3. FATHER THE BEAR TRAPPER
To support themselves on their farms, the families of the Brant Lake region would usually buy a cow, two or three sheep, a few hens, a pig, and a horse or yoke of oxen. As the land was gradually cleared for pastures and for producing hay, the herds and flocks would be increased. Corn, potatoes, and other vegetables were raised for one’s own use, although an extra supply of potatoes was often grown for sale to those who might need to buy, especially to the “cottage people” who came in the summer. Whenever a farmer would produce more butter and eggs than his own family needed, these products were taken to market to be traded for other staples. The smaller families had the advantage in bartering since they were more likely to have the surpluses. Wool from the sheep was sent to the mill for carding, and later spun into yarn on the family spinning wheel. The yarn was then dyed red or black, and wound into balls for knitting socks and mittens for the family. The melted tallow from the sheep that were killed for food served for making candles. Gradually a flock of sheep would increase until the owner would have surplus wool to sell at shearing time in the spring of the year, and also some fatted male lambs in the middle of the summer. Income from surpluses was often needed for paying taxes, buying clothing, flour, sugar, tea, and similar necessities. Mortgages on farms were frequently paid off from such sources of income. It is easy to understand, therefore, why it was disastrous when black bears began to prey on a man’s sheep. If the bears were not killed, they might destroy an entire flock of thirty or forty sheep in a few weeks.
To prevent such destruction and loss, as well as to earn the extra money that came with the bounty and the sale of the skin, Father pursued his trapping in our section of the Adirondacks. From 1863 to 1905 he caught one or more bears every year. Each spring, as soon as it was time for the bears to emerge from their dens, Father would take a day off from farm chores to look for bear tracks far back in the forest; and on his return home the first question that we asked was, “Did you see any signs?” We knew that he had examined old, decaying logs which bears tear apart for grubs and ants, and that he had observed whether or not the bulbs of the Jack-in-the-pulpits—or wild turnips, as we called them—had been dug up for food. These and other indications of the presence of bears were quickly noticed by his trained eyes.
If you have ever sampled the fiery-tasting food which wild turnips furnish, you do not begrudge it to bears. And yet bears, big and little, fill their empty stomachs with these tubers as soon as they come up in the spring. When I was old enough to go with Father to his traps he would sometimes pause to point out the wilted tops from which the bulbs had been eaten.
On one occasion I was greatly interested in the marks made by bears’ teeth on a tree which leaned at a slight angle over a bears’ runway. It appeared that all the members of the bear family had stood on their hind legs and measured their heights with teeth marks on the back of the tree. These were marks made by the little bears, the medium-sized bears, and the big bears.
While the business of trapping animals seems so repulsive to us that various humane laws have been passed to minimize suffering, there is no need for sentimental extremes in the matter. The bears were predatory animals who killed the sheep without discrimination, often raiding the pastures when the ewes were heavy with their young, or killing the lambs cruelly and wastefully. It is not fair to ask, “How would you like to be caught in a trap?” An unbalanced feeling of compassion for one animal temporarily in discomfort should not be allowed to result in greater distress to other animals on which it preys.
Both skill and patience were required to set a bear trap the way Father did it. Generally he selected a trail where the bear would walk through a mountain pass, or between a tree and large rock, and where enough earth could be removed so that the jaws of the trap could be on a level with the ground. Since animals travel stealthily, wishing to make as little noise as possible, two brittle sticks were laid across the path in a natural manner, just far enough apart to cause a bear to step over one of them onto the pan of the trap. Another dry stick supported the pan, and would not bend downward or break until a heavy weight was put upon it. This assured a catch high enough on the animal’s leg to hold, and also prevented the trap from being sprung by smaller game.
The entire space between the open jaws of the trap was filled in with moss and leaves. Usually Father also pushed ferns and Jack-in-the-pulpit plants into the earth around the trap in order to make the area look as natural as possible. Then, to deter human beings and deer from going through that particular part of the trail, he bent small trees across the way at the right height. Care was taken to leave no human odor. Even though bears have such a keen sense of smell that they can detect and avoid a poorly set trap, Father knew how to outwit them.
Hunting bears with a gun would, on the surface, seem more humane than trapping them, but before modern repeating rifles were invented, killing bears with a gun was more difficult than some people might think. It took time to reload the old muskets; while you were engaged in this process, if your first shot had merely wounded the animal, you might be attacked and mutilated, or even killed. Or the injured beast might escape, and perhaps die a slow death.
When Father first began to trap bears he carried an old muzzle-loading gun, which was cumbersome and somewhat dangerous to handle. (His father had lost a leg as a result of the accidental discharge of just such a musket.) As soon as it was possible for Father to secure a more modern firearm, he bought a Smith and Wesson thirty-two caliber, fifteen-inch-barrel pistol for which he could secure loaded cartridges and which required only a few seconds for reloading.
While this new gun was rather light for shooting such huge animals as bears, it had its advantages. It had the accuracy and velocity of a rifle combined with the convenience of a pistol. If necessary, Father could use the gun with one hand. In addition, it could be put in a large inside pocket of a coat, thus leaving one free to carry a fishpole, traps, and other duffle. When he did not find a bear in his traps, Father would line honeybees, look for ginseng, and fish for trout.
Father had the good vision and quick, steady hands that are so essential for accurate shooting. By observing the dried skulls of bears which he had shot, he learned the vulnerable places at which to aim, and could usually dispatch a bear with a single bullet.
Killing a bear in a trap was not always as simple as it is to tell about it. The chain of a bear trap was not fastened to any stationary object, but to some small, tough tree which had been cut down and stuck lightly into the ground near the trap. If available, Father preferred a short beech tree of from three to four inches in diameter at the butt end. This tree served as a clog or hindrance which would not hold too solidly and cause the chain to break when a bear began his first lunging efforts to escape from the trap, but which could restrain him enough to tire him gradually. Usually as the bear dragged the clog it would catch on a root or tree before he moved very far; but sometimes both trap and clog would be dragged so far that a careful search had to be made for the impeded animal.
While searching for a bear that had dragged a trap away was always an exciting experience, it was even more exciting to find a bear unhitched, for then he might charge his pursuer. On one occasion Father came upon a large bear that had just got into his trap and was thrashing about so violently that it was impossible to stop him with a single shot. The bullet found its mark in the massive, bobbing black head, but the wound did not bring immediate death. Instead of falling to the ground, the bear made a mad rush at Father, who was reloading his gun and, incidentally, retreating to gain time. One more leap and the cruel jaws and powerful claws would have torn human flesh as they had previously torn helpless sheep; but reloading this new gun took only a fraction of the time that was formerly require d to ram powder and ball down the barrel of the old muzzle-loader. Father turned, and with hands which never trembled leveled the pistol and fired. This time powder scorched the coarse fur right between the angry-looking eyes, and another bear had killed his last sheep.
