A cold wintery Sunday with thoughts of the Shakers and life that has passed me by!

Brooklyn Street this winter

The lesson I have learned this winter is that without money…you are stuck wasting your life...yes really.  I watched via social media people who could go skiing, go to a vacation spot, go to the Syracuse basketball games, attend runs and walks, go to fund raisers. go shopping to malls, go out to eat or go to concerts...what if you have  no family that is close, and no money…?

If you are struggling to stay warm, to eat, to keep things together, to pay ridiculous energy bills… is this called living?

I had someone say to me well you can watch TV or go to the Library and get books!  With no TV because of the cost of it and no local service, with no car or bus service to get to a library…what do you suggest then?

The fact is everything costs so much money today that staying alive could take all of your funds and more. 

So in reading research I am doing on the Shakers for next year’s lectures, I was struck by what actually was their demise.  Many would think it was celibacy…but no, it was modern times and money.  

Success and wealth allowed them to become part of the “World’s People”.  They no longer were happy with the simple life of growing, working, keeping busy, praying and living separate from the world, no they now saw the need for expansion and progress…the cost…cost them everything.

They could no longer make everything to sell and had to hire workers who never provided the quality of “Hands to work, Hearts to God”.  As people left for the world they had to hire people to grow food or to buy it. Dissention reined as some want this, some that, none were really happy just staying put away from the world and all of the things they originally thought were repugnant to God.  Even fellowship was lost in squabbles over money and investments...yes they had tons of money to invest at times.  As they saw more of the worldly goods they wanted more. As the number of Believers left they could no longer keep the communities clean and neat and working. The rules they lived by changed and then changed gain...they no longer went out to seek new members.

Sad actually… a way of life that brought people together who had fashioned a society that cared about one another, that was self-sufficient for the most part…fell to ruin.  The Shakers were the longest running (one group of which is still functioning at Sabbath Lake in Maine) communistic society in America.  Millerites, Oneida Community Perfectionists, and so many others are all gone because of religious beliefs…but Shakers kept their vision of God both mother & father and failed because of money!  Believers wanted to be part of what the "world" could offer! Modernization..

I guess that is us today…we all want what the world can offer us…but for some the world has passed them by and unfortunately, they cannot be self sufficient in today’s society without the money to make them that way!

I wrote poem when I was very young, when my mother died I found that she had kept it.  It was on life passing me by…and this winter it has…

Life Just Passed Me By

I felt the wind like the touch of Spring, /Gently passing in the glow of day./
I saw a scene so far from me,
/Yet passing just a foot away.
/I heard God as I walked the hill.
/I stopped to listen and to pray, /And time just passed on by.

May heart smiled, enjoyed, and cared,
/As my lungs filled with the sweet Spring air;/ And the breeze against my face wasn’t even there,/ As life just passed on by.

They laughed at me for I beamed with love, /For the grass that felt like silken glove, 
/It gave me pleasure and just a bit of love, /And time just passed me by.
/I heard the call of the meadow’s lark,/
I felt the tree and its rugged bark,
/But time had passed me by.

For now I’m grown and now I’ve lost /The simple heart that would have bought,/ With a fortune or a ransom found,/
But not even that could stop.../Time from passing me on by.

Here is a video I did on the Shaker Settlement near Albany..their original settlement...

For Pauline...Bullhead fishing...Bob Rollins...and the good times in Eaton..Think Spring!

My good fishing buddy Pauline Brown...miss her!

With all the snow that fell everywhere but here in Eaton. (Thank God) I thought about Spring and how I wished we were coming on to it instead of Winter.  I got and email today from someone from the area and this story popped into my head...so for Harold.

One year my good friend Pauline and I went up to Jack Ass and were frustrated at catch- ing no bullhead; as a matter of fact we had few bites. Pauline had talked to our neighbor Bob Rollins, and he said we should use crabs. Well, this particular night when we didn‟t even get one bite we were camping on the hill where Pauline had a trailer. The next morning over a cup of coffee she ordered me to town to find her daughter Judy in order to get her to get us some crabs (crayfish) to fish with that night.

