The Summers of '66 and '67.

This is where I spent the summers of '66 and '67 - the Russell and Mabel Moore farm in East Barnet next to Joe's Brook just before it enters into the Passumpsic River. This is one of the few still standing round barns in the world. Russell had semi-retired by this time but he still hayed the fields and filled the barn. I had the pleasure of working for and with him for two summers.

We lived 2 miles up Joe's Brook Road that meandered along the brook. At 9 am every morning I would ride my bike to the farm and we'd spend the day haying, splitting wood, fixing the old Chevy truck and whenever it rained we'd go fishing. Russell loved to fly fish. So did I, almost as much as not working.

I learned a lot those two summers. How to split wood with an axe. No it's not the mighty swing. The trick is a quick but subtle twist of the wrist just as the axe hits the round. It still amazes me how effective this is.

He had an old Chevy pickup. I have no idea of the vintage but it was old. I learned how to drive an on the floor stick shift that first summer. I've heard this truck was still on the farm as recent as a couple of years ago. Russell and Mable sold the farm back in the 70's to his nephew who only recently sold it.

His river meadow was on the other side of Joe's Brook and he used a temporary bridge to access the field with his tractors and haying equipment. We would spend a day putting it up early in the summer. I learned that the fun part of a project that seemed impossible for an old geezer and "more brawn than brain" kid was in figuring out ways to getting the nearly impossible done. We would float the two large main timbers in the water to the earth abutments and use levers, ropes and two tractors to work them into place. Russell never cussed, but I did - under my breath.

I also experienced one of my almost didn't make it out of pre-adolescence moves. There was a small hay field tucked back on a hill away from the main buildings. One of his tractors was an old Farmall Cub that we used for raking the hay. One mid morning I was raking this field and was doing stupid stuff. I was circling the field with the rake in tow and was climbing the back hill in 3rd gear. I already knew that I would have to shift but also knew I was the master shifter. I mean I had been driving tractors since I had become as tall as July high corn. Not this morning. I was almost at the top and the tractor started lugging down and it was time to shift. I pushed in the clutch and the tractor immediately started rolling backwards. I pressed the brakes (brakes on these old tractors are friction with no hydraulic assist so leg force is all there is) but they were useless. The tractor was picking up speed and the woods were approaching fast. I instinctively released the clutch as a last measure and fortunately it was still in 3rd gear. But the nose of the tractor instantly reared up and came within a heart beat of somersaulting over backwards. It would have left me as a messy grease spot on the field. It recovered just before we slammed into the woods. I got the thing stopped and realized my heart was running at red-line and probably pee'ed myself. I have respected Vermont hills from that day on. I still, however, miss clutch every now and then.

I made $20 a week and got to chow on Mabel's Vermont hot dinners. A working man's dinner in the 60's in Vermont on the farm was served at noon with a short nap afterwards.

I would have worked there for free.