Remembering Danvers

Ski lifts

2012-01-27T21:07:00.000-05:00

A newspaper article this month about a young girl falling off a ski lift brought back a vivid memory of my first-ever chair lift ride. My parents had taken me to a commercial ski place somewhere in Maine. They were skiing with me and they assured me that the chair-lift was safe, but I wasn't convinced. I was quite reluctant to get on that open seat that would carry me high in the air. It looked scary. Actually the chairs didn't go very high (compared to other chairlifts I'd ride in later years). The snow below was so close that Daddy cautioned me to keep the tips of my skis up. He was riding in a chair behind me; my mother was behind him; I was in a single chair in front of them, feeling very vulnerable and uncertain. (How will I get off this thing?). Ahead of me were some teenagers. One fellow was swinging his skis rather recklessly. That jiggled the whole cable and bounced our chairs, scaring me even more. Daddy said these chairs were well attached to the cable and safe; nothing to worry about. Suddenly the boy's ski tip caught in a snowdrift below and flipped him out of his chair, right down into the snow! His empty chair bounced wildly about three times and then detached from the cable and fell into the snow below. I sat frozen in fear for the rest of the ride, hardly daring to breathe. This was NOT a good introduction to chair lifts! I was much relieved to get off at the end, and I wished to return home to the more familiar rope tows.

In Danvers I grew up with rope tows. My father designed and built several ski-tows. Some were portable; some were fixed in place. The first one I remember was at the top of the hill at Locust Lawn, powered by an old Model T Ford. Daddy sometimes had to use a hand crank to get that engine turning. A long loop of ski-tow rope ran from the Ford all the way down the slope of the cow-pasture hill and back up again. The rope moved continuously, pulled forward by the rotation of the Ford's rear wheels. Pulleys tied to trees or poles high in the air guided the rope down the slope; the return part of the loop slid back uphill on the snow surface.

Learning to grab that slippery moving rope for a ride uphill was tricky at first. I recall awkward early attempts. If I grabbed the rope too suddenly, I'd be jerked forward and thrown off balance, falling forward in the snow. If my skis weren't straight in the track, I'd be pulled sideways and fall over. If I didn't squeeze the rope tightly enough with my little mittens, the rope just slid through my hands and I didn't move forward at all. It took practice and patience to learn the art of holding that rope with just the right pressure to move forward gracefully.

When I was very young, Daddy just did the work for me, skiing with his long legs and arms around mine and holding onto the rope tow in front of me. That was easy and fun! I didn't have to worry about holding onto that rope. Daddy's grip carried us both uphill.

As I grew older and gained confidence as a skier, using the rope-tow became second nature. I'd ski quickly down the slope, turn, slide right up beside the moving tow, grab it and go right up the hill without any conscious effort. Up and down, up and down for hours of skiing on this local Danvers hill. We rarely skied anywhere else. If there was snow in Danvers, we skied at Locust Lawn.

It was rare to go "upcountry" to ski at a real ski resort. I did eventually overcome my fear of chairlifts and enjoy skiing on some bigger mountains. But I still have wonderful memories of skiing in Danvers with local friends and that comfortable old rope tow.

Holyoke

2011-12-28T21:53:00.018-05:00

What's in a name? Recently I have spent much time focusing on Holyoke -- the place and the name, and my connections to Holyokes past and present. I've been looking at a mural at the Holyoke Public Library.

It was painted in the mid-20th century to depict exploration of the Connecticut River valley by English settlers in the 17th century. One survey team was led by Captain Elizur Holyoke. Legend has it that he named Mount Holyoke, a prominent local landmark.

Growing up in Danvers in the 1950's I often heard the name Holyoke mentioned, but I didn't know the story of Elizur. Instead, I heard about Edward Holyoke. My uncle was named Edward Holyoke Nichols after an important ancestor whose portrait hung in the parlor of the old family homestead in Danvers. As a child I had no interest in such portraits and very little curiosity about family genealogy. I just knew that my great aunts were proud of some Holyoke ancestors, especially ones named Edward.

When I attended Mount Holyoke College in the 1960's, I became acquainted with the mountain. I still didn't know anything about Elizur.

In the 1990's when I returned to western Massachusetts and decided to buy a house in the city of Holyoke, my father asked, "Why Holyoke?" He wondered why the city was so named, and if there was any connection to our family. I did not think so, but took him to the Holyoke Public Library to find out. That's when we learned about Elizur Holyoke and his survey team. There did seem to be a possible connection to the Holyokes in our family, but I was too busy in those days to investigate further.

This month I have done additional research about Elizur's life and times and have read about the creation of this library mural. The artist (Sante Graziani) did not work from a portrait; no likeness of the real Elizur exists. For more images of the mural, click here.

To learn about my family connection to Elizur Holyoke, read my January column: Holyoke connections.

TV Remotes

2011-12-04T21:46:00.006-05:00

My first experience with a remotely-controlled television was startling and funny. I've written about it for this month's column, which is to be published in the Danvers Herald on December 8th:

TV Remotes and other memories.

While doing background research for this writing, I found a few relevant webpages about early TV equipment. For instance,

Erics Vintage TV Sets: http://vintagetvsets.com

I also emailed my childhood friend Janet (Hoberg) Cantatore to ask what she remembered of the TV her family owned in the mid-1950's. It was bigger and fancier than any TV I had seen elsewhere, and had a remote control device, but otherwise I didn't recall much about it.

Janet and I rarely watched TV together at her house. She reminds me that her parents' rule was "no TV in the day time." She confirmed the type of TV they owned: a 1955 Zenith Flash-Matic. You can see an advertisement for it .

More TV memories

2011-11-26T20:52:00.008-05:00

Writing last month's column about my earliest experiences with television, and talking with my sister Jean about the TV shows she remembers, stirred up many additional memories. We recall the Disney shows, variously called Disneyland, Walt Disney Presents... and then The Wonderful World of Disney, which became a staple on Sunday nights. Disney brought us a variety of content (fantasy, adventure stories about nature, futuristic stories) and movies including the popular Davy Crockett mini-series (starring Fess Parker) in the mid-1950's. I bet we could still sing "The Ballad of Davy Crocket."

Speaking of songs, do you remember "When You Wish Upon a Star"? That was the opening theme song for the Disney show in the early years. (It was created for Disney's Pinoccio film in 1940, I've just learned from Wikipedia, but for me it is strongly associated with the opening graphics of Disney's TV show.)

Through the magic of YouTube, you can now travel back though time and watch the first episode of the Disney show, including BOTH of those memorable songs!

I have other memories of watching TV with my grandfather and also in the home of my girlfriend Janet down the street. Perhaps I'll write another column about TV memories in other homes...

Early TV

2011-11-16T21:55:00.003-05:00

Can you remember the first TV show that you watched as a child? For me, the first show was Kukla, Fran and Ollie. Fran was a nice lady who interacted with the puppets Kukla and Ollie. Here's a sample from YouTube:
Kukla, Fran and Ollie

This month I wrote a column on Watching TV in the early years. I've had fun sharing my memories with my sister and other family members and hearing what they remember.

My cousin Stuart comments, "My memory of early television is that your Dad was the first in the family to have a set and that he built it from a Heath kit ... The screen was very small. My brothers and I came over at times to see some shows such as Roller Derby, Dagmar, ... etc. Our uncle, Walter Barton who lived in Salem, had a big TV very early on. His wife was Grace Bill, sister of my Grandmother. We always went to their house for Thanksgiving and would watch Football while waiting for the dinner to be served."

"It was well into the fifties before they had one at Pine Knoll. I remember that they especially enjoyed Arthur Godfrey. Also, they watched the McCarthy hearings and, as a result, changed their viewpoint about the alleged Communists in the Govt."

I too remember the McCarthy hearings. My mother was angry about that TV program, but kept watching it and we couldn't see our usual cowboy shows. So we, as kids, were rather annoyed by Mr McCarthy and his hearings, which we did not understand at the time.

TV Test Patterns

2011-11-08T06:43:00.010-05:00

Remember TV test patterns? In the early years of television, we often had to wait for a program to come on. All we got was an unmoving test screen or test pattern while we waited and w-a-i-t-e-d...

You can see some examples by following these links:

New England Television stations
Television Test Patterns
That Pesky Television Test Pattern
Indian Head Test Card

I am writing this month about my early experiences with television. Maybe I ought to post a test pattern while you wait for my column to appear in the newspaper. (The severe snow storm on October 29 knocked out power in my entire neighborhood for 3 days and we didn't have Internet service for 5 days, so there has been a slight delay in my production.) While waiting, you can view this photo of the snow woman I created in our yard:

October 30, 2011
in Holyoke, MA

Size confusion

2011-10-03T19:37:00.014-04:00

Recently I was shopping for casual slacks and tried on a variety of styles and sizes, starting with what I thought was my size, as usual. I have a strong habit of reaching for size 12 first. In this month's column (submitted to the Herald today), I tell why I identify with that size.

The pair of pants that fit me best was size 8. Huh? That's the second time in two months that size 8 has been the right fit. I thought the first time was a fluke, perhaps a mistake in labeling. Never before had I worn an 8. Occasionally I had bought a 9 or a 10, but usually regretted the resulting tightness and discomfort. Safer to stay in the 11-12 range, I had learned years ago. Sometimes for extra comfort I used to buy a 14 or a 16. How could I possibly fit into an 8? What is going on? I haven't lost weight. If anything, I've gained a few pounds.

Women's clothing sizes have always been a bit of a mystery to me. I remember two different series: odd-numbered sizes (e.g., 9, 11, 13) for Misses and even-numbered ones (8, 10, 12, 14) for Women. I had a vague idea that the difference was to accommodate differently proportioned bodies, but I wasn't sure which applied to me. Many stores fudged the difference by putting both numbers on the labels: 9/10, 11/12, 13/14. Or perhaps that was meant to be a 3rd series? Of course there is also the common series of S-M-L XL, which works reasonably well for loosely-fitting (one size fits many) garments.

Men's clothing sizes --in real inches that can be measured-- make much more sense. Why can't women's sizes be given in inches? That system would be more precise and consistent. It's the INCONSISTENCY of women's sizing that confuses and annoys me. The numbers seem to be shrinking.

My sister Jean, who is runs UpCycled Fashion, says, “there's now a trend to rename sizes smaller." Some people call it "vanity sizing." Some in the fashion industry call is "size evolution." See History of Women's Sizing part 1" (and pt. 2 and pt. 3).

See my October column: Confusing sizes and body image.

Note:

While creating this blog entry,
I experimented with a "new improved" format,

then decided I preferred the original style.

When I reverted, I noticed that the FONT SIZE had shifted to a smaller size.

Sorry! I've been trying to fix it,

but the Blogger software seems to be as confused about size as I am!

Camping

2011-09-03T23:20:00.004-04:00

Chuck Roy told me (and others at our High School reunion this summer) a harrowing tale about a camping experience he had in Danvers at age 11. I asked his permission to share his story with the readers of the Danvers Herald. He agreed and sent me a written account, which I incorporated into my September column: A Camping Adventure. Thanks, Chuck!

It was published September 1 with the subtitle, "Surviving Hurricane Carol in the woods of Danvers."

Chuck and his wife Elaine live now in Beverly and have founded Casa Connection, a non-profit organization supporting the children of the Casa San Jose orphanage in Colima, Mexico.

1938, 1944 ...

2011-08-31T21:35:00.003-04:00

My cousin Stuart Brewster, who lived at 98 Preston Street ("Pine Knoll") as a boy, wrote to me via email from CA this week in response to reports of Hurricane Irene and a story I had sent him:

"Your Hurricane story brings back many memories of Hurricanes especially the 1938 disaster where hundreds were killed. It happened on Sept. 21, 1938, if I recall correctly. On the two days before, we had driven my brother Dudley to Proctor Academy in Andover, NH, and David to the U. of Mass. in Amherst. It rained continually on both these day trips.

