We all knew we'd get a taste of fall soon, and today was it.  So far we haven't had to put heat on in the house, although tonight a small fire in the wood stove might have been nice.  Trouble is, our soapstone stove is not a "small fire" mechanism; even a small fire in it always seems to overheat us this time of the year and we end up with doors and windows open.  It takes a little time to get going, but way longer to cool down.  Better to add a sweater or some fleece and save our wood.

I have a message tonight from Jim Bernatas.  He may try to clean up the trash in the narrows on Sunday if the weather cooperates, so if you see his diving flag(s) there and probably him as well, as it isn't very deep there, you'll know what is going on. Hopefully boaters will be cautious and give him space.  Jim said he didn't think he would hamper boat traffic, and he will be on the lookout for boats needing to go through the narrows.  Again, we thank him for taking on this task of cleaning up the narrows.

I've been working with the manuscripts of the interviews that were done for the Cabot oral history book, and even though I read each one at the time we were writing the book, there are revelations in nearly every one as I read them now.  Part of this is because in the 15 years since Barbara Carpenter, Amanda Legare and I worked on the book with Caleb Pitkin editing, I have become much more familiar with my home town through working with the Cabot Historical Society.  Names that in 1998 and 1999 were only vaguely familiar are now those of "old friends," some of whom  have donated picture albums, diaries, genealogies and artifacts.   I've also researched any number of those family names for people looking for their roots in Cabot. I've learned about roads that were "thrown up" years ago and who some of the people were who lived along them; where the school houses stood and where there were sawmills or stores or hotels or farm buildings, and whether they burned, were taken down, or simply rotted away.  I've come to know the names of teachers, farmers, merchants and more, most of them now gone from here, but curiously still connected when a descendant contacts us to help trace their family ties.

Today I was reading one of the interviews done with the late Arecca (Gamblin) Urban, mother of my good friend, Velma Smith.  Arecca lived almost her life on what is now called Urban Road on Danville Hill.  Velma, too, grew up there and returned to build a home on her parents' farm.  I knew the Reed School was on their road and that it burned, victim of mice or squirrels playing with matches, it was surmised at the time.  I knew that same road used to come out on my family farm on Bolton Road, before a large section of it was thrown up by the town, and that  Dan McLean had a farm and a whiskey-still in the woods a little off the road - until the Feds finally shut it down.  I was pretty certain the well-known math genius, Zerah Colburn lived somewhere on that road as a child, but today Arecca's interview confirmed it.  In fact, she said the Colburn farm was where she and her husband, Bernard Urban built their house and barn. It was an "ah-ha" moment, for sure.  

These things get passed down through generations, and I'm confident what she told Barbara Carpenter in that interview was correct.  Arecca's parents had lived close by and would have known about Zerah Colburn's family - probably knew some of them personally.  Zerah was born in 1804, and died in 1840, but he had brothers and sisters and children of his own; in fact, his daughter visited Cabot not too many years ago.  I wish I'd met her.  I wonder how she remembered her father - as a math genius, a preacher or his last calling, professor at Norwich University.