Part 2

Charles Cunningham, a local contractor and builder of large buildings, was most generous in offering the use of his stock pile, where a treasure was found of different sizes and shapes of all kinds of lumber and materials. He told us to take anything we could use, and the offer was music to our ears.

I do hope Mr. Cunningham didn’t feel too chagrined when he saw how much we were taking, but nevertheless he grinned and said to go ahead and take whatever we wanted.

The Hinckley Lumber Company of Hyannis graciously offered, and we quickly accepted, lumber and supplies from their mill and warehouse.

Our busy surveyor of highways, Chris Marsh, loaned to us from time to time a machine called a back hoe, which does marvelous things, and some men to help with the hard digging.

One generous soul, Tom Powers, has given us several beautiful trees which we are planting and hope will live to beautify the structure and the landscaping. Tom is a director and officer of several banks, owns most of the real estate on Cape Cod, and is a teller of tall tales in any dialect you wish.

The two signs, and especially the final sign, which grace the mill property were made by a sign painter and artist extraordinary, one H. O. Thurston, of Centerville, a friend of long-standing.

There were many times when it seemed to me we would never finish this job; that it really was perhaps too much for us to have ever started, what with our limited knowledge and seemingly insurmountable obstacles. Somehow we all kept going, hoping that we would finally have the mill completed as we envisioned from the beginning. It reminded me of the chap who had the tiger by the tail and didn’t dare let go.

V

This land on which we live, called Cape Cod, is visited by hundreds of tourists in the summer and dwelt upon by the year-round residents, most of whom are totally unaware of the richness of the tradition and of the way of life which is found here. This way of life is quite different than any one finds in any other part of our country. We do live close to the sea, and we have many little villages nestled around quiet, patient roads. We have innumerable ponds and lakes, and the vast seas on either side of us. Express highways bring crowds to the Cape, but there are many villages and communities not encroached upon as yet to a great degree by speed and hasty living.

Being close to Plymouth, the birthplace of liberty, and the second landing place of the Pilgrims, we, of course, are bound to history by close ties.

I think and I hope many people are becoming more and more aware of the gradual loss and decay of our historical landmarks, and my thought is to preserve the rich but dwindling heritage of our traditional land, not by or through the Federal Government or by the State Government, but by all the people in local communities through our own Town Government.

There are a few restoration projects now under way and some have been completed in the past few years. I can think quickly of the West Parish Meeting House in West Barnstable, which can be seen from the Mid-Cape Highway; the old Hoxie House in Sandwich; the Sandwich Water Mill, now being restored by the Town of Sandwich, which, by the way, has a most excellent setting at Shawme Pond, in which are reflected the tall, white buildings surrounding it; the Brewster Mill at Stony Brook, having been restored about three years ago by the Town of Brewster, where one can purchase corn meal every Saturday afternoon at twenty cents per pound.

I recently purchased some of the corn meal from the Brewster Stony Brook Mill, where it is slowly ground between old millstones, and if you have never tasted corn meal muffins made from this flour, you are in for a real treat. Ground in this manner, the corn apparently keeps the goodness and the natural nutrients of the grain. It is not processed and bleached to a point where it tastes like a blotter. It actually tastes like corn. We have also tried some of the wheat flour, and the bread made from it is something to be experienced.

Other restoration projects that come to mind are two or three windmills in Chatham and Eastham which have been restored or reproduced, and a few herring runs, but there are many other places and sites that are gradually going unless we all make some effort to preserve them.

We cannot, of course, entirely recapture the way of life in the 1800’s, nor probably would we want to, but it would seem that we could preserve and keep that which was good and those methods which were efficient, employed so long ago. I don’t think anyone wants to give up our electric lights for the old oil lamps, nor indoor bathrooms for the outside “privy” (notwithstanding hearsay that the outdoor “privy” was quite pleasant on a balmy summer afternoon), but there are many things which we can learn from the old people that certainly would make our mode of living and our existence a bit more pleasant, tranquil and serene.

Although it may cost a bit more to “post and beam” a house, a bit more for a bow roof, or box returns, or dental work on the trim, I do believe that many people would really prefer this type of construction once they have seen it, and I do know that most people could afford it. I will also go farther out on a limb and say that this type of construction is actually cheaper in the long run, and the long run means the lifetime of a house.

Plymouth is now embarking on a very ambitious program of rebuilding the old “Plimouth Plantation”.

I do not think that we on the Cape can do another Williamsburg, nor do I think that we should try to restore everything we find, but each town could do a little bit each year toward setting aside some of its historical treasures.