"Late in the afternoon on the day of the big storm, we (Aunt May, my mother, Mayon and myself) were out in the back yard at Pine Knoll watching the clouds that were passing overhead at an unbelievable speed. Aunt Margaret had been in Salem at some Church affair and drove in, put her car in the barn and announced that we were going to have a Hurricane. What is a Hurricane? was the response. We then noticed that a hugh locust tree that was near the western side of the house was leaning, fortunately away from the house. We all stood there and watched it fall, closing off the Western driveway.

"For the rest of the night, the wind blew and blew. The noise was like that of a freight train roaring by at top speed. This lasted all night. We could hear trees crashing all around and were worried that one might fall on the house but none did. I don't think anyone went to bed or considered getting undressed since we were worried about a possible fire from lightning or if the chimney fell. Also there was a big Maple tree on the South side that was a big worry for hitting the house and then rain would pour in. Of course, we very quickly lost all power and did not get it back for weeks. But we had a coal stove in the kitchen so were able to cook. Many in town who had electric stoves were not so lucky.

"The next day, we could not believe the carnage. The Pine Grove which is why it was called Pine Knoll was almost all gone. A few White Pines were left but the grove area was far more open. The Eastern drive entrance was not blocked.

"I was still attending Speedwell School held at Locust Lawn. The drive up to the house was blocked by many fallen trees. School was to have opened on October first but was delayed for a number of weeks.

"The next Hurricane came in 1944. I was in college at Tufts living in Somerville. It didn't cause much damage since it went up the middle of the state somewhat like your current storm. Renate talked about how she had just arrived as a freshman at Mt. Holyoke when the storm hit causing extensive damage to trees on the campus.

"The 1954 storm was strong but there wasn't the loss of life as in 1938. Pine Knoll lost more trees. I also drove over to Marblehead early in the day before it really hit in order to see the surf. It was very scary with the waves smashing against the shore on the Neck and the spray spreading over the road.

"My last one was the weekend of [my nephew's] wedding in Rockport, held on the day after what had been projected to be a hugh one. [Hurricane Gloria, September 27, 1985] I had been at a ... retreat held on the Cape in Chatham. [... People debated] about staying or moving up to Boston. I made a strong statement pointing out that if the storm hit as predicted and the two bridges were closed, then we could be caught there for days. Cooler heads finally prevailed and we moved. Andy and Sally who lived on the Cape could not get to the wedding.

"Thus endeth my recollections of Hurricanes in New England."

Hurricane!

2011-08-28T16:28:00.004-04:00

As Hurricane Irene threatened New England this week, I thought about the hurricanes we experienced in Danvers during my childhood: Carol and Edna in 1954 and Connie and Diane in 1955. Downed trees created green jungles to play in. That was my perspective as a youngster.

During Reunion last month I heard a hurricane memory from Chuck Roy, who grew up on the Burley Farm in Danvers. During Hurricane Carol he watched a farm worker there attempt to put a truck into a barn:

"From the safety of my home I watched as the storm raged on. At one point I saw Nate heading to the “A” barn to put a truck inside. He rolled open the two large barn doors that would allow him to drive into the barn. As he turned and walked back to his truck a gust of wind blew into the barn and lifted the entire A-shaped roof right off the barn, dropping it just a few feet to the side! I can just imagine what was going through his mind when he turned around and saw what was left of the barn. I was thinking I would have lots of wood to make a new fort."

Forts, jungles... Hurricanes can create new playgrounds for kids. See what I wrote in 2007 in my column: Hurricanes in my childhood.

For another perspective, read Mr. Richard Trask's article: Of microbursts and hurricanes in Danvers. (November 2009).

Today as an adult I'm relieved that Hurricane Irene weakened to a 'tropical storm' before reaching us.

Reunion!

2011-07-16T13:50:00.003-04:00

Last weekend I attended the "Big Fling" - the 50th Reunion of the Danvers High School Class of 1961.

I want to thank the 50th Class Reunion Committee (Marsha Yetman Coogan, Sue Halupowski Evans, Elaine Hayden Roy, Sue Ellen Tagg, and Barry Robertson) for organizing such a wonderful weekend of events. They chose a variety of locations and planned several different activities (e.g., bus tour of historic places in Danvers, a cocktail party, a tour of the Richmond-Holton school, a breakfast) -- each drawing a mix of classmates. Over 70 people attended the Saturday night dinner and dance party.

This was the first time I'd been invited to a Danvers school reunion (because I had left Danvers High before graduation). Quite a few other classmates were also coming back for the first time. I enjoyed making some new friends and well as connecting with old pals. A fun time!

I especially enjoyed the stories told by my classmates about their experiences growing up in Danvers. I hope to share many of these stories in coming columns or on this blog. I've invited my classmates to write down their memories and send them to me for inclusion in "Remembering Danvers."

See my August column "Reflecting on a High-School Reunion" (published in the Danvers Herald August 4, 2011).

1957 Ford Fairlane camper

2011-07-05T10:00:00.048-04:00

In my old photo album, right after the photos of the July 1958 Horribles parade (which I posted in the entry below), I found a few photos of Niagara Falls. That was at the beginning of our family's 6-week camping trip across the country.

We traveled in a 1957 Ford Fairlane stationwagon that my father adapted into a camper. Here is a photo taken when we visited my uncle Dick and his family in Milwaukee.

Our family of four, two parents and two teenagers (13 and 15), were able to sleep inside that wagon, thanks to sleeping platforms my father constructed. In this month's column, I'll describe the preparation of that car for our trip.

An important part of the camper design was the special roof-top luggage carrier, which could be opened from either side. You can see it propped in open position below:

1st stop on our trip west,
visiting the Stevens family in Rochester, NY.

July 4th Horribles Parade

2011-07-03T21:33:00.007-04:00

I remember the Horribles Parade in the Danvers Highlands.

Here are two photos dated July 4, 1958. I found them in my old album.

I recognize my mother (in light-colored dress) standing to the left of the car.

Today I found an announcement online of this year's parade:

"Join the most horrible parade in Danvers. All are welcome. Dress up yourselves, your wagons, your bikes, make your own floats, or just march in your most festive 4th of July attire. "

I'm glad to know that the tradition continues.

Horribles Parade 1958

Our family enjoyed coming to the Highlands and watching the parade. My parents knew some people who lived nearby and liked to talk with their friends. My sister and I liked to look at the "Horrible" costumes. Unfortunately I didn't capture any good photos of the costumes. Probably I was too busy staring at the best ones and forgot to aim my camera. (I was new at photography that year, having just received a Brownie StarFlash camera at Christmas 1957.)

Summer birthday

2011-05-31T02:08:00.009-04:00

I've just returned from a visit with my sister Jean at her home in New Mexico, where we celebrated her birthday. In the pile of mail that accumulated during my absence, I found an invitation for the 50^th Class Reunion of the Holten High Class of 1961! I look forward to attending this reunion, which, coincidently, will be happening on my birthday weekend, July 8-10, this summer.

For this month's column I've written about my memories of having birthdays in the summer.

Here I am at a July birthday party long ago. Ray Dirks is at my right... Janet Hoberg is at the end of the bench on the right side. I can see my sister Jean's blond bangs, 5th or 6th? girl on the left.

Can YOU identify any of the other faces?

Here is another photo of the same party, as we were acting out for the camera:

The barn

2011-05-03T08:42:00.012-04:00

I have fond memories of this barn, which was located on the Locust Lawn property not far from our home.

This month I have written about playing inside the barn. See Playing in an old barn, published in The Danvers Herald on Thursday May 5, 2011.

I was happy to find these old photographs (taken in 1956 by my father, copied from slides to prints years ago, and now scanned from the prints into my computer).

We loved to play in these fancy stalls, pretending to be horses, or more often, riding on top of the stall walls as jockeys in a race. To climb up so high, we'd have to move some boxes or furniture into place; our legs were too short to get up there without a platform to climb on.

I wish we had a photo of the antique hand-pulled fire cart that was kept in this section of the main floor.

Upstairs was a wide open room or hay loft, used for games and square dances. Note the banner of dancers posted above the horizontal window.

I believe this barn was built in 1856 as part of the Kimball estate. In Country Estates of Old Danvers, Charles S. Tapley wrote (on page 43)

"Locust Lawn" ...

(Nichols Street)

In 1856 Edward D. Kimball of Salem, a prominent merchant and ship owner, built on the side of "Dale Hill" a fine residence. ...

Mr. Kimball died in Paris in 1867. ... The next owner was Philip H. Wentworth of Boston, who improved the grounds by laying out more avenues through the wooded places and planting many shrubs. The huge elm tree near the entrance gates was one of the largest in the country. ...

Mr. and Mrs. Wentworth were instrumental in forming a Unitarian Church in Danvers.

In 1893, Mrs. Leopold Morse acquired this estate and she resided there during several summers.

In 1917, Dr. and Mrs. John Holyoke Nichols* bought "Locust Lawn" but they never occupied it, and the mansion was torn down several years ago. [The mansion was torn down in 1944.]

This barn survived until the Route 95 construction project (1970) removed it and the eastern side of Dale Hill. I hope that some of the contents and the wonderful old wood (e.g., those fancy stalls, the big beams) were salvaged and re-used somewhere.

--------

*"Uncle John," a brother to my grandfather, was the Superintendent of Tewksbury State Hospital. After retirement, he lived in the Silvester-Howe house (see p. 56 in Tapley's book) on Peabody Ave, Danvers. He was married to Oda Howe. She was deaf and my father --a clever math-physics major-- figured out how to help amplify sounds for her, thus making his first hearing aid. Later, my father began to make hearing aids for others, forming the Nichols & Clark, Inc., factory in my grandfather's garage on Preston St.

Tuckerman's Ravine

2011-04-19T16:20:00.007-04:00

My cousin Stuart Brewster informed me this week that there used to be a family tradition of going to Tuckerman's for April 19th (the Patriot's Day holiday). Stuart and his brothers, David and Dudley, and my father, Nick Nichols, would go there for spring skiing.

I was unaware of the April 19th tradition, but did often hear my parents speak of hiking and climbing up Tuckerman's Ravine, and then skiing down. They and their college outing-club friends loved to reminisce about their adventures at Tuckerman's.

Here's a link to a trail map of Tuckerman's Ravine, which is on the side of Mount Washington in NH. You can see the ski routes here. An impressive place!

I particularly recall the story telling about a famous incident in the late 1930's. As spectators on the sidelines of a ski race, they were startled by a sudden blur in the air in front of them. A skier had gone STRAIGHT OFF THE HEADWALL, sailing out into the air, rather than making the expected turn down a trail. Astonishing! And the skier lived to tell the tale. Even just skiing on the slope of the headwall is challenging. See Tuckerman photos and history on the New England Ski Museum website.

Today I found a review of Over the Headwall: a Short History of Skiing at Tuckerman Ravine. I was pleased to find evidence there confirming what I had heard from my parents: in 1939 a young Austrian named Toni Matt became the first to schuss the headwall in a competition. Searching Toni's name, I found a report in his own words of how he beat Dick Durrance in that race, cutting in half the previous record time for that Inferno race.

I think both of my parents witnessed Toni Matt's feat in Tuckerman's Ravine that day, but they weren't yet married and may not have been aware of each other that day. Perhaps my father was with the "Brewster boys" (his cousins) or with college friends. I'll have to ask Stuart more about the trips to Tuckermans.

NEFFA

2011-04-17T18:03:00.009-04:00

This weekend I attended the NEFFA Festival, also known as the New England Folk Festival. I love the music, the dancing, and the many friends I see there each year. In the early 1990's when I moved back to New England, attending NEFFA became a spring ritual.

