Backwoods Blog

EXCHANGE HOTEL

Backwoods Blog;

in the woods and on the road…

Last winter I posted a story about the time my father took a load of grain to the grist mill in Houlton back in the 1920s. As you may remember, due to my inefficient filling methods I was unable to locate the original story, but I tried my darnedest to re-create it the best that I could. Sure enough, I accidentally found it a few weeks ago and I thought it might be interesting to compare the two versions of the adventure. The first thing you will notice is that I got the Houlton hotel where my father had lunch wrong (a most important detail). I have made the correction and the photographs included in today’s post is where he actually had lunch. I forgot that I wrote the original version of the story in poetic form and the second version in prose. I think this changes the feel and content of the story as well. I also discovered a second story/poem that I wrote at the same time about a winter trip to town on the train. I have included it as a companion piece. 

A Trip to Town

it was this same time of winter
in the year 1926
that my father was 16 years old
and being the oldest son in the family
still living at home
it was his job that day
to take a load of grain on the long sled
to the grist mill in Houlton
which was a good day’s
round trip from the family homestead
located on the Nichols Road 
on the north end of Monticello
my Dad left at 5am that morning
he said it was a cold day
around zero
clear and calm
and the team clipped
right along and made it
to Houlton by a little past ten

Dad took the horses to the livery stable by the Grange
and then headed to the old Exchange Hotel to eat
while he was in town he purchased a new pair of felts
for his gum rubbers (as he called them)
and he was leaving town headed north by 2pm
but by now the wind had come up strong
and zero degrees felt like something
he was wearing his Dad’s full-length fur coat
a stocking hat, wool scarf
and his new pair of boot felts in his rubbers
but he was so cold he decided he’d be better off
walking along with the horses than riding the sled
he walked the eighteen miles along US Route One
pulling over for only four sleds that afternoon
along the narrow snow-packed way
arriving by 8pm that night 
ready for a hot plate of food
and a day’s worth of stories to tell

what does one think about walking eighteen miles 
through the cold winter night
nothing but the sound of horses' labored breath 
and sled creaking
a coat damn difficult to walk in
coming down Lowell Hill into 
the lights of Monticello village
and not even stopping
back into the dark night
food and shelter the driving force
to keep man and beast going




A Train to Town

it was about this same time of winter
in the year 1933
that my father was 23 years old
living in Littleton with his young wife
on his first farm

the price of a barrel of potatoes that year
jumped from 35 cents to 85 cents and
and he sold his entire storage crop to
yield a net profit of 500 dollars

on this winter day
my father decided to go to town
(people stored their cars this time of year
since there were no plowed roads to drive on)
he took the train to Houlton
and did his errands in town
picked up some groceries
drew out 90 dollars from the bank 
and got a haircut

the next day
the banks closed


(On March 6, 1933 President Roosevelt declared a 
National Bank Holiday as all banking transactions 
were suspended in an effort to stem bank failures 
and restore confidence in the financial system.)

If you would like to see the original post and the accompanying photos click on backwoods blog .73  

My father told me a story years ago about the time he took a load of grain to the grist mill in Houlton during the 1920s on a cold winter day. I wrote the story up at the time, but for the life of me, I cannot locate it anywhere (so much for my ad-hoc filing system). This is my earnest attempt to re-create it, the best I can, from what I remember of the original story. 

This is the story about how my father took a one-day grand adventure to town on a very cold day. He was a young man, still in his late teens but looking for a means to earn his way in this world and help the family out if he could. He volunteered to take a load of grain to the grist mill in Houlton, which was about eighteen miles away and then return the same day with the milled product. Taking all the details of the story into consideration, the best I can, I’m guessing the trip occurred sometime during the month of January, 1927. He left early in the morning just before daybreak with a long sled loaded with grain and his father’s team. In those days the winter roads weren’t plowed as they are now, they were rolled. Once the snow was compacted it made a solid winter road for horse and sled, as in that era cars and trucks were stored for the winter. He set out on his adventure from the family homestead on the north end of Monticello almost to the Bridgewater town line. The Hutchinson farm was located on the Nichols Road (now called the Fullerton Road) a small side road to the east of US Route 1.  My father wore a long fur coat, boots with gummed rubber soles and high leather uppers, mittens, a heavy wool hat and a lady’s nylon hose stocking for a face covering. He passed very few travelers on the road that day and when he did (since it was too cold to stop) he would just make a friendly gesture and keep going. Since the team was moving slowly and also as a good way to keep warm, he got out of the sled and walked most of the time leading the horses towards town. 

He arrived in Houlton around 11am and left the load of grain at the mill which was located on the north end of Bangor Road closest to town. While the grain was milled he walked just down the street to Union Square and had lunch at Clark’s Hotel on Kendall Street. As my father told me his story I identified this as the highlight of the day (which should come as no surprise since food always seemed to find its way into his adventures). He ordered the pot-roast dinner which included potatoes, hot vegetable, homemade bread and a slice of pie for dessert with ice cream on top, all for the price of $2.89 (plus tip). He was back on the road heading north by early afternoon. His meal at the hotel would be his only hot food of the day. By this time he knew he would not be home by dark, but both he and the horses were well rested and eager to push on. I’m not sure what goes through your mind when you have that much time and that much space to fill as you cover mile by mile across the barren snow landscape. Of course he had no radio or human conversation to punctuate the monotony of his own thoughts, just the plodding sound of the team or of his own boot. In January all you hope to do is stay warmer than the outside environment, keep feeling your feet and your hands, watch the moist vapor coming out of your mouth into the frigid air and just keep moving, just keep moving… It was already getting dark as he reached the top of Lowell Hill coming into the village of Monticello and when he saw the lights of the downtown it made him feel just a bit warmer. (At the bottom of that hill was the farm and farmhouse he would buy years later, and where I am today.) He didn’t stop anywhere in town but just kept going. He knew he still had eight miles to go, but now it felt like he was in the home stretch. Even the horses seemed to know as Dad said they picked up their pace. He didn’t have a light source with him, but at this point it didn’t matter – the horses knew where they were going. It was the 1920s version of a driver-less vehicle! I don’t remember Dad saying much about his arrival or making a big deal out of it, just a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment of completing the long, cold journey. We hear about life circumstances, adventures and challenges that build character in an individual and, in part, define the rest of their life and I think this was one of those experiences that helped prepare my father for the hard years ahead. Interestingly enough, this was the only time I ever heard may father tell the story. My retelling of it (as much as I can remember) is an effort to keep these long departed memories of living the old ways alive.

In the woods,

Dave

January 31, 2023

Exchange Hotel on Court Street in Houlton, Maine