|
Roger
Lawrence
- up the
mountain
from Addie's
house -
looking
out over
the Beaverkill
Valley. Early
40s. |
Beaverkill,
like Manhattan,
has an uptown,
midtown and
downtown, which,
in the 20s
and 30s, were
populated, if
never teeming,
neighborhoods.
The main, and
only, street
of Uptown was
the stretch
of the Beaverkill
Road that runs
more or less
from the Waneta
Dam to the
Elm Hollow turnoff.
Downtown Beaverkill’s
main street
was the road
that runs
along the river
from the Covered
Bridge, past
the then town
center at
the general
store and post
office, today
the Adams’s,
to the church,
on downstream
to Craigie
Clair and,
ultimately,
to Cat Hollow
and the road
up and over
the hill to
Downsville,
or back to
Roscoe. It
is now officially
called the
Craigie Clair
Road, but was
traditionally,
and simply,
the
”back
road to Roscoe.” This,
at least, is
what Addie Miner
has always called
it, and Addie
has lived at
one place or
another in Beaverkill
since she was
born here in
the late spring
of 1920. She
is now the longest
continuous resident
and a powerfully
persuasive authority
on the social
history of the
locals living
in this part
of the Valley
for the better
part of the
last century.
While
we were on
the subject,
I asked Addie
about the name
of the third
road in town.
This is the
road that connects
the other two,
dropping down
from the Beaverkill
Road to the “T” intersection
with the Craigie
Clair Road,
passing on the
left of the
substantial
houses that
can be said
to make up Midtown
Beaverkill,
in each of which,
at one time
or another,
Addie has lived
or worked. The
road follows
the lower half
of the small
tributary valley
that begins
as a hollow
between the
two hills above
Beaverkill on
the East and
ends at the
River. Addie,
who was born
well before
the Civilian
Conservation
Corps constructed
the State Campsite,
knows this as
the Campsite
Road and is
not convinced
that it had
any formal name
before there
was a campsite.
Above the Beaverkill
Road this side
valley is known,
particularly
among the older
local hunting
set, as Laraway
Hollow; named,
it seems safe
to say, for
the Laraway
who built the
original hill
farm near the
spring halfway
up the hollow.
A stone, ”Abe
Laraway Civil
War Soldier”,
stands in the
second row of
the churchyard
of the Beaverkill
Church, on the
downstream side,
and is usually
marked by an
American flag.
I am told that
a marker for
Joseph Laraway,
b. 1822, can
be found elsewhere
in the cemetery.
For
years the part
of the Beaverkill
Road that ran
through the
hamlet was
also called
the Johnson
Hill Road, and
in the millennial
mapping and
redefinition
of the area
by the local
authorities,
the 911 people,
and the Post
Office, the
latter name
was formally
adopted. An
angry petition
quickly circulated,
and the road
is now, again
and officially,
the Beaverkill
Road. Addie
says for the
record, that
Johnson Hill
is the hill
that rises
from Deckertown
up to what was
the Edgewood
Inn and, further,
that the modest
downgrade from
the Waneta
dam to the Campsite
turnoff is
called Black’s
Hill, named
for the quondam
owner of the
property across
the road from
the dam who
ran a boarding
house that was
standing and
housed a small
store as recently
as the early
70s.
When
Addie was born
in the Miner
farmhouse,
the river, or
downhill, side
of the Beaverkill
Road was largely
occupied by
the Miner farm,
with its house,
barnyard, barn
and outbuildings.
The remainder
of Uptown Beaverkill,
the uphill
side of the
road, consisted
of the Beaverkill
Schoolhouse
on the bluff
above the Campsite
turnoff, three
or four substantial
boarding houses,
and a large
building on
the corner
of the Elm Hollow
Road to which
the Beaverkill
general store
and post office
would move
from Downtown
in 1930. In
the earlier
part of the
century a bar
and inn stood
directly across
the road from
the farm, straddling
the road up
to Laraway Hollow.
At one point,
it was owned
and operated
by Addie’s
grandfather,
at the time
the deputy sheriff
for Beaverkill.
All of the Uptown
buildings have
been torn down
or, as in the
case of two
successive Miner
farmhouses,
burned, and
there is today
nothing left
of that Uptown,
except the boarding
house now owned
by the Brooklyn
Children’s
Mission near
the Dam, a few
stone foundations,
a couple of
horse mounting
blocks, and
Addie herself.
We first met
Addie (Estella
Marie Miner
Virtue), when
we came to Beaverkill
in 1971. Her
house at the
corner of the
Beaverkill and
Campsite Roads
commands both
the Campsite
Road and the
dirt road that
runs on up to
where we now
live in Laraway
Hollow, since
at least the
1860s. She is
a vigorous lady
with a down-to-earth
manner, steady
eye and dry
sense of humor.
Troubled somewhat
by asthma these
days, she still
gardens and
mows her lawn
religiously
and is consistently
successful in
starting her
mower with a
hard look and
one pull. She
can now be found
in winter in
back of her
house, feeding
the dozen or
so deer who
return to feast,
undeterred by
fencing and
the dangling
aluminum plates
on her garden
in the summer. “Feed ‘em
in the winter
and curse ‘em
in the summer”,
she says, entirely
unwilling to
break the habit.
She has a kindly
feeling towards
deer, related
somehow, I suspect,
to the fact
she is an unusually
talented huntress
and has killed
so many of them.
Addie’s
present house
is only a few
yards in the
direction of
Deckertown from
the site of
the original
Miner farmhouse
in which she
was born. Addie
lived there
much of her
early life,
although from
time to time
she has lived
in a lot of
other houses
in town. Her
mother, born
Belle Knickerbocker
in Grooville,
in the DeBruce
direction, kept
boarders as
a primary source
of income, and,
because the
farmhouse was
too small for
the purpose,
from time to
time rented
some of the
larger houses
around. During
Addie’s
girlhood, the
family provided
meals and rooms
for tourists
in each of what
are now the
Vogel, Root
and Levy houses,
as well as in
a large boarding
house that used
to stand across
from the second
general store
on the triangle
at the corner
of the Beaverkill
and Elm Hollow
roads. Throughout
Addie’s
youth both Belle
and Wilbur also
acted as caretaker
in a number
of houses owned
by summer residents.
