The Covered Bridges of Lyndonville, Vermont

Lyndonville, a few miles north of where I live, is having a renaissance of sorts. As usual, this one grows from the energy and determination of a few individuals able to light up more -- "Revamp the Ville" is the new slogan. I like it!

So it's a pleasure to see this article in the Caledonian-Record this week describing the planned Sanborn Covered Bridge Riverfront Park (tap images to see larger versions):

 

And with that, here are three covered bridge images from Dave Kanell's postcard and photo collection of the Northeast Kingdom. (There are five covered bridges still standing in the town.)

DK's research notes on this first image say Sanborn Covered Bridge (the one that the park will feature), Lyndon Center, photograph circa 1940s.

The second image, wrote DK, is the Burrington or Randall Covered Bridge (it's had both names), and the postcard was mailed in 1957.

The third is marked "Lyndon Center, Vt" on the back, and DK's notes say the photo is circa 1950s of the Miller's Run Covered Bridge.

Covered bridges have been essential for farmers in our area, as they enabled horses to pull loads safely across rivers. (In my book THE BITTER AND THE SWEET, July 2023, they enter the story often.) It takes a lot of determination to keep them standing after the horse era, so kudos to Lyndonville for this important effort.

Passumpsic Photos Lasting a Century—and More (Ernest Skinner)

The other day I pulled out a cardboard folder labeled "SKINNER Postcards Passumpsic," to delve into the images DK* collected that were photographed by Ernest F. Skinner, a farmer who lived a few miles south of St. Johnsbury in the Barnet village of Passumpsic.

DK provided several notes on the most formal image—one that was clearly marketed as a postcard, with a line down the center of its reverse, and the two sides of the line labeled "This Space for Correspondence" and "This Space for Address." The photo on the front is helpfully labeled "Passumpsic, Vermont" and "Ernest F. Skinner, Barnet History, 1923." That snippet that says "Barnet History" indicates Mr. Skinner provided his photo to Frederick Palmer Wells for use in the massive volume of town history.

The covered bridge is obvious in the photo, along with the prosperity of this little village at the time. DK noted that Ernest F. Skinner (1885-1978) was a farmer in Passumpsic and had become a naturalized citizen of the United States in March 1922. His wife was Nellie M. Skinner, 1866-1965.

There are many postcard-size images today that indicate that Vermonters in the 1920s, and probably for a decade before that, enjoyed having their portraits or home portraits turned into cards that they could mail at low cost. Mr. Skinner clearly expected the photos he prepared of his village and adjacent East Barnet to be shared. It's likely that local shops sold them.

This image is labeled "Cobbler Shop Tea Room Passumpsic, Vt." and I remember when DK and I were tracking it down. He dates the card to 1920 with a mention of "4 Squares." His notes add that the house, owned in 2018 by Jeremy and Roxanne Roberts, is next to the one then owned by Craig Beck.

There are two copies of the next image, differing a bit in how dark they are. I like the evidence of local historians collaborating, since DK's first note attached says "Paul Chouinard says this in an Ernest F. Skinner Photo." It shows the wooden covered bridge in Passumpsic, built in 1898. The bridge was destroyed by the Great Flood of Nov. 3-4, 1927, and DK notes there were 1285 bridges lost in that flood. "Looking South, Passumpsic River Bridge 1898, Passumpsic, Vermont. Looking closely at the farm house on the top of Mill Hill. In 2000 the house and large barn were still present. (Info Bruce Filgate)" says DK's added note, crediting another local historian.

Among the notes connected with this Skinner photo of the East Barnet covered bridge is a printed scrap without the source: "This is a photograph of the East Barnet covered bridge over the Passumpsic river which was taken out by the flood of 1927. Note the elevation of the bridge over the river which provides a reference point regarding the height of the raging flood waters during the flood of 1927. It started raining on the evening of November 2, 1927 and by the time the rain ended on November 4th, nine inches of rain had fallen in a 36 hour period. The ground was already saturated from heavy rains during the month of October and was not capable of absorbing mo[r]e moisture. The damage from flooding was devastating to all of the towns and villages located along the Passumpsic river."

This next Skinner image is of those flood waters. The photographer's caption reads "Passumpsic Vt. Nov. 4, 1927" and DK notes that the image is included in the book "Lights and Shadows" on page 56, labeled "The Uncontrolled Flood Waters at Passumpsic."