I recall the first time that I accompanied Father to a trap that had a large bear in it. The pistol was handed to me for the execution. While both my older brothers were crack shots, I never had much practice with a gun and my hands were so shaky that I continually missed. Father remarked that if I was going to waste ammunition, we might have to finish the bear off with a club. Such a person-to-bear encounter did not appeal to me, and I gladly returned the gun to the one who knew how to handle it so much better than I did. With one bullet the big bear fell stone-dead. I must admit that I never again attempted to win the honor of becoming a great bear hunter.
4. THE POWER OF A BOOK
Although he had lived a good moral life before his marriage, Father had never paid much attention to religion. He had heard people argue about the Bible, and he knew that the various denominations had been formed because of differences in beliefs, but none of these things had particularly troubled him. So far as he could see, he was as good as most church members were. Two factors delivered him from his conceit. One was the beautiful girl whom he had married, and the other was the Bible. It is surely not good for man to live alone, if he can have the love and companionship of a virtuous woman. Father was fortunate in his marriage, for Mother was a most wholesome Christian. She read her Bible daily and lived it in her gentle, unpretentious way. One day when Father went to the store for supplies he purchased a small, inexpensive copy of the Bible for his own use. He had heard of a spirited young evangelist named D. L. Moody who was preaching from the Bible to large audiences; and he knew that Abraham Lincoln had read the Bible, and had frequently quoted from it in his speeches. He decided, therefore, to examine the book for himself; and to be thorough about the matter, he began his readings at the very first chapter of Genesis.
Not having had many grades of schooling, Father was a slow reader. He had to pause to grasp the meaning of sentences, and often halted as he attempted to pronounce some of the Biblical names. Mother could reach much better, but because of Father’s poor hearing it was agreed that he should do the reading, so that they could enjoy the stories together. They began at the first chapter of the Old Testament, and from the verse, “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth,” they proceeded from chapter to chapter and book to book. They read one chapter immediately after breakfast and a second right after supper.
Since Father was unusually strong, and had wrestled with the boys in his youth, he was especially interested in the stories of mighty men, men who overcame great difficulties. He was spellbound by the account of Noah who build himself an ark and outrode the flood; of Abraham who, like himself, left the land of his fathers and dwelt in a new country; and of Jacob who, having fled from his angry brother, found romance and prosperity. The nocturnal wrestling match between Jacob and the mysterious stranger was read with rapt attention. The trick of getting a man on you hip and throwing him was well known, but how could Jacob, with a hip out of joint, hold out until he gained his blessing? Surely, there was a man of steel.
Reading on through one fascinating story after another, and because of the way in which God related Himself to all the characters and events, it became increasingly clear to Father that the Bible was no ordinary history or volume of literature. Moses, though powerful enough to knock a cruel Egyptian into perpetual unconsciousness and put to flight a band of rude shepherds singlehanded, was utterly unable to deliver his people from bondage until after he had met God at the Burning Bush. And there was the spellbinding story of long-haired Samson, who killed a lion with his hands; and, armed with the jawbone of an ass, slaughtered a thousand Philistines but finally came to a tragic end because of a broken vow.
As the ways of God were expressed through the beautiful Psalms, the teaching of mighty prophets, and the matchless words of the Master, the seed found a place of growth in good soil. Father became an ardent lover of the Bible and of the God who inspired those who wrote it. One Sunday morning, while he was absorbed in reading the Sermon on the Mount, the room in which he was sitting suddenly filled with a light more dazzling than that of the sun. The glow that penetrated that simple room with its cooking pots, water jugs, and traps hanging on the wall could not be explained, nor did it need to be. From that moment on, no urgency of work on the farm, and no call of the forest to go after bears was ever permitted to interfere with Father’s systematic habit of reading from The Book and kneeling afterward in prayer. Day after day, and year after year, family worship was held in our home, until eventually the Bible was read from cover to cover thirty-five times. Father became as noted for his knowledge of the Bible as he was for his skill in catching bears. Like Nimrod of old, “He was a mighty hunter before the Lord.”
Father was known also for his integrity and stability. In these respects, some people thought that he carried his rules of righteousness too far. He would never draw hay into the barn on Sunday, even to keep it from getting wet, nor would be gather sap on that day, even though the buckets were running over. He preferred to read his Bible, or to walk long miles to some church, keeping the Lord’s Day as he felt the commandment indicated he should. He found special pleasure in expounding the scriptures to people, and when he went to market he indulged in this joy so fervently with some of his friends and neighbors that he often returned home long after dark. At times Mother worried when she had his supper ready and he did not get back as soon as she thought he should. She would open the front door, and listen for the familiar rumble of the heavy cart wheels on the bridges down the road.
Some people who did not know the Bible very well, and held contrary ideas about its teachings, would get provoked at Father, claiming that he liked to argue. Actually, he merely wished to explain what the debatable subjects meant to him. In such circumstances it is natural for us to behave like the Quaker and his wife who were having a firm discussion about a difference of opinion. Turning from reason to abuse, he said: “Thou art stubborn.” She relied: “Nay, nay but thou art stubborn. I am just strong-minded.” It has been said that the only people who accomplish anything are those who are cocksure that they are right. To be fair, when we claim the right to think for ourselves, we should grant the same privilege to others who may think somewhat differently from us.
Father’s inflexible habit of reading a full chapter from the Bible and following this with a substantial prayer of thanksgiving and supplication after breakfast, and again after supper, seemed at times too rigid; but it was probably better to keep first things first, rather than to become lax about them. Anyway, I never heard Mother complain because of the rest periods after meals, and none of us ever missed a train because of them.
***
Some people have the mistaken idea that when a person starts to become a Christian, his future life should be free from trouble and trial. On the contrary, when one takes a firm stand for truth and righteousness in any form he soon finds himself enlisted in warfare against strong and ruthless enemies. Victories can be won only through conflict; character achieved by overcoming obstacles and learning to be kind as well as brave. It is disastrous if one allows himself to become discouraged by mistakes, for mistakes can also teach valuable lessons. Early in his new life Father had a severe testing which came about from the fact that he was so strong for a man of his size.
