The pace of summer has kept me from writing much, hence the easy way out by sharing snippets on Instagram. Sometimes I do manage to thumb my way through the almost 400 words IG allows in any given post, usually while taking a shade break from garden work. Micro-blogging. I do not mind it.
Adam and I are spending time this summer in Maine packing up my parents’ house, and in doing so I’ve been reminded of some great family stories that I’d like to share here. Not because I expect you’d find my family stories particularly interesting, but because if you’re like me, you find human stories interesting. In reading through the family memoirs, written by my 3rd cousin, Lucien, I was struck by how radically our lives have changed, and how much human capability has been lost after thousands of years in development, in two quick generations. And, how these stories could be the stories of nearly any rural, northern New England family, living in the early part of the twentieth century.
I’ll let Lucien’s stories speak for themselves, only adding that Eddie was my great-grandfather (Pepere), and Yvonne my great-grandmother (Memere) for context. Also, Lucien – the author – never lived in Eagle Lake, hence his tales of “visiting” there. His mother, Clarinda (Eddie’s sister), left Eagle Lake sometime in her teens and made her way south to Lewiston, Maine, where she took up work as a seamstress, eventually settling in Augusta, Maine, and raising her family there. So, Lucien was a city dweller, who loved his northern roots. He was a decorated war hero, and in civilian life, a bright, successful business man, but even with such worldly preparations, the first story illustrates that hunting with the Simard men in Eagle Lake presented great challenges!
I’d like to also note that Lucien spoke French, despite having been raised far from Eagle Lake, due to his parents both sharing their native language at home. This was helpful during his Eagle Lake visits (and the stories he was able to share as a result), as French was still the primary language spoken in the region at the time. One more thought: Lucien’s genealogy work traces our family back much further than the time of these stories. He takes our family back through the early settlement of Eagle Lake (we were among the first recorded names), to Quebec, and even further to a small village in France in the 1600’s. Much of his reporting did not come via internet genealogy sites, but by visits to these places and physical research once there.
My absolute favorite reading has always been rural memoir from early twentieth century. Simple prose retelling everyday life. The pull so strong and familiar that I’ve long felt convinced I must have lived that life before. Finally beginning to wise up at 45 years, I realize that indeed I have. The lives and stories of Yvonne, Clarinda, Eddie, Samuel, and many more are locked into my DNA, passed down through generations. Of course I’ve been there.
In a world of shiny Pinterest ideals, grocery stores filled with boxed caloric units called “food”, and Twitter diplomacy, I call on the skills, grit, wisdom, integrity, and presence of mind that is in my not-too-distant past. It is in yours, too. May we all remember.
And with that, I’ll turn it over to Lucien.
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A Hunting Tale
Sometimes in November, after the first snows each year, many of the men in Eagle Lake went deer hunting. Pepere Samuel, my uncles Eddie, Artie, and Fred, and my cousins all did. The rest of December and the first days in January, the men stayed home to enjoy the Christmas and New Year’s holidays with their families. Then, some of the men left home again, this time to go deep in the woods to work in lumber camps, until sometime in the Spring.
Over the years, mon oncle Eddie had worked for several lumber companies, and he knew his way around lumber camps and tote roads all over northern Maine. As a certified Maine Guide, he led tourists, who came to Maine to hunt and fish, in and around the Allagash region.
Thanksgiving week 1947 was just around the corner, and I was itching for my first deer hunting trip with my Simard relatives in Eagle Lake. My brother-in-law, Leo Pelletier, had never been deer hunting before and wanted to go with me. He was a nice person and a good guy to be with. Leo offered to drive the two of us in his new car, and off we went.
Leo and I arrived in Eagle Lake raring to go deer hunting for the first time. We dressed warm, with heavy hunting clothes and boots, to withstand the freezing outdoors weather. Leo was paired with mon oncle Eddie, and I was paired with my cousin Fernand.
