1915 ?

Sometime in August

Boat. 3:30

Mabel dearest -

My very first impression - quick and uncerebrated -
is that it would be a mad thing to do. Perfectly mad.

I can stop and reason - find perfectly good ones on
both sides, but you didn't ask for that.

And this in spite of the fact that I like him very
much - the combination just feels like an illegitimate one.

You're more like me than I thought even. Please let
time clarify things - it always helps. The relationship wouldn't
be constructive. It would be like subjecting a sweet true human
thing to the glaring, merciless, temperatureless sunlight of the
north-pole. Believing diametrically the opposite isn't so im-
portant - but that there's no unison of spirit which is the
breath of life to you. The very feeling that there is no "trust"
is proof. Your rhythms are totally different -

Oh, look out on the far horizon and bring your centers
home.

H. (Hazel)

It troubles me - I've been sitting here looking out to the
far horizon almost with a prayer on my lips - and it doesn't
seem any other way.

Whichever way you choose finally must only make it possible
for you to find beauty and truth somehow. You're a strong brave
soul - and I've infinite faith in you, but that isn't the ques-
tion, is it ?

To me life is so much in the individual (so much a thing

2. "H."

that cannot be wrecked) that, except for John - I should think
that it made little difference. Only I'd never make it legal.
It's the only way I'd feel sure of him - S., I mean.

Oh, there are so many things I want to say to you.

I wish I were down by the sea with you.

S. would never be held by anything human. The reason you
feel that you can't trust him, is that he is responsible to
nothing except the truth that he sees; he is not either good or
bad. He is perfectly beyond human judgment, he is not pagan nor
altogether Eastern, he is dissociated from life. He sees things
only as shimmering light. You would never feel as if you had
"gotten" him - he's not tangible spiritually. It's strange that
he should want to marry, I think. It almost seems as if he does
n't understand himself.

I'm sending you this as it is.

The last of it wrote itself.

The Farm

November 1, 1949

Dear Farm Family--One and All:

Hereby I have to tell you some sad news--and in order not to continue the suspense here it is. Our beautiful old barn is burned flat to the ground--no longer can you jump in the hay or hunt for screws on the work bench. The livestock was saved thanks to K's wonderful quick action, and the house and woodshed also, due to K and to our wonderful fire department here in West Newbury and the fact that the Lord sent a gentle southwest breeze which blew the flames over toward the woods. This seems like a miracle, for we all had always thought if the barn went the house would surely go too.

AND THIS IS HOW IT HAPPENED: Because of the very dry summer and the shortness of hay for the cows and horse this winter, K saved a field of rye, which was duly cured (as a matter of fact it was dead dry when cut, and then cured afterwards) baled and put in the barn about a month ago. We didn't know then, which we know now, that that was a fatal error. Friday night, October 28, K had just come in the house and eaten his dinner--all was quiet and in order in the barn, when suddenly there was a dull explosion which was heard miles away, and the whole barn just exploded into flames. K was here alone with Kip and Vera Lane, because the rest of us, namely Jean, Peggy, Dick, and I had gone to Boston to have dinner with Polly and Frances, it being Frances's birthday, and we hadn't seen her for ages, and we wanted to see her new small daughter who is nearly two months old.---To return to K, he rushed to the telephone, called the firechief and told him to start laying hose from the hydrant at the gate because the barn was going but perhaps we could save the house. Then he rushed down into the barn basement and in the matter of minutes he got those ten cows and two heifers out. The latter being babies he had to pick up and throw out the door, the hair was burning on one of them and he beat it out with his hands. The lights had gone out which added to the confusion and the smoke was becoming unbearable. When he tried to leave by the downstairs door, some burning debris had fallen right in front and he couldn't get out so he turned and made for the stairs. When he looked up the stairs the flames were shooting across the top, but he put his hands up over his face and ran thru the fire. His face and hands were burned, his hands quite badly and his face not seriously, but painfully and sufficiently bad so that he is bandaged like a mummy. His hands are quite painful, tho the doctor has him done up in the latest fashion. This is the third day and he can see out of his eyes now. He has to drink thru a tube, and yesterday he could get his mouth open enough so I was able to feed him a bit of dinner. Otherwise he has lived on liquids. It is another miracle that he is alive to tell the tale--another matter of seconds and the whole barn caved in. The flames shot up into the sky, and could be seen for miles around. The dear old barn certainly went down in a burst of glory or hell's fire or something.

