I have been going through a new donation of papers, pictures and journals the Cabot Historical Society received a few weeks ago. I hadn't had a chance to look at any of it until now, and I'm very happy with all of it - well, most of it. There were some interesting new pictures, several that have not been identified, but others that are obviously Cabot, but different years or angles than we have in our collection. I've scanned some, but I want to go through everything so I'll have all the photos together.

There is a great deal of information on the Bayley-Hazen Road, an old military road built in 1776 that runs through this area, including the dedication ceremony when the marker for the camp site where the men over-wintered on the Plain, and in 1959, the celebration marking the 180th anniversary of the completion of the road.

I'll post photos and more information later. Tonight I have a couple of more recent photos for you. Fred went to recycling today and came back with these photos taken along our road. This is the sign at the west end of West Shore Road - something is going on with the Brickett's Crossing Road sign. Halloween pranksters?

In the same vicinity, the cows are back! A year ago we had beef critters all summer in the pasture just beyond us. They were very vocal and when anyone walked by they would serenade them. This summer the herd was in a pasture on Cabot Plains Road for a while, and then I didn't see them any more. They have been recently pastured here - within the past few days, I'm guessing, since we saw no evidence of them the last time we went by the pasture.

While they look serene in this picture, it seems as if they should be bringing the cattle in, not leaving them out to fend for themselves through the long winter, but I guess these guys don't mind the cold and snow, so with lots of wooded area, they'll be ok in cold weather. They are almost opposite the field where the horses are pastured, and they stay out all winter - with just a three-sided shelter. I'd guess the cattle will be ok as long as someone brings them hay and they have a water hole open. There are a couple of brooks available to them, so water shouldn't be a problem.

Some farmers have open shelters for their milking herds, but I've talked with other farmers who don't approve of this. One farmer told me frozen teats and sore udders are common and milk production naturally drops drastically.

We always kept our dairy herd inside, and even though the stable wasn't heated, it was very comfortable even on the coldest, windiest days. The cows seemed very contented; but come spring, they were glad to get out into the barnyard on warm days, and got really frolicky the first time they were turned out to pasture. It was always fun to take the herd of young cattle down to the pasture for the summer. My grandfather owned the land where Randalls are now, all the way to the open fields on either side, and it was up to us kids to drive the frisky younguns down the road that used to run between our house and Henretta Splain's up the hill to the farm on Cabot Plain. It wasn't easy to keep up with the yearling herd; they were like kids when they started down the hill and wanted to run. Not only were they frisky and fast, they were stupid Holsteins and would try to jump any fence, stone wall or obstacle that got in their way when they were running full tilt. So it was our job to keep them slowed down by staying ahead of them, usually armed with a sturdy stick and maybe a pocket full of stones - a dangerous position to be in if they got going.

The pasture extended all the way to the water and almost to the railroad tracks, if they could cross the brook, and they sometimes got through the fence onto the tracks and we'd have to slog through the swamp to get them. There's something about cows - they will stand belly deep in mud or slash and bawl until someone comes to turn them around rather than back out or turn around themselves. After the 1938 hurricane, our pastures had areas of trees down every which way and cows would often get stuck so we'd have to get to them and turn them around and try to guide them through the maze of criss-crossed logs back to safety. It was hard for us, too. Often there was no clear way to get to the critter and we'd have to pick our way carefully. The logs were either too high to climb over or too low to go under. My two cousins and I had to decide who got to take the herd to the barn and which two were elected to go get the lost one. It's a good thing we were young and had a sense of humor . . . and we were dedicated.