The farm, however,
always remained
the family base
even when one
or more of the
family moved
somewhere else
from time to
time to take
advantage of
a job, or, as
in Addie’s
case, to marry.
|
Horse
and buggy |
Belle
was in the
line of the
more or less
legendary Manhattan
Knickerbockers,
a rural tribe
which once
populated Grooville,
and Addie remembers
that at one
point her mother
was visited
by a delegation
from Trinity
Church, which
still owns
much of the
Financial District
and Tribeca,
asking her
to sign documents
to help clear
title to some
ancient Manhattan
holdings. Wilbur
Miner courted
her, “over
the hill” to
Grooville
from the
Miner farm
by buggy and
horseback.
The Knickerbocker
lineage is
a venerable
one, but
Addie’s
roots extend
to an even
more distant
past. Her
great-great
grandmother
was a full-blooded
Lenape, the
Leni Lenape
being the
principal
tribe that
passed
through the
valley traveling
from the
Delaware
to the upper
Hudson or
searching
game in hunting
parties.
Addie’s
mother was
a practical
nurse and
an important
figure in
the community
who doctored
and tended
to many,
not least
as the informal
town barber
who shaved
with
a straight
razor and,
as Addie
tells it,
was not reluctant
to threaten
with it to
enforce
some degree
of steadiness
in her occasionally
bibulous
customers.
Listening
to Addie,
it becomes
sadly obvious
that alcoholism,
particularly
among those
who lived
poor and
isolated
lives on
the
fringes of
the community,
both men
and women,
was not uncommon.
Wilbur
operated the
farm, milking
22 cows in
the years before
the Depression,
while his wife
tended to her
own boarders
or worked as
a cook in several
of the hotels
around, including
Edgewood Inn
and, for many
years, the
Beaverkill Trout
Club. The Miners
had one hired
man who lived
with his family
in a house,
long gone, down
the steep bank
near the “Glen”,
which is what
Addie calls
the gorge cut
by the falls
and the stream
that comes down
from the Waneta
dam and ends
at the Beaverkill.
(Waneta, according
to the histories,
was created
in the 1890s
as a trout lake
by damming the
stream that
flowed through
what was then
an alder swamp.)
This is roughly
the area where
several years
ago the road
shoulder was
substantially
widened with
fill taken from
road work on
up the Beaverkill
and ‘improved’ with
a row of planted
trees that are
now beginning
to look natural
to the hillside
but which effectively
cut off a fine
valley view
point. In Addie’s
youth there
had been a dam
at the lower
end of the stream
some yards above
the Craigie
Clair road,
and one of the
neighboring
householders, "uncle" Aaron
Ackerly, who
was a celebrated
builder and
handyman, managed
to use it to
generate electricity
for his house
for a number
of years. He
later moved
to Deckertown
where he constructed
a number of
the houses still
standing in
that community.
Addie
worked on and
off in a number
of the boarding
houses in Beaverkill
starting when
she was as
young as 12
or 13. She remembers
at an even
younger age
being sent back
to the farm
and from one
or another of
the boarding
houses during
the summer
days, ostensibly
to help with
the chores but
mainly, she
is now certain,
to keep what
she strongly
suspects was
a young pest
out of Belle
Miner’s
boarders’ hair.
After Addie
was married
in 1948, and
ran a bar and
restaurant in
the Manor, she
and her husband
lived for a
number of years
on the Berry
Brook road,
in the first
house after
the bridge-
what is now
Liz Hammerstrom’s
place. That
house was purchased
by Addie’s
father-in-law
from the town
blacksmith whose
establishment,
remembered by
Addie, was in
a large red
barn between
the bridge and
the campsite
entrance. For
some time Addie
worked as secretary
to Ken Osborn,
a retired lawyer
and historian
of the valley,
who lived in
what is now
the Levy house.
Her salary of
some $35 a month
was considered
a good wage
and enabled
her to meet
the $12 payments
on a new car.
Addie
also worked
for the senior
Joe Fiddle
in the tavern
he ran at the
Parksville intersection
and takes some
credit for
convincing him
to open the
ice cream parlor
on the corner
that has been
a major landmark
for the Beaverkill
bound for years.
Addie says
that there was
always much
traffic and
good transient
trade on the
corner. Even
when the Quickway
came in and
by-passed Parksville,
the political
influence of
certain very
interested
local parties
was exercised
to maintain
the intersection
as a grade
crossing that
netted travelers
with the first
red light after
New York. The
light has always
come as something
of a surprise,
and more than
one traveler
never made
it past Parksville.
The commercial
future of the
intersection
when and if
17 turns interstate
is, of course,
in some doubt,
and the experience
of Parksville
after its original
by-pass is
ominous.
The
Miner farm
was and remains
today one of
the larger
Beaverkill properties.
It had 88 acres
running along
the Beaverkill
Road from the
Campsite turnoff
almost to the
bottom of the
hill below
the Elm Hollow
Road, extending
back at that
point about
to the River
and then angling
over to embrace
the Adams and
Lawrence properties
and the beaver
pond, whence
it turns back
up behind the
houses on the
Campsite Road.
Once, other
Miner properties
extended along
the Beaverkill
Road as far
as Waneta.
Addie still
owns most of
the original
farm acreage.
She fondly
remembers the
little farmhouse,
a saltbox with
no porch and
the old style
horizontal
frieze windows
on the second,
which burned
before the Second
World War. She
remembers the
family mules,
Mike, a big
black, and
a little brown
called Downey.