I've often wondered whether my parents attended NEFFA. They loved to square dance, and very possibly may have attended square dances at NEFFA. I don't recall any mention of "Neffa" during my childhood, but perhaps the acronym N.E.F.F.A. for the New England Folk Festival Association wasn't used as a word back then. I do recall frequent mention of favorite square dance callers (e.g., Ralph Page, Ted Sannella) and musicians (Joe Perkins and his orchestra). The names Angie Taylor, Connie Taylor, and Marianne Taylor were also mentioned. In the 1960's I attended a few dance classes taught by Marianne.

Nancy and Angie

On Saturday I met Nancy Lob and discovered that she had attended the same square dances in Salem that I had attended as a child. Her husband Walter Lob --another name I recognize-- played fiddle for Ralph Page for 20 years. I told her I recalled seeing a photo* of her husband. Nancy said he's now 92 and playing viola weekly in a chamber music group.

When I mentioned my parents as "Nick and Cut Nichols," she instantly recognized the names. "You are the daughter of Nick and Cut Nichols?!?" she exclaimed with much excitement. She immediately introduced me to Angela Taylor, who was sitting at a nearby vending table, selling hand-sewn items.

Meeting Angie was quite a treat. She is a member of the 2011 Festival Committee, and has helped with every Festival for 67 years! Angie definitely recognized my parents' nicknames. She didn't know if they had attended NEFFA festivals, but knew them. As we talked, some of Angie's family stopped by. I have known and danced with her nieces and some of her grandnieces and nephews, but had not met the legendary Angie until now. For more about Angela Taylor and her history with NEFFA, read this 2002 newsletter article (pdf): Lifetime award to Angela Taylor

Nancy and Andy (Angie Taylor's niece, daughter of Marianne Taylor)

Dancing to "Marianne Taylor's Favorite Dances" April 2011

NEFFA history:
"The History of the New England Folk Festival 1944-1994" published by NEFFA during for its 50th Anniversary Festival. See text online.

*Looking for the photo of Walter, I discovered that I had already posted it in this blog last year, when I wrote about music lessons.

Ditches

2011-04-07T14:57:00.007-04:00

Ditch-digging and maintenance of water channels was a springtime ritual in our family. Our house happened to be situated between a underground spring (above) and a pond (below). In addition, surface run-off water from the hillside and dirt road above flowed down across Nichols Street towards our yard, adding to the moisture problem. Thus, we did what we could to divert the flow of water.

This month I have written about our efforts with roadside ditches. See Remembering Danvers (April). April was a wet time of year.

Regardless of the success of our ditches, some water was always seeping into our cellar. The underground spring was probably to blame. Even adding water-proof paint didn't help. The pressure of the water in the soil below the cellar floor was enough to push up and crack the painted cement. Water bubbled in along that crack, making a slight "singing" sound. Stepping on the floor changed the music of the sound!

I remember watching Mommy do the laundry down there by the stone sinks. She wore big rubber boots and often stood in several inches of water as she manipulated the sheets and towels through that old wringer attached to the washing machine. Then she'd haul the basket of clean damp laundry outside into the sunshine and hang it with clothespins on the laundry lines down by the pond. In the spring boots were required there, too, because the pond water flooded the laundry yard. Water was everywhere!

Marshmallows

2011-03-03T21:49:00.002-05:00

I have fond memories of toasting marshmallows in a fire --sometimes outdoors at a beach or campsite in the summer, or at Girl Scout camp, or at home in our fireplace on a winter evening.

We didn't have sweets like marshmallows very often, and Mommy didn't let us eat many of them, so each marshmallow was rather special. This rationing of marshmallows was intended to save our teeth. It also happened to save marshmallows; one bag of marshmallows lasted a long time at our house! Another consequence was the ease of toasting. Although stale marshmallows were a bit more difficult to pierce with stick or skewer, they did stay on the skewer longer. I can still recall the firm texture of those treats. You might be more familiar with soft sticky ones, which are fragile and can droop down and fall off your stick if you're not careful. No such problems with our firm ones!

"Fireside memories" is the theme I have chosen for this month's column: Marshmallows and other fireside memories. I composed the first draft while sitting in front of a lively fire in the fireplace of my present home. The weather that day was cold and wet. I enjoyed hunkering down by the hearth and remembering childhood experiences as I watched the flames flicker.

Big snow

2011-02-25T17:49:00.007-05:00

This winter is shaping up to be a record breaker. I wonder how it will compare to the notorious "Winter of the Big Snow" that I heard so much about as I was growing up in Danvers.

I often heard the adults speak of it: The Winter of the Big Snow -- as if there had been only one. It was always mentioned when anyone asked about the barn foundation at the bottom of the ski hill. The barn roof had collapsed during the Winter of the Big Snow. I think that was 1948.

Here's a undated photo that is probably from that winter of the Big Snow:

Jean and I are sitting at the top of a huge snowbank by our grandparents' house.

It looks as though we've been sliding down the face of the bank -- quite a long slide for little girls like us. Whee! The clothing we're wearing matches other photos from winter 1947/48. Our ages were then about 2 1/2 and 4 1/2.

A Google search on the phrase "winter of the big snow" brings up tales of various big snow winters:

1922 Wisconsin newspaper article about winter 1880-81
Winter of 1896-97, Griggs County, New York
April 1948 NY Times article verifies Big Snow of Dec 1947

Mtn of memories

2011-02-17T14:44:00.004-05:00

My column for February was published in today's Danvers Herald and also posted online: Remembering Danvers: A mountain of ski memories.

I am enjoying a beautiful sunny day here in western MA, with snow piles melting and shrinking. Memories of earlier winter experiences linger, especially the fun of skiing with my sister.

Snowing!

2011-02-01T15:05:00.003-05:00

Jean and Sandy at Sipapu Ski Resort, Dec 30, 2010

Today it's snowing again -- lots of fresh powder, reminding me of skiing with Jean in NM. We skied during a snowstorm there. Today we're both snowed in, she in NM while I'm home in western MA. I've submitted my February column, "A Mountain of Ski Memories," to the Danvers Herald.

Here is a much earlier photo of Jean standing on Mommy's skis on our front yard in Danvers:

I can't tell if these are the same old skis described in my recent post.
Mommy had probably acquired new skis by this time; almost fifteen years had passed since her college days.

Old skis

2011-01-28T20:55:00.009-05:00

In December I visited my sister in New Mexico and enjoyed a delightful day of skiing -- my first time on downhill skis in over 25 years. The ski equipment I rented was dramatically different from anything I had used before. The boots were bizarre, opening up from the back and having many adjustment options. The shape of the skis looked weird, with exaggerated side curves and rounded, not pointed, ends. How the technology has changed! I wondered if I'd be able to adapt, and whether I'd remember how to ski. As it turned out, these new skis helped me ski with confidence and ease.

Skiing down the mountain trails with my sister (our first time skiing together in probably 40 years) was a joy, and triggered many memories. Her graceful turns reminded me of the way Daddy had skied. I thought of our family's long history with skiing, and thought too about the changes in the shapes and lengths of skis over the years.

My very first skis were short, straight wooden "toy" skis with a high curl at the front, and a band of red paint on the wood. Simple straps tied the little skis to my rubber boots. I could toddle around on these skis on a relatively flat area. Later my baby sister used these skis and I played with her while our parents (the real skiers) skied down the real hill. Jean and I amused ourselves trying to "ski" down the short gentle slope of an embankment, but I think we mostly tumbled and fell, laughed and played in the snow.

My mother's first skis, in contrast, were very, very long. She didn't learn to ski until she was in college, invited to the Dartmouth Winter Carnival. She had friends in the Dartmouth Outing Club (D.O.C.) who helped set up her equipment and taught her to ski. She loved to tell us stories about those Dartmouth boys and her outing club trips from Vassar College to Hanover, NH -- an adventurous drive in the automobiles of the 1930's. She kept those old skis.

Yesterday I found them in a forgotten corner of a storage closet, and pulled them out to measure just how long they were: 6'6" tip to tail. (She was only 5'4'' tall.)

Let's look closely at that old technology. I've taken some photos to show the details.

The metal binding shown here clearly came from Dartmouth; the letters "D.O.C." appear at the upper edge, right.

The wooden skis are much older than the binding. How do I know?

Years ago I had found some of my mother's letters home from college describing her ski adventures at Dartmouth. [I have given copies of those letters to the Dartmouth Outing Club and the originals to Vassar College Archives.] She apologized to her mother for some wear and tear on "your skis"! My grandmother's skis? I'd never heard about my grandmother skiing. I called my aunt and asked. Oh, yes, her mother had used long skis that were probably hand-carved by the Norwegian farm hands employed by John T. MacDonald at the family farm in Delhi, NY. My aunt recalled a photo of her mother, Amelia MacDonald, as a young woman skiing down the cow-pasture hill in Delhi, wearing a long wool skirt. Imagine that!

You can see in this side view that the old wooden skis have a slot for a previous style of binding. It was probable a simple strap to tie or buckle over a boot.

My childhood skis had a similar slot.

Note handcarved look of tips.

Note thin design lines on the top surface

My mother's maiden name was J.N. Cutler (Janet Nesmith Cutler).

My Brownie camera

2011-01-06T21:48:00.002-05:00

In December 1957 I was given a "Brownie StarFlash" camera, my first camera. The first photograph that I took was of our family posing was on the doorstep on our new home at 121 Nichols Street, Danvers:

Christmas Day 1957

The photo is blurry and not well centered -- not a good photo -- but it was preserved in a photo album I started at that time.

My grandfather, William S. Nichols, is on the right. I'm so glad he was included in this photo. He died the next year, at age 84.

The photo includes my father, mother, sister Jean and our dog Heidi. The house was then very new (constructed in summer 1957) and lacked plantings in front. Yew bushes were soon added. Over time they grew so large that they almost obscured those front steps, in spite of my mother's pruning. She loved to use fresh-cut yew branches for indoor decorations, especially at Christmas time.

Here's another photo from my 1st roll of film: my sister rolling down the slope in front of our house.

Winter 1958

That house no longer exists. I'm glad to report, however, that my sister and I still enjoy playing in the snow. I've just returned from a wonderful visit with her at her home in NM. We enjoyed a delightful day of skiing together.

My father's camera

2010-12-30T20:31:00.008-05:00

In my recent search for photos of the Christmas trees of my childhood, I found instead my father's old camera!

I remember this camera clearly. It popped open, with accordion-like folds, when Daddy prepared to take a picture.

The old camera had been stored in a box with lots of old photos, but unfortunately no photos of our early Christmases were included.

The camera is still in pretty good shape. It's a Jiffy Kodak Six-20, which used 620-roll film. It was made by the Eastman Kodak company in the 1930s.

I opened it gingerly and took these photos of it to share here.

This camera even had a little stand and a setting for delaying the shutter, so that my father could set it up and then run to join us in the picture. He liked to do that!

I have written this month's column about Daddy's camera and my discovery of why there are so few photos of the inside of our home.

See Remembering my father's camera.

I also found a little instruction booklet that accompanied the camera. In the back is a PRICE LIST! A roll of film cost 25 cents and contained 8 exposures.

1937-38 Xmas trees

2010-12-07T08:51:00.009-05:00

One of my cousins, Dave Brewster, recently scanned and shared these old photos of the Christmas trees at Pine Knoll, the Nichols family home in Hathorne (Danvers). The photos were taken in 1937 and 1938, well before my time, but I recognize the scene and many of the decorations, which continued to be used year after year.

1938 Pine Knoll sitting room

1937 Christmas tree at Pine Knoll

Thanks, Dave, for the photos!

