Author: Ray

My first recollection of spring water was on Keene’s Pond in the winter ,sliding on my belly up to a spring hole in the ice. The water was cold, clear and drinkable. There were many of these springs in the shallow end of the pond. Most were dangerous because of the thin ice.

A spring hole through the ice.

Springs could be found through-out the wooded area behind the pond. There was a large spring west of Little’s Cemetery, this spring grew a great crop of watercress, not a favorite of mine, but collected by a few neighbors for mixing into a salad.
As I wandered further from home, every stream I encountered, drew me to its source, I would trampalong its banks through brush and bull-briars, until I came to a spring bubbling up into a small pool, these were the days when contamination was not even considered and a drink mandatory.
My early explorations were around Seagar’s Hill, now Deer Hill, The Highlands, Carolina Hill, Holly Hill, Ferry Hill and on my way to Pine Island all provided cold, clear drinkable water for this  young wanderer.

I was aware of spring water in big jug’s up-side-down in a rack at Clark’s store and Stedman’s, a penny for a cup and you could help yourself by putting the cup under the spout, pushing the button, the watching a big air  bubble up in the jug!, that was worth a penny!
Most of this water was supplied by a spring water company from Marshfield Hills.
Harry H. Rogers owned the many springs off Pleasant and Canoe Tree Streets. He developed a network of sluice-ways directing water to collection points that fill those big water bottles.                                        

Getting water from there to here.

A  five gallon carboy and wood  crate container.

Harry lived in a big colonial house at the corner of Highland and Main St., now Old Main St. He kept his delivery trucks there.

I remember two or three Ford model T’s and one Ford model A pickup. These were rigged to carry the bottles inside of their wood crates safely.

 

I can remember his truck coming down Summer St. past my house. In the early forties, I knew every car by their sound and how they were driven.
If a car came along Summer St. and up the hill after Pleasant St., it was harder to hear it coming, however, if it came from Pleasant St., It had to stop, turn right and make shifts up the hill, a great give-away as to who they were, and what they were driving.
Well, Harry Rogers trucks were loaded down with water jugs and would have to climb the hill in first or second gear, then they would crest the hill then coast down Summer St. with hardly a sound  on their way to Steads or Clarks. About an hour later, the truck would labor back up Summer St. to Station St. and stop at Charlie Langille’s to make a delivery. That was my chance to circle around the truck and take it all in. When the driver returned, I gave a ”Hi”, the response was ”Lo”, then nothing and away he drove, I have no idea if he was Mr. Rogers or not, just not  a very friendly person.
Some time later, on our way back from the Pine St. dump, I persuaded my Dad to drive into the back way off Canoe Tree St., to Canoe Tree Springs. The cart path was pretty wet and juicy, so Dad would only drive a short distance into the pit adjoining the springs. We walked a short distance and I couldn’t believe the network of troughs diverting water bubbling out of the hillside. There were bottle crates stacked everywhere.
A thanks for this recent find by Bob Maynard, Marshfield hills.

 

Bottles lined up on tables, funnels and gear of sorts laying around rusting away. There was water everywhere. The road way was rutted a foot deep in mud, I don’t know how a truck could get through. The maze of waterways overwhelmed me, I had never seen anything like it!
This operation must have been near the end of operating, due to it’s run down condition, c. 1942,3.

This painting  not accurate as to the layout or it’s contents , It’s as I remember The Canoe Tree Spring Water Co.

I don’t remember Mr. Rogers Spring Water Company after WW2, nor did I ever Return to the Springs. Rugani ave. was built off Pleasant St., and subsequently another development built.  The clear water from these  springs, that so many enjoyed, have disappeared.

 

”Water is the driving force of all nature”     Leonardo de Vinci.

W. Ray Freden. Seaview, Marshfield, 70 years.

 

 

 

My first four years of school days were at the North School on Old Main St., Marshfield Hills. I was one of the first to be picked up by Horace Keene in his big yellow Ford bus. It was  a 45-minute ride, picking up about 20 kids from Seaview and the Hills. After peering out the bus windows for four years, I knew every nook and cranny of interest to me.

The fifth and sixth grades were held in the South School known as The Alamo.  This now was a longer bus ride through new territory, which offered much more to see and new places to explore.

There was no entertainment provided for kids in Seaview, nor were there any kids the same age. Entertainment was self-made.  My choice  was the woods and my dog. The woods always offered something of interest……..trees, birds, small animals, berries to eat, a drink from the spring-fed stream.  My dog was my pal, my slingshot was my friend.

