The Town of Stockbridge, Vermont
including the village of Gaysville

Cyrus Adam's Journal - His records of his work in the 1800s

My Dear Miss Greiniesen,

    I have been thinking of writing to ask if you would send me a copy of your address at 
O.H.D. at Stockbridge, but a note from Alice Chedel telling of the proposed book changed 
my mind.  Your address will probably-undoubtedly be in that, and of course I am ordering 
a copy.It seemed good to see new names on the program.  I have many pleasant memories of 
"Johnny Cake Flat," but I don't leave home any more and some things occur to me and I will 
set them down. Tho probably you won't want to use them.

    You've doubtless read about Joseph Taggart, my great, great grandfather-for whom Taggart 
Hill (by Mt. Pleasant Cemetery) was named.  Our good and venerable Mr. Hubbard Pastor of 
the Congregational Church in Gaysville long ago dubbed it "The Holy Hill" because so many 
from there drove the six miles to church regularly. I've heard my grandmother, Mrs. Emmans 
Knowlton nee Harriet Taggart say that when they were children they went bare footed till 
they got to the top of Dean Hill-(know it?) just before getting into Gaysville, to save 
their foot wear.
 
    We had a minister for some time, Rev. Frank W. Hagen.  There is a poem in my little 
book of verse (Alice has one) about him.  Also I might call your attention to "Beautiful 
White River Valley" which was set to music and sung up and down the valley by the W.R.V. 
chorus.
 
    A later incident is rather amusing-- one Sunday morning we were all on our way to 
church, Grandfather and Grandmother  ahead with our plodding grey old Nell and my brother 
Ralph driving a spanking young bay with a shiny new buggy.  Whether he had a blue ribbon 
tied around his whip stock I do not remember,  we got to the narrow place just before going 
up Dean Hill when my brother became concerned--diplomatically he called out,"Grandfather 
don't you think we could go a little faster I'm afraid we will be late for church"-
-Grandmother turned (she could turn her head farther than anything  I ever knew except a 
praying mathis) and said decisively, " they won't begin until we get there!  And she was 
right.  My father, John Taggart Knowlton was superintendent of the Sunday school for many 
years.  also Chorister--he had a beautiful tenor voice.  The choir used to sit in the 
gallery. I hope you will have something to say about our good old Ezra McCollom who built 
the church and who always prayed--'help us to remember the solemn obligations we are under 
to have and to serve thee."
 
    One Sunday I noticed there was a mirror in the entrance way--I mentioned it and he said  
with a smile,"that is for you. I've noticed so many times you had trouble fixing your hair."
 
    How I have run on.  I didn't expect to write so much.  Of course you will find no use 
for it except perhaps it will make you smile.  I always seem to remember the funny things.
"Remember all the pleasant things and throw away the rest."

 
Sincerely Yours,
Lillian K. Greene
 
P.S.
 
Best of luck in your efforts to put Stockbridge on the map.
 
P.S.
 
I am prompted to open and add a bit more.  after the choir moved down from the gallery we
had congregational singing for some time.  Some objected to the off-key singing of my 
Grandmother; she said "I sing to the Glory of God, not to be heard by men."
Another precious story just between you and me; perhaps it gives an insight into Vermont 
character.  My father and his brother Albert Knowlton often worked together; Uncle Albert 
always tried to take the hardest or most dangerous positions and one day my father asked 
him about it--Uncle Albert said simply, "John, you have three little children and I have 
none."
 
(At this time Mrs. Greene's pen runs out of ink and she uses pencil)
  
My pen says stop so I do. 
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Sammy Thayer



   Sammy Thayer lived up the old road a little past Riverside Farm.  Sammy raised his own 
wheat as did most of the farmers hereabouts.

   One day he loaned his gun to his brother Ikey and on that same day he spied a bear 
gathering armfuls of wheat and eating off the tops.  Sammy was terribly mad; all the more 
so because he had no gun.  He shooed and bawled to no effect.  The running at the bear 
with a stick was of no avail, but Sammy got nearer and nearer until the bear ran to meet 
Sammy and they closed in an embrace.  This was so unsettling that they lost footing and 
rolled down the hill, first Sammy on top then the bear.  When they landed at the bottom 
of the hill it was such a thud that they separated an the bear ran as fast as he could 
in one direction and Sammy in the other.
 
   The same Sammy Thayer had taken his wheat to be ground and when he returned the barrel 
was so heavy he could not manage it alone so  he got Martin Wyman's grandfather to help 
him with the loan of  Wyman's ox team and a stone sled and they got the barrel almost up 
to the Thayer place, until the oxen gave a final pull up a hard lift and the barrel gave 
a lurch and rolled down to the starting point.  The resulting remarks were not recorded.
 