So I drove back to town and got Judy, telling her of her mother‟s request. I had a pail and asked her if we needed cans or a net to catch the crabs with. Judy laughed at me with that city slicker type of laugh of hers and said, “You just reach down and grab them”. So, reinforced with that information, I followed her across the cow pasture behind the house to the place where she and her friend Cindy used to catch them. There were these “crabs”. I yelled, “You mean crayfish are your crabs?” She looked at me and said, “Yes, why?” “I eat these things, I do not fish with them!”

Judy reached down and tried to grab one, and it bit her. She dropped it and looked at me. After losing a bunch of them that way I took my baseball cap off, and we used that as a scoop! My poor hat! This ball cap was my prize possession since it was bought the day the Liverpool Library became the first library in the United States to bar- code, and it had a barcode on the front for Liverpool! It worked well, but unfortunately the hat never recovered!

That night I took the “crabs” up to Pauline, and we fished. While being novices at fishing with crabs, we did not know we were supposed to break the poor thing‟s legs or it would crawl under a rock. Well, to say the least, we were not successful, and that week I had to go out and buy hooks and sinkers to replace the ones that were under what must have been every rock in the Eatonbrook Reservoir in our casting area!
After some thought on this I wrote the poem “Crabbin‟ .

 

Crabbin ’
(For the bullheads)

On a hot day in May,
Thought of going fishin’ at the end of the day. 
So I asked my neighbor what bait he’d use, 
If he were fishin’ in my shoes.
He said t’wer crabs they would bite best, 
Not knowing crabbin’ would be a test, 

With pail and helper I shuffled along, 
Across the cow pasture and further beyond.
Just as the creek went ‘round the bend,
They were spotted by my crabbin’ friend.

It seems in her youth she had caught them by hand, 
As they scooted backwards across the sand.
But now as adults we found it quite clear, 
‘Twas more than a hand that was needed here. 

So using my ball cap as a net,
Up to the crabs we slowly crept.
Two hours of crabbin’ and soaked to the skin, 
We made it back to my lawn again.


That evening, exhausted, I went to fish, 
Picturing them fried, lying on my dish.
But each time I threw a crab in the lake, 
A quick walk under a rock it would take.

Now with reticence I sit and think,
With not a fish to clean in my sink; 
‘Though they wiggle, and they do squirm, 
There’s nothing’ like fishin’ with a worm. 

A video of Jack Ass...

A Christmas message and card from the backstreet!

Once again on the week behore Christmas I find myself lost amid old memories, problems of the present... and the dificulties of living in this (at the very moment) place in history where in seconds news is flashed, reflashed, disected and rehashed within the blink of an eye.  

So.. I decided to try and go back to a much nicer time, a time when life was simple and the holidays were something to look forward to...times to remember in your heart with joy!  Here is a repost from last year...but some things to think about.   I question...are we living in better times???

I painted the above picture for a Christmas card in 1995 and wrote the poem to go with it.  The story came from discussions with the old members of our little community group who shared their remembrances of "Christmas Past".

They are all dead now... but like on old clock I have turned my mind back to that year and leave the poem to you as my Christmas blog and my hope for a quiet and warmer future built on love...not hate....on families....not presents and shopping...and on love for your neighbor!

Going to Grandma’s for Christmas

Going to grandma’s for Christmas,

A very special day.

Through the city, past the suburbs,

Out the country way;

Past the now frozen pond,

Where children skate and sled;

While moms and dads look on.

As we approach the old farm house’

With barns in red and white;

I feel a glow of warmth,

In just picturing the sight,

The front door swinging open;

As waves and cheers abound.

It seems a million years ago,

Last Christmas came around.

The tree in its shining hour;

Standing in the hall,

So it might stretch to its fullest height,

And run from floor to floor.

Grandma’s fresh baked cookies,

Cooling by the stove;

And gingerbread decorated,

With swirls, and dots, and love.

The goose stuffed and waiting;

Cranberries and popcorn strung;

The neighbors gathering at the door,

Singing carols just for fun.

After all the presents,

Are unwrapped and tucked away;

I slip upstairs to Grandma’s room,

To kneel with her and pray.

Then curled up in a feather bed,

So snug and fluffy warm;

I feel at ease with all the world;

And safe from any harm.

No matter how many years come and pass away,

Grandma and the country,

Will be the heart of my Christmas Day!

Genesee Country Museum, Madison County History, and the country poet!

The fall in all of its colors has started to envelop Central New York and for fun my little "history circle" of history friends... took to the highway to take advantage of the Smithsonian Magazines "free day" at a museum.