 

A new & readied  maple crotch

                      

                                                                Ready to go with a good supply of round stones.

Some of the kids I knew had a home-made slingshot or wanted one.  These were used for sport rather than hunting… the sport of shooting every tree in range, every old post holding the barbed wire fence that once kept in livestock.  Anything that moved was a target also… squirrels, rabbits, jays and the huge flying grasshoppers.

The best ammo

Homemade was the only way I could afford one. I was always on the lookout for a fork in a tree of the right size. The fall and winter was the best time to search for the perfect fork.  The best searching was from the school bus ride to or from school. I found the greatest  source was on Church St., near the corner of Ferry St., in this once grazing field. There were sprouting Maple saplings by the hundreds.  Maple tree forks were very desirable.
After many trips passing by these trees and spotting a number of crotches, it made a bike trip worthwhile.  My bike and my saw!  Yes, saw, not a hatchet, as hatchets make noise that attracts attention, and I was on someone’s property without permission, cutting down trees… but just small ones!  One afternoon I ventured to Church St., found a spot to conceal my bike, and headed to the area where I had  spotted saplings with  perfect forks. The only way to retrieve  the forks was to cut the sapling down. After retrieving 4 perfect forks, it was time to leave and I was hoping not to get caught!  Then a speedy bike ride home to admire my loot!  Next came the long process of skinning the bark, drying out behind the kerosene stove, cutting it to size, notching for the tie strings, cutting the pouches out of old shoe tongues, and carefully cutting  the rubber bands from a used red rubber tire tube.
Old tire tubes and ball bearings were readily available from my mechanic friend at  the Seaview Garage two doors from my house.   You always had to have more than one fork ready for use because occasionally these broke and a back-up was necessary.

During this “slingshot-finding” excursion, I spotted another place of interest…. a cave opening not far from the street. It certainly needed to be explored . I asked a school-mate, who lived in the area,  about the cave, and he told me it was a winter tomb.  Well, now I wasn’t  very excited to explore this, and no  interest  to venture inside, so it remained a mystery  to me for many years.

Entrance to the mysterious  cellar

Recently, I have researched private tombs with a likeness  to winter tombs.  It didn’t take long to realize that root cellars looked like tombs. Upon further research,  and seeing the informal way the winter tomb was built,  with the entrance on the east side, and it’s location, all point to a root cellar. It may have been built as early as the late 1700’s….more likely near the time that the Ames homestead was built in 1855,  and used by that family.

The Ames homestead

Had I had known that it was a root cellar, I might have ventured inside as others after me had done.  It has been referred to, as the ”Beer Cave”, by a local resident. He told me  that it was a perfect spot for he and his friend to hide away drinking beer that was kept cold in the  spring water nearby.

As the root cellar looks today and a look inside.

 

As I explored further ,   I found  a stream that was lined with boards for a hundred feet or more. This was another mystery……possibly the remains of some kind of fish pen.   These  boards had been  driven in along both banks  forming a canal- like structure. I found a few worms under a nearby rock and tossed them in to satisfy my curiosity, and…. oh yes…. there were fish there. This meant a fishing trip was in order.

                                  The stream as it appears today, 70 years ago.

 

As I remember the board lined stream – sketch by Ray.

I returned a few days later, armed with a hook, string and a can of worms.  After leaning my bike against a big tree, I cut a  straight sapling, stripped some bark at the handle end, attached the string, hook and a juicy worm.  I got to the edge of the banking and tossed  in the hooked worm  and waited….nothing!  What happened? I must have spooked the fish!!  Well, after waiting a while and sacrificing some worms as bait,  I finally  caught one, not very big, but a Rainbow Trout.  Five more followed in a short time and that was enough for me—I mean, for my Dad.

One of the big ones!

Finding worms were no problem——-

      

——Keeping them were!

I strung the fish on a stick, hooked them on my handlebars and headed home before dusk.  My mom would have no part in cleaning them and I didn’t know how, so I wrapped them up and put them  in the icebox. When Dad got home from work, he said he would show me how to clean them.  As a youngster, fish blood and guts didn’t excite me, but I had to learn if I was to bring more fish home.  I  returned to fish a few more times during those war years, but as I grew older, It seemed the fish got smaller. and other interests prevailed.

I never found out who built this or why.(see note below)  I suspect that the land was owned  by the Ames family across the street.  Having Rainbow Trout  growing there, it made sense to build a containment structure so that  catching was made much easier.