Christmas trees

2010-12-02T08:09:00.010-05:00

Remembering the Christmas trees of my childhood is the theme of my December column:
Christmas trees small and large.

I've been looking for photos to post here. The search has led to boxes of slides and prints in closets, the attic, and odd corners, but so far no photos of the little trees of my childhood. Meanwhile, a cousin has helped by scanning older family photos (see next post).

I'm still looking for photos of the Christmas trees in our home in the late 1940's or early 1950's. I did find this image of our little house (mailed out as a Christmas postcard):

And this outside photo (below) from mid 1950's... Jean and I with skis, and note the squirrel track across the roof!

The window on the left is in the living room window; Jean's bedroom on right. Our Christmas tree would not have been visible in this view. It was on top of a narrow table on the left edge of the livingroom, visible only through a window on that south side.

Swinging branch

2010-11-17T12:28:00.005-05:00

While looking through a pile of old photos, I found one of the swinging branch -- the subject of my November column. See The Swinging Branch, published in the Danvers Herald the first Thursday in November and posted online recently.

In this photo three little girls are enjoying the branch: my sister Jean, a visiting friend (Mary Nutt), and myself. Our dog Heidi is being patted by Babs Nutt, a long-time friend of my parents. Babs and her children were visiting from New Hampshire.

The hillside doesn't look as steep here as I had remembered it. Today this hill is called Conifer Hill, part of what remains of the former "Dale's Hill" or "Nichols Hill" -- location of the old Wentworth estate known to us as "Locust Lawn."

I understand that a new housing development (Conifer Hill Commons) is proposed here. At right is a photo of an earlier construction project, the colonial house that my parents had built not far from the swinging branch tree.

This was taken in 1956.

My grandfather, mother, Aunt Millie, and I are standing in what would become the new driveway from Nichols Street. I had lived for 13 years at 120 Nichols Street, just down the hill and across the street. Our new address became 121 Nichols Street when we moved there in 1957. It could have been called "1 Speedwell Place" because the new driveway came out at the corner of Nichols and Speedwell, named for the Speedwell School that had been run for some years in the former Wentworth mansion at this location.

Aunt Millie

2010-11-17T10:41:00.004-05:00

I'm sad to learn that my Aunt Millie has died. Last summer I wrote about Aunt Millie's encounter with my wild pet. See Milk box holds surprise for Aunt Millie.

She and my Uncle Edward, picture here in 1996 during a family gathering in Danvers, lived in Florida during their retirement. Edward died in January 2003, age 95 and a half. Millie died November 11, 2010. May they rest in peace.

While looking today for other photos of Aunt Millie, I found this family shot, copied from a slide my father had taken in the 1950's of family members posed near his portable ski-tow at Locust Lawn. I'm on the left holding skis. Beside me is my cousin Janet Nichols Derouin and one of her sons. Next are Aunt Millie, Jed Derouin, Millie's son Bob Peters, my sister Jean (holding the Derouin's dog, Tuffy), my mother Janet "Cut" Nichols, and my grandfather William S. Nichols. A happier time!

Enriching gardens and sharing bounty

2010-10-05T10:41:00.005-04:00

I grew up in a family that had a natural tendency to save, reuse, and recycle resources. It was against our religion to throw away anything that might be useful in the future. Some might call us "Scotch" or penny-pinchers. We were reluctant to buy new items, especially if something on hand would do. "Making do" was a habit. If we did need to acquire something, heading for a thrift store or an antique store was much more likely than visiting a store or shopping mall.

My mother, especially, disliked shopping in big stores. She was much more comfortable at home in old "dungarees" working in her garden or riding her horse.

This month's column is about the recycling of resources from horse (or cows) to gardens. Horse manure was consider a great resource, not a waste product. My mother happily shared the manure with others. She also trained us as kids to "harvest" cow manure from nearby pastures using a pitch fork and wheelbarrow. Her garden and the gardens of neighbors benefitted.

See Cleaning up paddocks, pastures, and gardens.

Old letters

2010-08-27T11:34:00.009-04:00

This summer I sorted through boxes of old letters, mostly from my mother. Some were very old, before my time, before she married my father and came to Danvers. Some were from Danvers (actually, Hathorne, the address we always used for postal service). A batch from the 1960's were written to me while I was away at college or off on a summer job.

I'm struck by the frequency of letters --sometimes several in one week-- and the evidence of excellent postal service. The postmark on the lower envelope pictured here, for example, confirms that my mother did post the letter as she intended when she wrote inside,

   "I'll take this letter via horseback down to the corner store mailbox and hope it gets to you on Monday."

   She dated her letter "Sunday morning July 15, 1962"
   The postmark reads "DANVERS JUL 15 2 PM 1962 MASS."

On a Sunday? For 4 cents? I wonder which corner store she meant.

I don't have proof that I really received that letter on Monday, especially since I was working on an island 10 miles off the coast of New Hampshire, dependent on one boat a day bringing mail and supplies. But it's clear that my mother and I sometime exchanged two or more letters in a week, so 1-day service was what we took for granted in those days.

You can read the published version of this post at My mother's letters and the Postal Service (Danvers Herald, September 2, 2010).

Milkbox

2010-07-20T15:44:00.003-04:00

Do you remember the milkboxes that sat by our doorsteps? Such a common item. I was rather surprised to see one in a MUSEUM recently. Good grief! Am I getting old?

I took this photo to share with Danvers readers because it reminds me of another story from my youth. Stay tuned. I had planned to write my August column about another raccoon... But now the milkbox story has my attention.

[My column about Aunt Millie and the milkbox was published in the Danvers Herald August 5, 2010. See Milk box holds surprise for Aunt Millie.]

Paw prints

2010-07-06T10:53:00.001-04:00

The day before we said goodbye to Danny Coon, we invited him to sign the family guestbook.

For clearer images of raccoon paw prints, visit http://www.bear-tracker.com/coon.html

I remember Danny's paw prints all over the dark blue linoleum on the kitchen floor, especially when he had been eating Pablum baby cereal, which was very sticky.

Three years later, Rackety, our second coon, left paw prints all over my father's station-wagon. In the early morning he'd walk in the dew on the top of the car. Then he'd push open one of the small ventilator windows (if it have not been locked shut) and walk around inside the dusty car, leaving muddy prints!

Raccoon photos

2010-07-05T21:42:00.021-04:00

Here are some photos to accompany the columns I have been writing this summer about baby raccoons:

I carried this photo in my wallet for years (note fold line).

Another saved photo from my wallet is much older, from the summer of 1953.

I am at a day camp at Ipswich River Wildlife Sanctuary, a place of many happy memories.

My friend Jonathan Caron is holding a young raccoon that probably belonged to the nature camp.

Here's an early photo of Raquety, a coon I found and raised in the summer of 1960. I named him Rackety because of the sounds he made. His cries caught my attention. At first I thought I was hearing a bird call, but the insistent cries continued to come from exactly the same spot, high in a tree outside my second-floor bedroom window. He seemed stuck and in need of help, so I sent my father (with tall ladder, gloves, big bag...) to the rescue. Daddy was not happy about this, neither was the baby, who backed away and fell off the branch, landing stunned on the ground. I picked him up and gave him a temporary home in Danny's old cage. This time we kept the cage outdoors and left the door open, so Rackety was free to come and go. He remained with us for at least two months.

Young Raquety

Rackety in a travel bag

One of my favorite pictures captures the moment that my mother tried to introduce Rackety to her horse, Sherry. Rackety wasn't so sure about this...

Locust Lawn barns in the background, and between them a boat rack.

A 1957 letter

2010-06-28T10:17:00.005-04:00

A few days ago I visited my Aunt in Connecticut. She showed me a box of old letters to and from my mother (her sister). I pulled out one at random, and read with interest my mother's words, dated June 11, 1957:

"Our new house is progressing and this is the rapid stage when you get more for your money, so to speak. They are trying to get the roof on this week while the weather is good so that they can work during any rainy periods. Every evening we all go to inspect the progress. Last evening we saw a large raccoon coming down from a giant tulip tree. That tree will bear watching. I shouldn't be surprised if there were a coon family sheltered in its innards, somewhere. And last weekend, a baby owl fell out [of] a tree on to the road and there was much excitement trying to decide what to do with it. We ended up putting back where it fell in the hopes that the parent owls would look after it. You have to have a permit to keep a songbird or owl in Mass. But it was a sweet little bundle of feathers with tiny horns -- a baby screech owl, we think."

I don't recall seeing that baby owl. I do recall much about the raccoon raised that summer. And yes, we needed a permit to keep a raccoon. I've written more about this coon for my July column:
Adventures with Danny the Raccoon.

My Pet Raccoon

2010-06-02T22:27:00.015-04:00

One summer many years ago, when I was barely a teenager, I found a baby raccoon, and brought it home to raise. I have just written the story of how I found the baby, and what happened in the first hours and days. [The story was published June 3rd in the print edition, and posted online 6-16-110, with title Rescued raccoon becomes a companion.]

In future months I will write more about Daniel Coon, or Danny, as I called him.

He was very cute, like a little kitten, but with soft hands and no claws. He moved his hands constantly, feeling and playing with everything. He would sit in my mother's lap and feel the wedding ring on her finger, and rotate it around her finger, around and around! We all became very fond of Danny.

I've just searched for a photo of Danny, and found only this very poor one. It was taken in Marblehead, MA, while we were visiting Mr. and Mrs. Al Gardiner; Danny climbed on their patio wall.

Danny is hardly visible on the upper right edge of the small snapshot -- hardly worth reproducing here. The caption on the back, however, is helpful. "Daniel Coon ('Danny') ... Summer '57 Found at Locust Lawn on June 30, 1957. Taken with me to Wildwood; Delhi, N.Y., and Annijay's. Taken to ..."

Ah, but that is getting ahead of the story. Stay tuned for further adventures with Danny!

Bottle Caps

2010-05-03T00:46:00.007-04:00

Did you ever collect bottle caps? My sister and I did. I've written about my collecting experience in this month's column, which you can read on the Danvers Herald site: How I lost my bottle cap collection

While writing the column, I tried to find an illustration of the cap I most prized. No luck yet, but I did find some extensive online collections of caps. If you are interested in the hobby, take a look at these sites:

Bottle Cap O-Rama http://www.bottlecaporama.com/

The Bottle Cap Man http://thebottlecapman.com/

The Beauty of Bottle Caps (close up of 5 examples) Happy collecting!

Pond water

2010-04-08T01:49:00.003-04:00

My April column, Bringing tadpoles home, is about the spring ritual of collecting pond water and tadpoles, which we also called polliwogs.

A few days after submitting this column, I happened to be driving south from Newburyport on Rte 95 and realized that I'd be going right through Danvers. On the spur of the moment I decided to stop and investigate whether there might be tadpoles yet in our old pond or in the former ice pond on Ferncroft Road. Here's a close-up of the edge of the Ferncroft pond, which was easily accessible from the public trail.

I scooped water and leaves into a big plastic cup and watched as the contents settled. A tiny snail crawled up the inside of the cup. I didn't see any tadpoles or water bugs, but enjoyed the oh-so-familiar look and smell of the pond water.

Next I drove to the pond that used to be by our little house. Not much of the pond remains, however. It is bordered by an office park (on Conifer Hill Drive) that replaced our house, my grandparents' house, and the fields I played in. I took a few photos and left without venturing down to the water's edge, which looked squishy. I didn't have boots or a change of shoes with me, nor did I wish to risk trespassing in search of tadpoles.

My next stop (visiting a library in Cambridge) would have been awkward if my shoes were oozing pondwater!

April Fools

2010-04-01T08:27:00.002-04:00

Today, the first Thursday of the month, is the expected time for publication of my "Remembering Danvers" column. But this month you'll have to wait another week. Sorry! Both Cathryn O'Hare, Danvers Herald Editor, and I had our hands full with other projects and agreed to postpone my column.