K's tractors, truck, tractor equipment, etc., was practically all outside and is unharmed, and you can imagine what that meant to us. Our milking machine, the electric milk cooler, and all the tools otherwise are a total loss, including Kip's bicycle, which saddened him. And the storm windows, storm doors, furniture including a beautiful old bureau, were stored in the barn and that is gone. Everything including our new milkhouse.

So there you have the story! The worst loss for us outside of the barn itself, is probably the hay. Because of our unprecedented drought hay is scarce as hen's teeth--and all our hay of course is completely lost and a ten day's supply of grain worth about $60, which is a minor loss--but when everything is gone it is bewildering. Ladders, rope, pitchforks, chains--oh a myriad of things and of course so many that will never be replaced.

Well--we will now return to us! We arrived in Boston feeling very hungry and eager to see the Davises and the Cohens, and Mary O and her husband were there too. We went in feeling very merry, to be greeted by such long faces that we couldn't imagine what was the matter. And Polly greeted us saying "I'm so sorry you can't have

any dinner but here are some sandwiches!" I thought she was just playing a joke on us but then of course bit by bit the news came out. It seemed incredible; we had left only an hour ago and everything was quite calm and peaceful, and of course we thought Barn & House. Just as we were getting back into the car, Mary O called from the fifth story "Vera just phoned again, and the House is saved and so are the cows" which was certainly something of a relief to our minds as we started what seemed the endless trip home. Dick, belonging to our Fire Department, has a red blinking light on his car, and this he started and it did help open traffic for us here and there. Also brought the State Police after us in Reading--after he told them he was going to a fire and that it was his house burning they let us go at once, saying they would check. We've heard nothing about it, so I guess they believed him.

When we arrived about fifty minutes later, the barn was flat, the house was filled with neighbors and Daddy K was sitting on the couch completely bandaged up. One of the girls had met us in the yard and prepared us a bit, so it was not as bad a shock as it would otherwise have been. The doctor had come and just gone when we arrived, having given him a shot of morphine and left sedatives for him. Everybody was and is still being so wonderful. The firemen who arrived less than five minutes after being called had kept a curtain of water sheltering the house--some of the windows cracked with the heat and the shingles on the woodshed had caught in one spot, but the house was still there. How good it looked to us! The firemen stayed all night, and Sunday about twenty of them came up and helped Dick all day long carting away debris, of which there is plenty as you may well imagine. The insurance man came Saturday night, the first time I could get hold of him, and said that we might move the stuff away, saving only all metal parts for the adjuster to see. They did a wonderful job yesterday, and I think will be able to finish with just one more day's work of about three or four people. Three people offered to take care of the cows-- they are now in a neighbor's barn. For those old timers of you who will remember-- they are in the barn next down the river where Cyrus Ordway used to live. Roney, the horse, is still roaming around and we can't seem to get near him, and one heifer is still loose. Otherwise they are all accounted for.

Well, dears, that is the story. I have tried to remember everything, but I'm sure you will have a hundred questions. Write and ask me, and I will try to answer.

Oh, two things more! One is about our funny pigs. We had four great big ones waiting for Christmas to be bacons, etc., and their pen is out behind the barn and down the hill a bit towards the orchard. During the fire one of the men got worried about them and wandered over to see how they were. It was so hot he could scarcely stand it, and there were those pigs curled up in their pen in the corner nearest the fire sound asleep. Apparently they just loved the warmth.

Another thing that was sad to lose was all the drinking fountains for the cows and the salt containers among other things that Dickie bought for K when he came home from the war--with money he had saved. Including of course all the piping and fixtures.

And so farewell and my love to you all