The ride took us to scenic Mumford, NY and the Genesee Country Village.  The village is a living history museum on its own, that includes tons of historic houses, businesses and buildings that have been moved to the site and restored.  The village also contains and Art Museum and a Nature Center and I assure you you can not see it all in one day.


The barns and shops scream history and you can actually picture yourself walking around in the Disney movie Pollyanna.  The collection includes houses and buildings from the 1790's to the Victorian Age.... and has everything from farms to the local Post Office, all taken back to how they looked when they were built and used.

I so wish Madison County with all of its historic buildings in decay would realise the need for preservation and laws prohibiting the removal of historic structures that in the worst case are replaced by cheap trailers.

This week  also brought Madison County Historian Matt Urtz and hardworking Bruce Burke up to my historic building favorite... the Old Town of Eaton Museum.... to film "a historical insights" piece for the PAC 99 station in Oneida, that will air this week on Tuesday!

The museum building is the oldest stone building in the Town of Eaton, and it is a prime example of a structure that cannot be replaced..it is a rubble building..once mistakenly called a canal era limestone building.

This makes me think of a poem I did many years ago that I include here for your enjoyment. (I hope!)

Small Country Town

Small country town, your praises I sing!

Up with what is old!

Buried in your graveyard,

Now moss covered and fallen,

Is an age of birth,

Back to our nation’s beginning.

As I gaze at the town below,

I can see the old stage

With its old driver bent, riding away.

The town’s bustle now a mere hum,

Cars rolling by one by one.

Your people I salute, for they still persist,

As their past on the cemetery hill sits.

Families untouched by time, still close,

Though taken away by work,

And returning again at dusk.

I praise your farmer,

Who works from dawn to dark,

Full knowing his family heritage,

Has given way to progress,

Yet continues to plod along.

Hold on! For we need you as a nation!

Hold on for all that is good and fine!

To the preacher and his Sunday flock,

Whose church can only stay as a community faith.

To the small businessman who must make his word good,

For he faces each man day after day. 

Bless them Lord

And give them strength to continue,

So the country shall not want.

Stopping by the Woods on the Snowy Evening in Eaton

On this day in history one of America’s most famous poems was published.  It is a poem we all have heard or recited in school and on this snowy evening it seemed to spring to life from the darkness outside my back door.

Stopping by the Woods on a Snowy Evening by Robert Frost is a true representation of rural life down here.  Even the resurgence of horses, sleighs and farm teams has occurred with many Amish families that have taken up residence in the farms of the area.

Robert Frost's poetry to me is a unique blend of the vocabulary of rural America and scholarly prose… and by its nature appeals to poetry lovers of all variety.

Amish fishermen on Lebanon Reservoir

Frost never actually graduated from any college, though he taught at many after becoming a poet of note.  Yet he received 4 Pulitzer Prizes for his work and 43 honorary degrees from noted colleges like Cambridge and Dartmouth.

Many have tried to interpret his simple poetry... and yet I am not sure he ever wanted that done.  He loved the sound that words made and truthfully I believe that is what has endeared him to many generations.

Frost was a dichotomy, he was not born in the country he was born and raised in the city.  When his farm and writing career became a failure… he left America for England…returning only after WWI’s outbreak.  On his return he returned to the country farm life and is today considered the Mark Twain of American Poetry.

It is said that "Stopping by the Woods" was story of a true event.  It is said that after failing to get a job he was riding home to his family at Christmas on a snowy winter’s night.  As he rode home he stopped to think and to cry at his failure.   His heart was very heavy since he had no presents for his children and family.  But after being awakened by his horse’s bells he continues down the road home and... eventually into the hearts of America.

Stopping By Woods on a Snowy Evening

Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village though;

He will not see me stopping here

To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer

To stop without a farmhouse near

Between the woods and frozen lake

The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake

To ask if there is some mistake.

The only other sound's the sweep

Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.

But I have promises to keep,

And miles to go before I sleep,

And miles to go before I sleep.



Robert Frost reading his poem..

Going to Grandmas for Christmas!

Once again on the week behore Christmas I find myself lost amid old memories, problems of the present... and the dificulties of living in this (at the very moment) place in history where in seconds news is flashed, reflashed, disected and rehashed within the blink of an eye.  