It happened while he was working on a lumber job. Frequently, during the long winter months, the farmers at Brant Lake could earn many extra dollars by hitching up their teams and drawing logs from the rough country north of us. Since Father had a strong yoke of oxen and a sturdy sled, he sometimes engaged in logging after the trapping season had ended. During the first winter that he did this work it soon became apparent to the to other teamsters that Father must be unusually powerful to be able to load up and unload the heaviest logs so easily and quickly. The men talked about it, just as others in haying time had spoken of his large forksful of hay.
On the logging job there was a man by the name of Jack Turner, who was also noted for his strength, and he resented the praise that was going to the little man Roberts. Turner was a taller and heavier man, built like a halfback. Jack was known to drink a bit and when he drank he sometimes got in fights; and in every fight he was an easy winner. The more he heard about what Ed Roberts could do with logs, the more irked he became, and the more he longed for a chance to prove that he was still the local strong man. He was contemptuous of the serious young farmer with the black whiskers, and looked for an opportunity to put him in his place. Turner would block the road when he met Father, and refuse to turn out, even though his own sled was empty and Father had a heavy load of logs. And Father, who was a man of peace, would turn out in the deep snow to let him pass. A bully, of course, interprets such action as a sign of weakness, and continues his insulting behavior with greater boldness. The showdown came a few days later. Before telling about this, however, it might be well to explain just how Father came by his remarkable strength.
Back in Vermont, Father had lived a wholesome, clean life. While he held no particular scruples because of religious convictions at this time, his observations had convinced him of the moral value of temperate behavior. He believed in the goodness of natural things, so that when other men drank liquor to relax after a hard day in the hay fields, Father drank milk. Instead of carrying a plug of tobacco, he carried a cake of maple sugar. In basic strength he took after his mother, whose extraordinary physical feats have been mentioned. I have heard Father say that he did not know what people meant when they spoke of being tired. He could mow and pitch hay all day, and still feel like Samson as he wrestled with his boyhood friends in the evening. Once, after he had helped a husky Irishman do his haying and was about to be paid for his labor, the man said, “Eddie, before paying a man what I owe him, I always lay his shoulders on the ground.”
“All right,” Father replied, and squared himself for the encounter. When the two men had finished wrestling, the farmer’s wife chided, “I would be ashamed to let a man no bigger than a sheep throw me around like that.”
At another time, when Father was attending a country fair, he was persuaded by his friends to try wrestling with Hi Jinks, who was said to be the champion wrestler of Vermont. Father was not eager to have a bout with a man who was giving exhibitions of the wrestling art, but his friends urged him on. Three times in succession Father pinned the shoulders of his opponent to the ground. Hi Jinks was so chagrined when he got up the third time that he struck at Father, but the blow was deftly turned aside, and Jinks himself got one that knocked him flat. Father later said that he must have struck instinctively in self-defense, for that was the only time in his life that he ever hit a man with his fist.
When Father settled down to the serious work of clearing his land and providing for his family, he left the sport of wrestling to the younger generation. Only once did he resort to the fun that he had formerly enjoyed. This took place when a merchant who was expert in handling barrels of flour unexpectedly put his arms around Father from behind, as if to lift him, then pulled him down on his back and boasted, “Roberts, this is the way I down the boys.” When my humiliated father regained his feet amid the laughing onlookers, he replied, “I’ll show you how I do it.” Catching the trader by the lapels of his coat, he gave him a quick yank forward, swung his feet completely over the counter, and brought his shoulders to the floor.
Father’s build did not make him appear very formidable. He was only five-feet-seven-inches tall, and carried no superfluous flesh. His legs were round, small, and hard from climbing the mountain trails and working in his fields. His chest was solid and compact; his arms sinewy and long. Although he did not look it, his weight was close to one hundred and sixty pounds. It was no wonder that Jack Turner considered him as easy mark and itched to fight him. Turner heaped abuse after abuse upon him, and boasted to others that he would knock off Father’s whiskers if he ever gave him the slightest provocation.
Things came to a head one night when Father came into the lumber shanty a little late for supper. The other men, having satisfied their appetites, had pushed back their benches and begun smoking their pipes, talking and joking with each other. When Father had finished eating, he looked about for a place to sit. The only vacancy was next to the man who wanted to put him in his place. Father started for that seat but as he approached it, Turner sprawled out to block the way.
This was the last straw. Without comment Father caught Jack Turner by his coat collar and one leg, spun him around and sent him sprawling and rolling across the floor as though he were a cull log. Quietly Father asked “Do you want some more?”
The challenge was not accepted. The men on the benches quickly moved aside until there was plenty of room for Father to sit down. After that the black-bearded, Bible-reading bear trapper was accorded due respect.
5. THIS IS THE WAY IT WAS
In the early days among the mountains the settlers found that the quickest and least expensive way to build a house was to make it out of logs, very much after the pattern of a lumber camp. The three houses up the road from our place were built that way; but Father, who knew some of the rudiments of carpentry, constructed his house on more modern lines. It was a frame house, with upright studding to which wide pine boards, called sheathing, were nailed. Since commercial insulation material was not available, the bark from white birch trees was tacked on the outer surface of the sheathing, and clapboards were nailed over all.
Following the birth of their first child, Alice May, in 1864, a new daughter arrived in the Roberts’ home about every two years, until by January 1875, there were five little girls—Alice, Anna, Antha, Cordelia and Clara. They were taught to sit very still while the Bible was being read, and to kneel on the hard floor for the prayer that followed. As they grew, they helped their mother churn the butter, dry the dishes, and wind into balls the yarn that she spun for their socks and mittens. It was a special joy to them when they could pet a new calf, or feed a little lamb. The girls became greatly interested in climbing the stairs to the attic whenever their father was skinning the many fur-bearers which he had caught. Once, when Cordie saw him take a new-born baby into his arms, she asked, “Are you going to skin it?”
In the orchard the girls had a wee house for the tiny wrens who always found their way back from the south land after the long, cold winters. The five little girls must have made a pretty picture as, with red cheeks and dancing eyes, they ran about in perfect harmony with the sunshine, fresh air, and blossoming trees of their mountain farm.
Our type of house is now called Cape Cod, the upstairs of which is often finished off for dormitory purposes. Ours was never completed but served for sleeping quarters just the same. Curtains were used, instead of more durable material, to give privacy, but as in the lumber camps, there was always room for another mattress to accommodate company or an addition to the family. We had one bedroom downstairs and in the living room there was a double bed under which was a trundle bed for the youngest member of the family.
