Another Writings from Auntie

                  I'm adding this post from my aunt's writings that I have on here, but now all three are together so that they may be viewed all in one setting......

                

         .....One evening after a church meeting, a few of us gathered around to chat, when the subject of Above all was brought up, and Woody Rahm, who knows Warren pretty well, was teasing me about being born there. He went on to say that he thought Marge Regner and I were two of the oldest natives still in Warren, and that we were here when the Indians were. But his jest did bring back memories, and little did he know that we were here before them....

         One evening while I was doing my homework, under a 30 watt electric bulb, some men came to the door, and my father then ushered in fifteen men who said they were from an Indian tribe in Canada, with questions to ask him. They said they were from three tribal chiefs among them, they had left three big touring cars parked down by the barn. they were all in business suites except for one very old, thin, bronzed-looking man with straggly white hair and with deep wrinkles in his face, who was wearing a leather outfit.

        They had heard of my father, who at the time was in charge of seven state parks, knew a great deal about the people and the land around Lake Waramaug. They must have talked for over an hour. the old fellow seemed to be concentrating on something in his hands that we could not see. Then he looked at me and said something. As I could not understand what he said, my father told me to go to him. I was a little skeptical, but knew my father would protect me. The old Indian chief showed me an emerald bracelet he had been working on, and took my hand to put it on my wrist. It was so beautiful and I really wanted it, but unfortunately my wrist was too large. I wanted to keep it anyway, but he put it in pocket or pouch and pulled another out, which was no where near as pretty. it was two copper wires twisted together with pretty stone here and there, pink, amber, lavender, orange, each set far apart. I accepted it and thanked him very much for the kindness.

        My father told me later that the old chief wanted to take me back to his tribe, as he thought I would make some Indian a nice chubby squaw. [ I never knew if that was true or if my father was joshing me.]

         They thought that my father knew of some land that was left by the tribe at Waramaug. The only way my father was able to help them was to finally say that theu might be able to find some information in the Litchfield town records. They left [peacefully] to their automobiles. It really gave us something to think about.

          I still have the bracelet somewhere in my memoirs.

                                                   

                                      Connie Strong Verbowens

.....Sone Walls...another post from my Auntie in the Warren Observer.....

               I know a lot of you have been curious about where
      Stone Walls come from seeing them in the Northwestern part 
      of New England. When I was growing up there I was 
      interested myself, and as it turned out I ended up working
      with Stone in many jobs over the years as a contractor.
              This little story tells a little bit of their origins.....

                    When Warren was first being settled in  the 1700's
      there were just hills and forests. In order to live here,
      the settlers had to clear the land. They began by cutting down trees and digging up roots. Next were the rocks and the stones which was a monumental job at the time. They had no tractors, no cross-cut saws, no earth diggers, everything had to be done by physical strength. Many of them got fed up with the 
interminable job and left for Ohio.
       The ones who stayed just kept clearing the land and
pulling up stones. did they even have a crowbar at the time?
Probably not, but used strong saplings instead. The rocks and stones were thrown into a pile and later maneuvered to one 
side. this is where the Oxen came in handy. If a rock needed moving and the men couldn't budge it, they put a large heavy 
iron chain around it, attaching it to a ring in the Ox Yoke. 
Being slow and steady workers, the Oxen gradually moved the rock which was then rolled onto a Stone Boat. What's a 'Stone
Boat?' It is a lumber or planks, fastened together with wooden
pegs, with an iron ring attached to the front. The wood was 
usually hewn so that curved slightly upward. An iron chain
connected the ring on the stone boat to the ring on the Ox Yoke. The team would driven to a place where they wanted the wall. Rock after rock was piled up and that is where you see
the stonewalls today.

       It is interesting to notice these walls which were originally used for keeping animals in a field or pasture. But now where 
there used to be  ploughed fields for grain and gardens there
are just forests of trees. Hard to imagine that some of the stone walls once contained hay. For instance, on Route 45, a little 
distance from the Town garage, are several stonewalls going up the hill. Herb Curtiss once said that all the property as far south as where Sackett Hill meets Route 45 was once all open space.
       The stones seem to grow. Any homeowner in Warren will tell you that, because when they start mowing their lawns in the Spring they will find stone cropping up that weren't there last year.
        Upon returning to Warren after being away for several years, those stonewalls are a landmark of beauty, especially when there is a spattering of snow on them. New England is noted for stonewalls. It makes one marvel thinking of the back-breaking work the people went through to make this part of the country so picturesque........
                                                          CSV

          If you recall in this story about the ones that gave up and moved to Ohio, they then established Warren Ohio.
       
