Sixty Years
Ago
Attributed to F. D.
Hand
Editor of the Fenelon
Falls Gazette March, 18, 1898
I met, upon a journey,
a man of fourscore years,
Just like a leaf in autumn that the hard frost browns and sears,
His cheeks were wan, his eyes were dim, his form was worn and
bent
The light of life still flickered, but the oil was nearly spent.
He talked about the weather, the state of crops and roads.
Of implements for farming, of different styles and modes;
"You think", said he. "that times are hard and
cash comes in too slow -
I wish you'd lived near Fenelon Falls some sixty years ago.
"The little crooked
footpaths were our only roads at first,
With fallen trees and mudholes they were freely interspersed.
On journeys after dark we took, to keep wild beasts at bay,
A torch or two of good pitch pine, which also lit the way,
And through the gloomy forest we heard a gaunt wolf's howl,
The yawning of a catamount or the hooting of an owl.
When neighbours were in trouble, of course we had to go,
But we didn't walk for pleasure about sixty years ago.
"You've a daily
mail, a railroad, you have shops beside your door;
But things were very different in the good old days of yore.
As there was no opposition, the wily merchant seized
The golden opportunity to charge what price he pleased.
I've often paid five
shillings for a pound of common tea,
And the price of muscovado was often one and three;
It has cost me one and sixpence for a yard of calico,
And the same for factory cotton about sixty years ago.
"And when we had
a grist to grind, or trading we must do,
'Twas no such simple matter as it is to-day with you.
Yet how lightly used we bear our load, returning with our sacks,
As we trudged home from the river with our flour upon our backs;
The children all were watching, for bread was such a treat,
They could scarcely wait with patience till the cakes were fit
to eat;
The children of the present would scorn such fare, I know -
They haven't got the appetite of sixty years ago.
"Your stylish
stoves and ranges were things unheard of when -
We settled in this country - we used clay ovens then,
We built about a rounded frame bricks made of straw and clay
And we made within a roaring fire, and kept it there all day
And when the warmth had dried the sides our oven was complete.
On baking days we made a fire in it, the walls for to heat
And then we raked out wood and coals upon the ground below.
And baked in it the bread and beans of sixty years ago.
"We went on foot
or horseback, but at last we made a way.
Broad enough by careful teaming, for oxen and a sleigh.
But of surveying implements we did not need a load,
For a woman rang a cowbell while her husband blazed the road.
Two disks cut from a big, round log made the first affair on
wheels.
And when the cart was coming you could hear for miles its squeals,
We would run out doors to see it, 'twas a wonder then, you know.
That pioneer conveyance of sixty years ago.
"At logging, chopping,
reaping, we always made a "bee",
We gladly helped each other and were fond of company.
And labour seemed much lighter when we did not toil alone.
And we liked companions near us who had troubles like our own.
A good sized jar of whiskey was brought to treat the men,
You see our views on temperance was a little foggy then.
Why everyone drank liquor. 'twas the custom then, you know,
They didn't put such pizen in it sixty years ago.
"Ah. yes, there's
been a mighty change, the forests now are cleared,
You seldom see a stumpy field, they've slowly disappeared.
To bind, rake, sow and harrow about your fields you ride,
The sickle, flail and hand fan are long since laid aside.
There yet are many hardships, and everyone must work,
Choose any calling that you will, there's not much chance to
shirk.
But many a poor fellow grubbed his crop in with a hoe,
And fed his little family, about sixty years ago.
"In the long,
long winter evenings, when the full moon shed her light,
We took our homemade farm sleigh out and yoked up Buck and Bright,
And a load of happy youngsters went to see some neighbor folks.
And we made the old woods echo with our laughter and our jokes.
Pianos, harps and organs in our homes had never been,
But our hearts were light and happy with the sweet toned violin.
And in the low scooped shanties, by the hearth fire's ruddy glow,
We danced away the sorrows of sixty years ago.
"The young folks
of the present are not so gay and free
As we were, living in the woods, like one great family;
They think too much, of show and style, and fashionable array,
They never have the merry times that we had in our day".
I glanced down at the old man when he had ceased to speak,
A new life sparkled in his eye, a flush suffused his cheek,
The wasted form was more erect, and his old heart seemed to glow
With the life, the youth, the vigor of sixty years ago.
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