A big chimney, made of rock from our fields and creek, dominated one end of the main living room. The huge fireplace was used for cooking and warmth, and also provided light and heat for the skinning and curing of pelts on cold winter nights. Later Father bought an iron, woodburning stove which made cooking much easier for Mother and my sisters.
Along one wall of the big room Father hung his assortment of traps and gear, always kept in good repair and among our most valued possessions. His guns were near the door, as well as the strong leash he sometimes used on the dogs when he went to track a bear. There were pegs for our knitted caps and mittens, and for the warm coats lined with our own sheepskin.
After 1875 there were four more additions to the Roberts household, three boys—John, Ruel, and myself—and baby sister Eliza. We three boys slept in the loft upstairs, which was reached by a crude, narrow stairway as steep as a ladder. We had little furniture, but we had deep mattresses of straw or cornhusk ticking and we shared an assortment of gray homespun blankets which Mother made from the wool of our own sheep. In a corner of the second floor the furs, stretched on boards suitable for the various sizes of the pelts, were hung to dry with the flesh side out. The bear skins were tacked up on the inside of the barn.
Bathtubs were unknown to us, and the old galvanized washtub, filled with water heated on the back of the kitchen stove, had to serve for washing our clothes and those who wore them. Although some people in our area firmly believed that baths were a curse of the devil, our parents held with John Wesley that cleanliness was next to godliness. As it was, our baths were apt to be hasty, rather dampening affairs, and like most children the world over, we never quarreled over who was to have priority for a bath.
Our house managed to shelter us all, and no one ever had to go to the barn to sleep on the hay. As Noah found room for all the animals in the ark, so our small house, twenty-four feet by twenty-two, stretched to accommodate eleven humans with a place behind the stove for our faithful dog.
Our farm bore distinctive marks of an interesting past. On four flat sections along the brook were the remains of beaver dams. With no knowledge of conservation, greedy trappers and had exterminated all the beavers before Father had bought the property. Fortunately for all of us, the stream was full of large trout which it took only a few minutes to transfer from deep pools to the dinner table. No wonder that the Roberts boys because ardent and expert fishermen.
About a quarter of a mile up the road was a crystal-clear spring of cold water which never diminished in volume, but bubbled up summer and winter. Since our property had no underground piping we children substituted as carriers to bring the water to the house. We had small shoulder yokes which Father had fashioned for us, and these made it easier to balance a load and carry two pails at a time. The spring was near our hayfield, and a gourd or tin dipper was usually handy when we came to quench our thirst. Father taught us all at an early age never to drink directly from a pool or stream, in case we might accidentally drink up some frog’s eggs or other foreign matter. Neighbors also came to drink at our spring and to fill their jugs with his splendid water.
A marvel which I never heard explained was the large number of giant maples which stood in our sugar grove. Many of these lordly trees were three feet in diameter, and, towering into the sky sixty feet and more, provided favorite observation points for hawks and eagles who knew that we kept tasty hens and chickens. One by one these trees, some of them pin or curly maple, so desired for furniture, grew old and died. We had hundreds of regular sugar maples for ten to eighteen inches in diameter, but there was a missing link between these and the great, old trees.
For the rugged work on his farm, such as plowing among rocks and roots, driving through the deep snow to gather sap, and drawing in wood and hay, Father preferred oxen to horses. Yoking oxen to a sled or cart was less complicated, and the equipment much more economical to make and maintain. A farmer could build a sled, and nearly all of a cart, out of timber from his own trees. With oxen he could drive his team without reins.
To turn a well-trained yoke of oxen to the right, the word “gee” was the signal, while “haw” meant a left turn. “Whoa” was used to bring oxen to a stop, just as it is for horses. One man up our way even tried this order on his new Model T Ford when it headed down a bank, but in this case the magic word failed.
Strangely enough, the sound “hush,” which we make to silence noisy children, was Father’s way of accelerating the speed of his oxen. At the Pottersville Fair, when he was persuaded to enter the ox race, Father took his place between his oxen, grasped the metal ring in the yoke, and said, “hush.” His faithful beasts must have understood that they were to run like the wind, for they came in to win first prize.
On stormy days, Father found plenty of work to do inside the house. He resoled our boots and shoes, and made moccasins out of sheep skins which we had had tanned. For his three sons and himself, he made sheep-skin mittens, with the wool on the outside. It was natural for us to think of these as boxing gloves, and we used them for sparring among ourselves as well as for keeping our hands warm. In zero weather Father would put on home-knitted socks, his handmade moccasins and then low rubber boots. He made his short overcoats from bearskins and sometimes wore a coonskin cap. This made for a picturesque and formidable outfit, but it was effective against the penetrating winter blasts that seemed to come direct to us from the North Pole.
Mother spun the yarn on her large wheel, and knitted all our socks and mittens until my sisters were old enough to learn how to help. Cloth for making our clothing was bought at the general store in Horicon. The first ready-made suit that I had was provided by my sisters when I started away to school in my teens. Otherwise, I was very much like the young Billy Sunday who, when told that he could report for work as soon as he went home and got his clothes, replied, “I’ve got ‘em on!”
The food at our house, as in other mountain communities, consisted of plain essentials—bread, potatoes, johnnycake, pork, eggs, fish and game. Because of Father’s skill and also the fact that my brothers were such good shots, we consumed more fish and game than neighboring families. Our sausage, made with sage which Mother grew in our backyard, was exceptionally tasty, and so were the hams which we smoked with hickory and corn-cobs.
In addition to the everyday foods, we ate cabbage, carrots, turnips and squash, which would keep indefinitely through the winter months in our cold-cellar. For dessert we enjoyed pumpkin, apple, rhubarb and berry pies, and the superb wild-strawberry shortcakes. These were spread over with the berries, cream and grated maple sugar. Sandwiches also had the grated sugar between two thick slices of homemade bread. Brown sugar is well known as a sweetening, but grated maple sugar is in a class by itself, and not so well known. We did not have oatmeal and similar cereals in my young days, but breakfast often included pancakes with maple syrup and honey, and at times we were like the boy who said that he kept eating pancakes until he felt a pain—then ate one more to make sure. This plain, country fare must have been healthful, for all the farmers who lived in our valley reached the age of fourscore years, and not one of them ever had an operation.
Incidentally, I did not have my first taste of ice cream until I went off to school at the Glens Falls Academy. Not storing ice, and with no freezer, we never made ice cream at the farm. And I never saw a locomotive until I was almost grown, although from a distance of eighteen miles we could hear the train whistle when the wind was right. We were back-country people and seldom got farther away from home than the general store at the place now known as Brant Lake, seven miles from our house.