Both mules
were bought
in Pennsylvania,
their purchase,
according to
Addie, having
been made largely
at the behest
of her mother
to save them
from finishing
their lives,
blind, in the
blackness of
the mines. She
remembers that
a pipe from
the spring just
below the Beaverkill
Road carried
water to a cistern
in the floor
of a back room
in the farmhouse
where milk,
butter, eggs
and cream were
stored.
|
Barn
on Berry
Brook |
Wilbur
Miner sold
milk and cream
to the local
boarding houses
whose proprietors
would send
large cans to
be filled each
day or two during
the tourist
season and iced
down at their
establishments
with the ice
that had been
supplied by
Wilbur the
previous winter.
10 cents a quart
sticks in Addie’s
mind. No pasteurization
was required,
although Addie
remembers as
a childhood
event the regular
appearances
of the veterinarian
driving his
horse and buggy
from farm to
farm to tag
the ears of
the cows to
show inspection
for TB. Although
there were dairy
farms on up
the Beaverkill
that sent milk
on to the creameries
in Livingston
Manor or Roscoe
for shipment
to New York,
Wilbur and the
other farmers
in Beaverkill
sold only locally.
By
the end of
the Depression
the herd was
gone. The economics
at that point
made them a
losing proposition,
so that even
the Miners
found it cheaper
to buy milk,
and new pasteurization
and homogenization
regulations
were a burden
not regarded
at all favorably
by Wilbur.
The family managed
to keep one
cow for some
time and never
gave up their
pigs, so that
at least pork
was plentiful.
The farm also
provided a
supply of vegetables
which were
stored, with
the meat, in
the root cellar
built by Wilbur
when he built
his second by
the corner of
the Campsite
Road, The entrance
can still be
seen in the
upper bank
of the Road
just past the
turnoff. Addie
remembers peeling
an endless pile
of potatoes
from the cellar
for the family
Sunday dinners
that saw at
least twenty
people at the
long table
in the new house.
It was covered
with a prized
linen tablecloth
that Addie remembers
washing in a
tub, ironing
endlessly with
a brace of irons
heated on the
woodstove, and
coming ultimately
to detest. The
cellar was also
home to two
large barrels
of cider; one ”doctored”
by
Wilbur for the
gentlemen and
the other offered
for general use.
Addie
remembers the
Depression
well and remembers
very hard times
in the valley.
It was an important
part of her
youth, but
whenever she
talks about
the hardships
she never fails
to mention
happy memories
of the spirit
of community,
the friendships,
and the mutual
support that
those times
also brought.
On
the living
room wall of
Addie’s
house, looking
out the picture
window where
a celebrated
Tiffany lamp
once stood,
hangs the stuffed
head of a large
and particularly
handsome buck.
As your eyes
fall on its
rack, you begin
to count and
realize that
it has twelve
points and looks
very much to
be what it is
in fact: likely
the largest
deer shot around
the valley in
recent times.
It is an impressive
trophy, although
Addie is convinced
that he is looking
a little seedy
and in need
of restuffing.
Addie relates
that in ‘43
she was hunting
with her young
nephew, her
husband to be,
and one of his
friends, up
on Rattle Hill
behind the Scullin,
now the Ames'
place near the
top of the ridge
where there
was a considerable
area of windfall
and, ideal for
losing deer.
She was miffed
because she
had convinced
herself that
she and her
nephew had been
brought along
for the sole
purpose of running
game. She sat
on a large rock,
sulked, and
had a cigarette,
acknowledging
today that this
was an egregious
violation of
all rules of
hunting, health
not being the
issue at the
time, when about
six deer appeared
from the timber
fall by a great
buck. She raised
her gun, aimed,
shot, and heard
a click. She
notes that she
always unloaded
when she carried
the gun but
did not always
remember her
own habit. She
was sure that
she had lost
her chance but
quickly re-loaded,
shot, and hit
the buck, breaking
its shoulder.
It managed to
get away, but
she tracked
it for some
time to where
it had cornered
itself in a
gully and, shooting
down, finally
dispatched it.
She was using
her Roberts
Winchester,
a wedding gift,
which was her
most successful
gun and one
that she asserts
had consistent
killing power.
|
Cutting
ice |
She
did not wound
many animals;
generally, she
says; she hit
them, lethally,
in the neck,
and she recalls
that her expensive
Mannlicher used
to be something
of a failure
from this standpoint.
She kept and
cherished seven
deer rifles
until she gave
them away only
a year or two
ago. She keeps
the Roberts.
She needs it,
because she
has been out
every season
almost as far
back as she
remembers, and
has already
purchased her
license with
full intent
to be out again
this year, if
only to hunt
the lower end
of the Hollow.
Having taught
a number of
young people
to hunt years
ago, she always
has sturdy companions
in the hills,
although she
despairs of
the way in which
television and
the computer
have supplanted
interest in
hunting, and
outdoor activity
generally, among
the youth. She
has a regular
license this
year, having
refused to take
a doe permit,
largely as a
protest against
the manner in
which, in her
view, Albany
mismanages the
deer herd and
exploits its
hunters. She
does not admire
the hunting
bureaucracy
and believes
that they have
done just about
as badly with
the turkeys
as the deer.
The
buck weighed
in at 240 pounds,
210 dressed,
and it took
all four of
them some hours
to drag it
out to the road
and haul it
into the pickup.
Old Mr. Scullin
came out and
declared that
she had finally ”shot
Old Hickory.” They
first drove
it to Lew Beach,
emptying both
hotels and the
bars, and then
to the Manor
where it was
paraded around
the streets
with the cry, "look
what Addie shot." Addie
entered it in
a contest put
on by, I think,
the Daily News
where it came
in second on
a technicality
- to one shot
by a woman from
Horton. I said
to Addie that
it seemed unlikely
to me that a
dressed deer
with all hide,
entrails and
bones gone would
have been only
thirty pounds
lighter than
the live article.
She looked at
me as if I didn’t
know where the
feet grew from
(her locution)
and pointed
out rather firmly
that dressed
naturally meant "hog
dressed" with
only the guts
extracted and
that I was talking
butchered. She
apologized and
said, "sometimes
I forget that
you’re
not country",
which I have
taken as a compliment.