We have all kinds of beaches, public landing places, swimming pools, both public and private, for the two-week visitor in the summer, all kinds of dance halls and bowling alleys for their entertainment; but what a great wealth of information, interest, and education could be aroused through the restoration of some of the old buildings and landmarks.

The Yarmouth Historical Society, like many other similar groups, has been doing an excellent job. The Captain Bangs Hallett house has been authentically repaired, restored, and reconstructed by and through the Historical Society. Captain Bangs Hallett was one of the deep-water sailors who commanded some of the well-known clipper ships, the giants of the sea. This house is open to the public every afternoon in the summer and reflects the way of living at that time of the more well-to-do sea captains.

My idea is not to restore the Baxter Mill just as another museum which would be filled with all kinds of ancient bric-a-brac, furniture, glassware and curios for people to look at and pass by. My thought is that we should restore and reconstruct this mill, holding to exact authenticity, so that the final result would be exactly the same mill with its fundamental mechanisms and its simple dignity, and turn out the same products.

VI

Snow and bitter weather came early to Cape Cod in December, 1960. We have always bragged about the mild winters enjoyed on the Cape, but we certainly had a real old fashioned one this year. Every Saturday it seemed that the very nastiest weather prevailed, but on Monday it was beautiful.

It was really hard work in this flume and in the wheel pit at ten and twelve above zero, notwithstanding our heavy winter clothing, but nevertheless about ten o’clock a welcome coffee break was taken. Time after time ice would form and congeal around our boots while we were working, and a penetrating, deadly chill arose from the wheel pit. I don’t know how many hours were spent in breaking up the ice before we could even start to work. Fortunately, no one seemed the worse for wear.

We collected all kinds of lumber, materials, and supplies of various descriptions, widths, and lengths, piling all of this around the mill site. It was a great source of concern to many passers-by where we possibly could be putting all this vast amount of lumber and supplies. Those that took the time to see could readily understand the large amount of lumber necessary to go into the wheel pit and the flume.

Joe Carapezza, the stone mason, was then employed and did a most excellent job in renewing the foundation and rebuilding the retaining walls, mostly out of old dressed granite blocks. These old fashioned dressed granite blocks are about two and a half feet long and about ten to twelve inches square and make a most attractive addition to the landscape of the mill. Not being accustomed to this heavy work, which was indeed difficult for a professional like Joe, you can well imagine that I gradually gravitated to an assistant hired hand, but in this weather one did not stand around and become solidified. It was necessary, for self preservation, to keep moving, and while you are moving you might as well be doing some work.

We did indulge in a welcome respite at ten o’clock on a Saturday morning of adjourning to my homestead where we would have some hot coffee and doughnuts. I don’t know how many gallons of coffee and how many doughnuts we consumed over this year and a half, and I don’t know how much mud my wife had to clean up in the kitchen after we all tramped in and out. We were all very thankful to her, however, for putting up with us.

Friend George is slow, meticulous, and very exacting. As for myself, I know that I am impatient and I have to do everything in a hurry. Naturally, both our natures at times clashed, but I think one was good for the other.

I did object strenuously to George’s most annoying habit of suddenly standing up and shouting,

“Harold, where is the rule?”

I found that ignoring him did not help, so I acquired some earmuffs which worked admirably until George resorted to making signs and perhaps lifting up one of the earmuffs and gently requesting the rule. Incidentally, the rule most of the time was sticking out of his own pocket.

Everyone slept fairly well after a day’s work at the mill, but I asked George one morning how he slept. He replied,

“Not too well. I had to turn over once.”

I furnished no small amount of amusement to my co-workers as I tried to fashion a fifteen-foot board to the floor of the mill. The board had to be fitted in about five places, and I would saw and cut and chisel and then saw and cut some more, finally ending up with a board about three feet long, much to the gratification and mirth of my so-called assistants.

It seems that shingles are always in demand no matter whether you are rebuilding an old building or building a new one. I never realized how handy shingles were until we began this project. Apparently, shingles were made not only for roofs and side-walls, but to take up the error in the professional’s work.

Somewhere in Maine George made a large speech to an assembled populace about the necessity of everyone having shingles at hand.

VII

New England is especially favored with many rivers, streams, ponds and lakes, and it is with never-ending admiration that one reflects on the ingenuity of the early settlers putting to practical use all of the water power. Throughout the whole region will be found hundreds of remains of water mill sites, small and large, and the settlers soon found ways of putting a harness on them for water power.

If the stream happened to be small, the early millwright built a dam across it and in no time he acquired a small pond. The higher the dam, the greater the head of water.

Where there were large rivers, you can now find tremendous power plants, textile mills and other manufacturing establishments all using this water power.