To support themselves on their farms, the families of the Brant Lake region would usually buy a cow, two or three sheep, a few hens, a pig, and a horse or yoke of oxen. As the land was gradually cleared for pastures and for producing hay, the herds and flocks would be increased. Corn, potatoes, and other vegetables were raised for one’s own use, although an extra supply of potatoes was often grown for sale to those who might need to buy, especially to the “cottage people” who came in the summer. Whenever a farmer would produce more butter and eggs than his own family needed, these products were taken to market to be traded for other staples. The smaller families had the advantage in bartering since they were more likely to have the surpluses. Wool from the sheep was sent to the mill for carding, and later spun into yarn on the family spinning wheel. The yarn was then dyed red or black, and wound into balls for knitting socks and mittens for the family. The melted tallow from the sheep that were killed for food served for making candles. Gradually a flock of sheep would increase until the owner would have surplus wool to sell at shearing time in the spring of the year, and also some fatted male lambs in the middle of the summer. Income from surpluses was often needed for paying taxes, buying clothing, flour, sugar, tea, and similar necessities. Mortgages on farms were frequently paid off from such sources of income. It is easy to understand, therefore, why it was disastrous when black bears began to prey on a man’s sheep. If the bears were not killed, they might destroy an entire flock of thirty or forty sheep in a few weeks.
To prevent such destruction and loss, as well as to earn the extra money that came with the bounty and the sale of the skin, Father pursued his trapping in our section of the Adirondacks. From 1863 to 1905 he caught one or more bears every year. Each spring, as soon as it was time for the bears to emerge from their dens, Father would take a day off from farm chores to look for bear tracks far back in the forest; and on his return home the first question that we asked was, “Did you see any signs?” We knew that he had examined old, decaying logs which bears tear apart for grubs and ants, and that he had observed whether or not the bulbs of the Jack-in-the-pulpits—or wild turnips, as we called them—had been dug up for food. These and other indications of the presence of bears were quickly noticed by his trained eyes.
If you have ever sampled the fiery-tasting food which wild turnips furnish, you do not begrudge it to bears. And yet bears, big and little, fill their empty stomachs with these tubers as soon as they come up in the spring. When I was old enough to go with Father to his traps he would sometimes pause to point out the wilted tops from which the bulbs had been eaten.
On one occasion I was greatly interested in the marks made by bears’ teeth on a tree which leaned at a slight angle over a bears’ runway. It appeared that all the members of the bear family had stood on their hind legs and measured their heights with teeth marks on the back of the tree. These were marks made by the little bears, the medium-sized bears, and the big bears.
While the business of trapping animals seems so repulsive to us that various humane laws have been passed to minimize suffering, there is no need for sentimental extremes in the matter. The bears were predatory animals who killed the sheep without discrimination, often raiding the pastures when the ewes were heavy with their young, or killing the lambs cruelly and wastefully. It is not fair to ask, “How would you like to be caught in a trap?” An unbalanced feeling of compassion for one animal temporarily in discomfort should not be allowed to result in greater distress to other animals on which it preys.
Both skill and patience were required to set a bear trap the way Father did it. Generally he selected a trail where the bear would walk through a mountain pass, or between a tree and large rock, and where enough earth could be removed so that the jaws of the trap could be on a level with the ground. Since animals travel stealthily, wishing to make as little noise as possible, two brittle sticks were laid across the path in a natural manner, just far enough apart to cause a bear to step over one of them onto the pan of the trap. Another dry stick supported the pan, and would not bend downward or break until a heavy weight was put upon it. This assured a catch high enough on the animal’s leg to hold, and also prevented the trap from being sprung by smaller game.
The entire space between the open jaws of the trap was filled in with moss and leaves. Usually Father also pushed ferns and Jack-in-the-pulpit plants into the earth around the trap in order to make the area look as natural as possible. Then, to deter human beings and deer from going through that particular part of the trail, he bent small trees across the way at the right height. Care was taken to leave no human odor. Even though bears have such a keen sense of smell that they can detect and avoid a poorly set trap, Father knew how to outwit them.
Hunting bears with a gun would, on the surface, seem more humane than trapping them, but before modern repeating rifles were invented, killing bears with a gun was more difficult than some people might think. It took time to reload the old muskets; while you were engaged in this process, if your first shot had merely wounded the animal, you might be attacked and mutilated, or even killed. Or the injured beast might escape, and perhaps die a slow death.
When Father first began to trap bears he carried an old muzzle-loading gun, which was cumbersome and somewhat dangerous to handle. (His father had lost a leg as a result of the accidental discharge of just such a musket.) As soon as it was possible for Father to secure a more modern firearm, he bought a Smith and Wesson thirty-two caliber, fifteen-inch-barrel pistol for which he could secure loaded cartridges and which required only a few seconds for reloading.
While this new gun was rather light for shooting such huge animals as bears, it had its advantages. It had the accuracy and velocity of a rifle combined with the convenience of a pistol. If necessary, Father could use the gun with one hand. In addition, it could be put in a large inside pocket of a coat, thus leaving one free to carry a fishpole, traps, and other duffle. When he did not find a bear in his traps, Father would line honeybees, look for ginseng, and fish for trout.
Father had the good vision and quick, steady hands that are so essential for accurate shooting. By observing the dried skulls of bears which he had shot, he learned the vulnerable places at which to aim, and could usually dispatch a bear with a single bullet.
Killing a bear in a trap was not always as simple as it is to tell about it. The chain of a bear trap was not fastened to any stationary object, but to some small, tough tree which had been cut down and stuck lightly into the ground near the trap. If available, Father preferred a short beech tree of from three to four inches in diameter at the butt end. This tree served as a clog or hindrance which would not hold too solidly and cause the chain to break when a bear began his first lunging efforts to escape from the trap, but which could restrain him enough to tire him gradually. Usually as the bear dragged the clog it would catch on a root or tree before he moved very far; but sometimes both trap and clog would be dragged so far that a careful search had to be made for the impeded animal.
While searching for a bear that had dragged a trap away was always an exciting experience, it was even more exciting to find a bear unhitched, for then he might charge his pursuer. On one occasion Father came upon a large bear that had just got into his trap and was thrashing about so violently that it was impossible to stop him with a single shot. The bullet found its mark in the massive, bobbing black head, but the wound did not bring immediate death. Instead of falling to the ground, the bear made a mad rush at Father, who was reloading his gun and, incidentally, retreating to gain time. One more leap and the cruel jaws and powerful claws would have torn human flesh as they had previously torn helpless sheep; but reloading this new gun took only a fraction of the time that was formerly require d to ram powder and ball down the barrel of the old muzzle-loader. Father turned, and with hands which never trembled leveled the pistol and fired. This time powder scorched the coarse fur right between the angry-looking eyes, and another bear had killed his last sheep.