So.. I decided to try and go back to a much nicer time, a time when life was simple and the holidays were something to look forward to...times to remember in your heart with joy!  Here is a repost from last year...but some things to think about.   I question...are we living in better times???

I painted the above picture for a Christmas card in 1995 and wrote the poem to go with it.  The story came from discussions with the old members of our little community group who shared their remembrances of "Christmas Past".

They are all dead now... but like on old clock I have turned my mind back to that year and leave the poem to you as my Christmas blog and my hope for a quiet and warmer future built on love...not hate....on families....not presents and shopping...and on love for your neighbor!

Going to Grandma’s for Christmas

Going to grandma’s for Christmas,

A very special day.

Through the city, past the suburbs,

Out the country way;

Past the now frozen pond,

Where children skate and sled;

While moms and dads look on.

As we approach the old farm house’

With barns in red and white;

I feel a glow of warmth,

In just picturing the sight,

The front door swinging open;

As waves and cheers abound.

It seems a million years ago,

Last Christmas came around.

The tree in its shining hour;

Standing in the hall,

So it might stretch to its fullest height,

And run from floor to floor.

Grandma’s fresh baked cookies,

Cooling by the stove;

And gingerbread decorated,

With swirls, and dots, and love.

The goose stuffed and waiting;

Cranberries and popcorn strung;

The neighbors gathering at the door,

Singing carols just for fun.

After all the presents,

Are unwrapped and tucked away;

I slip upstairs to Grandma’s room,

To kneel with her and pray.

Then curled up in a feather bed,

So snug and fluffy warm;

I feel at ease with all the world;

And safe from any harm.

No matter how many years come and pass away,

Grandma and the country,

Will be the heart of my Christmas Day!

The Poor and Carl Sandburg: a man for all seasons..especially Presidential Debates

PresidentiaThe Presidential debates go on and the comments on them go on 
and on and yet what have we learned?

The only theme that has really bothered me lately is the theme of 
entitlement…social security…Medicare…unemployment…   
Humorously these are not really entitlement programs that come 
from the government, they are programs paid for by the people 
weekly and monthly as they work…and yes the people are the 
government.

Today we seem to think that people do not like to work, but many 
are working harder than ever before….working two part time jobs 
or three in some cases….jobs that have no retirement or health 
insurance.

As a People we have allowed factories and better paying city jobs 
to lure us into driving miles to work.  Cars and gas now humble a 
person who has to commute to keep a job, especially if the job 
does not have health-care or retirement benefits.

And what of the elderly who worked all their life at jobs and still 
have benefits that are not enough to live on because of the inflation 
in the cost of our daily lives.

I wonder?  Could we be headed to the second Great Depression…. 
That idea becomes more of a thought and reality as the dust bowl 
lingers in places out west fraught with drought, and as factories 
shut down to move overseas.  Have these companies moved 
because they can get better workers or merely because they can get 
cheaper labor and less regulation?

Companies have taken to hiring temporary part-time workers to 
allow them to side step requirements to keep good workers and to 
actually keep these workers from entitlement programs that the 
company contributes to.  So... we are now complaining about 
giving extra money and food stamps to people to replace corporate 
or business contributions.

And Rural America…now insurance and hiring labor is being by-
passed by the use of huge machines that do the work of 10 men.  
Family farms that keep 30 or 40 cows forced out by large corporate 
farms.

Ironically the debate made me think of Carl Sandburg.  With Obama 
from the Chicago area, a man  doing the thing Carl believed could 
happen…a self-made man who rose from a poor beginning to 
becoming President of the United States.  And there opposite him 
in the debate a wealthy man’s child and a big businessman.

I thought of this poem written in Chicago by Sandburg when he 
started out....simply titled 

                                 “The Poor”

AMONG the mountains I wandered and saw blue haze and red crag 
and was amazed;
On the beach where the long push under the endless tide 
maneuvers, I stood silent;
Under the stars on the prairie watching the Dipper slant over the 
horizon’s grass, I was full of thoughts.

Great men, pageants of war and labor, soldiers and workers, 
mothers lifting their children—
these all I touched, and felt the solemn thrill of them.

And then one day I got a true look at the Poor, millions of the 
Poor, patient and toiling; more patient than crags, tides, and stars; 
innumerable, patient as the darkness of night—
and all broken, humble ruins of nations.