Addie allows
that it was
close to unfortunate
that her near
prize buck was
supplemented
by another big
one shot soon
after by her
husband, so
that they were
glutted with
venison, kept
what they could,
sold some to
a butcher in
the Manor, and
gave the rest
away. It was
the Manor butcher
who confirmed
her observation
that one half
of a deer is
always tender
and the other
half tough;
as Addie puts
it,
"too
tough to put a
fork in the gravy." She
entirely accepts
this rule and
has had a lot
of chances to
test it over the
years.
Addie
had always
been taught
the importance
of killing
on the first
shot, but, if
not, to follow
any wounded
animal, and
she reserves
great scorn
for those hunters,
more frequent
these days,
who do not
trouble to make
sure whether
a shot has missed
or has failed
to kill. No
less scorn is
directed at
those who shoot
near houses
or the road.
Venison was
always an important
addition to
the larders
in the valley,
but Addie points
out that hunting
was considerably
more difficult
back then.
The place was
more populated
and there were
fewer deer,
so that a day
on the ridges
might go by
without any
sign of game,
and a kill was
a significant
event. To her
recollection,
hunting always
required a
license, but
sometimes in
the depression
poaching was
a necessary
expedient to
put something
on the table.
Addie also
hunted birds
and remembers
that the hillside
above her house
on the other
side of the
Beaverkill Road
was in meadow
and an apple
orchard where
pheasant would
flock. Much
of the Beaverkill
had, by that
time, been set
aside as public
water, and Addie
spent many hours
on the river
over the years
and brought
back many trout
to the table.
She believes
that the river
held lots of
wild trout back
then and complains
that, while
she would like
to get back
in the stream
with her rod,
the stocked
variety swimming
today is far
less satisfactory
eating. The
valley was less
forested, with
pasture covering
much land that
is now woods.
Apart from the
farmland, much
of the clearing
was attributable
to cutting for
the acid factories,
a long time
industry --
wood alcohol,
acetic acid,
acetone -- that
was declining
but had not
reached its
end in Addie’s
youth. The companies
had timber rights
over much of
the high lands
including the
woods on the
hills within
the loop of
the Beaverkill
and Elm Hollow
roads. Addie
remembers the
loggers cutting
the four-foot
hardwood logs
that were taken
to Hazel or
to the factory
in Livingston
Manor that stood
on the far end
of town, where
the County Garage
now stands.
Logging roads
came down the
hills above
Beaverkill,
and a number
of them can
still be made
out in the Hollow.
The slash from
the cutting
made hunting
difficult but
created prime
ground for wild
raspberries.
When Belle ran
the big boarding
house at the
corner of Elm
Hollow road
across from
the new general
store, she lodged
and fed many
of the loggers.
Generations
before, the
big houses that
became tourist
boarding houses
had similarly
lodged the tannery
workers. As
I write, another
tree harvest
is taking place
around the valley
as property
owners are opening
their land to
more or less
selective harvesting
of the cherry
that has reached
good marketable
size since the
last cropping
before the Second
World War.
Wildcats
were common
- we even remember
hearing their
screams in
Laraway when
we first moved
into the valley
in the 70s --
but they seem
to have mostly
disappeared
since -- to
be replaced
by periodic
invasions of
coyotes. Addie
remembers walking
along the Beaverkill
road with some
family and
friends -- she
notes that road
walking was
one of the few
available pastimes
-- and being
followed on
several occasions
by a wildcat
seemingly staking
out her territory.
Addie recollects
one little
girl who lived
up the Beaverkill
years ago,
well past Turnwood,
who carried
a pistol to
school for
protection from
animals. Bears,
of course, turn
up from time
to time, and
Addie remembers
an occasion
when she saw
a bear in her
front yard
while her son
Bobby was out
with his bicycle
but was only
moderately
nervous until
she also spotted
two cubs on
the other side
of him. She
somehow managed
to get
his attention
and get him
extracted without
angering the
sow. She tells
me that three
bears were shot
at Shaver’s
fish hatchery
in Turnwood
this year after
some substantial
damage had been
done to the
ponds. The State
had been trapping
and exiling
the miscreants
from the area
but due to budget
constraints
has more or
less had to
turn over enforcement
to the inhabitants.
I should record
one wildcat
sighting this
year very close
to a house on
the Beaverkill,
so, together
with the turkeys,
they may well
have come back.
I can also record
a bear attack
on a house high
up above us
in the Hollow
in which the
corner of the
house was badly
shredded, apparently
in the creature’s
effort to tear
down a bird
feeder.
Wilbur
worked for
many years --
he finally "retired" at
age 9O -- at
the Campsite.
He built the
original fireplaces
and worked as
a handyman whose
long experience
and knowledge
of such secrets
as the location
of the pipes
for the camp
water supply
caused him to
be consulted
on and off the
job for years.
He tried a stint
as assistant
caretaker for
a summer but
soon concluded
that he did
not want to
lose his weekends
attending on
campers. When
the CCC came
in (the campsite
had previously
been condemned
and was owned
by the State)
he worked with
them but was
not then a member
of the Corps,
although he
later did join
and worked for
a time at Margaretville.
Lumber from
the farm was
used to construct
the original
retaining walls
that control
the river by
the swimming
area.
The
CCC era was
a bustling
one for Beaverkill.
Addie remembers
that the camp
was run in
highly military
fashion with
the workers
living in tents
at the lower
campground
and much organized
activity attended
by bugle calls
that echoed
through the
whole valley
in the mornings
and evenings.
The locals
found a source
of interest
and amusement
in the activities
and made it
an event to
go down to
the river to
watch the CCC
ceremonies and
other goings
on. Addie’s
brother worked
for the CCC
at Ten Mile
River at one
point, and the
Smith brothers
from Laraway
were able to
leave home in
the depths of
the Depression
by the opportunity
offered by the
Corps.
I
had heard it
said that Wilbur
and old Mr.
Kinch, who
farmed what
is now Vogels'
and was thus
the Miners’ next-door
neighbor, did
not get along,
Mr. Kinch being
a tee-totaler
and Wilbur pleased
to have a companionable
drop when he
could. Addie
doesn’t
agree with this
and states that
they coexisted
amicably as
neighbors on
the road for
many, many years.
