Dog River Crier, #22, 1982, Julia McIntire, editor

Written by Homer Denny and submitted to Julia:

60 No. Main St. *

"In 1912 this address, although mostly in the village, was the location of the farm owned by my grandparents, Francis and Lucy Houston. My parents, Joseph and Florence Denny, my sisters and one brother, lived in one-half of the big tenement house. My father's job was to run the retail milk route for my grandfather. Our family lived there until 1923 when my father bought a store and we moved to another big house owned by my grandmother Denny.

"You probably have strong notions about farmers in Vermont living miles away from habitation and coming to town once a month. With our family it was different. It took only five minutes to walk to church, the Post Office, stores and school. We lived in the middle of a N. Main St. neighborhood and knew everybody there.

"Life on the farm was busy and interesting. We worshipped our grandparents because they were kindly people who took great pride in doing things the right way. My grandfather was a good carpenter and all the buildings were kept in good repair and clean.

"Cows, horses, hens, dogs, cats and occasional pigs were always on hand, to keep us company.

"I made my first trip on the milk cart at the age of four when, much to my father's surprise, I appeared at five a.m. one morning. I have an old friend who remembers that, as the driver of another competing route. He and my father used to race down Central St. at a great clip to see who could get to a certain house where empty bottles abounded. In those days the milk cart driver kept or lost his job based on the number of empty bottles he brought back.

"When I was ten years old my grandfather gave me the job of getting the cows at 50 cents a week. It wasn't very difficult except every so often a few would hole up in the Whetstone Brook area.

"My grandfather made wonderful maple syrup and sugar and we kids helped collect the sap and provide firewood for the sugar house operation.

"My grandparents loved to play cards and on many occasions my brother Bradford and I would spend up to an hour playing 500 with them after returning from school and before supper was served. Our social life with them was intense because life with them was intense ---they did not relish losing to anybody, much less to two upstart boys.

"My grandfather could be very stubborn in the protection of his rights. He managed to have a few arguments with the selectmen over the taking of his land to build a bridge on Rte. 12 without his consent or adequate compensation. The bridge was named 'The Houston Bridge,' nevertheless. So also was the nearby Houston St.

"My grandfather generally had a hired man who would take meals with my grandparents and stay overnight. One man was Charlie Towne, brother of Norbert Towne and who was later known as Monseigner Towne. Having overheard my grandmother tell my grandfather that she did not want Charlie leaving his dirty old boots behind the kitchen stove, I proceeded to tell him what my grandmother said and advised him to leave his boots outside the back door. I used to remind Monsignor Towne of this matter whenever we met and we had many a good laugh.

"Winter brought cold and snow to the farm like everywhere else.

"Two major high points to me then were the big wooden roller and the smaller iron roller which my grandfather used to pack the snow for the horses and farm sleds. Since our bedrooms had no heat, winter brought out the hot water bottles which were rotated among our beds soon after eight o'clock for the nine o'clock trek to bed.

"Other memorable events for me were picking wild strawberries, skating on our homemade rink, jumping in the haymow and riding our ponies. I also remember, in disbelief at the time, my grandfather a kind and gentle man, kill and pluck two hens for Sunday dinner.

"You can see that we kids never 'had nothing to do.'

"My grandfather, racked with rheumatism, sold the farm in 1923 to Ernest Bean. We all missed the farm.

*The original Houston farmhouse lies just north of Bean Chevrolet. It was sold along with the farm to Ernest Bean. It is now owned by his granddaughter, Bonnie (Lefebvre) Bean. Ernest Bean was father of Paul and Matthew (Babe), Bonnie's father. Bonnie reports that the house was originally a tavern and that it was moved across from the west side of the street to accommodate the railroad tracks.