The four of us went to the boat landing at Eagle Lake, got into a large canoe at the mooring, and canoed to the mouth of the Nadeau River. That morning, there was a thin layer of ice on the lake, and we had to cut a path with the canoe to get to the shore near the river. There was a good two or three feet of snow on the ground.
Once we had landed, mon oncle Eddie and Leo went in one direction, while cousin Fernand and I took off in another direction. It was very difficult walking in the deep snow. We walked all forenoon without finding a trace of a deer. I could see the Nadeau River nearby. My back was killing me. I was tired and hurting all over.
Well, I told Fernand that I could not go back to the canoe in my condition, it was just too far. He said something like, “What are you going to do?” I told him that I was going to hold my rifle over my head and cross the river, and follow the railroad tracks to town.
Fernand couldn't talk me out of my plan, and so he crossed the river with me. The river was around three feet deep at the place where we crossed, and our legs got very wet. Once we were out of the water on the other side, our legs iced up quickly. We walked along the railroad tracks, the four or five miles, all the way back to mon oncle Eddie’s house in Eagle Lake.
Ma tante Yvonne, could not believe it when she opened the door and saw us. She made us take our frozen clothes off, and gave us each a robe to wear. She heated the oven, opened up the oven door, and told us to sit as near to it as we could, without burning ourselves. Next, she gave us a tall glass of hot water, with gin and sugar to drink. It tasted awful. But neither of us got pneumonia!
Meanwhile, mon oncle Eddie had killed a deer and had dragged it back to the canoe. He waited for us until almost dark, and then left with Leo for town. He got home to find us mostly thawed, but in pretty bad shape. He was glad to see us, but he laughed his head off when he heard our story.
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Lumber camp photos, great-great- Memere and Pepere Simard, baby Lucien (author) in Eagle Lake.
Life on the Farm
On April 15, 1929, President Roosevelt called a special session of Congress to deal with the mounting problems of the nation’s economy. In particular, farmers were becoming deperate for finacial relief, and the tariff needed revision. On October 24, 1929, the New York Stock Exchange saw some 16,000 shares sold at declining prices. “Black Tuesday,” as this day was called, was the most catastrophic day in the market’s history and foretold of the Great Depression to come.
My father worked for the Fuller-Holway Company from the time he got out of military service in 1919 until 1927, when he accepted a better paying job with the Cushnoc Paper Company. He worked on the grinders at this paper company until it shut down, due to the Depression, in 1933.
It was common during these years, for a large number of workers to ask for their annual vacation during the month of July. In addition, paper mills, textile mills, and the shoe shops shut down for needed mainteneance and necessary repairs on machinery for a week or two in July. Since my father was not part of a repair or maintenance crew, we were able to take our annual family vacation for the first two weeks in July. This was our chance to visit my mother’s relatives in Eagle Lake.
My memories of our visits to the Simards in Eagle Lake are some of the happiest memories of my childhood. First, our Dodge sedan would always be in tiptop shape and raring to go. It would have to carry us 300 miles, over paved roads; some with frost heaves from the previous winter, and over gravel roads too.
About a week before we left on our trip up north, my mom would pack enough clothes for the two week visit, to last us for a month. On the evening before our trip, she would pack a big lunch, including bottles of root beer on ice. The long trip at 45 miles an hour, from Augusta to northern Maine, meant seven to eight hours of some pretty rough riding. This lunch would have to keep our bodies and souls happy until we would reach Pepere Samuel Simard’s farm in Eagle Lake.
During the trip, my mother would tell us about Pepere Samuel’s farm. There were several horses, many cows, quite a few pigs, lots of chickens, and a few sheep. There was a dog and several cats. The closer we got to Eagle Lake, the more excited we became. Before arriving, my mother would remind us to be on our best behavior at all times.
What excitment! We would arrive, and the grandparents, the aunts and uncles, and the cousins were so happy to see us, and we were so happy to see them. The hugs and kisses all around took quite a while. We were going to have such a good and fun time together.