Mr. Kinch lived
to over one
hundred and
Wilbur Miner
died in his
nineties, something
those of us
who regularly
drink the waters
percolating
out of the Hollow
choose to take
as happy augury.
It is true,
Addie admits,
that they had
their differences,
the main one
being that Wilbur
and his family
were Democrats
while Mr. Kinch
was a confirmed
Republican.
Each morning
Mr. Kinch would
walk up to his
mailbox on the
Beaverkill Road
where he would
encounter Wilbur
on the same
errand. During
election times
she recalls
that they would
sometimes really
get going, and
that their arguments
could echo down
the valley,
undoubtedly
engendering
the rumors of
enmity. Wilbur
used to visit
the two bars
in the hotels
at Lew Beach
when he could
and also found
sociability
at the Lew Beach
Odd Fellows
Hall.
I
have not asked
Addie about
her own politics,
but I do know
the family
history and
I have seen
among the family
photographs
on her wall
-- the one
with the twelve
pointer -- a
signed picture
of her with
Jimmy Carter.
It was taken
when he was
in the Valley
to support
the Fly Fishing
Museum and
Addie took it
on herself to
ask him to breakfast
at her church.
He accepted,
attended, and
is remembered
by Addie as
a very friendly
and down-to-earth
person. There
is also a signed
picture of
Bill Clinton
talking to Addie’s
great nephew
who was in charge
of communications
in Air Force
One and Air
Force Two for
a number of
years.
There
was, of course,
no indoor plumbing
in the early
days, and the
trip to the
outhouse was
a trial in
the winter.
Moreover, Addie
states that
there was never
a well or pump
on the Miner
property. A
spring fed pond
that still exists
just below the
Beaverkill road
supplied drinking
and washing
water, with
spring water
piped into the
house. Just
above the road
in the gully
coming down
from Laraway
a small dam
made a pool
where the children
would bathe
as long as
the creek ran
in spring and
fall. Addie
remembers the
stream as flowing
more consistently
above the Beaverkill
Road than it
seems to me
to do today.
Below the road
it picks up
spring flow,
and the ultimate
outlet into
the Beaverkill
is fairly constant.
In winter,
baths were in
big tubs heated
from the stove.
The subject
of baths brings
Addie to mind
of the time
when practically
the entire
school
population came
down with the "seven
year itch" which,
in the Miner
family, was
cured by Lysol
baths that Addie
judges were
likely worse
than the disease.
Addie
remembers that
at one point
in the 40s,
the up-valley
farmers got
into a dispute
with the creamery
in Livingston
Manor and asked
Wilbur Miner
to let them
open a right
of way over
his land extending
from what is
now the log
house towards
the foot of
the hill on
the Beaverkill
Road along the
River to the
present Park
caretaker’s
cottage by the
bridge. This
made a short
cut that permitted
them to cart
their milk into
Roscoe along
the Craigie
Clair Road without
making the lengthy
trip down the
Johnson Hill
to Deckertown
and thence along
Old 17 to Roscoe.
The road was
to revert back
to the Miners
when it was
no longer being
used and maintained
as the milk
route, but,
apparently as
a result of
some misunderstandings
reflected in
some dubious
conveyance,
it was co-opted
by the Beaverkill
Trout Club and
a period of
argument, strategic
tree fellings
and, ultimately,
litigation,
ensued that
finally resulted
in some damages
paid to Wilbur
and restoration
of his right
of way. Having
made his point,
he ceded it
back to the
club. The right
of way is still
passable, according
to Addie --
I have yet to
explore it --
but both ends
are now pretty
much closed
off, by building
at the Beaverkill
Road end and
washout at the
River end. Twice
a day in the
summer, Wilbur
Miner would
drive to Livingston
Manor with a
team, or, later,
his Model T.,
to pick up visitors
arriving on
the morning
train, the 10
O’clock
Mountain, or
the evening
train, the Scoot.
With some rare
exceptions,
tourists were
a summer business.
The visitors,
which, of course,
included many
fishermen, were
mostly from
New York, or
at least from
pretty far
"down
the line",
and most rented
for the season.
Addie remembers
only one year
round boarder,
a gentleman who
got the family
their first radio
and who, she learned
years later, had
sought the healthful
air of Beaverkill
to recover from
TB.
In
winter the
Miners cut and
packed ice to
be sold to the
boardinghouses
for use during
the tourist
season. The
ice business
was a strenuous
one and not
a little dangerous.
Addie remembers
the time when
blocks were
cut by hand
before the
advent of the
gas saws. Wilbur
cut and loaded
ice at Lake
Waneta, and
Belle drove
it on the mule
sleigh down
Black’s
Hill, then down
the Campsite
Road to the
ice houses where
Addie’s
brother Al would
pack it with
sawdust and
stack it for
summer. Most
boardinghouses
had an icehouse,
which would
be stocked each
winter. Addie
particularly
remembers the
one in back
of the Roots’ in
the direction
of the tennis
court. She has
the recollection
that Wilbur
charged $25
for filling
a house.
The
downhill run
in a loaded
sleigh down
from Waneta
on an iced-over
rough dirt
road was treacherous
and could be
harrowing.
Addie remembers
when her mother,
who was inordinately
proud both
of her mules
and her driving,
bet Mr. Knapp,
who ran what
Addie remembers
as an exceptionally
beautiful matched
team, that
she could beat
him down the
hill. When Wilbur
drove the team
he would throw
out a chain
drag to slow
the sled and
keep it both
on the road
and off of
the heels of
the mules, and
Mr.Knapp used
the same expedient
in the race.
Addie’s
mother drove
full out, unbraked
and heedless.
Wilbur Miner
was not entirely
pleased when
Mr. Knapp reported
that Belle had
beaten him hollow,
and Addie believes
that pride and
relief were
masked by some
very stern words
to Belle.
|
The
road to
the church
in front
of Trout
Valley Farm. 1941 |
Addie
remembers the
winters as
harsh and the
snow as drifting
high in the
valley. The
roads were
cleared only
by one Mack
truck that,
it seemed, had
to serve the
entire valley,
and there were
many times
when Beaverkill
was cut off
completely.