The flood did more than tear out the bridge—it also wrecked the train station and rail lines. Mr. Skinner's photo postcard is marked "Flood Nov. 4, 1927, Passumpsic, Vt." I wonder how the milk was moved, while both the river and the rail were impasssible.

For another perspective on the damage, here is the depot itself; look closely to see the footings washed away. Mr. Skinner's label is "C.P.R. [Canadian Pacific Railway] Depot, Passumpsic Vt. Flood Nov. 4, 1927."

This very full image is marked "Passumpsic, Vt. #2" by the photographer. DK's note reminds us that it shows the village corner on Route 5. He describes the card as a Velox (an image created by adding a screen to a photo), dating it to 1907-1914. Paul Chouinard has written about the store at this corner and the nearby residents, from his experience growing up in the village in the 1950s.

Inspect "The Ferry Passumpsic Vt. Apr. 25, 1928 (card number) 41" and see the 10-gallon milk cans crossing the river; the ferry operator is using a cable to pull the flat-bottom vessel along. DK points out the engine and railroad freight cars in the card also, and commented that the ferry is "listing or tilting." The milk cans prompted him to add notes on the Passumpsic Creamery, operated by the Passumpsic Creamery Association, M. K. Bruce, Mgr; operations were 1879-1964. A second note mentions Mountain View Creamery in the area's 1930 directory, with J. J.  Richie Mgr.; O. [Ollie] B. Exley was the foreman in West Barnet [his daughter was teacher Miss Karlene Exley—BK].

I'm glad to have taken time to type up DK's notes and present these cards. I anticipate more Passumpsic Village history from Paul Chouinard in the future.

*DK is my late husband David Kanell -- as he would ink in, 1952-2019.

Postcard Insights: Autumn in Vermont, via the Lens of Alois Mayer

This isn't a great day for me to make a road trip for foliage photos, but my late husband Dave's postcard collection can always fill in! Here, at the top, is a view of Jay Peak taken from a field of grazing cows in Newport (Vt.). Continuing the dairy theme, the middle card is an aerial view of Cabot, home of Cabot Creamery, surrounded by farms. The third (bottom) card shows Lake Memphremagog, looking from the north toward distant Willoughby Gap. The photos are probably from the 1980s, says Dave's note.

What intrigued me today is that all three cards feature photos by the same person: Alois Mayer. So of course I looked up the name, and found this in the Valley News from March 8, 2021:

BOMOSEEN, VT — Alois Mayer was born on March 23rd, 1938 and died on February 26th, 2021. He was raised in Maria Alm, Austria. Alois was the eighth of ten children of Sebastian and Katharina Mayer. As a young man, Alois was a ski instructor in Austria which led to his coming to America in 1963 at the age of 25 to work at Killington Mountain and eventually as the Ski School Director at Pico Peak for several years. Alois then focused his efforts into his considerable talent as a landscape photographer, selling his postcards and calendars across the State of Vermont for decades, through the business he founded Mayer Photo-Graphics, until his retirement.

Alois is survived by his two sons Jon and Kristian, his four grandchildren, his brothers Balthasar and Alexander, and his sister Susanne.

How remarkable! "Every picture tells a story" -- and this group of foliage photos led me to a very unexpected one. My sympathies to the family of this photographer, who has clearly made his mark in Vermont in at least two significant ways.

Unpacking a Vintage Postcard: The Little Revelations of Research

My husband Dave was the main collector of vintage postcards here. With a dozen want lists, ranging among his passions of Vermont history, AT&T founder and Lyndonville experimental farmer and philanthropist Theodore Newton Vail, the village of Gilman, and Jewish themes, he spent hours roaming the online listings, and something intriguing arrived in the mail most mornings.

It's taken me time to absorb his tasks in with mine, since his death two years ago. But I am now hunting postcards when I have time. I picked up this one for its charming "Bird's Eye View of West Derby, Vt." (which is now part of Newport, Vermont), thinking we might not have the image itself among his Newport and Derby postcards.

And then, of course, the back of the card drew me in.

