St. Johnsbury Caledonian. [volume] (St. Johnsbury, Vt.) 1867-1919, 1902-08-13
VOL. LXV---NO. 1898
Fifty Years ago In st. Johnsbury.

Charles V. Barton, the talented asso-
ciate editor of the Los Angeles Herald,
contributes under a non-de.plume to his
paper some delightful "reminiscences Of
his boyhood days which all will recog-
nize as in St. Johnsbury, Mr.. Barton's
home for halt his life. Under the title of
FIFTY Years Ago" Mr.. Barton writes as
follows:
When the barber was done with WELD
ing his shining, searching blade, my face
was sadly in need of soothing emolli-
ent. The unguent he used carried faint,
elusive odor OF checkerberry. Instantly
my harassed face, the stuffy atmosphere
of the barber shop and the muff1ed roar
of the city's busy traffic outside were for
gotten. was boy again, adventuring
with one or two chosen companions to-
ward certain sunny slope where the
wild checkerberry grew.
remember the time, the place and the
occasion as well as if they were things of
yesterday. The place was small knoll
in Amos Howard's pasture-a clearing
set about with sugar orchard" and
fringed with hazel and elder bushes. One
side of the knoll sloped toward the
south, and it was here that the checker
berry grew, successor to the shy and
fleeting arbutus. 1t was in the late
springtime, Of course; still later the
checkerberry leaves would be tough and
strong of flavor.
Amos Howard's pasture was two miles
away if you went around by the covered
bridge and took the road that led past
old Tom Howard's place. What char
! acter old Tom was-but that is another
story. Or, you could strike the river
down below the dam and the old swim
ming hole, and wade across if it were
low water. My! How slippery the
stones were. More than one boy went
in swimming with his clothes on before
he got across, but what did we care?
When we did get across the river we
| struck the bank in a tangle of sumach
and mulberry bushes with an under
growth of wild raspberries. Of course
it too early for rasperries if tits just right
for checkerberries One forgets those
slight but important distinctions after
an interval of fifty years or so. But l
am sure that there were Strawberries.
These were higher up the knoll, in the
pasture. The checkerberry loved the sun
not so well and courted the comparative
retirement of the shade further down,
| near the hazel and elder bushes.
To get into the pasture you left the
road at the brook, "Howard's brook" :"
named after the man who owned the
pasture. Or perhaps it was named after
his fathers father. Roots go deep in
New England, and if Vermont was "a
good state to emigrate FROM" there was
always some one to keep up the old farm
and the old name.
1t was every boys duty to go fishing
for trout in Howard's brook at least
once every year. Tradition hath it that
there were trout in that purling water
way. once upon time. And boy ac-
tually did catch one trout there. He
always was lucky, and his mother made
apple pies that were really good enough
to eat for breakfast-but l am getting
away from the subject again.
You went up the brook about hun
dred rods to get to the knoll and the
checkerberries. On the way, deep in the
dim recesses of the woods, were banks of
ancient moss by the side of which sorrel
grew, and no boy ever went by without
stopping for a rest on the soft bed and
for an appetizer of the sour sorrel. Not
that we really needed an appetizer. Quite
| the contrary.
How pungent were those checkerberry
leaves, how keen and biting their flavor
can taste them now. When we had
eaten our fill we would go after the wild
field Strawberries for a change, and per
haps on the way home we would try the
sorrel again.
How quickly the afternoon passed
away. Hark There comes the faint
sound of the o'clock whistle at the far
away railroad shops. Supper-we had
dinner at noon in those days-was on
the table, Our mothers were looking for
us and we were two miles away. Per
haps we didn't hurry
Next" And the barber waited for
his Is cents.