It was cold,
and heating
was entirely
by woodstoves.
Fireplaces
existed in a
number of the
older houses
but even as
today, the feeling
always was that
they generally
took out more
heat than they
put in. Fires,
chimney fires
particularly,
were feared
and common.
Practically
every week
in the winter
there would
be stories of
fires that,
usually, managed
to be confined
to the chimney.
Addie says
that even as
a child she
always was slightly
uneasy about
sleeping upstairs
next to the
chimneybreast.
An early memory
is of a fierce
snowstorm when
the chimney
caught fire,
and her mother
swept up Addie
and her sister
and threw them
out the second
story window.
The drifts were
so high that
no damage was
done, and it
turned out that
the fire was
only in the
chimney and
was snuffed
out with salt.
Wilbur thereafter
never tired
of telling neighbors
how Belle saw
this little
fire and first
thing she did
was threw her
babies out the
window. Belle
finally got
a pond dug out
below the spring
-- it remains
there today
-- mainly for
fire protection.
There
were several
other farms
in Beaverkill,
smaller than
the Miner farm
and producing
mainly for
their own use
and that of
a few neighbors.
The Bulkleys
kept cows in
the barn that
descended to
Kinch and is
now owned by
the Vogels,
and George Vernooy
lived in what
is now the
Adams property
and kept cows
that he pastured
from time to
time along
the banks of
the Beaverkill
below the bridge.
Addie’s
family was living
in the Bulkley
house, and,
when the Kinchs
took ownership,
moved up to
the big house
that used to
stand at the
triangle at
the intersection
of the Beaverkill
and Elm Hollow
Roads. Vernooy
rented from
Andrew Ackerly,
and ran the
Beaverkill general
store and post
office for many
years. In the
early 30s Ackerly,
who had been
living in the
Manor, moved
back into his
house in Beaverkill,
and George Vernooy
moved with the
store and post
office up to
a large building
that was located,
until it was
torn down in
the early 70s,
at the Elm Hollow
road turnoff,
opposite the
boardinghouse
which the Miners
then operated.
The store at
Elm Hollow boasted
a single gas
pump in front.
Addie remembers
that her father
paid his rent
by cutting and
delivering firewood
to Mr. Vernooy
and that a winter’s
supply was around
20 cords. Most
firewood was
still cut by
hand. I have
an impression
that in later
years when the
store and post
office operated
uptown, the
Elm Hollow intersection
somewhat replaced
Downtown as
the center of
Beaverkill life.
For the record,
when we moved
to Beaverkill
in the early
70s, the store
building was
still standing
on the corner
but vacant and
crumbling, and
there were part
time stores
at Black’s
across from
the Waneta Dam,
at the campsite
entrance, and
at the trailer
camp up in the
woods opposite
Edgewood.
The
automobile
came late to
Beaverkill,
and Addie clearly
recalls a time
when the horse
and buggy were
the usual transportation,
even as cars
began to come
in. She remembers
the doctor
coming in a
buggy, and she
remembers as
a very little
girl catching
a lift with
the postman,
John Crum,
who would take
her down the
hill in his
cart to the
post office.
If she were
very lucky he
would buy her
a candy at Vernooy’s
general store
before driving
her back up
to the farm.
Addie does not
remember exactly
when the roads
were first paved,
and her most
vivid memories
are still of
the dirt roads
not only in
Beaverkill,
but also the
Beaverkill Road
to the Manor
and even the
road to Liberty
and beyond.
She remembers
her older sister
driving Downey
to high school
in Livingston
Manor. Wilbur
duly acquired
a Model T and,
eventually,
a Model A. By
the time Addie
was ready to
go to high school,
she was transported
with 7 or 8
others in a
Pierce Arrow
hired by the
school.
As
we are frequently
reminded, doctors
made house
calls in those
days, but Addie
makes it clear
that there is
a bleaker side
to that story.
She remembers
when her brother
got his arm
caught in the
belt of a large
saw being set
up in the field
to cut cordwood
early one winter
morning and
that she watched
as he was thrown
high in the
air. It seemed
to be a hundred
feet but she
allows that
it was probably
only 20. His
arm was broken
in three places.
The only phone
in town was
at the post
office in Ackerly’s
place, and by
the time doctor
Davis arrived
from the Manor
it was dark,
and the arm
was set and
splinted, very
successfully
it turned out,
by kerosene
light in the
house. The doctor
wanted Addie’s
brother to see
him in the Manor
for check-ups,
but Belle was
firm that he
was not to move
and insisted
that Doctor
Davis drive
out for the
examinations.
The doctor complied.
She also remembers
her mother going
up the road
to the Smiths'
place in the
Hollow to assist
Mrs. Smith in
giving birth
to a daughter.
Belle
Miner was a
repository
of country lore.
She had learned
wild medicines
and the wild
greens, such
as lambs quarters,
pigweed and
burdock that
the family
ate as supplemental
vegetables,
from her own
mother and
from an Indian
doctor who used
to make a circuit
of the mountains
every year
following the
Indian trails
that ran north
from the Delaware.
Beech Hill
Road, Mary Smith
Road and Berry
Brook Road were
all Indian trails
at one point
according to
Addie and the
histories.
The old Indian
stayed for a
few days each
year with the
Knickerbockers
in Grooville,
where he taught
Belle. Belle
was to have
been the author
of an essay,
to be incorporated
in Ken Osborn’s
history of the
Beaverkill,
still a main
source for early
Beaverkill history,
treating of
the herbs and
plants of the
woodland serving
as food and
medicine, but
I do not believe
that it was
ever written.
Addie credits
her mother’s
country smarts
with having
helped the family
survive the
Depression.
Electricity
came in to
Beaverkill only
in the 40s and,
as Addie remembers
it, only when
Irving Berlin
moved in up
the road in
Lew Beach.