It's hard to read, scrawled in pencil and overlaid with a Newport (Vt.) postmark. Even the postmark year is difficult to parse, though we can see it comes from the years when a postcard traveled for the cost of a penny stamp. Even the stamp is a challenge for my aging eyes! But with the aid of a lighted magnifier, I read "Balboa 1513" and marveled that this U.S. stamp commemorated the Spanish explorer's claiming of the Pacific Ocean on behalf of his nation.

The message, once you turn it upright, reads as follows:

July 17 - '15

Dear friend You card rec'd this a.m. Was so glad to know you'd not forgotten me. I'm getting stronger every day and hope you are also. It was so nice of Leola to see me off. I was about sick for three days after coming home. Very sincerely, Mrs. Kimball

I puzzled over the address for a while, and came up with Mrs. B. W. McCosco, 54 Concord Ave., St. Johnsbury Vt.  However, I thought I probably had the name wrong, since I'd never heard that name before. So I started pulling up town listings from the early 1900s. It didn't take long to realize that McCosco was indeed a local surname, and here's what I found:

Mrs. Maude C. McCosco was a teacher who boarded at 159 Railroad Street in St. J. She was the second wife of Basil Winfred McCosco (born in West Danville in 1872, died in St. J in 1920). Her marriage took place in 1912, and her name before the marriage was Winifred Maude Blair Clifford (she lived from 1879 to 1967).

Note that her postcard was addressed using her husband's initials, B. W.; also note that she was listed in the town as a "boarder" just a few years after her marriage. I wonder now ... had Basil left her alone for some reason? What caused him to die at the relatively young age of 48? Which years did Maude teach school, and where?

Which just goes to show: The more you pull out the clues from a postcard, the more mysteries you open up in response.

Hunting for Images of Vermont's History

It's postcard season. Actually, for my husband Dave, it was always historic postcard season, since he bought many of them online. But this is also the time of year we always made road trips to small, promising shops. So today I packed his love in the car with me, and went to explore an antique shop that mentioned postcards:

With a time limit (for me, a good way to shop) enforced by an alarm on my phone, I dipped into the Vermont postcard and found three that I think will inform my next novel. From least to most amazing, here we go ... First, here's an interior shot of a granite shed, one of those workshops where stonecutters turned Vermont's foundation rock into monuments of all sorts. No guarantee which shed it's from, but I like the busy-ness and the fact that there are SO MANY men working here. No wasted space! (Wouldn't want to be in there on a hot humid summer day.) Note that they are also all wearing their hats and caps. Food for thought.

Second, this shows "cream" being received at the Lamoille Valley Co-operative Creamery. I was surprised at the notion that the cream might be separated before transporting the milk cans from the farm! If you know more about when farmers would have separated their cream before filling the milk cans, please do let me know. Note the horse-drawn wagon and the ribbed umbrella being used by the lady in the seat. Also the workers' hats. The back of the card says in pencil "Where we sold cream the first ten years of farming in Walden."

Now the grand finale -- especially significant because it has a penciled identification on the back, not quite the same "hand" as the other postcard but still a hopeful sign that this card too might have come from Walden. It says "Dell Babcock," and I was thrilled to locate the death certificate for Della Babcock of Walden (1859-1939), so I'm pretty confident this is a match. Note that her father was a Bailey, and her mother came from England! The conveyance she's driving -- can you name it? -- will appear most surely in book 3 of my Winds of Freedom historic novels series.

And that's how research becomes an amazing adventure, on a warm July day in Vermont.

Learning More "Little Things": Connecticut Valley Lumber Company

This year our region of Vermont is marking 100 years since the grand finale of river log drives on the Connecticut River, by the C.V.L. Co., the Connecticut Valley Lumber Company, owned by a self-made millionaire, George Van Dyke. Using stories recorded and perhaps lightly embellished by Waterford, Vermont, author Robert E. Pike, I often tell some of the history of Van Dyke's life and his river logging operations. (I did in Barnet on August 1, and will again in Concord, VT, on September 26, joined at both events by Robert Pike's author-and-historian daughter Helen C. Pike, who recounts a different side of the era through the life of logging entrepreneur Ruth Parks.)

A remarkable thing about the writing that I do about those days in Vermont history is: The research never ends. In all kinds of small details, I keep piling up information that fits with Robert Pike's tales (see Spiked Boots or Tall Tree, Tough Men, his noted collections). This weekend provided a classic example.