You could re-read older columns, for example this seasonal one from 2008: High water in spring...

But some previous year links no longer worked this week, I discovered. Oops. Cathryn assures me that the older columns are still online; she was able to view the ones I couldn't see. The problem turned out to be the form of the link from this blog to their site. One by one, I'll need to re-edit those older links to conform to the current practice used there. I feel foolish that I had used a shorter address in each link.

If you encounter an error page saying "This item no longer exists," please let me know.
Thanks! -- Sandy

Tadpoles

2010-03-28T16:41:00.005-04:00

While visiting my daughter and her family in California this month, I joined them on a hike in a large park. Rivulets of water ran down some trails; waterfalls and bright green grass sparkled in the sun. It was a beautiful day. A ditch beside a gravel road brimmed with water from recent rains.

"Tadpoles," my daughter said. "There might be tadpoles." We stared into the water, but I thought it was too early, and this shallow ditch seemed too transient a place for frog eggs to develop into tadpoles. The dark leaves submerged underwater did remind me of the environment at the edge of the pond in Danvers where I had found tadpoles years ago.

Suddenly a ripple crossed the water. Something black had darted just below the surface. Then another, and another! That ditch was teaming with tadpoles! My four-year old grandson and I enjoyed watching them. I wished I had a pail to capture some, as we used to do in Danvers. What a fun springtime memory! I resolved to write my next column (for April) about watching tadpoles in Danvers.

[Note added later: I did write the column. Bringing tadpoles home was published online April 9, 2010.]

Music lessons

2010-03-02T15:22:00.017-05:00

Piano lessons began for me at the age of seven, before I had interest in playing an instrument. The lessons were initiated by older relatives who loved classical music, insisted that children be taught piano, and offered to teach piano at no cost.

I did learn to read music, but I did not learn to love the piano or play it well. I spent more energy resisting and complaining about the enforced piano lessons than I did practicing.

Read my March column about music lessons: Music lessons finally took hold.

You will learn that I did become a musician, but not with the piano. I'll be performing at the New England Folk Festival on Saturday, April 24, 2010. 3:00 pm with the band Panharmonium. See NEFFA Festival webpage for more information.

Perhaps an earlier musical influence --before piano lessons-- was accompanying my parents to square dances where live bands played. Instead of leaving us home with a babysitter, they brought us along. We played around the edges with other children too young to join the squares. Thus we were exposed early to lively musicians. The Joe Perkins Orchestra was a favorite. This photo shows musicians my parents knew well (Dick Best on guitar, Walter Lob on fiddle, Jed Prouty on piano, and Joe Perkins, caller). [I don't know where this was taken; if anyone can identify it, please let me know. The photographer was John Nutter, 1940s.]

Some of the dancing and live music happened in the cellar of our tiny house in Danvers. John Nutter gave me (in 1996, before he died) these old photos showing my parents and friends dancing there in the 1940s.

John labelled these photos "Square Dancing at Nick & Cut's after Skiing."

On right, above, my father Nick Nichols.

Approaching him from left is my mother, Janet Cutler ("Cut") Nichols.

I am amazed at these photos, never realizing that square dancing could fit it in our tiny basement, which was normally filled with a ping-pong table. My parents not only played ping-pong, but also used the table for dinner parties. In this case, it's another after-ski party, also in 1940s.

My mother stands at back; my father is at the back left.

We didn't have a dining room, or even much of a kitchen table, in that small house, shown here in a typical winter scene. John "Ace" Nutter's woody wagon is parked in front, on Nichols Street.

Winter scenes

2010-02-06T00:52:00.011-05:00

Here are some photos from an old family album.

My mother and father, Janet and Nick Nichols, taking us out for a winter walk. I'm in the basket on the sled; my sister is strapped onto the pack-board on my father's back. We are on Nichols Street (now Conifer Hill Drive) right in front of our home.

Given the way we are dressed, I'd say we're probably headed to a family gathering, perhaps at my grandparents' home around the corner to the left, or further along that road to great-grandfather's house, where several "Great Aunts" still lived (98 Preston Street, known as "Pine Knoll").

This photo of our home at 120 Nichols Street, Danvers, under a heavy blanket of snow, was taken in February 1945.

A few winters later, my little sister was old enough to stand and pose on Mommy's big skis in front of the house.

Note the very large baskets on the ski poles.

Below is a winter photo of us with our dog Heidi.

We're playing in the front yard; the snow-covered tent behind us is the Army-surplus tent we used as a garage. In my hands is a fuzzy round "muff", while my sister Jean has mittens hanging on a string through the sleeves of her jacket.

Early skates

2010-02-05T23:58:00.008-05:00

My first skates weren't very effective or comfortable. I did enjoy playing around on the frozen pond near our home, whether in boots or on skates.

Read more in my February column: Memories of my first skates.

This photo of me (with double-bladed skates) was taken when I was barely two and one-half years old. Note the stiff oversized mittens. I bet they were red. I have a memory of shiny red mittens we called "lobster claw" mittens.

In the distance you can see the sloped lawn of the old "Locust Lawn" estate.

Sledding

2010-01-13T11:27:00.010-05:00

This month's Danvers Herald column, Sledding with my mother, has drawn several responses since its publication January 6. "You are exactly right on the hill" "we called it the big HILL." This writer goes on to mention that his mother participated in ski lessons on that hill.

Yes, I recall ski lessons there, too. Sometimes my parents gave lessons there BEFORE the snow fell. The carpet of pine needles was slippery enough on the steep side to allow skiers to move their skis and imitate skiing. The process was somewhat slow, but helpful for beginners just getting the feel of moving skis. As children, my sister and I helped by collecting more pine needles under the trees, carrying them in baskets, and spreading them out on the slope.

I also recall the popularity of saucer sleds on that hill. Those round things scared me. I didn't understand how anyone controlled them. I felt safer on a Flexible Flyer sled that I could steer. I was, as usual, timid about trying something new that looked fast and dangerous. In addition, the neighborhood kids added speed by creating a straight icy track down the steepest part of that hill. Snow had been scraped aside, revealing an icy base and leaving borders of lumpy snow. Elsewhere the old crusty snow covered the hill. I didn't want to try a saucersled, but they called me a sissy. I didn't want to be a sissy. I thought long and hard about how I could try the saucer, but not take the extreme risk of that icy track. After more taunts of "Sissy!" I gave in, but on the condition that I go down the snowy part BESIDE the track, not in the track. That's what I did. Or started to do. But the saucer wasn't in my control. It went slightly sideways, approached the track, went over the lumps beside the track, flipped over and threw me head first onto that ice. This happened just before school vacation week. My favorite cousin was coming from Maine to visit us that week. The doctor said I had a slight concussion and had to stay quietly in bed all week! That was the WORST part of this accident -- missing the fun with my cousin. I vowed NEVER to pay attention to a taunt of "Sissy!" again, and I never did.

Other hard lessons were learned on that hill. I heard from the mother of two young boys (now grown) who had encountered the barbed wire fence at the bottom of the hill. "Both boys were well aware of barbed wire but it was probably an icy day and they lost control." The older brother's chin hit the wire. He had to have several stitches, but first, before revealing his wound, he brought his 4-year-old brother safely home.

The current condition of the hill by Grandmother's Rock?

"It has overgrown now with evergreens so you would not even consider it today as an open slope."

Merry Christmas

2009-12-25T18:09:00.003-05:00

Wishing you a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Today I have been listening to a radio broadcast of Handel's Messiah and thinking about the records my mother used to play. I think The Messiah was on a 3-record set which could be stacked on the spindle of the record player so they dropped into place, one after another. After we had heard those 3 sides, my mother had to turn the stack over to play sides 4, 5, and 6. That was, at the time, a clever improvement over the earlier process of having to change the record after each side.

A barn became a home

2009-12-08T22:26:00.005-05:00

For my December column, I wrote about Bela and Stella, the couple who lived for several years on the top of "Nichols Hill" (Locust Lawn property) in a remodeled barn. I recall the very special lighting on their Christmas tree. See New inhabitants in an old barn

See also my previous blog entry (9/28/09) about Bela and Stella.

Neither the barn, nor the hilltop it sat on, remain today. Route 95 cut through there in the 1970's. Bela and Stella had moved safely to Long Island by the late 1950's. The barn continued in use for a while as a "warming hut" for skiers at the Locust Lawn Ski Club. It was a comfortable place to relax after skiing up the old rope-tow.

Other Transformations

2009-11-22T15:54:00.037-05:00

Much has changed in Danvers since my youth. During my recent visit, I observed and photographed many scenes that brought back memories. I noted transformations -- some for the good, some not. The old Maple Street School, where I attended 2nd grade, looks in fine shape, though it now provides housing rather than classrooms.

This curve of Nichols Street --once so familiar, right in front of my old home-- is now called Conifer Hill Drive. The stonewalls have been nicely rebuilt and the street re-paved. Years ago a modern office park replaced my childhood home and garden, my grandparents' house next door, and the garage in which my father's business started.

Today I can park in Visitor's spaces exactly where my childhood house once stood and look at what remains of the pond. I'm glad they saved a portion of that old pond, which was called "Willow Pond" in the children's book Going on Nine (see sketches on the endpapers). For a 1941 photo of the pond and our house, see my April 2008 column High Water in Spring.

I walked across the street and examined the woods, now overgrown with tangled vines and many trees new since my day. Slightly up the hill I could see the garage my father built in the 1960's; our big colonial-style house, built in 1957, has already been torn down. Why?, I wonder. What will be the next transformation for this property? The old barns and Locust Lawn ski trails were destroyed as Route 95 cut into the east side of the hill. During the summer of 1971, my 2-year-old son loved watching the earth-moving equipment, while my mother mourned the loss of the trees and trails. My young family moved to California in August 1971. My mother died in 1976. My father later remarried and moved to Marblehead, selling this homesite to a construction company, so we knew that changes were likely. The house did remain intact, though, for years and was again a residence for a while, I believe.

A surprise greeted me at the entrance to what used to be my father's business (UNEX Laboratories/Nichols & Clark, Inc. on Rte 1). A small sign led me to Henry's Conifer Café in the Berry building. I enjoyed a tasty lunch and talked with people there. It's a very pleasant place, though completely transformed from what I remember. No trace at all of my father's hearing aid factory!

Further north, I explored Ferncroft Road and the entirely new (to me) campus of North Shore Community College. Just beyond it is the old Ice Pond, where I used to skate. (See Skating Backwards, my first Danvers Herald column, March 2007.) What a joy to discover the Ferncroft Pond Conservation Area!

I sat at the table overlooking the pond, then studied the map and spent the next hour or so hiking the trails and enjoying the beautiful woodlands and wetlands. The concrete foundation where I used to sit to put on my skates is still intact! Today, while preparing to write this blog entry, I searched for information about the Ferncroft Pond Conservation Area, and found an informative article in the Danvers Herald: Hiking and bird watching at Ferncroft, by Bella Travaglini (Aug 31, 2005).

Another delightful discovery during my Danvers visit was the College Pond Conservation Area. This was an accidental find. I had driven up Spring Street to St. John's Prep and then turned south on Summer Street, when I decided to turn around. Looking for a safe place to turn, I entered Greenleaf Drive. I didn't remember this street, so I decided to explore it. Not only did I find a handy turnaround space, but signage announcing a Conservation Area.