Most of us today, when we think of power, think of electricity, gas, or steam, but it is very simple to consider the water in an ordinary little stream and the amount of power it can deliver.

Although the machinery built by the early millwrights was a bit crude, nevertheless it was functional and worked with efficient success.

On a recent scouting trip George and I took through Massachusetts, New Hampshire and Connecticut, we visited a few restored mills. One of them was in Rowley, Massachusetts, just off the Main Road, called the “Jewel Mill”. Here an enterprising and resourceful chap had rebuilt the outside water wheel on a fairly small stream and he was driving a small D C generator supplying electricity to his house and to a small lathe shop. This, he told me, had been going on for five or six years without interruption. The lights were steady and there was no fuss, clamor, or noise. The only thing one heard was the splashing of the water over the wheel. His mill was so named because he was actually cutting and polishing small, local, semi-precious stones.

I find that there is a small group of enthusiasts who are gradually picking up and collecting all the old turbines they can find of ancient vintage, so if one wishes to invest in the future, he might consider picking up one of these old turbines which in a few years will be extinct.

Another interesting site we visited was John Goffe’s Mill near Manchester, New Hampshire. Having read with fascination George Woodbury’s tale of restoring this mill, we were very anxious to actually see it. Mr. Woodbury, a very learned gentleman, former archaeologist and now author, had performed a most remarkable job.

Another mill, farther along the trail, was in Alstead, New Hampshire, where Heman Chase was conducting a class in woodworking, the power being supplied by an old refinished turbine. Mr. Chase, in addition, is a land surveyor, a teacher of mathematics and the philosophy of Henry George, as you can see from his letterhead.

At Weston, Vermont, at the Artists’ Guild, will be found a real old mill where they are grinding corn and wheat and other grains.

Late the first night of this expedition, George and I holed up in a modern motel somewhere in New Hampshire. I was not quite prepared for George’s night attire. It seems he still wears an old fashioned nightshirt, split up on each side, and I got a bit of a start to observe this character climbing into bed with this on. George will deny this, but he also had on an old night-cap.

Coming home we went to Monson, Massachusetts, and there found all kinds of mill apparatus in various states of repair, gradually rusting out and disappearing into the ground. I was a little sad to observe how the owner was tenaciously clinging to his old way of life: his machinery, tools, and all the things he had collected all his life. But how his eyes did light up with enthusiasm when he learned we were attempting to restore our own mill.

A tall, gaunt man, weather-beaten, with hands that had known many a piece of machinery, he was a living figure of the old millwright and gave us a great amount of information on the revolutions per minute and various other facets of millwrighting.

Most of us think of antique things as so many curios and objects to be placed in museums to be passed by, but we do not realize how much better some of these things did work than the ones we buy today. For instance, I have a small hand garden trowel, forged perhaps fifty or sixty years ago, and it is much more practical than the new trowels on sale in the hardware stores. I have often wondered why they couldn’t make one like this rather than the ones on display but perhaps this kind would last too long and the factory would go out of business.

We did not find on our pilgrimage a turbine suitable for us, but we did find the brilliant foliage of the hills and mountains, the quiet patience of the roads, and the beauty of the small towns of New England.

A few weeks later our fast trip in upper New England paid off, for we heard by mail of a turbine that seemed might be just right for our purposes. Chuck Stanley gave us the loan of his truck and George and I, fortified by a packed lunch, hot coffee, and sandwiches, started out at 4:00 A. M. one Sunday morning for Livermore Falls, Maine.

There, we found on the side of a hill an old turbine weighing about two ton, and after poking about this monster we decided we could use it.

The task of loading this beast upon the truck seemed formidable, so we finally located a mountaineer who possessed an oversized auto wrecker, and backing our truck against a strategic hump on the side of the hill we proceeded to load the turbine on the truck. The wrecker hooked onto the turbine, but the turbine proved too much for it, so much so that it turned it over on its side.

A goodly crowd had by this time gathered to watch the operation, and enlisting the aid of some husky boys, we finally managed to push the wrecker back on its four wheels.

Friend George, in his unruffled manner, soon had the turbine on the truck, and we fell to the task of shoring it up with chunks of wood, plank and chalks. We could vividly imagine what would happen if this baby got away from us going down some mountain, so we took a long time in lashing it securely to the truck.

Of course, George could not let the day go by without shouting,

“Harold, where is the shingle?”

“Didn’t bring one,” I replied.

Then followed an impassioned speech by friend George from the tailboard of the truck to the assembled populace, extolling the virtues of shingles and decrying the negligence of the author in not bringing at least _one_ shingle to Maine.