I recall the first time that I accompanied Father to a trap that had a large bear in it. The pistol was handed to me for the execution. While both my older brothers were crack shots, I never had much practice with a gun and my hands were so shaky that I continually missed. Father remarked that if I was going to waste ammunition, we might have to finish the bear off with a club. Such a person-to-bear encounter did not appeal to me, and I gladly returned the gun to the one who knew how to handle it so much better than I did. With one bullet the big bear fell stone-dead. I must admit that I never again attempted to win the honor of becoming a great bear hunter.
4. THE POWER OF A BOOK
Although he had lived a good moral life before his marriage, Father had never paid much attention to religion. He had heard people argue about the Bible, and he knew that the various denominations had been formed because of differences in beliefs, but none of these things had particularly troubled him. So far as he could see, he was as good as most church members were. Two factors delivered him from his conceit. One was the beautiful girl whom he had married, and the other was the Bible. It is surely not good for man to live alone, if he can have the love and companionship of a virtuous woman. Father was fortunate in his marriage, for Mother was a most wholesome Christian. She read her Bible daily and lived it in her gentle, unpretentious way. One day when Father went to the store for supplies he purchased a small, inexpensive copy of the Bible for his own use. He had heard of a spirited young evangelist named D. L. Moody who was preaching from the Bible to large audiences; and he knew that Abraham Lincoln had read the Bible, and had frequently quoted from it in his speeches. He decided, therefore, to examine the book for himself; and to be thorough about the matter, he began his readings at the very first chapter of Genesis.
Not having had many grades of schooling, Father was a slow reader. He had to pause to grasp the meaning of sentences, and often halted as he attempted to pronounce some of the Biblical names. Mother could reach much better, but because of Father’s poor hearing it was agreed that he should do the reading, so that they could enjoy the stories together. They began at the first chapter of the Old Testament, and from the verse, “In the beginning, God created the heaven and the earth,” they proceeded from chapter to chapter and book to book. They read one chapter immediately after breakfast and a second right after supper.
Since Father was unusually strong, and had wrestled with the boys in his youth, he was especially interested in the stories of mighty men, men who overcame great difficulties. He was spellbound by the account of Noah who build himself an ark and outrode the flood; of Abraham who, like himself, left the land of his fathers and dwelt in a new country; and of Jacob who, having fled from his angry brother, found romance and prosperity. The nocturnal wrestling match between Jacob and the mysterious stranger was read with rapt attention. The trick of getting a man on you hip and throwing him was well known, but how could Jacob, with a hip out of joint, hold out until he gained his blessing? Surely, there was a man of steel.
Reading on through one fascinating story after another, and because of the way in which God related Himself to all the characters and events, it became increasingly clear to Father that the Bible was no ordinary history or volume of literature. Moses, though powerful enough to knock a cruel Egyptian into perpetual unconsciousness and put to flight a band of rude shepherds singlehanded, was utterly unable to deliver his people from bondage until after he had met God at the Burning Bush. And there was the spellbinding story of long-haired Samson, who killed a lion with his hands; and, armed with the jawbone of an ass, slaughtered a thousand Philistines but finally came to a tragic end because of a broken vow.
As the ways of God were expressed through the beautiful Psalms, the teaching of mighty prophets, and the matchless words of the Master, the seed found a place of growth in good soil. Father became an ardent lover of the Bible and of the God who inspired those who wrote it. One Sunday morning, while he was absorbed in reading the Sermon on the Mount, the room in which he was sitting suddenly filled with a light more dazzling than that of the sun. The glow that penetrated that simple room with its cooking pots, water jugs, and traps hanging on the wall could not be explained, nor did it need to be. From that moment on, no urgency of work on the farm, and no call of the forest to go after bears was ever permitted to interfere with Father’s systematic habit of reading from The Book and kneeling afterward in prayer. Day after day, and year after year, family worship was held in our home, until eventually the Bible was read from cover to cover thirty-five times. Father became as noted for his knowledge of the Bible as he was for his skill in catching bears. Like Nimrod of old, “He was a mighty hunter before the Lord.”
Father was known also for his integrity and stability. In these respects, some people thought that he carried his rules of righteousness too far. He would never draw hay into the barn on Sunday, even to keep it from getting wet, nor would be gather sap on that day, even though the buckets were running over. He preferred to read his Bible, or to walk long miles to some church, keeping the Lord’s Day as he felt the commandment indicated he should. He found special pleasure in expounding the scriptures to people, and when he went to market he indulged in this joy so fervently with some of his friends and neighbors that he often returned home long after dark. At times Mother worried when she had his supper ready and he did not get back as soon as she thought he should. She would open the front door, and listen for the familiar rumble of the heavy cart wheels on the bridges down the road.
Some people who did not know the Bible very well, and held contrary ideas about its teachings, would get provoked at Father, claiming that he liked to argue. Actually, he merely wished to explain what the debatable subjects meant to him. In such circumstances it is natural for us to behave like the Quaker and his wife who were having a firm discussion about a difference of opinion. Turning from reason to abuse, he said: “Thou art stubborn.” She relied: “Nay, nay but thou art stubborn. I am just strong-minded.” It has been said that the only people who accomplish anything are those who are cocksure that they are right. To be fair, when we claim the right to think for ourselves, we should grant the same privilege to others who may think somewhat differently from us.
Father’s inflexible habit of reading a full chapter from the Bible and following this with a substantial prayer of thanksgiving and supplication after breakfast, and again after supper, seemed at times too rigid; but it was probably better to keep first things first, rather than to become lax about them. Anyway, I never heard Mother complain because of the rest periods after meals, and none of us ever missed a train because of them.
***
Some people have the mistaken idea that when a person starts to become a Christian, his future life should be free from trouble and trial. On the contrary, when one takes a firm stand for truth and righteousness in any form he soon finds himself enlisted in warfare against strong and ruthless enemies. Victories can be won only through conflict; character achieved by overcoming obstacles and learning to be kind as well as brave. It is disastrous if one allows himself to become discouraged by mistakes, for mistakes can also teach valuable lessons. Early in his new life Father had a severe testing which came about from the fact that he was so strong for a man of his size.