Before that,
kerosene lamps
provided the
light, and many
of the ancient
appearing lamps
in the antique
stores around
the area were
in fact produced
for use in the
20s and 30s.
An early electric
lamp figured
importantly
in Addie’s
life for a number
of years. We
saw it on a
table in her
picture window
when we first
met her and
assumed, without
inspection,
that it was
a reproduction
of an unusually
large Tiffany
lamp. It was,
in fact, the
real thing,
bought in New
York by her
father-in-law,
who at one point
had been a well
to do steamship
owner, for $500
in the early
20s. Addie had
rescued it from
abandonment
in the barn
some years later
when her father-in-law
purchased two
new, and to
Addie nondescript,
lamps in town,
I think at Hodge’s.
He remembered
her attachment
and gave it
to her when
she subsequently
separated from
his son.
It
was much admired,
but Addie first
became aware
of its value
and the significance
that Tiffany
has since taken
on when she
was eventually
offered first
$14,000 and,
later, $21,000
for it. The
latter offer
came, it turned
out, from a
couple who
some time later
returned and
stole it from
the window and
spirited it
away in a black
van. The house,
in Addie’s
then custom,
was unlocked.
A truck driver
delivering gravel
across the road
saw the couple
acting suspiciously,
didn’t
like the look
of the black
van, and took
the license
number. After
a long period
while the skeptical
local police
had to be educated
as to the significance
of the Tiffany
attribution,
attention began
to be paid,
and the van
was ultimately
traced to Massachusetts
where the lamp
was recovered
after some negotiation
with the thieves
who, well connected,
apparently plea
bargained their
freedom against
its return in
one piece.
Addie
could no longer
show it, and
its possession
became a worry.
At the advice
of a lawyer
she finally
consigned it
at Christie’s,
which gave it
a full-page
color picture
in the catalogue,
and sold it
for $74,000,
less, she ruefully
points out,
expenses of
sale that involved
Christie’s
commission and
uncountable
bills for transportation,
insurance, publicity,
catalogues and
the like. This,
all apart from
the lawyer’s
share of the
proceeds, the
size and history
of which does
not even now,
according to
Addie, bear
public recital.
We’ve
seen the catalogue
and a number
of exhibitions
of Tiffany lamps
and can attest
that it was
truly one of
the best of
the line. It
had a pierced
bronze stand
and a magnificent
glass shade
with eight large
dragonflies,
head down with
extended, clear
glass wings,
tip to tip around
the edge.
Addie
attended the
Beaverkill
Elementary School,
which was located
above the Campsite
turnoff, on
the foundations
of which a
new house has
recently been
built. When
her older sister
taught at the
school a few
years later
on there were
17 children
in all classes
from kindergarten
to 12th grade.
There was one
room and one
teacher. Children
came from Beaverkill,
from over on
Berry Brook
Road, and as
far as the
Elm Hollow Road.
The Smith family,
who lived at
our place in
Laraway Hollow,
sent their
children down
the hill to
the school,
which, at that
time, was visible
all the way
down the meadow
from the house
in Laraway.
The owner of
what is now
the Ames farm
cared for a
half dozen
or so Catholic
orphans who
were also sent
to the Beaverkill
School. One
later became
the local postmaster.
Addie believes
that the most
distant pupil
came from farther
on down the
Elm Hollow Road,
which, one gathers,
was always somewhat
isolated from
the activities
of Beaverkill.
Retention in
grade was the
educational
philosophy of
the day, and
Addie clearly
remembers a
number of rather
older young
men in the classroom
during the years
she attended
the elementary
school.
There
were a number
of small schools
scattered around
the Valley
with the children
from Deckertown
and the lower
Elm Hollow
valley attending
one on Little
Ireland Road,
taught at one
point, by Addie’s
brother. Addie
showed me a
listing of the
pupils in the
Beaverkill School
in 1893 when
her father attended.
There were at
that time 47
children from
age 5 through
18. Many familiar
local names
appear on the
list. Among
them, four Ackerlys,
five Miners,
including Wilbur,
seven Scullins
from the family
that lived in
the Ames farm,
four Morrisseys
who lived in
the O’Connell
house on Elm
Hollow, two
Busseys from
a house near
what is now
Alexander Drive,
and two Barnharts.
Addie’s
family were
devoted churchgoers,
religiously
attending the
Beaverkill Church
which then had
a full time
minister who
lived in the
Manor. Addie’s
mother was a
stalwart of
the church who,
with Mrs. Bulkley,
did much to
keep it going,
but it had its
ups and downs
and was not
always open.
In summer, revival
meetings were
held in a tent
in the fields
in back of the
church. She
remembers that
during one period
when the church
was closed she
was required
by her parents
to walk to Craigie
Clair where
there was a
Seventh Day
Adventist church,
her mother holding
that church
on Sunday was
the issue far
more than the
theology involved.
The Church now
being a summer
institution
only, Addie
drives to Grooville
each Sunday
where she is
an active church
member, finding
much support
in the church
community, but
concerned over
the increasing
difficulty of
finding pastors
for a small
rural congregation.
The Beaverkill
church building
was also the
neighborhood
meeting place,
and Addie remembers
at one point
that a benefit
theatrical production
was put on to
provide funds
for the church.
She recollects
that with a
very pricey
admission, maybe
50 cents, they
collected $150
which, as she
says, was real
money at the
time. Addie
remembers reciting
a poem about
Beaverkill --
I think it may
have been the
one that appears
in the frontispiece
to Osborn’s
history -- during
the first scene
change.
I
asked Addie
about the local
towns, town
life and entertainment.
Lew Beach was
larger than
Beaverkill
in Addie’s
girlhood, with
two hotels that
remained until
the great fire
in the 50s.
It was big enough
in the 30s to
support a barbershop,
and Addie remembers
square dances
on Saturday
nights upstairs
in one of the
hotels. Roscoe
never seems
to have been
a focus of the
folks in Beaverkill.
Livingston Manor
was clearly
the commercial
center and Liberty
the nearest
big town. Addie
described movie
theatres and
even a vaudeville
house on the
main street
of Liberty.