The above was written down in the 1960's in preparation of writing a  book of stories and 
events of early Stockbridge.  The book never was completed, but the stories were saved.
Author unknown.
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Ezra McCollom


Deacon Ezra McCollom lived in the village of Gaysville he was an undertaker and made 
coffins. (his house burned).  He was the town agent for liquor and kept barrels of same 
in his upstairs.  One night some bums came and broke in forcing the door, then took an 
auger and went through the floor and the bottom of the barrels and drew all the liquor out.  
This was in the 1880's.
 
Author unknown.  Notes gathered for book (not published) in the 1960's.

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Jaska Manning (The Class at South Hill)




	
My father's sister, Jaska Manning, told me years ago how she had been asked by the 
superintendent of schools in Stockbridge, Vt. to take over the school on South Hill and 
finish out the year because the teacher had quit.  Aunty was on break from attending the 
teacher training school in Willimantic, Ct.. She agreed to the request and ended up, for a 
while, in having a tough time. Her 3 brothers were pupils at the school and here was sister 
being the teacher.  Aunty told me that during recess, the kids would take their sleds
and go off somewhere and spend the rest of the day sliding.  She ended up each day sitting 
at the teacher's desk all alone in the school until, that is, when one day the superintendent 
came for a visit.  He took an extra sled and he and aunty went out and found the students. 
Aunty told me that from that day on all of the kids would come back to class after the recess. 
 The brothers, though, told her not to rat on them to their father or there would be 
 consequences.  She never did. Aunty did finish her teacher training and
taught school for many years in Durham, Ct..

Forrest Manning


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Alonzo Keyes




Notes taken in 1960:
 
Alonzo Keyes lost his wife and had no children.  He was very dirty--lived on potato's and 
set his table with six plates; he ate at one place and did not clean the plate, moved to the 
next -- then next, never cleaned up and when he got back to the first place he scooped off 
the potato skins and ate there.
Born 1850  - Died 1931
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Johnny Cake Flats


Stories by Maude Mills: 
 
The Stockbridge Common was called "Johnny Cake Flat" and is so noted in Dr. McCracken's 
book by that name.  Its name came about in this manner.
 
A couple lived at one end of the Common who quarreled frequently and violently.  On one such 
occasion after threats by the man his wife took up a pan of Johnny cake to throw at him; her 
aim must have been good as the man ran out the door and across the common closely followed 
by the wife.  Half way across she threw the pan and Johnny cake at him and it landed partly 
on him and partly on the flat land around which the village was built, hence Johnny Cake Flat.
  
The maples along side of the Stockbridge Common were planted by soldiers who had returned 
from the Civil War.  One was notably smaller than the rest because the people as they came to 
church used to tie their horses and buggies on these saplings.  One man "from'up the hill" 
used to drive a spirited stallion to church.  One Sunday when he came down many horses were 
already tied up and there was whinnying and snickering going on which excited the stallion.  
The woman was still in the buggy, but as the man was tying the horse he took off across 
the Common over the tree, the damaged so caused seemed to stunt the tree as it never grew 
as well as the others.
 
No mention of what happened to the poor woman.

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Reuben Whitcomb


In 1782, settlers must either grind their own corn or make long journeys to a mill. 
James Guggin of Rochester having an acquaintance with Rueben Whitcomb living in Stockbridge 
used to visit him  on the way to a mill in Barnard.  One day on his way to the mill he 
stopped and Whitcomb and he took off the next day to buy corn and lug it back ground.  
Being out overnight they stopped at a dwelling on the way and not having money to pay 
for lodging they proposed to the woman to cook some of their meal and take pay in meal 
for her trouble.

On settling with their hostess in the morning they thought the woman dipped too deep into 
their meal and took more than her share, however they said nothing to her about it until 
they got on their way.  As they trudged along through the woods the greediness of the woman  
in taking toll from their grist formed the subject of their conversation and after talking 
for a while it was proposed that each of them make a rhyme in commemoration of their being 
taken in.
 
Guggin commenced in dolorous strail.
         
"for one little bannock baked on a peal 
snucks went a quart of meal."                   

 Whitcomb replied:
 
"the woman being obliged to hasten
crowded the meal and shoke down the basin."

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Indian Joe


The last Mogo (pronounced Mougo) Indian in the upper White River Valley was "Joe". He lived 
up Stony Brook toward Notown.  He lived off by himself and every so often would come to a 
village with a sack of lead which he would exchange for things he needed. One time he had 
not shown up for much longer than usual and when he was come upon somewhere in the woods a 
long way from his usual haunts he was asked if he was lost.  

Said the Indian "No, me here, wigwam lost."

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