Time Change and A Little History

 This has been a chilly, rather dull day. Having to set the clocks back last night made everything a bit topsy-turvey today, I suppose, but so far that hasn't been much of an issue. I've puttered, as best I can, walker in tow (most of the time!) and now I'm taking a little break before setting off to water all my house plants. I really have too many. But they are all like old friends that I treasure. When I brought them int from the porch a couple of weeks ago, I realized how heavy and "needy" they are. Actually, son Bill brought most of them inside for me.

I increased my stock this spring. There were two that had lived in the basement for many years, a very old Christmas cactus and an almost equally old hoya - both had been inherited from my mother, and I believe the cactus had originally come from a plant her father had years ago that got split up among his daughters when I was still in pigtails. Literally. 

The hoya used to hang in my parent's garage each summer, and bloomed there. It had fresh air from an open screened door, but only north facing light. The only time it bloomed for me was when I had it high on a kitchen cabinet. The fragrance was sometimes overpowering. So I put in in the basement when I no longer wanted to use a stepladder to water it in the kitchen. It has sulked and never bloomed since. So last spring I took several cuttings, repotted some of the original sprawling plant, and now have one fairly large hoya, two small rooted plants, and three or four cuttings that have roots but are still in water. I will put them in potting soil eventually, but they seem to be fine as they are. I have a hard time tossing out cuttings from my plants. And so my plant family continues to grow, and none are banished to the basement!

Diane Rossi shared this photo taken by the cemetery on Cabot Plains Road last night as she was coming home from Cabot Village. She said it was raining in the village when she left - but not up on the Plain. Thanks, Dianne - it's really nice. 

I often think about all of the history up there at that spot. From the "T" where Cabot Plains Road turns sharply right and Dubray Road begins on the left, the road follows the path of the old Bailey-Hazen Military Road for a short distance. The old road continues straight north to Route 215, while the Cabot Plains Road turns sharply west to go to the village. But along that stretch of old road, first scratched out as a trail through the wilderness, Revolutionary War soldiers marched, worked, and expected to fight. They never completed the road that was supposed to go to St. Johns in Quebec, Canada, and they never engaged with the British more than one brief skirmish, according to history. But the road opened the area for settlement. Until about 1779, there were few, if any settlers beyond Peacham. Occasionally hunters explored the area, but eventually the hill where the cemetery is now was where Cabot's first settlers built. There were stores, several homesteads, a large tavern called the "Yellow House" and the town's business was conducted from that spot. There was a pound, a whipping post, and stocks. The whipping post and stocks were later moved about two miles south to the geographic center of town, and most of the official town business was conducted at the center from then on. However, stages and teams of horses and oxen regularly came over the old military road and stopped at the tavern - as many as 60 teams a day, according to one historian, Archie Stone. 

Later, the Yellow House became known as the Smuggler's House - during the War of 1812 when trading with Canada was prohibited. There were accommodations for as many as 100 head of cattle there, and they were regularly driven to Canada, along with other contraband goods, including whiskey. Apparently few federal agents interfered. One was unceremoniously given a dunking in a nearby pond by local traders who continued to sell and barter with the British, providing ready cash for local farmers.

One can only imagine those days - lots of whiskey made and consumed or sold, herds of livestock being driven north, providing a lively business for locals. Now, only a few markers tell us where some of the historic sites are. The original foundations long since leveled by prosperous farmers through the years until after WWII when the small farms were no longer viable because there was nobody who wanted to work the land - younger people left the area and one by one the farms disappeared. When I was growing up on the Plain, there were two Stone farms, Walbridge, Maynard, Desmarais, Shatney, Barnett, Ewen, Gamble, McCormick, Harrington, and Timmons farms, in addition to our own large farm. Now, all gone.

It's already dark outside - and only five o'clock. My stomach is telling me it's time for supper. I'm going to water my plants and by the time I finish, I'll be ready to eat and settle down for the evening. It's going to take a day or two to adapt to the time change, I think. Be well and happy!