Stories around the electric fire
Jan. 22nd, 2016 01:01 pmThe guys who oversee the town transfer station (aka the town dump, but some stuff does get transferred for recycling) keep warm in a tiny room attached to the big pit where the nonrecyclable trash gets tossed. You go in there to buy town trash bags or to renew the sticker for your car that lets you go there. Inside, a TV is often on, and, at this time of year, there's a three-bar heater running.
There are two guys there: one is in his sixties and the other is in his thirties. I was renewing my car sticker, which meant showing my registration. "Oh, you live in Drowned Woods.1 I always get lost driving there," the young guy says. "You know," says the older guy, "I used to go hunting up there, before it was developed. I knew every twist and turn, every stone and tree. But not now."
And then we got to talking, and he told some awesome stories about the town, 50 years ago. When he was little, a grand house that's now down the hill from the town common was right on the common. (It was bought for a dollar and moved to its present location in two halves, for $30,000. Now it's apartments.)
"It looked just like the Addams Family house," he recalled."Spooky. Two old ladies, twins, lived there. They couldn't have been taller than five feet. My mother told me that a two-headed calf was born at their farm once. I remember when we went to that house with the Boy Scouts, on a paper drive. We were shaking as we knocked on the door. It opened with a creeeeaaak, and lo and behold, there mounted on the back wall, was the two-headed calf. My mother's story was true!
"The old ladies didn't want us to go near it, though. They had all the magazines bundled up for us, big stacks. We thought, old ladies, Home and Garden, right? We threw them into the truck. But when we looked at them later, you know what they were? Playboy. They were all Playboys!"
He went on to speculate that they must have belonged to the women's now-deceased husbands or sons. Sure, that's what it must have been ;-)
I asked him about a building that's falling down by the railroad tracks where I used to tap maple trees.
"Oh that was just one of the buildings for the State School. Hank Shay, the last blacksmith who worked at the State School--you know, when they used draft animals to run the farm--stayed there. You know how he died? Kicked by a horse. He was kicked by a horse and went right downhill."
Getting to hear town history from an old-timer is so wonderful.
1Not its real name. The development is named after one of the drowned Quabbin towns.
There are two guys there: one is in his sixties and the other is in his thirties. I was renewing my car sticker, which meant showing my registration. "Oh, you live in Drowned Woods.1 I always get lost driving there," the young guy says. "You know," says the older guy, "I used to go hunting up there, before it was developed. I knew every twist and turn, every stone and tree. But not now."
And then we got to talking, and he told some awesome stories about the town, 50 years ago. When he was little, a grand house that's now down the hill from the town common was right on the common. (It was bought for a dollar and moved to its present location in two halves, for $30,000. Now it's apartments.)
"It looked just like the Addams Family house," he recalled."Spooky. Two old ladies, twins, lived there. They couldn't have been taller than five feet. My mother told me that a two-headed calf was born at their farm once. I remember when we went to that house with the Boy Scouts, on a paper drive. We were shaking as we knocked on the door. It opened with a creeeeaaak, and lo and behold, there mounted on the back wall, was the two-headed calf. My mother's story was true!
"The old ladies didn't want us to go near it, though. They had all the magazines bundled up for us, big stacks. We thought, old ladies, Home and Garden, right? We threw them into the truck. But when we looked at them later, you know what they were? Playboy. They were all Playboys!"
He went on to speculate that they must have belonged to the women's now-deceased husbands or sons. Sure, that's what it must have been ;-)
I asked him about a building that's falling down by the railroad tracks where I used to tap maple trees.
"Oh that was just one of the buildings for the State School. Hank Shay, the last blacksmith who worked at the State School--you know, when they used draft animals to run the farm--stayed there. You know how he died? Kicked by a horse. He was kicked by a horse and went right downhill."
Getting to hear town history from an old-timer is so wonderful.
1Not its real name. The development is named after one of the drowned Quabbin towns.
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Date: 2016-01-23 12:17 am (UTC)Dear Enemy, with its cheery, brutal certainty that farm schools were exactly the right thing to establish for the "feeble-minded".
Thinking of that has rather swamped my reactions to the part about maple syrup, but of course that is super-cool! and magical, and wow! :) Why is it "used to"? It sounds blissful! and the history from someone who knows, too - I'm sorry for poor Hank Shay - and yes, spooky, for sure, the two tiny ladies with a two-headed calf.
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Date: 2016-01-23 01:05 pm (UTC)The maple tapping is "used to" just because it's a lot of work, and while it's exceptionally fun, it got to be that the other things I was doing made trying to fit the maple tapping in stressful--which seemed crazy. The trees are still there--each year offers the chance to do it again. That's a big comfort. Kind of like not growing a proper vegetable garden: I can always reassure myself that maybe I can do it next year.
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Date: 2016-01-23 10:29 pm (UTC)I wonder what happened to the two-headed calf head[s]
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Date: 2016-01-23 03:01 pm (UTC)What a great post! Thanks for putting it together. I was/am fumbling on the mobile app trying to find my way around (flist, where are you?), and it feels like i stumbled in on something charming. Thank you again.
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