My husband Dave and I traveled an hour east, into the White Mountains, to savor a postcard show, where cards that were printed and often mailed from about 1890 to 1980 or so are marketed to collectors. Dave brought home some wonderful photos that fit the towns whose history he often promotes: Lyndonville and St. Johnsbury, Vermont.

Me, I brought home in elation (!!!) this postcard:

This boardinghouse and office of Van Dyke's C.V.L. Co. were in Bloomfield, Vermont -- most likely South Bloomfield, which was the earlier logging and milling center of the Essex County town. Today there are only about 265 residents of the town, but in the logging days it was a very busy place.

I was able to locate this information today, provided by the state of Vermont with its description of adjacent West Mountain Wildlife Management Area (WMA):

Timber harvesting on the WMA land begin in 1800 when the [neighboring] town of Brunswick issued a 400-acred "pitch" on Paul Stream to Ethiel Cargill. A large mill and small village were located further up Paul Stream at Brown's Mill. In 1900, the Connecticut Valley Lumber Company (CVL) moved its headquarters from Pittsburg, NH to Bloomfield, VT. This was the result of the discovery that the old-growth spruce south of the Nulhegan [river] was dying due to an infestation of spruce bark beetle.

It sounds like the company office was moved to focus more easily on this dying section of forest, to facilitate the harvest, doesn't it? That's what a map tends to confirm, too.

For me, one of the next questions is, what changes in forest health are now taking place due to climate change? And what will we see as people and logging businesses adapt to these, the way that George Van Dyke's company once did? Also -- what traces remain of the C.V.L. Co. boardinghouse and office shown here? I may need to plan a hike.

The Real Houses, for the Stories: The Paddock House

My husband Dave recently gave me a postcard image that shows one of the important locations in my 1850 Vermont adventure, THE LONG SHADOW (2018 update: now published by Five Star/Cengage). This is the house where Alice Sanborn and her friends decide they have no other choice -- they race for the horse and carriage and ... but I'm getting ahead of myself. Here, instead, is how the book begins:

THE LONG SHADOW

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North Upton, Vermont, March 1850

             

           

            Uncle Martin wiped his plate with a thick slab of graham bread and pressed the gravy-soaked slice all into one mouthful, brushed his hands off on his jacket, and pulled a rustling handful of newsprint out from under his chair with a flourish.

            “Your man’s gone soft of thinking,” he told my father as he shoved the pages toward him. “Webster the golden orator has turned coat on us. What use is the Union to us all, if we let the stinking reek of slave-holding move into the Territories after all?”

            My mother made a small sound of protest. Thump, came my uncle’s fist on the table, and the dishes rattled. At the same moment, I heard a light tap at the kitchen door. At my mother’s nod, I rose to see who had arrived.

            Standing in the dooryard, faces flushed with cold, were my two sweetest friends, both speaking at once. “Alice, school’s finished for the week, the doctor said it’s too close a space, and the Hopkins twins are fevered,” Jerushah announced in a burst, overcoming Sarah’s softer voice. “So will you come across after supper to sew with us? We’ve only one guest at the house, you know, and there’s no stage arriving until Monday, and my mother said to ask your mother.”

            Jerushah was the most beautiful girl in North Upton, Vermont. Her hair shone like black silk, and her clothes were always the latest styles. I loved the way her eyes crinkled with merriment, and her mouth smiled naturally, even when she was at her books. And Sarah, well, she was our adopted sister, we say: a sister dark as tanned deerskin, with deep brown eyes that hold the hurt and horror of all the Africans pressed into Southern slavery. The moment we first saw her, bundled off the stagecoach into the inn as a frail armful, Jerushah and I had pledged ourselves to her. Sarah’s parents still lingered under the wicked South’s cruel lash. But transported north, Sarah stayed safe with us. Though as best anyone can tell she was only some twelve years of age, she had brightened and sharpened in our care so that she studied with Jerushah and me at the schoolhouse. We were both more than fifteen years of age ourselves, nearly out of the schoolroom and into an age of preparing our womanly selves for the years ahead of us.

            I held up a hand to my friends for their patience and slipped back into the steam-fragrant house to ask my mother’s permission. Distracted by a loud interchange between my father and his brother, she gave a short nod and told me to send the others on their way, for my own dinner lay cooling on the table. This I did, dashing back out the kitchen door to brush a quick kiss onto Jerushah’s cheek and then Sarah’s, promising I’d be at the inn across the road as soon as the day gave way to dark evening.