It happened while he was working on a lumber job. Frequently, during the long winter months, the farmers at Brant Lake could earn many extra dollars by hitching up their teams and drawing logs from the rough country north of us. Since Father had a strong yoke of oxen and a sturdy sled, he sometimes engaged in logging after the trapping season had ended. During the first winter that he did this work it soon became apparent to the to other teamsters that Father must be unusually powerful to be able to load up and unload the heaviest logs so easily and quickly. The men talked about it, just as others in haying time had spoken of his large forksful of hay.
On the logging job there was a man by the name of Jack Turner, who was also noted for his strength, and he resented the praise that was going to the little man Roberts. Turner was a taller and heavier man, built like a halfback. Jack was known to drink a bit and when he drank he sometimes got in fights; and in every fight he was an easy winner. The more he heard about what Ed Roberts could do with logs, the more irked he became, and the more he longed for a chance to prove that he was still the local strong man. He was contemptuous of the serious young farmer with the black whiskers, and looked for an opportunity to put him in his place. Turner would block the road when he met Father, and refuse to turn out, even though his own sled was empty and Father had a heavy load of logs. And Father, who was a man of peace, would turn out in the deep snow to let him pass. A bully, of course, interprets such action as a sign of weakness, and continues his insulting behavior with greater boldness. The showdown came a few days later. Before telling about this, however, it might be well to explain just how Father came by his remarkable strength.
Back in Vermont, Father had lived a wholesome, clean life. While he held no particular scruples because of religious convictions at this time, his observations had convinced him of the moral value of temperate behavior. He believed in the goodness of natural things, so that when other men drank liquor to relax after a hard day in the hay fields, Father drank milk. Instead of carrying a plug of tobacco, he carried a cake of maple sugar. In basic strength he took after his mother, whose extraordinary physical feats have been mentioned. I have heard Father say that he did not know what people meant when they spoke of being tired. He could mow and pitch hay all day, and still feel like Samson as he wrestled with his boyhood friends in the evening. Once, after he had helped a husky Irishman do his haying and was about to be paid for his labor, the man said, “Eddie, before paying a man what I owe him, I always lay his shoulders on the ground.”
“All right,” Father replied, and squared himself for the encounter. When the two men had finished wrestling, the farmer’s wife chided, “I would be ashamed to let a man no bigger than a sheep throw me around like that.”
At another time, when Father was attending a country fair, he was persuaded by his friends to try wrestling with Hi Jinks, who was said to be the champion wrestler of Vermont. Father was not eager to have a bout with a man who was giving exhibitions of the wrestling art, but his friends urged him on. Three times in succession Father pinned the shoulders of his opponent to the ground. Hi Jinks was so chagrined when he got up the third time that he struck at Father, but the blow was deftly turned aside, and Jinks himself got one that knocked him flat. Father later said that he must have struck instinctively in self-defense, for that was the only time in his life that he ever hit a man with his fist.
When Father settled down to the serious work of clearing his land and providing for his family, he left the sport of wrestling to the younger generation. Only once did he resort to the fun that he had formerly enjoyed. This took place when a merchant who was expert in handling barrels of flour unexpectedly put his arms around Father from behind, as if to lift him, then pulled him down on his back and boasted, “Roberts, this is the way I down the boys.” When my humiliated father regained his feet amid the laughing onlookers, he replied, “I’ll show you how I do it.” Catching the trader by the lapels of his coat, he gave him a quick yank forward, swung his feet completely over the counter, and brought his shoulders to the floor.
Father’s build did not make him appear very formidable. He was only five-feet-seven-inches tall, and carried no superfluous flesh. His legs were round, small, and hard from climbing the mountain trails and working in his fields. His chest was solid and compact; his arms sinewy and long. Although he did not look it, his weight was close to one hundred and sixty pounds. It was no wonder that Jack Turner considered him as easy mark and itched to fight him. Turner heaped abuse after abuse upon him, and boasted to others that he would knock off Father’s whiskers if he ever gave him the slightest provocation.
Things came to a head one night when Father came into the lumber shanty a little late for supper. The other men, having satisfied their appetites, had pushed back their benches and begun smoking their pipes, talking and joking with each other. When Father had finished eating, he looked about for a place to sit. The only vacancy was next to the man who wanted to put him in his place. Father started for that seat but as he approached it, Turner sprawled out to block the way.
This was the last straw. Without comment Father caught Jack Turner by his coat collar and one leg, spun him around and sent him sprawling and rolling across the floor as though he were a cull log. Quietly Father asked “Do you want some more?”
The challenge was not accepted. The men on the benches quickly moved aside until there was plenty of room for Father to sit down. After that the black-bearded, Bible-reading bear trapper was accorded due respect.
5. THIS IS THE WAY IT WAS
In the early days among the mountains the settlers found that the quickest and least expensive way to build a house was to make it out of logs, very much after the pattern of a lumber camp. The three houses up the road from our place were built that way; but Father, who knew some of the rudiments of carpentry, constructed his house on more modern lines. It was a frame house, with upright studding to which wide pine boards, called sheathing, were nailed. Since commercial insulation material was not available, the bark from white birch trees was tacked on the outer surface of the sheathing, and clapboards were nailed over all.
Following the birth of their first child, Alice May, in 1864, a new daughter arrived in the Roberts’ home about every two years, until by January 1875, there were five little girls—Alice, Anna, Antha, Cordelia and Clara. They were taught to sit very still while the Bible was being read, and to kneel on the hard floor for the prayer that followed. As they grew, they helped their mother churn the butter, dry the dishes, and wind into balls the yarn that she spun for their socks and mittens. It was a special joy to them when they could pet a new calf, or feed a little lamb. The girls became greatly interested in climbing the stairs to the attic whenever their father was skinning the many fur-bearers which he had caught. Once, when Cordie saw him take a new-born baby into his arms, she asked, “Are you going to skin it?”
In the orchard the girls had a wee house for the tiny wrens who always found their way back from the south land after the long, cold winters. The five little girls must have made a pretty picture as, with red cheeks and dancing eyes, they ran about in perfect harmony with the sunshine, fresh air, and blossoming trees of their mountain farm.
Our type of house is now called Cape Cod, the upstairs of which is often finished off for dormitory purposes. Ours was never completed but served for sleeping quarters just the same. Curtains were used, instead of more durable material, to give privacy, but as in the lumber camps, there was always room for another mattress to accommodate company or an addition to the family. We had one bedroom downstairs and in the living room there was a double bed under which was a trundle bed for the youngest member of the family.
