Transcription
86 Riverside Drive
Saranac Lake, N.Y.
December 15, 1963
Dear Camping Neighbors:
That salutation is out of date. We camped only two weeks last summer and not on Weller Pond but on Pope Bay on the south side of the Lower Saranac Lake. Because of my age (I will be 88 in March) and Martha's limited strength our summers are not as interesting as they used to be.
Martha got a boat that she could run, and we were happy to be back on the lake, but over the week-ends there was a steady stream of motor-boats going by our camp, and we missed the peace and quiet of Weller Pond.
This winter I am in a boarding house in the village and Martha has an apartment nearby. I have a nice room overlooking the lake to Baker Mountain. The lake a good-sized pond made by damming the river. I remember that in the long ago I stood with a companion on Baker Mountain and looked over the village which was not more than half as big as it is now. The street lights on the opposite shore are very bright with a slightly greenish tint and they seem just as bright reflected from the pond. Across the pond I see houses built along the road to Lake Placid, quite a cluster of them with the mountain for a background.
When I was a boy this part of the country was occupied in part by farmers, many of whom got their crops in as early as possible in the spring and then made a business guiding fishermen and hunters. Some of these sportsmen brought their families with them to local hotels, of which there were several that we big for a little village. In the winter time many of these farmers went into the lumber woods to cut logs that were skidded down to the river or drawn on sleds made for that kind of work. In the rivers they were floated down to the sawmills. There was one saw mill in this village where the Electric Light building is now -- at the foot of Lake Street.
At the other end of Lake Street where it goes to the Lake short there was a hotel owned by Bill Martin. He was an honest man but not a good business man. The farmer-guides used to go up to his boathouse and sit around waiting for a hunter or fisherman to hire them. There was a lot of rivalry among them, and they did not hesitate to trick each other out of job of guiding if they could. Now that my tongue -- I mean my pen has got to wagging I will tell you of an instance of what they might do.
There was one guide, Carlos Whitney, a farmer who had little confidence on the water, and who was afraid of strong winds. He used a little bigger boat than the other guides for this reason. On a beautiful autumn day a bunch of these guides were at the boathouse. They knew that Carlos was afraid of winds. When he was absent for a few minutes they agreed among themselves to pretend that they had seen signs that there was going to be a big wind that day.
Carlos was engaged to row a city sportsman and his wife to the Clubhouse. About nine o'clock they came down to the boathouse, ready to start for the Club, about twelve miles away on Middle Saranac. Carlos, after listening to the other guides, told his party it would be better if they waited awhile to see what the weather was going to be, that it looked as though there might be a big wind before long. The couple puzzled at sight of the almost cloudless sky, returned to the hotel and began their long wait for the weather to change. About two o'clock they went down to the boathouse again, the sky being still almost cloudless, and when the guides saw them coming they looked very serious. One of them asked the couple, "You're not going to start out now?" When they said they were going to start all the guides looked even more apprehensive.
The couple waited well until along into the afternoon and then decided that they had waited so long, they might as well wait until morning! Of course no wind came up. This is a true story and here is another:
Mr. Martin had a laundry in the hotel. In it there worked a young woman named Millie Comstock. George Sweeny, one of the guides, lived near us and used to walk across the corner of our yard to and from the boathouse. My mother was painting a boat in front of the shop one morning, when he came along and said, "Well, I'm going to be married this afternoon!" I remember with startling clearness how surprised my mother was when he told her the news. She said, "Why, George, we didn't even know you were going with anyone!" It seems so strange to me that this one of the few times in my life that I remember exactly how my mother's voice sounded. Sure enough when he came back that afternoon he had his wife with him!
Years went by. When I was about twenty-five, Thomas Peacock, another guide, came into the shop where my brother and I were working and stood around awhile and then asked, "Did you boys ever learn how George Sweeny happened to get married?"
I said, "No, but I do know there was something queer about it." He laughed heartily. "We boys did his courting for him." "What do you mean?" I asked.
"You know Millie Comstock and George Sweeny were very bashful. Neither of them ever paid attention to the other. So we decided to do a little courting for them. One of us would go to George and tell him some nice thing Millie had said about him. Another one of us would tell Millie some nice things George had said about her. We fellows can swear that they never as much as had gone for a walk alone together! We kept this up, not often enough to make them suspicious, and the first think we knew, they up and married!"
I have sene many changes take place in the village over the years. We lived about a mile from the village up near the lower lake. We never said we were going to the village; no, we were going "down to the river."
There was a sawmill where the electric power station is now and a grist mill where the farmers go their grain ground. The sawmill was primitive. The saw was a long blade that went slowly up and down. When the man started the saw through the log he would cross the path between the mill and the store where he would sit and smoke a pipeful of tobacco until it was almost time to slide the carriage back to again start the saw through the log. You may not know that now in these times the boards are cut off by a circular saw that goes through the logs zing -- that would give a sawyer time for only a few puffs on his pipe.
In the spring the mud was deep on the main streets. I have gone to the river when the roads were so muddy that I got away from the road and walked along besides the rail fence that was on ground about four or five feet above it. Cheer up! When it dried out and the wind blew we were not bothered by flies.
In the evenings we could hear the whippoorwills calling in the pastures at the edge of the woods. The cats killed off most of the whippoorwills which call from the ground. After many years I heard one near our house on the Old State Road, and we sometimes heard them in camp down on the river.
It was often worthwhile to put a lighted lantern for warmth under a buffalo hide covering one's lap when going for a sleigh ride in the "old days." Most houses did not have storm window-sash and when it was very cold the windows might have up to half an inch of frost on them! I have seen this.
Martha has another book out this fall, A SHARING OF JOY, about the animals she has known.
We send you our best wishes for the coming year.
Sincerely,
Martha Reben and Fred Rice.Transcriber
Banach, Emily