I parked my car, strolled into the woods, and followed the pathway downhill, down a wooden stairway through the trees. This hillside was not at all familiar to me, nor could I recall a pond in this area, so I was quite curious to see where the path might lead. Gradually I caught glimpses of the huge wetlands area below and guessed that this might be the large pond where my parents used to skate. We used to approach it from the opposite side, near the old railroad bed. I had never realized it could be reached from St. John's. The boardwalk out toward the open water is creatively constructed; the curves invite you to slow down and look at the world around. Up ahead, I heard a splash. A turtle, perhaps, or a frog, had jumped into the water as I approached. I only saw ripples spreading out on the water surface.
I sat at the end of the boardwalk watching the water and the sky, listening to the active bird life all around me ...ducks flying overhead, sparrows in the bushes beside me, red-winged blackbirds calling in the marsh across the way. I waited patiently until I saw something swim just under the surface and recognized the head of a turtle coming up for air. He saw me, and quickly disappeared under the water. A second turtle swam nearby.

I feel SO THANKFUL that Danvers has set aside these natural areas in which birds and turtles can thrive and I can regain a sense of balance and connection to the natural world. The hours spent in these conservation areas rekindled my childhood sense of wonder, and relaxed my body. Everything slowed down, and I felt refreshed and renewed, a wonderful transformation. Much has changed in Danvers, but some very important things have been preserved.

Middle School Transformation

2009-11-05T21:27:00.007-05:00

My column for this month reflects on the transformations seen and experienced at Danvers Middle School: "Transformations great at old Danvers schools".

Photographs of the Richmond, Holton, and new Middle School architecture can be seen in my online album:
Preserving Old With New.

I thank Principal Michael Cali for taking me on an informative tour and answering my many questions about the project. My specific reason for requesting the tour was to learn about this example of combining new and old architecture. I hope that this example will help inspire preservation during renovation/expansion of an historic library building in my current community.

Carrots!

2009-10-28T12:00:00.007-04:00

Back at home, I harvested some carrots I had planted this summer. Until now, most have been disappointingly small and stubby. This time I pulled up one very well-shaped carrot.

Of course these are Danvers Half Long carrots!

Very tasty, too.

Visiting Danvers

2009-10-21T22:09:00.003-04:00

I'm visiting Danvers today and tomorrow. Intrigued by a notice in the Danvers Herald about a program at the Danvers Historical Society, I marked my calendar weeks ago, and made plans to drive across the state. I'm so glad I came! I enjoyed a visit this afternoon to the remarkable Richmond-Holton Middle School, and then drove along some once-familiar streets to see what might have changed and what I might recognize. I've taken photographs and notes, generating ideas for future columns. Stay tuned! I especially enjoyed a walk through the woods at the College Pond Conservation Area -- a beautiful place to be on a sunny autumn afternoon.
Tonight's program, "Gone But Not Forgotten, The Indians who lived in what is now Danvers" by Glenn Mairo, was well-attended and well-received. I decided to join the Danvers Historical Society (now in its 120th year!). My grandfather would be proud.

Bela and Stella

2009-09-28T06:25:00.008-04:00

I have fond memories of visiting Bela and Stella's home at Locust Lawn. Inside a small run-down barn, they had created a cozy and beautiful home, and they welcomed us --little girls from down the hill-- cheerfully. Bela was Hungarian; his wife was German.

I wish now that I knew more about how they came to Danvers and what their lives were like as they became American citizens and moved on to raise a family elsewhere. My role in their story was short-term, yet significant, said Stella, who credited me with helping her learn English. I do know that they were D.P.s (Displaced Persons) sponsored by my grandfather after World War II. Today I found this webpage that provides some context: Displaced Person Transports: Cargo of Hope (American Merchant Marine at War, www.usmm.org).

[Note added 12/09: see my December column, New inhabitants in an old barn, about my experience visiting Stella and Bela.]

Granddaddy's yard

2009-09-10T20:51:00.007-04:00

I now attend a weekly writing class called "Fun with Writing" at the local Senior Center. Recently we chose to write about childhood games we remember. I wrote about Kick-the-Can, an active game played in summer evenings with my family. We always played it in the yard next door, where my grandparents lived. Granddaddy Nichols was a good sport and often joined the game. How lucky I was to have Granddaddy next door! Visualizing those games of Kick-the-Can helped me visualize his house, driveway, and garage, and the little playhouse he built for us. For this month's column, I wrote about playing at Granddaddy's:

Playing at Granddaddy's was great.

African guest

2009-08-17T19:45:00.015-04:00

In August 1962 a young man from Africa arrived in Danvers as a guest of our family. He was on his way to Bowdoin College, but first he spent a month "homestay" with an American family (us) to get used to American customs. I've written about this special guest for this month's column: A guest from Africa becomes family.

My sister Jean was the one who oriented Onye to Danvers. She had her drivers license and drove him around during the days while our parents worked. [At right see Onye and Jean years later, in 1976, standing in the sunken garden in Danvers.]

I was away the summer of 1962 working as a chambermaid at the Oceanic Hotel on Star Island, off the coast of Portsmouth, N.H. Onye made one boat trip out to Star to meet me. He was favorably impressed with the place and applied to work there the next summer. We worked there together in 1963.

This summer I returned to the Oceanic Hotel to attend a week-long conference, and I took a "behind-the-scenes" tour. One wall in the employee area is today covered with old photos of past summers --including a group shot from 1963, in which Onye and I appear!
Below is a more recent photo of us, taken in 2004:

Apollo 11

2009-07-16T09:17:00.020-04:00

Do you remember where you were when men first walked on the moon? I was in Danvers sitting on my parents' couch in the living room, watching the TV intently.

My infant son was on my lap. I wondered then what he and his generation would think about men walking on the moon -- so exciting and historic for us, but perhaps to become routine for him. He slept or nursed through most of the adventure. He was only 6 weeks old!

Today on my computer I have just watched a 40th anniversary repeat of the countdown to the launch of Apollo 11. Walking on the moon hasn't become routine, but having powerful computers in our homes and being able to watch videos at any time has become routine. Apollo 11 videos:

Moon Landing 1969 (2 min video in color, highlights)
Sea of Tranquility Landing (10 min video from 1 camera)
The Apollo Program (National Air and Space Museum, Smithsonian)
Apollo 11 Audio & Video (National Air and Space Museum, Smithsonian).

Will we return to the moon? See Paul Mailloux's recent column New rockets for space exploration.

Fourth of July and tennis

2009-07-04T10:12:00.005-04:00

My cousin Stuart Brewster, who lived at the "Pine Knoll" family homestead from 1928 to 1959, sent this email:

"Well, here it is the Fourth of July once again. You were not around when we had fireworks all day long at Pine Knoll interspersed with family tennis matches. Your Dad and my brother Dudley were by far the top players. The double matches were especially exciting. Just about everyone played. All that ended in 1950 when the state took half of the court for widening the Turnpike. And they had the gaul to only offer payment for the half that they took by eminent domain. What good is half a court?" ...

"The problem with the tennis court was its up keep.
It was made of clay and had to be rolled frequently to keep it flat. It was also prone to weeds that had to be removed. And finally the lines were made out of white lime that had to be applied. It took days to get ready and then repair after the day of activity. But it was fun."

Stuart lives in Palo Alto, California, where he and Renate raised two daughters. He often visits Danvers and Salem, where his brother David and family still live.

Putnam Pantry Candies

2009-06-30T09:12:00.013-04:00

This old box brings back many memories...

I'm glad Putnam Pantry Candies continues as an operating store (see www.putnampantry.com). I enjoyed some treats there in May 2008 and look forward to future visits.

I recall a time when Putnam Pantry had stores on BOTH sides of Route 1. And long before that, I remember an amusing story (newspaper article?) about the effect of the new cloverleaf system on Mr. Putnam's "commute" to and from work. If instead of walking to the next-door building he chose to move his car, he had a very short drive TO work, but in the evening would have to drive north on Rte 1, then take each cloverleaf in turn until he had made 4 loops back to his house! My father liked to retell that story. I witnessed the cloverleaf construction from my 1st grade classroom in Hathorne School which, like Putnam Pantry Candies, became encircled by one of the loops. I wrote about that experience in one of my first columns for the Danvers Herald (see April 2007 column).

This month I wrote about Sweet Choices; see Sweet choices carefully considered in Danvers.

Way Up John

2009-06-04T10:07:00.008-04:00

This month's column is about a cousin who used to fly over Danvers in the early days of aviation. See the online version, Viewpoint: Way Up John.

Cousin Stuart recalls, "Seeing or hearing an airplane was a big deal in those days. Many planes followed above the Newburyport Turnpike since it was a straight line reference point. Everytime a plane would fly over, we would rush out to see it. And sometimes it was "Way Up," who would circle the house a number of times. What a thrill."

John's daughter provided a copy of this photo taken by cousin David Brewster, captioned "John B. Nichols with his Kittyhawk Biplane (Way-up-John) / Portsmouth, NH 1935"

Puppets

2009-05-24T21:40:00.009-04:00

Greetings from my cowboy puppet, created in the 1950's under the guidance of Pat Poirier on Nichols Street (see entry below).

THANK YOU, Pat!

Speaking of finding old Danvers treasures, please see the recent article in the Danvers Herald about a Cheerie Cherry puppet created by Jeana Cleveland. Her daughter wrote to me recently.

Nichols Street memories

2009-05-24T09:49:00.017-04:00

Yesterday I stood on Nichols Street and took this photo, remembering who used to live here. Classmate Ray Dirks lived in the house on the left. I recall hearing sounds of trumpet practice coming through those walls.

Two houses up the street, at the corner of Durkee Circle, is a small Cape in which Pat and Chuck Poirier lived. They did not yet have children, but they were very friendly to the neighborhood kids, inviting us in on Saturday mornings to play and do crafts. Pat, an occupational therapist, taught us to make hand-puppets from paper-maché. She skillfully and patiently guided us through the many stages of construction, beginning with molding in clay. It was fun to mold the clay heads! On each head, about the size of a baseball, we shaped ears and nose and other facial features. Pat encouraged us to exaggerate these features so they would be distinctive in the finished puppet. Each Saturday we came back to work on these puppet heads, covering them in strips of newspaper dripping with flour&water paste, pressing the damp gooey paper to fit tightly to the shaped clay. Week after week we added layers of paper-maché. Eventually, when the paper-maché had dried hard, each head was cut in half -- a process that shocked me at first, but had good consequences. I could easily remove the clay (which we had coated in Vaseline) and then glue together the two halves to create a hollow head, which I sanded and painted and worked on for many more weeks. My cowboy puppet acquired hair (glued-on yarn), and a hat (sewn out of felt), and a cloth body into which I could slip my hand and make his hands and head move. I was so pleased with that puppet! And I loved the hours spent with Pat and Chuck in that small house on Nichols Street.

Today I went to my attic and pulled out a box of old toys, hoping to find my cowboy puppet. I found the familiar basket and inside were TWO puppets I had made at Pat's! [See a notebook page in my handwriting illustrating how we made these puppets.]

I also found some other long-hidden treasures from childhood, and a wallet full of early photos of friends and relatives. What fun surprises! Today is my sister's birthday, and I have now emailed her some photos of what I found.

More Locust Lawn Memories

2009-05-06T15:11:00.007-04:00

This week I have written about playing at Locust Lawn as a child. So many wonderful memories are surfacing that I expect to continue writing, for future columns, about my experiences there.

Last month's column drew comments from a grandson of Amy Wentworth Stone. He confirmed that she did grow up at Locust Lawn, and she wrote other children's books. I have recently acquired a copy of P-Penny and His Little Red Cart (Boston, Lathrop,Lee & Shepard Co., 1934) by the same author and look forward to reading it.

Going on Nine at Locust Lawn

2009-04-01T10:15:00.023-04:00

Once upon a time I was a little girl who played at Locust Lawn in Danvers.
I loved this storybook my mother read to me. The book was dedicated "TO ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS WHO PLAYED AT LOCUST LAWN".