Suddenly, someone rang a cowbell and hollered that supper was ready. There was a real big table set-up in the large kitchen with an enormous amount and variety of food that could feed an army. The eating arrangement was systematic and well organized. In no time at all, everyone had eaten to their hearts content, and the leftover food was put away. The female crew washed and wiped the dishes, and Memere Marguerite put them away.
Afterwards, the entire family gathered in the large living room for storytelling, music, and just a good time. On occasions, Pepere Samuel started telling us about life on the farm. He told us about the never-ending work that started before dawn and continued until dark. There were jobs for everyone in the family. It was a rough life, and parents largely depended on help from the children to get all the work done.
All year around day after day, there was milking the cows, taking care of the milk, seperating the cream, and making the butter, among other things. Cleaning the stables was an ongoing chore. Then, there was collecting the eggs from the chickens every day.
I was still quite young, when Pepere and Memere told me that I was big enough to collect fresh eggs from the chickens in the barn. Memere said that she would give me a penny for every egg that I brought in. No doubt I didn’t want to miss my chance to collect as many pennies as possible… because I began knocking the chickens off their nests to get the eggs. Well, one day, Pepere caught me doing this, and he let me know that I should give the chickens a chance to do their job. I got the message!
During those evenings after dinner, we heard stories about how in the Spring of the year, the fields were ploughed to produce wheat and other grain. They planted fields of potatoes, as well as a good-size vegetable garden. By mid-Summer, the big job of haying the fields had to be done. In the Fall, it was a matter of harvesting the grain to convert it into flour. It was also time for the big job of picking potatoes. Vegetables from the garden were harvested and canned in quart jars. Later still, some of the cows, chickens, and pigs were slaughtered and the meat preserved by canning and/or storing in wooden barrels with layers of snow between the layers of meat. In some cases, pork and other meats were immersed in a salty brine solution. Before cooking meat cured this way, it was necessary to soak it again in fresh plain water, to leach out some of the salt.
Some of my uncles and older cousins told stories about taking tourists out to fish in the Spring and Summer, and to hunt deer in the Fall. They also told stories about when they hunted and fished to provide food at home, and about when they trapped for fur pelts in the wintertime to provide additional income for their families.
During hard times, after Christmas, Pepere Samuel and his eldest son, Eddie, left the farm to go hunt and trap in the wild Allagash region of northern Maine. Mon oncle Eddie told stories about how they left the warmth and comfort of their home during some of the harshest weather of the winter, carrying only salt pork and a few other supplies in a knapsack on their backs, and with a pair of snowshoes slung across their bodies. They would have to live off the land and in the woods for a couple of months, trapping fur-bearing animals for pelts, and killing deer for food. They would use the deer hides for cover from wild animals and the elements, and as blankets to help keep warm at night. These were great adventure stories for a young boy like me to hear!
At some point during the evening, Memere Marguerite would start to play the accordion, and ma tante Gertrude Michaud would play the piano. Pretty soon, some of the family would sing, and still others would dance. We all had such a good time.
During my years growing up, we made several trips to Pepere Samuel’s farm, and were always well recieved. I got to know my Simard uncles and aunts and cousins well. They were always good-hearted and wonderful people to share with and to have fun together.
After each of our two-week visits, the Simard family would send us off on our long journey back to Augusta, loaded down with canned jars of deer meat, garden vegetables, and a 50-pound bag of potatoes. These visits not only connected me to my mother’s family, but they also taught me a lot about the kind of person I wanted to become in life. The visits with my Eagle Lake relatives, and listening to the stories they told, were for me, lessons in the value of hard work, being honest and generous, and of having fun.
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Thank you for reading two small excerpts from Lucien's memoirs; he would be truly tickled to know anyone found them of interest! I hope you find that similar stories have been written down by someone in your family. May we all do our part to carry on with such important traditions.