            A roar and more table thumping came from within the house, and I told my startled friends, “It’s news of the Senate and Daniel Webster himself. I’ll tell you everything, later.” They laughed with me, knowing how men love to argue politics, and I watched them pass back to the road before I took a final thirsty breath of the clear March air and returned to the family dinner.

Every Postcard Tells a Story -- This One, in Vermont in 1907

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One of the mysteries I'm now writing is set in 1899 -- which makes this 1907 postcard "close enough" in terms of noticing how people write to each other. I find it particularly intriguing because of the sender's signature. But that's getting ahead of the story.

Charles Augustus Choate Jr., known to his friends as "Chubb," lived and farmed in Barnet, Vermont. He was born in 1871, and on August 19, 1903, he married a "girl" 10 years younger than himself, Pearl May Field (born May 9, 1881, in Brookline, Vermont). In the records that refer to his wife, she's always called "Pearl M. Choate" -- very reasonably.

But on this postcard -- showing a photo of the stream near her farm home --which she sent to her somewhat older friend Mrs. Jessie M. Titus (b. 1862) in Springfield, Vermont, with Christmas greetings in December 1907, she signs herself "Pearl Field Choate." Why?

The suggestion is that her friend Jesse may know the Field family in a meaningful way. Some confirmation comes in looking up where Brookline, Vermont -- Pearl's birthplace -- is. It turns out it's a small town south of Springfield. Good backing for this guess!

Finally, one more curious note about this card: It's easy to find Pearl M. Choate's marriage, and the years that belong with her husband Charles (1871-1930) -- but the Choate family trees online don't show Pearl's date of death, and neither do the Vermont records. It took some searching to figure out what happened: In 1949, the long-widowed Pearl May (Field) Choate married Joseph Devins of  nearby Ryegate. Her Vermont death certificate is under the name Pearl Devins, October 17, 1962, in St. Johnsbury, Vermont.

I hope some of the keepers of the Choate family trees will ink in this detail; I think it's sweet that Pearl had another marital chapter, and hope it was a very happy one.

82 Years Ago, in St. Johnsbury, Vermont ...

In the holiday season of 1921, local men who survived the terrible trench warfare of the Great War -- later known as World War I -- were home. But they hadn't been here long: Although the war ended in 1919, many soldiers remained in Europe for another year and a half, either taking part in "the peace" by choice or by orders, or detained in medical treatment. That means they came "home" in 1920 and 1921.

Claire Benedict's father in COLD MIDNIGHT is one of these men, and as the autumn turns to winter in 1921, Claire is increasingly upset that her father, home for a few months, hasn't yet gone to work. Shell-shocked and coughing, her dad is not able to come through for Claire and her mom, the way Claire had imagined things would work out.

At the same time, a very different holiday season is unfolding for a man Claire doesn't even realize lives in her blue-collar Vermont town: a Chinese man who owns a laundry not far from the railroad station.

COLD MIDNIGHT -- which releases today, at stores in the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont (and Montpelier's Bear Pond Books), and also at www.BethKanell.com -- is a mystery and adventure novel that draws firmly on the real town of 1921 and a real murder that took place. I don't want to spoil the story by telling you too much now, but when you've read it, you'll find notes in the back of the book to make connections to what took place here.

Meanwhile, to get you in the mood, here is a real postcard, sent in 1921 as a holiday greeting, postmarked St. Johnsbury. It's a small world, so if you happen to know something about the sender, or the addressee, please do let me know!

UPDATE, November 7, 2015:  Earlier this week, I enjoyed a phone conversation with Tanya Conly, who lives in a part of East St. Johnsbury that was once known affectionately as "Conlyville," for all the family members living there. She reported with pleasure that John Conly -- who, with his wife (Mr. and Mrs.), signed this postcard -- was her the brother of her grandfather Herbert William Conly. It's a very small world, because Tanya Conly lives about half a mile from Dave and me! I'm glad she spotted this post and let us know that the card does indeed connect "here at home."

PS -- There are many more postcards and photos of the town here: http://pinterest.com/bethkanell/cold-midnight-climbing-on-roofs-at-night-solving-c