A big chimney, made of rock from our fields and creek, dominated one end of the main living room. The huge fireplace was used for cooking and warmth, and also provided light and heat for the skinning and curing of pelts on cold winter nights. Later Father bought an iron, woodburning stove which made cooking much easier for Mother and my sisters.
Along one wall of the big room Father hung his assortment of traps and gear, always kept in good repair and among our most valued possessions. His guns were near the door, as well as the strong leash he sometimes used on the dogs when he went to track a bear. There were pegs for our knitted caps and mittens, and for the warm coats lined with our own sheepskin.
After 1875 there were four more additions to the Roberts household, three boys—John, Ruel, and myself—and baby sister Eliza. We three boys slept in the loft upstairs, which was reached by a crude, narrow stairway as steep as a ladder. We had little furniture, but we had deep mattresses of straw or cornhusk ticking and we shared an assortment of gray homespun blankets which Mother made from the wool of our own sheep. In a corner of the second floor the furs, stretched on boards suitable for the various sizes of the pelts, were hung to dry with the flesh side out. The bear skins were tacked up on the inside of the barn.
Bathtubs were unknown to us, and the old galvanized washtub, filled with water heated on the back of the kitchen stove, had to serve for washing our clothes and those who wore them. Although some people in our area firmly believed that baths were a curse of the devil, our parents held with John Wesley that cleanliness was next to godliness. As it was, our baths were apt to be hasty, rather dampening affairs, and like most children the world over, we never quarreled over who was to have priority for a bath.
Our house managed to shelter us all, and no one ever had to go to the barn to sleep on the hay. As Noah found room for all the animals in the ark, so our small house, twenty-four feet by twenty-two, stretched to accommodate eleven humans with a place behind the stove for our faithful dog.
Our farm bore distinctive marks of an interesting past. On four flat sections along the brook were the remains of beaver dams. With no knowledge of conservation, greedy trappers and had exterminated all the beavers before Father had bought the property. Fortunately for all of us, the stream was full of large trout which it took only a few minutes to transfer from deep pools to the dinner table. No wonder that the Roberts boys because ardent and expert fishermen.
About a quarter of a mile up the road was a crystal-clear spring of cold water which never diminished in volume, but bubbled up summer and winter. Since our property had no underground piping we children substituted as carriers to bring the water to the house. We had small shoulder yokes which Father had fashioned for us, and these made it easier to balance a load and carry two pails at a time. The spring was near our hayfield, and a gourd or tin dipper was usually handy when we came to quench our thirst. Father taught us all at an early age never to drink directly from a pool or stream, in case we might accidentally drink up some frog’s eggs or other foreign matter. Neighbors also came to drink at our spring and to fill their jugs with his splendid water.
A marvel which I never heard explained was the large number of giant maples which stood in our sugar grove. Many of these lordly trees were three feet in diameter, and, towering into the sky sixty feet and more, provided favorite observation points for hawks and eagles who knew that we kept tasty hens and chickens. One by one these trees, some of them pin or curly maple, so desired for furniture, grew old and died. We had hundreds of regular sugar maples for ten to eighteen inches in diameter, but there was a missing link between these and the great, old trees.
For the rugged work on his farm, such as plowing among rocks and roots, driving through the deep snow to gather sap, and drawing in wood and hay, Father preferred oxen to horses. Yoking oxen to a sled or cart was less complicated, and the equipment much more economical to make and maintain. A farmer could build a sled, and nearly all of a cart, out of timber from his own trees. With oxen he could drive his team without reins.
To turn a well-trained yoke of oxen to the right, the word “gee” was the signal, while “haw” meant a left turn. “Whoa” was used to bring oxen to a stop, just as it is for horses. One man up our way even tried this order on his new Model T Ford when it headed down a bank, but in this case the magic word failed.
Strangely enough, the sound “hush,” which we make to silence noisy children, was Father’s way of accelerating the speed of his oxen. At the Pottersville Fair, when he was persuaded to enter the ox race, Father took his place between his oxen, grasped the metal ring in the yoke, and said, “hush.” His faithful beasts must have understood that they were to run like the wind, for they came in to win first prize.
On stormy days, Father found plenty of work to do inside the house. He resoled our boots and shoes, and made moccasins out of sheep skins which we had had tanned. For his three sons and himself, he made sheep-skin mittens, with the wool on the outside. It was natural for us to think of these as boxing gloves, and we used them for sparring among ourselves as well as for keeping our hands warm. In zero weather Father would put on home-knitted socks, his handmade moccasins and then low rubber boots. He made his short overcoats from bearskins and sometimes wore a coonskin cap. This made for a picturesque and formidable outfit, but it was effective against the penetrating winter blasts that seemed to come direct to us from the North Pole.
Mother spun the yarn on her large wheel, and knitted all our socks and mittens until my sisters were old enough to learn how to help. Cloth for making our clothing was bought at the general store in Horicon. The first ready-made suit that I had was provided by my sisters when I started away to school in my teens. Otherwise, I was very much like the young Billy Sunday who, when told that he could report for work as soon as he went home and got his clothes, replied, “I’ve got ‘em on!”
The food at our house, as in other mountain communities, consisted of plain essentials—bread, potatoes, johnnycake, pork, eggs, fish and game. Because of Father’s skill and also the fact that my brothers were such good shots, we consumed more fish and game than neighboring families. Our sausage, made with sage which Mother grew in our backyard, was exceptionally tasty, and so were the hams which we smoked with hickory and corn-cobs.
In addition to the everyday foods, we ate cabbage, carrots, turnips and squash, which would keep indefinitely through the winter months in our cold-cellar. For dessert we enjoyed pumpkin, apple, rhubarb and berry pies, and the superb wild-strawberry shortcakes. These were spread over with the berries, cream and grated maple sugar. Sandwiches also had the grated sugar between two thick slices of homemade bread. Brown sugar is well known as a sweetening, but grated maple sugar is in a class by itself, and not so well known. We did not have oatmeal and similar cereals in my young days, but breakfast often included pancakes with maple syrup and honey, and at times we were like the boy who said that he kept eating pancakes until he felt a pain—then ate one more to make sure. This plain, country fare must have been healthful, for all the farmers who lived in our valley reached the age of fourscore years, and not one of them ever had an operation.
Incidentally, I did not have my first taste of ice cream until I went off to school at the Glens Falls Academy. Not storing ice, and with no freezer, we never made ice cream at the farm. And I never saw a locomotive until I was almost grown, although from a distance of eighteen miles we could hear the train whistle when the wind was right. We were back-country people and seldom got farther away from home than the general store at the place now known as Brant Lake, seven miles from our house.