With the recent help of a friend, remnants  of the structure have been found  in the water and along the stream banks.  Keep in mind, this  place is were I went fishing 70 years ago and the boards were rotten then!

Unbelievable find….boards used in lining the stream.

Today the Root cellar remains,  as well as the numerous springs.  The Trout still thrive, the cart path has been consumed with trees, and the town water department  has claimed the land for watershed.  Now, the springs and streams  will be preserved forever and the cold, clear water will continue to find it’s way to Keene’s pond, then over the dam, never to be seen again.

My mind goes blank, when,
I stare into a campfire.
I watch  and listen to ocean waves crash on the beach.
I listen to a bubbling stream.
When silence is so great, I hear nothing.

December 2019. I have received  a note from a long time friend and Marshfield Hills resident, stating  His Dad told him that members of the Marshfield Rod & Gun Club built a trout hatchery or containment area on the stream leading into Keene’s Pond.  This was built to supply the pond with Rainbow Trout for the members of the club. The pond was leased from Horace Keene and posted NO FISHING.  1930’s& ’40’s.

 

W. Ray Freden.
Seaview, Marshfield, 70 years.
”Down East”, Maine 14 years

 

I have had to rely on my memory to pass on to you my youthful adventures on a little island near my home in Seaview. I had no photos at the time of the first writings, so I sketched what I remembered. Now, thanks to the Bonney family, formerly of Seaview, I have Pine Island post cards sent to the Bonneys from some of the folks that vacationed and hunted ducks on Pine Island.

c. early to mid 1930s. “The Good Old Days.”

The first Pine Island stories appeared in the Marshfield Mariner “Around Town” column by Kezia

“Mud fights and cookouts on Pine Island”
On the east side of Pine Island was a wooden walkway out to a leg of Broad Creek. At the edge of the creek was a dock, a ladder to a lower landing, and a diving board. The walkways and dock were built mostly from scrap lumber scavenged from the marsh. The camps also were built from mostly salvaged lumber.

Looking east & approaching Pine Island.

A wheelbarrow full of firewood is awaiting to be pushed over the catwalk.

Sunnyside camp.

Photo, compliments of the Bonney Family As I remember the camps, looking west from the dock.

Painting by Ray.   Duck Hunters posing on the porch of the north camp.

Photo, compliments of the Bonney Family This is the first camp on the front line facing east. The lady on the right is fetching water from the pump.

Photo compliments of the Bonney Family.

At low tide, I would have mud fights with the kids staying on the island. The older kids would grind the mud into us!   Every inch was covered in black, slimy mud.  Sometimes we would wait until the tide came in enough to wash off. Other times we would lay near the water pump while another pumped. It took a lot of pumping to clean up, and the water became colder the longer it was pumped. The pumped water on the island was salty and discolored, used only for washing.

This was the catwalk to Broad Creek  At mid-to-high tide, we would dive or jump from the board or off the railing. Full high tide would cover the dock and walkway.   It was a challenge to ride my bike out to the dock, and a bigger challenge to ride back through the water.

My original pencil sketch of Pine Island.

A dory was tied on the south side of the dock. The two men and two older boys would row out through Broad Creek to the clam flats at low tide, dig clams, then go fishing in the river.  Going with the currents ,they would return as the tide came in. There were plenty of flounder, mackerel, cod and haddock in the mouth of the North and South Rivers.

The men would clean the fish on the dock. when I was invited  for a cookout,It  would be a fish fry. I would help with the cooking fire located in a stone circle. Plenty of kindling could be found above the high tide line and firewood was delivered  to the campers, by wheelbarrow!

”Mom” on the right was Mrs. Wm Bonney [ Agnes].  Julia was a camp owner.

Photo, compliments of the Bonney Family.

There was a steel cook plate across half of the firepit. The men filleted the flounder; the women rolled them in cornmeal, and three of us kids kept the fire going. On went the flounder, mackerel and hot dogs. Mmmm, was that flounder good! I would have no part of mackerel! The haddock and cod were saved for fish chowder.

Showing off a nice flounder.

Photo, Compliments of the Bonney Family.

This is the north camp. after dark we would retreat from the mosquitoes. We would play checkers & sometimes Monopoly.   Photo, compliments of the Bonney Family.   Pine Island after people.                Photo, compliments of  Tony Lambert.

Many thanks to Lawrence “Larry” Bonney & family, formerly of Seaview.

 

 

“There’s no place like camp.
I wish I could stay forever!”
– Unknown

W. Ray Freden, Matshfield/Seaview, 70 years.