The mansion pictured below (from page 37 of this book) existed until 1944. The foundation remained for years longer, providing a play area for Nichols Street kids. In 1957 my parents built a new house on the site, using part of the old foundation for a sunken garden.

These maps on the end-papers of the book show familiar features...
such as the Barn, the Back Avenue, and the little pond, called "Willow Pond" here, -- recognizable from my childhood.
The road shown at the bottom (passing the pond and curving to the left) was a portion of Nichols Street now renamed Conifer Hill Drive. Route 95 cut that road off from the lower section of Nichols Street and destroyed much of the hill of Locust Lawn. Only some the original 35 acres we played in remain today, in narrow slices on either side to Route 95.

This month and next my Danvers Herald columns will be about Locust Lawn. See April column: The Little Girls of Locust Lawn.

8th grade photo

2009-03-26T13:47:00.003-04:00

Here is an 8th grade Graduation photo. I am 2nd from left, the one wearing glasses, of course!

Seeing clearly

2009-03-08T03:25:00.005-04:00

My March column is about wearing glasses, both the joy of seeing well and the awkwardness of worrying about how I looked at junior high dances:
Seeing the tops of the trees

See the school photos below. Obviously I wasn't the only student in my grade coping with glasses. Probably I wasn't the only one who felt awkward at Canteen, either. I bet the boys at that age (7th and 8th grades) had a difficult time with the socializing, too.

School photos

2009-02-22T20:35:00.017-05:00

Here's a Richmond Junior High class photo from 1955-56, my 7th grade year. I guess I missed the photo day, because I'm not in this one. Or perhaps this wasn't my home room? These faces are very familiar to me, however. Do you recognize anyone here? Note on the back: Miss Doherty's Home Room.

Do you remember the Friday night dances at Richmond Junior High? I'll be writing a few memories of "Canteen" in my next column.

I was trying to find a 7th grade photo of me, but instead I found this school photo from 10th grade, Holton High School Room 28, 1958-59.

Potholes in winter

2009-02-13T08:13:00.003-05:00

This month I have written about the potholes near my childhood home. Icy conditions made them worse. See

Potholes and Patches on Nichols Street

Note: the section of Nichols Street that I describe has been rebuilt and renamed. It is now called Conifer Hill Drive. I hope its pavement is in better condition, without potholes.

Feeding Birds in Winter

2009-01-12T12:17:00.004-05:00

This month's column for the Danvers Herald, published in print January 8, recalls our window birdfeeder, well-used for years: Feeding Birds in Winter.

Lost ski areas

2009-01-10T21:11:00.004-05:00

Mark Arsenault of the Boston Globe interviewed me a few weeks ago for an article about "lost" ski areas. The article appeared on January 4, 2009:

Melted away: Memories of region's 'lost' ski areas are kept alive on the internet.
www.boston.com/news/local/articles/2009/01/04/melted_away/

It includes a photo of my father skiing with me at Locust Lawn, Danvers.

Telephone memories

2008-12-06T10:02:00.006-05:00

Do you remember life before cell phones? Before push-button phones? Before area codes? For December's column, I wrote about the telephones of my early years:

When phone numbers were short and the phone was out of reach

I'm not old enough to remember the big wall-hung phones with cranks (except as seen on TV shows like Lassie), but I do recall black phones with dials.

Blueberry leaves in the fall

2008-11-08T17:26:00.004-05:00

This month's column is now available:

The color of blueberry leaves in the fall

I have transplanted some blueberry bushes to our yard this fall, and hope to have a local supply of tasty berries and beautiful foliage next year.

Red leaves

2008-10-30T08:28:00.004-04:00

On a recent walk in a wooded area near a reservoir, an intensely red bush caught my attention. I stopped to admire it and took this photograph. Such memories flashed in my mind! I'm writing about them for the next column.

Halloween Independence

2008-10-12T20:30:00.007-04:00

This month's column in the Danvers Herald (first Thursday of the month) tells another Halloween story. Last year I wrote about the Screech Owl incident, which happened when I was very young; this time I've written about a Halloween when I was older and wanted to trick-or-treat without a parental escort.

See Halloween Independence.

I want to thank my friend Peggy Melanson for encouraging me to put this story down in writing. I attended one of her story-telling workshops several years ago and happened to tell this Halloween story when it was my turn to practice telling a tale. Ever since, Peggy has urged me to write it down and to submit it to my hometown paper. Finally I did.

Another Nathan

2008-09-17T01:38:00.006-04:00

A new member of our family has been given the middle name Nathan in honor of my father, Nathan P. Nichols.

This is my new grandson, Alec Nathan Singer, at the age of 4 days. I am currently with him and his family in California.

I hope someday to tell Alec Nathan about his wonderful great-grandfather. In the meantime, I'm writing the stories down.

W1HVN calling...

2008-09-04T08:19:00.001-04:00

My column about High Voltage Nick was published yesterday in the Danvers Herald, print and online.

Ham Radio

2008-08-29T13:08:00.003-04:00

I'm writing now about my father's hobby as an amateur radio operator. As I search the Internet to learn more about Ham Radio and be sure of appropriate wording, I have found interesting articles and websites. I was particularly curious about the hide-and-seek games my father had played in Danvers. These are called "Hidden Transmitter Hunts" or "hidden mobile transmitter hunts" or T-hunts, for short. The paragraph below, quoted from an article "Let's Go T-Hunting" copyright 2001 by Joseph D. Moell of California, could have been written about my father, who often won the Monday night contests in Danvers by successfully hiding his station wagon and its mobile radio:

"T-hunters have become very sophisticated at finding dastardly hiding places. With the right combination of location and antenna, they make it difficult for hunters to get reliable bearings. Like a ventriloquist, a good hider can make the signal appear to be coming from some other location. With careful planning (and a little luck), the signal's characteristics can cause the hunters to approach the transmitter from the most difficult direction, with impassable roads or other obstructions, even though the T may be easily accessible via other routes. Perhaps the hider will camouflage the setup so well that the hunters won't find the transmitter unless they literally trip over it." by Joe Moell KØOV http://www.homingin.com/SCalStyle.html

George and Pat Ruth

2008-08-25T06:01:00.005-04:00

Today I am remembering George and Pat Ruth, who lived for many years in Danvers and were very close friends of my parents. As a young couple they lived near Essex Aggie school. My father met them and invited George to coming sailing. Years later George described the thrill of that first race in my father's 16-ft Town Class boat. Pat and George became enthusiastic crew members for years of sailing. They also were avid skiers and dancers. They loved life and were devoted to each other.

Years later George and Pat lived in Torrington, CT, where he taught school. My father and I visited him there sometime after Pat had died of cancer. George, retired, was pursuing his passion of restoring an old airplane. When he finished his plane, he was delighted to fly again. (He had been a fighter pilot in WWII.) In 2000 he moved to WindSock Village (West Ossipee, NH), a community designed for pilots of small planes. Every house has its own hangar and roadsigns announce "Yield to Crossing Aircraft." I visited George in June 2007, sat in his hanger, and watched airplanes taxi by. By then he could no longer fly, but he was happy he had lived "0 to 80 in perfect health".

Yesterday I called to ask George something about my father's Ham radio hobby (another interest they had shared), but his phone had been disconnected. Oh, no. I've learned that he died on July 3rd, age 85. I found his obituary online. His belongings will be sold in an estate sale at his house in WindSock Village tomorrow.

Don't step on the snakes!

2008-08-17T14:13:00.004-04:00

This month's column describes some encounters with snakes at our home in Danvers. See the online version.

Sailing

2008-08-07T16:49:00.004-04:00

I've been sailing in a small cruising boat this month: 5 days in Narragansett Bay, Rhode Island, and then 5 days sailing from Salem Harbor to the coastal waters of New Hampshire. These trips have brought back many memories of sailing with my father. It was exciting to sail in Salem Harbor and see Marblehead Harbor --where my father kept his boat-- in the distance. I'll probably write something soon about sailing...

Backyard Swings

2008-07-03T21:04:00.005-04:00

Today's column, A short rope created a wonderful swing, describes the special swing my father hung in our backyard.

Recently I sent a draft of this column to several old Danvers friends who had played in our yard. I asked about their memories (if any) of the rope swing. Janet wrote, "Oh yes do I remember. The many bruises on my knees hitting the tree on the way back. I remember the boards ... laid on the ground so our feet wouldn't hit the mud on the rainy spring days."

Gordon remembered that we also had a glider swing next to the path to my grandfather's house. He would swing on that while waiting for us to come out and play. Gordon also recalled the trapeze over by my father's shop. "Ray Dirks and I would hang by our heels upside down to see who could stay on the longest. We would hang by our toes also."

I had almost forgotten about that trapeze! I loved to swing on it and to hang by my knees, letting my long hair and arms hang down and almost brush the ground. I never attempted the more daring positions the boys tried.

Which Joshua Ward?

2008-06-25T17:42:00.003-04:00

The question, "Which Joshua Ward?", has surfaced several times in my life. Today I have posted a webpage with photographs and my musings on the subject, prompted by a recent visit to Salem. I hope you enjoy it; see Which Joshua Ward?

Lace from Orient?

2008-06-19T08:53:00.007-04:00

No. The wedding veil I wore in 1965 was not from the Orient, though my mother thought so at that time. It made a good story for the newspaper: "Sandra Nichols, Wearing Antique Lace from Orient, Weds ..."
"Her veil of luminous lace was brought from the Far East in a clipper ship by her great-great-great-grandfather, Joshua Ward, for the marriage of his daughter, Mary Holyoke Ward, in 1833 to Andrew Nichols, son of Major Andrew Nichols of the American Revolution." Don't believe everything you read! The veil was probably imported from Europe, according to a textile expert I later consulted. That style of veil was used in Massachusetts in the 1820's and 1830's.
Other corrections: The sea captain was Mary's grandfather (my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather Joshua Ward).

Wedding Anniversary

2008-06-06T08:41:00.005-04:00

Happy 37th Wedding Anniversary to Emily and Tom Haggerty! Emily wore the "Nichols veil" on June 6, 1971. (Photo at Glen Magna reception.) She was the 6th bride in the Nichols family to do so. I was the 5th. This month's column is about that veil: A wedding veil from 1833 survives today.

For more information about the veil and links to more photographs, see my webpage on An Old Wedding Veil.

Pine Knoll Re-visited

2008-06-03T07:56:00.004-04:00

Throughout my childhood I visited "Pine Knoll", the old house hidden in pine trees on a knoll at the corner of Preston Street and Route 1. People told me that it was my great grandfather's house, but I never met him. He had died in 1921; my visits were in the 1940's, 1950's, and 1960's. To me, it was the home of (great) Aunt May, (great) Aunt Margaret, and cousins Annie and Marion. These nice old ladies served lemonade in summer and ribbon candy at the holidays and sometimes let me play with an old doll house, or little kittens on the porch. Cousin Marion taught me to knit. Cousin Annie taught me to play piano. Their parakeet could say "Pretty, pretty, pretty bird!" and "Merry Christmas!" The house had many rooms, most of them quite dark and overfilled with family furniture, portraits, and history. It was a place where time seemed to stand still.

I re-visited Pine Knoll this week. I walked among the pines, took photos of what remains (not much), and looked again through my files of old papers about this family homestead. I re-read an 1881 newspaper article entitled The Nichols Museum. This detailed description of the house and its contents matches what I remember! In the 1960's the Pine Knoll house was like a museum. My father found an 1899 photograph of the parlor and took a similar photo himself. He observed that two chairs had changed places and a few other details varied, but the scene was remarkably unchanged.

