1902

The great ice storm of 1969 reminds me of the blizzard of 1888. I was living with my grandparents on Walker Hill, just south of Littleton, N. H. My grandfather had gone to town meeting and struggled home with the sleigh long after I had returned from school. In those days, it was different; we had a barrel of flour, another of sugar, a cellar full of root crops, canned goods which my grandmother had prepared, salt pork for the beans and to eat with boiled potatoes and cream gravy, and a frozen side of beef and another of pork.

The paths to the pump (a hand one) and to the barn had to be shoveled, as well as the one to the little castle of the half moon. The wood for the stove was conveniently in the shed and it was my chore to split it. By the kerosene lamp, my grandmother read me a poem that her uncle, John Greenleaf Whittier, had written, "Snowbound." As I remember, it was a week before I attended school again and before my grandfather could take the eggs and butter to the store to swap for supplies which we needed.

No, it wasn't that bad in Hanover, Christmas week, the lights went off at varying times between six and nine A.M. as a tree or branch crashed under the tremendous weight of inch-thick ice and the power stayed off from four to 48 hours. Candles and fireplaces were lit, kerosene lanterns were rediscovered and cleaned only to find that there was no fuel. Half the streets in Hanover were blocked by fallen trees or sparking wires. Kindly neighbors struggled with paths, offered assistance as best they could, while dedicated employees of the town and the utility companies worked the clock around to give us those services which we have come to regard as necessities. In 1888, we threw another stick in the stove and drew off another quart of cider. In 1969 we huddled before the fireplace in an overcoat, ate cold food and rationing the perishables, listened to a transistor radio to learn about our cancellations and when they expected the services to be restored. And from time to time we looked out the window at the magnificent fairyland of bowed birch trees and shrubbery. Across the fields, ice- stiffened weeds stood erect casting long shadows in the morning sun. If the snow has departed by next May, you'll see us picking up the branches from our lawn.

Our thanks go to the staff of the ALUMNI MAGAZINE for running the envelopes of our Christmas cards to the classmates and their widows. We hope that this will bring news of yourselves, as this column will only be as good as you make it. Harry MacKinnon writes from Clearwater, Fla., that he feels fair and expects to "go on for a while." Ed Studwell writes for his dad that he is delighted to be reading "an active news column again." Clara Farr sends us her annual Christmas card from her home in Concord, N.H.

Tony and Dal are hoping to get to Florida and are waiting for daughter, Phyllis, to drive them. They enclose their latest poem. Previous ones have been published. It is called Luna-stalgia

June, moon, and spoon seem twiddle twaddle With cosmic science in the saddle. Rocksunstance, craters, laser beams Replace the old romantic dreams But me? My thoughts will often stray To that dear old moon of yesteryear.

We are delighted to have a two-page hand-written note from Duckie Drake. He inquires about our health - (which is improving) and he tells of a note from Plum in Hawaii, which reports Plum in good health. Duckie is spending the winter at Gasparilla Inn on an island of the same name in Boca Raton, Fla. 33921. He didn't feel too well in October and November, but is much better now. With the baseball season coming up, we wish we could join him in Florida.

Looking ahead to the Seventieth Reunion in 1971, Frank Cudworth '01 has had thebuttons prepared for his Class. His collection of reunion buttons now covers ninereunions over a span of 40 years. The names of his classmates appear on the buttons.

Secretary, Rope Ferry Rd. Hanover, N.H. 03755

Treasurer, 7 Burt St., Bellows Falls, Vt. 05101