       I am so proud and happy that I have these writing's from my Aunt, without them myself and now many others wouldn't be enjoying a walk down memory lane which wonder through out Warren and parts of New Englands heritage........
             

The Carriage Stone and the Church Bell

                 This is another one of my Aunt's writings from the
      Warren Observer that my Aunt used to contribute to....
      
            There were some people from the city visiting our
      church one Sunday in the Spring of 2001. Several women
      had gathered near the front of the Church, near the
      'Carriage Stone.' Not knowing what it was there for,
      they thought it should be removed, as it seemed to block 
      the path into the Church. that gave me a chance to
      explain that when the church was built in 1818, people
      came to church in horse drawn carriages, which were 
      driven up close to that big stone. so all the passengers 
      had to do was step down onto it, walk down two steps,
      and go into the church. The horses were then driven to
      the 'Horse Sheds' where they were tied and sometimes 
      fed, depending on the owner. There was a similar rock
      on the North side of the church, and those that came on 
      horseback also found the rock helpful in dismounting.
            Usually the church bell was tolled to let townspeople 
      know that there was a fire, a funeral, or some other event. 
      I remember hearing about the 'mystery' tolling.....
            At 1:00 A. M. the night before a Fourth of July, the
      church bell began tolling and tolling. Residents thought
      there must be a tremendous fire somewhere. The sexton
      who lived near the church quickly pulled his trousers on,
      grabbed a shirt and rushed to the church to find out what
      was the trouble. When he got there, the bell stopped 
      tolling and there was no one around. The culprits had
      mysteriously disappeared.
            Although it was never proven who did it, I believe
      people in town had their suspicions. But as it was seen as 
      Forth of July prank, they just smiled and said, 'Boys will be
      boys.' [Many years later I got the full story from my 
      brothers.]

                                     Connie Strong Verbouwens

             As some of you know, I have posted many of my Aunts 
       stories on my blog, one of which is the full story of that 
       'Mystery' tolling at the church. I will give you a hint that 
       one of her brothers was of course my father......

      
               

A Bennington Banner Post on Saturday, Saturday 26, 1970

                 This is  a post that Edward & Pegeen Fitgerald of WOR,  Kent, Connecticut from an article found in the Bennington Banner of Vermont.......                                        White Man Crazy

                A deserted farmhouse in a gullied field was

            pictured in a farm journal which offered a prize

            for the best 100 word description. An Indian took

            the prize with this:

  

                "Picture show white man crazy. Cut down 

            trees. Make big tipi. Plow hill. Water wash. Wind

            blow soil. Grass gone. Door gone. Squaw gone.

            Papoose too. No hay. No pony. Indian no plow land.

            Great Spirit make grass. Keep grass. Buffalo eat

            grass. Indian eat buffalo. Hide make tipi; make 

            moccasin. Indian no make terrace. All time eat.

            No hunt job. No hitch hike. No ask relief. No

            shoot pig. No build dam. No give dam. Indian

            waste noting. Indian no work. White man crazy."

       This was posted back in 1970, and as most of you know will 

ring true through out the ages. Even though my roots don't go back to the Western Indians, I feel that my New England Indian roots 

give me some leeway in what I believe is so true in this article.....

.....More of Aunties writings' ....A Visit to the Blacksmiths.....

                       As many of you know from previous Blog posts, I re-written some of my Aunt Connies' tales of when she was growing up in and around Warren and Lake Waramaug. This story tells of when she took her fathers Horse to get Shod at the Blacksmith in New Preston when she was about ten years old........

