Dog River Crier, #42, 1987, Julia McIntire, Editor

SOME HORSES I REMEMBER By Ed Mayo

"When I was a youngster in the early 1930's, the contest between horses and automobiles had been settled some years before. Now it seemed that nearly everyone in Northfield relied on an automobile of one sort or another for his transportation. Saturday evenings parking spaces on the Common were filled as folks did their weekly trading; some just sat in their cars and commented on the people passing by. Again on summer evenings, when the Coronet Band played, cars ringed the Common, and horns honked with appreciation after each selection.

"Although the car had won the day, there were a stubborn few who continued to resist change. These citizens kept Mr. Fairbanks busy mending harnesses in his shop on East Street, and in a blacksmith shop behind Kingston's store. The hitching posts in front of the stores and the watering trough at the foot of the hill (of the United Church) were not yet mere anachronistic memorials.

"Barney Bogues was one of this number. (As I don't recall ever seeing Barney's last name in print, I had to check with Mahlin Chamberlain.) Anyway, I recall him driving his horse and rubber-tired wagon back and forth from the Post Office to the railway station several times a day. He would back his wagon, piled high with gray mail sacks, up to the station platform. As the sacks were thrown through the wide doors of the mail car, you could see the postal clerks inside sorting mail into rows of pigeon holes. Sometimes you could glimpse a bewildered dog who had been forced to travel in the mail car as pets were not allowed with the passengers. On rare occasions, a hearse would also be backed up to the platform to receive its delivery.

"Another who remained loyal to his horses was Dexter Macy. After a heavy snow, he would hitch his horse to a pointed, flat-bottomed sledge which he would drive up the sidewalks. It acted as both a plow and a snow packer, enabling people to walk to work on time. Everyone knew that Dexter loved his horses and took excellent care of them. Nonetheless, it was his particular manner to yell at them constantly and often with colorful expletives sprinkled about. Guess that the horses didn't mind, but I was always much impressed that such a short man could have a voice like thunder. ---

"Each week Perley Clark and his wife drove their buggy or sleigh into town from their farm in the Little Northfield area to deliver butter and eggs to their customers' homes. It was rather amusing to watch poor Mrs. Clark scurry to the various kitchen doors while Perley and the old horse rested comfortably in the street.

"A few weeks before Christmas each year, another sleigh would be seen in town. Mr. and Mrs. Rotha Keep, whose farm was at the foot of Scragg Mountain, would be delivering Christmas wreaths ordered weeks before. These were real wreaths made by twisting ground pine around a wire frame-not like the flat pine bough ones of today.

"A memory that has remained clear from early childhood concerns a horse and wagon owned by Dominic Falzarano, a much respected elder of the town. Among his many activities, Dominic raised pigs in a field south of Mount Hope, and I must have asked if I could see the pigs one day. In any event, my cousin Caroline and I were in the front yard one day when Dominic stopped his horse by the house and asked if we would like to see some newly-born piglets. He told us to get Mother's permission, which was quickly accomplished, and we climbed onto the wagon. We rode along toward the Center with much excitement. Dominic carried on a joking conversation with us and kept referring to Caroline as Carolina Moon. His touch of accent made it all the more fun. On our arrival at our destination, we climbed the fence and looked down on a grand collection of pigs. And to top it off, in one corner lay an old sow with her eight or ten piglets crawling and sliding all over her and squealing loudly. It all combined to make a fine adventure for us.

"During the warm days of spring and summer, youngsters on the street like to watch for the arrival of Bolus Union's horse-drawn ice cart with the scales and ice tongs hanging on the side. As he chipped away at the block of ice to fit our cooler, we would gather around the wagon to catch slivers of ice. I still sometimes say ice box when I mean refrigerator.

"My last encounter with a local horse took place some years later. As a rural mail carrier, Solon Staples kept a horse at his place on South Street. One snowy Sunday afternoon, Stanley Staples, Lauraine Goodrich and I decided to hitch the horse to Solon's sleigh. We rode up Union Brook Road nearly to Four Corners, and everything went fine. However, when we turned the horse around to head home, the horse, thinking of its dry bucket of oats, started to gallop hell-bent for election. Stanley pulled the reins up as tightly as he could, but this had little effect on the horse which was now running out of control. As we were wondering what to do, Lauraine decided on action. Flinging aside the buffalo robe, she simply bailed out and bounced along the icy road. I jumped out quickly to see if she was hurt. With so little weight left in the sleigh, it quickly rose up on its curved front runners. Poor Stanley was still holding the reins and looked like Ben Hur, Jr. Fortunately, a car was approaching, and the driver sized up the situation at once. By driving his car in the middle of the road, he was able to force the horse into a snowbank and a complete stop. Taking no more chances, we walked the horse back to the village and up to South Street. Jennie Staples found some liniment for Lauraine's bruised backside and then made up a bowl of popcorn.