The Manor was
a significant
and bustling
town, and Addie
remembers it
on a Monday
morning with
the streets
thronged with
tourists and
locals. The
railroad station
stood more or
less where the
firehouse now
stands and was
the center of
activity several
times a day.
The old high
school ran on
for years even
after its building
on Old 17, since
occupied by
a drilling company
and, lately,
a taxidermist,
was condemned
by the State.
Where the present
high school
now stands there
was a building
known as the
Casino where
a number of
activities,
including high
school basketball
games, took
place. The trip
back to Beaverkill
from the Manor
was not always
easy; Addie
remembers cheerleading
at the basketball
games that always
seemed to end
late on stormy
winter nights.
|
Johnson
& Fitzgerald's
General Store |
The
main store
was Johnson’s
dry goods and
feed store in
the middle of
town, more or
less where the
Sunoco Station
and convenience
store now stands.
There were many
other shops
and merchants,
and Addie’s
uncle had a
general store,
with a garden
in back, standing
on the plot
now occupied
by the town
parking lot.
I told Addie
that when we
got here in
the early 70s
there were four
bars. She remembers
a time when
there were 10
bars in town.
In fact, she
ran one of them
in the 40s,
selling food
as well as drink
to what she
remembers as
mostly the business
clientele in
town. The bars
each found their
level and custom:
some were fairly
rough, and fights
were common.
A customer who
worked in the
chicken plant
stabbed one
of Addie’s
friends who
ran a bar to
death.
|
The
intersection
of Craigie
Clair Road
and Campsite
Road, both
unpaved. |
Addie’s
earliest memories
of social life
in the hamlet
were of the
young people
in Beaverkill
meeting at one
house or another
for a dance
or a box social.
The furniture
would be moved
from the largest
room in the
house, the rugs
rolled back
and room made
for dancing,
usually to the
music of a fiddler
or small string
band brought
in for the occasion.
A big and very
central house
that Addie remembers
as a popular
social center
was the house
opposite Adams
on the downstream
corner of the
Campsite Road
and the Craigie
Clair Road.
Square dances
were a popular
weekend entertainment
that lasted
on into the
70s when regular
dances were
still held in
the community
hall in Turnwood
and down the
Beaverkill Road
at C.C. Collins’s
farm at the
edge of Deckertown.
The Smith brothers
and their father,
who lived in
Laraway Hollow,
were natural
musicians, playing
the fiddle,
guitar and banjo.
They played
and picked up
a little sorely
needed cash
at dances all
around the Beaverkill
area, and Addie,
who had been
tutored by one
of the brothers,
would occasionally
fill in on the
guitar. Another
happily remembered
venue was the
unfinished second
farmhouse that
Wilbur built
close to the
Campsite Road
whose windowless
first floor
sheltered by
the new roof
was ideal for
dancing. She
also remembers
a masquerade
party held at
the house on
Halloween, noting
that that holiday
was always an
important one
for the children
as far back
as she can remember.
Telephones
were rare in
the valley
at this time,
and the mailman
who would distribute
flyers along
with the mail
passed the
news of social
events. The
pool below the
Bridge was in
those days as
inviting a swimming
hole as it is
today and was
the scene of
parties and
picnics in the
summer, even
though it was
undeveloped
and dangerously
festooned with
the barbed
wire strung
to control the
cows that George
Vernooy grazed
on both sides
of the River.
Sledding and
skiing from
the top of the
hills down
into the valley
were popular
in the winter.
Addie remembers
that when the
few cars packed
the snow on
the Beaverkill
road -- and
then pretty
much left the
road by late
afternoon --
it was possible
to sled from
the top of
the Johnson
hill just about
to old Route
17. Usually
they would manage
to convince
someone to
tow the sleds
at rope’s
end behind a
car back to
the top of the
hill. Occasionally
Addie and her
friends would
sled down the
long hill from
Shandelee to
the Manor. The
young people
roamed and explored
all of the hills
and ridges around
to valley.
A
celebration
was held, even
as today, in
a cold, crowded
Beaverkill
church every
Christmas. Wilbur
supplied a large
hemlock from
the swamp, and
it was somehow
maneuvered
into the building
and set up
at the front
of the church
where it was
decorated with
lighted candles.
Even now Addie
wonders at the
survival of
the building.
The celebration
was, I gather,
as much a community
event as a
religious one,
although the
minister was
the central
figure, as children
recited poetry,
sang and performed,
and gifts were
exchanged.
|
Addie's
house January
2, 2005 |
It
is clear in
talking to
Addie that the
Beaverkill of
her girlhood
depended on
tourists. The
townspeople
housed, fed,
supplied, guided,
and transported
them or worked
for or sold
to those who
did. When the
tourist population
ebbed, as in
the Depression,
times were
hard. In the
Second World
War tourism
also dropped,
but the opportunity
for work outside
the valley
blossomed. There
was some income
before the war
from the logs
and loggers
supplying the
acid factories
but one gathers
that not much
money stayed
in the valley,
and the histories
tell of the
harsh conditions
and poor wages
of the loggers
and acid factory
workers. Even
in the heyday
of the tourists,
Beaverkill
was in decline
in terms of
population.
Addie attended
school with
17 pupils,
but in her father’s
day in the early
1890s 47 children
filled the Beaverkill
Schoolhouse.
Several generations
earlier, in
the tannery
era, the records
tell us that
the town was
still larger
than in the
agricultural
period of the
late 1800s.
We
have replaced
the hard earned
self-sufficiency
of a proud
little community
with a sentimental
occupation
that owes the
old village,
its people,
and its memories,
at least these
efforts to
record and remember
its past.
Postscript:
Addie spent
much of 2002
in the nursing
home in Roscoe,
but her wish
that she could
return to Beaverkill
was fulfilled,
and she had
a number of
weeks at home
before she
died, peacefully,
in November
of that year.
home | calendar | headlines & happenings | milestones | church
about us | maps | photos| stories | archives
©
Friends
of
Beaverkill
Community
1998-2012. All
rights
reserved. |