VIII

A brief glimpse of the Cape Cod Village in the 1800’s and its everyday life in those days would be interesting and would also throw some light on the fascination of the mill.

This mill and many others like it played a most important role in our small towns, as did the country store, the blacksmith shop and, of course, the church.

On the Cape at about that time, there were between thirty and forty mills, either powered by wind or water, and these mills supplied flour and corn in its various stages to the villages. Corn then was more important than gold. The meal, of course, was used for corn meal muffins and corn bread, and the cracked corn for the chickens and pigs.

Every family was practically self-sufficient, growing their vegetables, and if they did not have a cow, trading eggs or other produce for milk or cream with their neighbors. Almost everyone would supplement their food supply with shellfish from the shores and flats and fish from the various boats that plied the sound and bays. There were many orchards, most of which have now disappeared. One can hardly find a grape arbor left, but in those days apples and other tree-grown fruit were found in every other home or homestead. Cranberries played no small part, but they were just about developing in the 1880’s, and I can remember distinctly, while growing up in Brewster, of earning small amounts of money from time to time helping the farmers harvest their cranberry crop, together with asparagus, turnips and strawberries.

I cannot remember any people being on Old Age Assistance, and I recall distinctly there was no Social Security program. There was always something for everyone to do whether they were young, middle-aged, or old. For us young children there were ordinary chores in and about the house to be done morning and evening, cutting the kindling, getting wood ready for the fires, and generally being handy boys around the house and barn. I can definitely say there were no gangs of teenagers with switchblades. “Mac the Knife” was wholly unknown. The only knives we had were pocket jackknives used for whittling and playing mumbley-peg.

I can remember that there were many things to do the night before the Fourth, but I can remember no destruction of property. Perhaps a few privies might be displaced, and on Halloween fences might disappear, but they were always found somewhere, and the culprits made to replace them.

In the Fall almost everyone would gather seaweed from the beaches and bank it around the house, because only the very rich could afford full basements and what we call central heating. The small, round Cape Cod cellars were used to keep fruits and vegetables.

I can also distinctly remember working on the town roads, helping to get in ice for the ice houses, and I can also remember that almost every boy knew how to handle a hammer, a saw, screw driver, or chisel, which did not seem work to us at the time.

The mill was not exactly a gathering place for the country folk; that was left to the country store. In Brewster, the mail would come in about 6:00 P. M., and it was a great thing for us younger boys to gather at the Knowles’ store at about the time the mail was due and listen to some of the older men around the stove discuss the events of the day and the nation.

I do not recall many critical periods of wars and threats of war, but I do recall the fusion of the wonderful odors of the country store, the far off cry of the lonely whistle of the mail train, the hard candy, and the attractive chocolate-colored tobacco. I can also recall vividly the old time “drummer” with his fancy, gay, colored straw hat, the horse drawn carts that would bring groceries, meat and fish once or twice a week.

All around the towns, almost everyone had a horse and some more well-to-do people had two or three. It was not necessary to turn in the horse every year, because the model never changed. The horses sometimes died, but only after twelve or fourteen years of good service. Almost everyone owned a so-called Cape Cod truck wagon, painted a faded blue color.

I can remember the May baskets, the sleigh rides, and sliding down the hill in High Brewster in the winter-time.

All this is in sharp contrast to the children on the present day and the problems of juvenile delinquency. Undoubtedly lack of parental care and instruction, to say nothing of planned obsolescence, time payments, and lack of individual initiative, can be blamed for the conditions. Being fortunate to have been born at about the turn of the century, when the era of the horse was just about departing and the automobile beginning, I think I am in a fairly good position to compare conditions of that day with today.

I might say that I do recall when I was about ten years of age, my mother and grandmother sadly declaring that things at that time were different when they were children, and that they did not know where we then were going. I put this in to show that there may be an answer to all this through the process of evolution. I do not know.

I do know that the flour and the meal coming from these old and ancient mills produced much better food than the present day processed flour and meal.

I can remember many of the older figures of that time. Seth Rogers, a typical country gentleman, and many other well-known men about that time, who were not looking for something for nothing. They all did work of one form or another, either on their farms or their cranberry bogs, or in some business or trade. They did not have much time, but the time they had was put to great use in production. They did not have too much money because they did not need it. A man that died leaving an estate of $5,000.00 or $6,000.00 was considered reasonably wealthy. These men would do something for their town without expecting great pay in return; they were not constantly looking to the town, state, or government for handouts. They produced and developed a way of life totally different from the way we have today.

IX

Now, after the machinist has repaired and fixed up the old coupling, and other parts of the old turbine which could not withstand our battering, it becomes necessary to drop the turbine in place and hope everything will work.