W. Ray Freden

 

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.

As I was growing up in the village of Seaview between Summer Street and Station Streets, I became aware how important trees were to me.

The first swing I remember was hung from a huge maple tree in our yard. My Dad would push me up so high I could touch another limb with my feet. I could never achieve that height by pumping. I could twist the ropes so when un-twisting it spun so fast it made me crazy dizzy and I couldn’t stand. Still a little that way, And I don’t have a swing!

My dog, Skippy, would try to grab my feet as I spun around, and once did he hold on to spin with me. I laughed so hard tears were in my eyes. Now you have to remember this was when I was 5 or 6 and during the depression. This was my entertainment.

During WW2, I was 8 or 9 when my Dad set up a wall tent under the biggest maple tree in the yard. It was shaded and cool all day long. In the fall these maple trees provided me with huge leaf mountains that I could jump into for hours.

Skippy, my dog, would become so lost under them, it would take all I could do to find him. He loved it, this was his entertainment too.

Up on the hill behind the old Railroad Station, there was a grove of white birch trees, Oh how I loved to swing on them.

Robert Frost seemed to have it right; (from “Birches”

”I don’t know where it’s likely to go better.
I’d like to go by climbing a birch tree,
and climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
but dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One could do worse than be a swinger of birches”.

     I had my favorite to shinny-up to swing on.

We had three apple trees also, but they just didn’t provide the same climbing and swinging as the maples and birches.

The maples were big but, the elms across the street were much taller than any other tree around. They rose into the sky like sky scrapers. They were nearly impossible to climb — the limbs were too far from the ground to reach — and if you could, there were no low branches to grab onto.

There were four stately elms and one runt on the Seaview Railroad Station property. The four on Station Street were very large and healthy; the one near the tracks was the runt, and dying.  c.1943.

Mr. and Mrs. Baltimore Oriole made their home in a grey, neatly-woven nest, hanging from a limb that reached out over Station Street. Mr. Oriole sang his beautiful song to us for many summers. I remember one summer,  the tree was sick, the branch that supported the orioles’ nest broke and crashed onto Station Street. Fortunately, the oriole family had raised their youngsters and had left.
Sadly the Great Elms died and the orioles never returned. (c.1955)

These Elms were at 272 Summer Street. (”The Little Green Light Tea Room” c. 1910)

Today, this lovely Cape Cod home appears to be doomed.

Elms along Elm Street on the left and birches on the right. Looking E. from Summer Street,  c.1910

Elms along Prospect and Summer Streets, looking E.  c. 1915

Elms along Prospect Street, looking E.

Elms lining the four corners of Marshfield Hills and every street in the hills.

More, stately elms on Patrick’s Lane, once Bridge Street/Main Street.

 

These are just a few of the Stately American Elms I remember in town.

How sad I was seeing our five elms fighting to live, but slowly succumbing to the Dutch Elm disease.

“Trees love to 
toss and sway.
They make 
 such happy
noises”
– Emily Carr

by Ray Freden
Seaview/Marshfield, 70 years
Down East Maine, 11 yrs.

 

Oh how I remember Dirty Joe cutting North Marshfield’s hay fields and loading and un-loading by hand pitchfork!

‘Dirty Joe” Joe Bradley, haying off Corn Hill Lane. c.1950

Caption: Decker Hatch, mowing hay off Union Street.

The harvesting of hay was a much needed winter food source for the farmers’ livestock.

Tools of the trade before machinery:

Wooden hay fork.

 

Scythe

Hay saw.

Caption: An early horse drawn hay baler.