Social Condition of the People

When we contrast the condition of the people of Blanshard today with that of the early pioneers, the difference is very great indeed.   The hardships and inconveniences which were inseparable from the lot of the early settlers are now unknown.   In the early days the wants of the people had to be confined in very narrow limits.   Many of the modern conveniences which have arisen through the agency of human thought, energy, and enterprise, and are demanded to satisfy the requirements of a luxurious people, were not then in existence.   There were no railroads, no telephones, no roads, no schools.   The backwoodsman preceded the present order of things, and, as it were, cleared the way for advancing civilization, with its train of costly and luxurious trappings and refining influences.   He was not surrounded by the beautiful in art, and his lonely shanty in the forest contained nothing that tended either to elevate or dignify the man.   The great domain of nature everywhere around him was as it had been since the world began.   Impressive, no doubt, it was in its vastness, and the stillness of its deep leafy solitudes would rouse in the heart of the settler that feeling which is akin to fear, and which men experience when alone and far from human habitation.   The ever-present thought of the home he had left far away cross the sea, it may have been, seemed to embitter his feelings in the exile he had imposed on himself But nothing could be gained by brooding over his present condition.   He had determined to make a home for himself and family and with time and labor he would doubtless accomplish it.   Hope, like a siren, still beckoned him on, and where ordinary thrift was thrown into the struggle the reward was sure.   In all the difficulties of pioneer life one feeling seemed to be shared in common by the settlers, that was the feeling of warm mutual sympathy.  The lives of all were so much alike that a bond of union sprang up amongst them, so strong that the greatest sacrifices would be made for one another.  They were all poor, and this eventually set at defiance those petty jealousies that we so frequently notice at the present day.   They helped each other to build houses, clear the land, reap the little crop they were able to grow among the stumps, and shared the last morsel of food with each other.   That need of excitement which seems to be necessary to human happiness and human enjoyment could be satisfied only at the raising, or the logging bee.   Strong liquors were used freely by nearly all in most sections, and after the labor of the day was over in the field, the night would often be spent in revelry and song, until the very woods rang again with their mirth.   In the summer a walk in the woods was glorious indeed.   The thick canopy of foliage effectually intercepted the hot rays of the sun, and the aroma which everywhere filled the atmosphere, from the ferns and other plants that grew in luxuriance in the shade, was delightful.   Of flowers there were but few, and these few delicate and spiritless, offering but scant sustenance to the little humming-birds that darted here and there in search of food.

The few cattle which were owned by the settler roamed at will through the woods, one in each herd carrying a bell, the tinkle, tinkle, tinkle of which would be heard all the day long, some near and distinct and some far off, the faint tones falling on the ear like a distant echo.   Each settler knew the sound of his own bell, and could easily distinguish it from all others.

In the spring, when the snow had disappeared and the warm April sun drew energy and sweetness into the maple, sugar campfires blazed everywhere.   The great cauldron kettle was placed on the ox-sled. The tapping gouge, the spiles, the troughs that had been piled up, was brought into requisition.   The mistress of the house and all the children were set on the sled, and away to the woods, laughing and shouting with glee at the glorious prospect of abundance of sugar, taffy, and maple molasses!   The night has been a little frosty, but the sun is shining clear and hot, and when the axe is struck into the great old maple, the sap literally gushes from the wound.   By the time the kettle is hung over the pole the buckets are nearly half full, and the great logs are soon blazing up around it.   The little ones are yelling with delight as each, with a little pail, runs from tree to tree, gathering the sweet sap and emptying it in the cauldron, which soon begins to give as much steam as an engine.   The day wears on, and the sap in the kettles is taking on a different hue; the little ones have ceased to carry from the trees, and remain near the fire, watching the fast diminishing fluid as its particles become more tenacious.   At last the grand climax of their hopes is reached, and pails, skimmers, cups, plates, and vessels of all descriptions are brought into requisition, so that each and all can taste of the sweet reward of their labors.   But the sun is now far in the west, and a cold feeling is in the atmosphere.   The fires are burning low, and the results of the day's labor are prepared for removal to the shanty.   The oxen are put to the sled; the children, with faces covered with a mixture of taffy, smut, and leaves, clamber on, each more anxious than the other to protect the contents of the vessel holding the sweets; and the whole equipage starts through the woods towards the little clearing, all fatigued with the labors of the day.

The home of the pioneer usually contained an article of great utility which cannot be found, or rarely so, in the mansion of today.   The spinning wheel during the summer was kept steadily humming preparing the material from which was made clothing for the family.   When the wool had been spun, bark was taken from the butternut tree, in a decoction of which it was dyed to the desired color.   Weavers were plentiful in the country districts, who soon made it into cloth.   In the month of October great webs of this homespun could be found in the house of almost every settler.   From this was made the whole of his garments, as well as the clothing for the rest of the family.   There was very little fine goods at that time, and the agriculturist, when he was "togged out" in his homespun, and his boots had got an extra dose of tallow, considered himself "nae sheepshank."

The vehicles of the time were of the most primitive kind.   The precursor of all was the ox-sled. With the axe and the auger this implement was always constructed by the settler himself.   It contained no iron, and was made entirely with the axe.   He went to mill with the sled, drew in his hay and grain with it from among the stumps, and it was equally handy either in the snow or in the mud.   The ox-cart came next, which in turn gave place to the wagon.   The wagon took first place for many years, both as an article of utility on the farm and for conveying the family on pleasure excursions.   Two poles were placed along the sides of the box, and fastened at each end with hooks, and on these poles the seats rested.   This was considered perfection itself, and the height of comfort was supposed to have been reached.   But the spring seat loomed up.   This was soon superseded by the light wagon.   But the wildest dreams of the optimist had never reached the idea of the buggy.  Those men, however, who were happy in the ox-cart, had grown better off in the world, and with the extension of their means came the extension of the idea for more comforts and luxuries.   The step from the wagon to the buggy was one easily made.   The faculty of adaptability in man is very great, particularly if it adds to his comfort or his glory.