Change, of course, is what I notice now. I'd been away for decades. As I walked around "Hathorne Greene", the condominium development now on the Pine Knoll land (which formerly was the Prince farm), I met a resident who described it as one of the most beautiful places to live in Danvers. He's been there since 1988 -- that's 20 years, about the same length of time in which I experienced Pine Knoll.

Prince Burial Ground

2008-05-23T18:53:00.008-04:00

Today I found some notes relevant to this month's column:

"...the Prince Burial Ground at Beaver Brook in Danvers... about 300 ft east of the Station called Ferncroft on the Boston & Main Railroad (Eastern Division)."

"Robert Prince who came to Salem 1656 and bought the Prince Farm of one hundred eighty acres where St. John's College now stands. He married Sarah Warren daughter of John Warren of Watertown. She was 'cried out as a witch' and was removed to Boston jail where she died awaiting trial."

[These notes I had copied some years ago --at a cousin's home-- from a fragile old notebook written in 1922 by my great aunt Mary Eliot Nichols.]

I also found a photocopy of an article in the Danvers Mirror dated May 7, 1881. The article describes a visit to the home of Andrew Nichols. The opening paragraph contains several mentions of the "Prince farm": "This farm originally extended... " (see whole article).

May 5th

2008-05-05T20:46:00.006-04:00

On May 5th I always think of my mother. Many of her favorite flowers are blooming: daffodils, bleeding hearts, and Lily-of-the-Valley. She was particularly fond of Flowering Dogwoods; we often drove south at this time of year to view the large dogwood trees lining the streets near her childhood home in Connecticut. She transplanted several dogwoods to Danvers, where we enjoyed their blossoms each May.

May 5th was her birthday. She would have been 96 this year; unfortunately she died just short of 64. I have reached the age of 64 and am glad to be in good health, able to work in the garden and appreciate the beauty of this wonderful season in New England.

This month's column mentions my mother in the opening line, but is really about my own discovery of some earlier family connections. It was published in the Danvers Herald May 1st:
John Prince mystery solved.

Pond memories

2008-05-04T00:33:00.003-04:00

Last month's column about the pond on Nichols Street continues to draw comments (posted on the Danvers Herald site) from people with very fond memories of childhood experiences in that neighborhood. The idea of a mini reunion has been expressed. I'm delighted!

Comments

2008-04-19T17:15:00.007-04:00

While visiting a cousin in California April 9th, I showed him the Danvers Herald website and my recent column. Someone had added a Comment below the column. We both enjoyed reading the comment and recognizing that it was written by another cousin who lives far away. We all remember that pond in Danvers!

Today I re-visited the webpage and discovered another Comment. [To view the Comments page, click here.] I wrote in response:

Thanks for your comments! I enjoy reading about YOUR memories, too. So many of us skated, or tried to, on that pond. I remember awkward attempts with double-bladed skates tied on the bottom of my boots. My grandfather (William S. Nichols) also skated with clip-on skates, but he was good at it. My parents loved to play ice-hockey, both on this pond and down on the meadows (off Spring Street? and next to former railroad bed). My mother was proud of her hockey skates -- never used figure skates. I was happier when I finally had my own figure skates, tho I never was as avid a skater as my mom. We also skated on a pond on Ferncroft Road. That's where I learned to skate backwards [see my first Remembering Danvers column, March 1, 2007].

We were very fortunate to grow up with so much space to play in and explore. The pet racoons were mine, found in the trees nearby. Yes, I remember the cows grazing in the fields across the street. My mother told me she once saw a cow looking into my baby carriage; she was worried that I'd be scared, but I was smiling. I recall a Mr. Hooper bringing the cows, and once he stepped on a beehive and had to be hospitalized to recover from all the stings. Years later I remember the sadness of so many cows killed all at once, and the oddity that one calf survived. How strange that the lightning reached the cows down in that hollow; they must have been very close to a tall tree.

I'm glad the little pond survives. So much else has changed beyond recognition.

High Water in Spring

2008-04-04T12:25:00.004-04:00

Every spring when I see rising water in rivers or ponds I recall childhood memories of our pond. This month's column includes a photo of our little house by the pond. See High water in spring brings happy memories .

Making Maple Syrup

2008-03-06T16:00:00.005-05:00

'Tis the season of warming days and cold nights, when the sap in the maple trees flows up and down. I have fond memories of my mother making maple syrup for our family. As a child I took this for granted, just a routine activity that any family with access to maples trees would do. Later, when I heard that a Danvers Girl Scout troop was coming to watch Mrs. Nichols make maple syrup, I realized that this was a special skill from the past. Please read this month's column, published today:
Making Our Own Maple Syrup

Photos of Nick

2008-02-28T09:25:00.004-05:00

This winter while writing about my father's business and skiing, I also sorted through old boxes of papers and photographs. I have now created an album of photos of my father -- too many to post in this blog. This has been fun, and I hope you enjoy the results.

Ski tows

2008-02-17T12:48:00.012-05:00

My father was clever at constructing ski tows. According to an old newspaper clipping (Danvers Herald? 1939?), he and his friend Karl Struss built a portable tow that could be taken wherever snow conditions were favorable. "Calling themselves the Hub Portable Ski Tow, 'Nick' and his partner have considered their first season...a success and have enjoyed business amounting to well over a hundred skiers a day. They have operated in Bristol, N.H., Newton and Reading, and have received very favorable comment by several leading sports writers and columnists in Boston papers. A picture of their tow in operation at the Braeburn country club, Newton, their latest resting place, was featured in the Christian Science Monitor of Feb 2." [1939] [I will try to obtain a copy of that picture and link it here.]

In Danvers, I remember a portable ski tow engine mounted onto a toboggan. My father would bring it down through the Locust Lawn woods to a steep, short hill we called "Cranmore" (located just east of "Grandmother's Rock"). He would tie the toboggan securely to a tree at the top of the slope, then unwind the ropetow and attach its pulley to a tree at the bottom of the hill. As I recall, the tow gave me a FAST ride up the hill, but for an average adult, the engine slowed down. When a heavy-set person needed a lift, my father would assist the engine by grabbing the return rope and skiing DOWN as the other person came up!

For the Locust Lawn Ski Club, the ski tows were fixed in place. First there was a Model T Ford running the tow for the big open slope. A second tow was built to serve the trails down through the woods. Our old 1950 Buick was parked in the woods and used to pull that longer rope. Some years later an electric motor replaced the Model T. My father called it his "electric pogo stick" because it was mounted high on a pole.

In 1996 John Nutter, a family friend, gave me this photograph of our old car "Oswald" being used as a ski tow in early 1940's. I had never heard of that! John said that he and Nick had promised in advance to bring the portable ski tow to Russell's in N.H. for a specific date, assuming that there would be no snow (thus no need for the tow) in Massachusetts. But good snow came; they didn't want to move the tow. Instead, they drove Oswald to N.H. and temporarily converted it (installed and running in 3 days) into a tow! See my previous writings about this car: Oswald in 1961 and An old family care named "Oswald" (June 7, 2007 column in Danvers Herald).

Learning to ski

2008-02-07T21:25:00.000-05:00

In this month's column I wrote about learning to ski at Locust Lawn. See the online version on the Danvers Herald website. It includes a photo of my father holding me in his arms as he skis down the slope.

Two years ago I wrote an essay called Free Skiing, remembering the work we did to prepare for this no-cost skiing at Locust Lawn.

In 2002 I created a webpage about skiing at Locust Lawn and sent a note to have it included in the inventory of the New England Lost Ski Areas Project (see NELSAP website).

Home of UNEX

2008-02-07T21:14:00.000-05:00

Here is a drawing of the "new" Nichols and Clark factory on Route 1.

An old map!

2008-02-01T13:24:00.000-05:00

My father drew this map, probably in early 1940's. It shows the location of our home ("120" on silver arrow) and his business (then called "Pure Tone Hearing Aids"). It also shows the contours of the nearby hill where he and friends were developing ski trails called "Suicide Six". This is before the creation of the "Locust Lawn Ski Club", before the widening of Route 1. This 3-fold card was probably used as a Christmas card or an invitation mailed to skiing friends. [CLICK on the map for a larger version.]

News article about Nichols & Clark

2008-01-31T18:01:00.000-05:00

I have found an old newspaper article that gives the identity of Mr. Clark. It is undated, but I assume it is 1939 or 1940.

"... it took two enterprising Danvers young men to utilize the very latest in radio equipment in developing a device which according to recent tests should prove a boon to the many unfortunate people who are hard of hearing, and who because of limited financial means have been unable to procure adequate hearing devices.
The two men in question are Nathan P. Nichols of Preston st., Hathorne, who also recently developed a portable ski tow, and Leslie A. Clark of 26 School st. Working together since about last Christmas these two men, both of whom have had considerable experience in radio engineering have developed a marketable hearing aid which is reputed to be the first low cost wearable hearing device using the new radio tube amplifier."

[To see the whole test, click here for more legible version.]

In his own words

2008-01-05T21:01:00.000-05:00

My column has been published this week in the Danvers Herald:
In his own words: my father's business.

I quoted heavily from a piece my father wrote about six months before he died. You can read his complete piece here and follow links to some webpages I found as I researched related history.

My father's business

2007-12-18T11:40:00.000-05:00

I'm working on my next column (for early January), which will be about my father and his hearing aid business. How did he get into that business? I asked him in 1996 and he answered briefly. Then he wrote a longer answer and sent it to me:

The Working Adventures of My Life! by N. P. Nichols 3/22/1996

Today I have scanned it into my computer and hope soon to post it on the web, with a link from this blog. I'd like to add photos, too, but that is a larger project. I'll be away from my computer for several weeks in late December and early January.

Hathorne Post Office

2007-12-03T16:32:00.000-05:00

I have written this month's Remembering Danvers column about the Hathorne Post Office (see photographs in entry below). Curious about its history, I sent an inquiry to the Danvers Archives. This reply came today from Town Archivist Richard Trask:

"On September 10, 1878 a post office was established in this part of town under the name of Asylum Station, being the name of the railroad depot servicing this area. The station had formerly been called Swans Crossing Station, though the name changed with the erection of the Danvers Mental Asylum. The post office was located within the station until the 1890s when postmistress Mrs. Ellen Hines relocated it to the Street Railway Station. In 1899 the name Asylum Station was changed to Hathorne and the post office name was also changed."

Asylum Station was on the Essex Railroad, also known as the Lawrence Branch. The 1893 topographic map on this page about DSH shows the location of Asylum Station.

Familiar buildings on Rte 62, Hathorne

2007-11-26T12:50:00.000-05:00

This fall I traveled along Route 62 with a carload of out-of-state visitors touring New England and noticed, among many changes, several familiar old buildings. No trace, of course, of the old one-room schoolhouse, but I did see the old post office my family had used for so many years. I was happy to discover that the Hathorne Post Office was still there and functioning as a post office.

I asked the driver to pause briefly so I could take a few photos.

This was my first visit to Danvers since January 2000 and my first time by the post office in decades. I stepped inside and was delighted to see that it looked much the way I remembered. The old familiar boxes have been preserved!

Next door to the Post Office is another familiar building -- former home of my father's business, Nichols & Clark, Inc., which manufactured UNEX hearing aids. He purchased that building (a former fruit stand) from another location and moved it here in the 1950's.

I will write more about these buildings and associated memories soon.

Happy Halloween

2007-10-31T08:38:00.000-04:00

Recently I have been writing about my childhood Halloween experiences in Danvers. One of my stories will appear in the Herald this week. Watch for it!

The Screech Owl: A Halloween Story was posted online Oct 31. You can listen to Screech Owl sounds and learn more about them at these sites:
www.owling.com/Eastern_Screech.htm
www.birds.cornell.edu/AllAboutBirds/BirdGuide/Eastern_Screech-Owl.html
en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastern_Screech_Owl