                    Many years ago, seventy- seven, to be exact. I was about ten years old and a real tom-boy. One day I was to ride the carriage horse from Church Road in Woodville to the Blacksmith in New Preston, so using the corner of the horse trough, I clambered onto the back of the horse, and sat on a folded burlap bag, which was put there for a saddle. I was a happy kid! I was alone, and had the horse for my partner. I whistled and sang along the way, taking a nice leisurely ride. I wore no helmet, not even a cap. No Jodhpurs, just gym bloomers like the high school girls had to wear in athletics. Three-and-a- half miles later I arrived at the Village Blacksmiths. He reminded me so much of Longfellow's "the Village Blacksmith." 'Under a spreading chestnut tree the village smithy stands, the smith, a mighty man is he, with large and sinewy hands, and the muscles of his brawny arms are as strong as iron bands.' And this particular blacksmith was built just about the same way. I could see he was very busy shoeing a big work horse, so I just stayed out of his way and watched,  as he took the large iron tongs and pulled a large semi-circular object out of the fire, placed it on a huge stump and using a sledge hammer, pound it into a shape that would fit the horse's hoof. Then I heard it sizzle as it was placed on the horses hoof and held in place while he drove nails into the hoof. I felt very sorry for the horse; it must have hurt. But later I found out that the outside of the hoof was not feeling. The horse was taken outside and tied to an iron ring on the building, until the owner came back for it, which was usually very soon. Then the blacksmith looked at me and asked me what I wanted. Believe me he was so big and strong, his arms seemed all muscle, perspiration  running down his face and arms. I quietly led my horse inside [ hard to believe I was shy in those days, but I was]. I spook softly and said " Pa said to put shoes on all four feet." He tied the horse to another iron ring fastened to the wall, and took one leg and placed it on a sort of a pedestal that fit right under the hoof. Then he cut away the nails, and went to the fire and pumped the bellows to get the fire burning hot. I stood there barefoot and watched the whole proceedings with curiosity. When all was done, he told me it was a $1.00, and I answered  "Pa said he would pay you the next time he came to the village." Evidently our credit was good and under no circumstances would a child be allowed to handle so much money because, according to adults, they would surely lose it. The blacksmith picked me up as though I was no heavier than a cat, and placed me on Major's back and so I rode home. What a wonderful day to be entrusted to take a horse to get shod. I really thought I was a Queen.

                                 Caroline [Strong] Verbouwens

      ...She Added....

      

         I wrote this because of the Norway Spruce being cut down in New Preston, they were there when I went that day, and I saw them every day when the school bus passed. I felt like I was losing an ancestor, but I must be grateful that no more were cut.

         By the way, the Blacksmith's name was Bill Jessum, and he was the granddad of Ron Cheney and several other Cheney's in town. the blacksmith's shop is the red building on the North side of Rt. 202, directly across from the trees. That building holds years of history, and I hope it will be preserved for many more years.   CV

                                      

               I hope you all enjoyed this trip down memory lane...I hope to continue with not only her stories but some of mine thrown in for good measure.......N

            

           

....Walking in the Dark on White Shadows.......

                As I made my way thru this vacant and dark hallway, I could make out distinct Shadows of light shining threw the slightly opened doorways ahead of me....

      The first one that I approached I opened with some reluctance but as it glided easily open in my hand I proceeded and stepped in.....

       Tom greeted me with that large grin of his and a warm handshake, telling me that it was good that I had come. Walking over to his piano and sitting down, e started to a song he wrote while working at the Mobile station in New Milford.             It started with ...'Nathan Hale & the boys from Yale....'   Soon our good friend Shrdlu and Greg walked over to join in a make-shift chorus. Which was always fun when those guys came together to sing.....and play some mean music.......

       Soon John Henry appeared just in time with a Doobie for all to enjoy...Michael of course not far behind...Teddy not one to indulge had his cocktail in hand... 

       A little light headed by now, I ventured further into this glowing white room, and saw an interesting  group of people hanging out...first the  one that looked straight at me was Ty....giving me the whole hearted laugh and a big hug...what a gal..!!  My cousin Cal and his grandson stood by with none other than Spargo.....then a friend appeared that left us to soon here in my new home...Ron with the every 'Chao Baby' that warm greeting before jumping on his Harley to venture to new horizons ......

        There are so many more from my new home and my old! It will take me some time to walk along more of those White Shadows, and peek around dark corners to reach the point of keeping them all close to my heart and sharing them all with you....and of course not for getting one of the first and best...Norm.....

            

         Now that our time is spent in remembering our dear friends, let us not forget where we stand now and keep all those...living or gone....in our Earts forever...and forever young....

                        Much Love & Peace......

                    

.....No Place to Hide....

                                     Travel Wide and Long
                         to the Place of Wilds
                         into Dark and Lonely Places,
                         into the Homes of Bewildered Poor Childs.

                                      You keep on that Road
                         no matter how tough it gets
                         but I in My wonder....
                         want to know why these People Sweat.
 
                         They are in the End spots
                         of the Cities Row....
                         Struggling, some hard,
                         some just to keep alive.. I Know!

                         Sooner or Later,
                         after I make my Travels far and wide
                         I don't have to stop and wonder,
                         they'll have no place to Hide.

                         Now that I've left over Seas
                         beyond their Unsuccessful Land,
                         I'll never forget the Poor
                         giving me a helping hand.
                         
                         If ever I come back to this Land, 
                         that I love so much.......
                         I'll always go back to those People
                         so that I'll never lose their touch!