. Now he's the rest of the story, the one I thought I'd published long ago ... but hadn't.
Don’t mock these humble birds. They’re great fundraisers, as I remarked in a post the other day. Now here’s the rest of the story, the one I thought I’d published long ago … but hadn’t.

At a party one night in our Smoking Garden, a friend was telling about a fundraiser her church youth group had done back in Massachusetts.

“That’s a great idea,” I said. After all, she was a United Church of Christ pastor with all kinds of connections. “UCC,” for short.

Next thing I knew, a big sign and box appeared in our Quaker meetinghouse, warning Friends to buy flamingo insurance. This is New Hampshire, remember, not Florida.

One night after our party, our renowned sculptor Jane and her husband had come home to find her flock of pink flamingos missing from their yard and garden, but a sign stood in their place: “They needed to be quarantined.”

Uh-huh. I was as baffled as anyone that Sunday as we entered the meetinghouse and faced that big sign and its box of warning.

Here’s how it worked: you could donate any amount for insurance, but if someone else trumped that figure by offering more, you could still get flocked. And if you were flocked, there would be an envelope for another donation for their removal. In other words, you could get hit coming and going.

Then the plastic birds – and wooden cutouts – began appearing in Friends’ lawns. Folks living in apartments weren’t immune, either: the birds showed up strung around balconies or in the backseats of cars left unlocked or wrapped around cars that had been locked.

For the most part, it was great fun – even for the police officers called out to investigate rustling sounds in the night. We had no idea who was in on it, and nobody from our Smoking Garden party guest list was looking guilty.

When we were hit, one of our neighbors laughed and explained why she knew we hadn’t selected the birds as permanent decor: “You’re too organic.”

(Ouch!)

The Sunday morning the operation came out in the open, a guest to Meeting told me, “We did the same thing, down in Connecticut.”

“UCC?” I countered.

“Yes, how’d you know.”

“Just a lucky guess.”

So it had been the Meeting’s kids who were keeping the secret, along with a couple of very, very discrete adults. The money we raised went to the Heifer Project. Our children had to decide what kind of animals they’d send to the Third World – something big, like a cow, or something smaller, like a lot of chickens? And then they took a field trip to the project’s New England farm to check out all the options.

It’s a much better story than the one about my ex-wife’s two birds – the ones a friend of hers stole from my yard after the separation.

 Flocked

 our Lady of Pink Flamingos keeps taunting
“Have you been flocked?”

where’s it going, our summer of plastic flamingos?

 poem copyright 2014 by Jnana Hodson

ESSENTIAL HELPERS

Asked what I consider the most essential tool for the yard and garden, I’d answer “my wheelbarrow.” A six-cubic foot wheelbarrow. Even more than my heavy-duty loppers.

100_8378

It’s not just because we have gardens on either side of the house, either. I use it to move newly delivered firewood as well as shrubbery cuttings. Compost. Harvests. As well as trash. Building and filling the raised beds for square-foot gardening. Spreading seaweed and mulch. The list goes on. And on.

It even serves as a platform for working. Or, in the past, for giving the kids rides.