Chapter 3

The thrifty Pennsylvania farmer invariably replaced his log barn with a modern building long before he built a new home.  His theory in this was crystallized in the saying that "in five years a good barn will build a good house."  He and his were thus very willing to deprive themselves of comforts for a short time.  The barn structures of the Pennsylvania Germans in our section were built large enough to comfortably stable the livestock as well as to hold the grain and hay.  Not a few disparaging remarks were made by those who sheltered their animals in winter about the less considerate farmers whose cattle stood in mud and snow for months.

The building of a new barn thus meant that the owner really foresaw a good home in the near future, so to the neighbors it was a sure omen of prosperity.

Long before the day set for the "raising" the materials for the structure were arranged close to the new site; huge timbers were hewn for the frame work and the several parts of each section numbered to aid their rapid and correct joining on the big day.

On the day of the "raising," the whole countryside would gather early, a crowd of stalwart men with a sprinkling of the of the aged men who were invited out of courtesy.  To the women folk fell the important duty of preparing at least two feasts.  And there were, even in those days, little social amenities.

It was a motley crowd that gathered around those bents.   The trestles, which resembled the trestles of a railroad bridge, were first raised into place and secured with braces and capped with plates.   The men with pike poles and tackles pushed and pulled to the rhythmic "Heave ho!" of the foreman.  The perlines and long rafters were next drawn up and fastened in place.

Our new barn was framed from hewed oak, but the two top plates were of hewed pine, the full length of ninety feet without a splice.  All the new barn material was found on our home place; the side lumber having been sawed at a neighboring mill.  The frame of the barn which was fifty by ninety feet stood on a stone wall that enclosed three sides of the stable basement.  It was of a style called "overshot" on account of the recess on the lower side to give shelter to the outside stock.   For the other cattle there were two rows of stalls -- one for the general herd and one for the milk cows, also two large stables for the young cattle and calves and a double foddering room.  All of these opened into the overshot recess.

Advantage was taken of a rise of ground on the upper side to make a bridging to the threshing floor where they hay and grain were unloaded.  Large double doors opened to the threshing floor which was twenty feet wide and ninety feet long.  Eighteen feet above the threshing floor were sills covered with loose boards; the ones well remembered because of the accident of my boyhood days.

A granary occupied the lower part of the barn at one end of the hay bay.  The barn was annually filled to overflowing -- wheat, rye and oats were stored for threshing when the busy season was over, but the buckwheat was flailed out, a load at a time as it was brought in as it otherwise would shatter and much of the grain be lost.

"There wrought the merry harvesters and many a creaking wain
Bore slowly o'er the long barn floor its load of husk and grain;
Till broad and red as when he rose, the sun sank down at last,
And like a merry guest's farewell the day in brightness passed."

For more than a year preparation had been in progress for the building of our new house, and this before the ground was broken for the basement.  Pine was selected from our own timberland, sawed at a neighboring mill and dried in a kiln father had built close to the site of the new house.  Soft white sandstone rocks that split straight and true as wood had been shaped where they were dug then hauled and neatly piled until it seemed to me there was enough for the entire building, not just a basement.  Upon return from school one evening, I found father and his man behind the house, digging in the bank.  Father told me that the new house was going to be built.  After the excavating was done, the masons were not long in putting up the eight-foot basement walls, but the carpenters had a much longer task.  At that time the timbers of a house frame were hewed from trees and the end mortised and tenoned instead of being spiked together in the modern way; the flooring and siding was smoothed and matched with hand planes, and all the window sashes and doors made by hand from rough timber.

Robert Bell, who had framed the barn, was in charge of the building of the new house.  Since our "barn raising" his wife had died, leaving him three little children but even this adversity did not suppress his cheerfulness.  Whenever he was near, his lighthearted whistle and snatches of song were in the air.  He owned a full score of different planes, but the ones that were of the greatest interest to me were his "tongue and groove" planes used in matching the flooring.  With a sixteen-foot board held rigidly in place by several vises, he would strut along the full length, his plane to the edge, while ribbons of shavings would writhe over his shoulders and around his neck with scarcely ever a break in their whole length.

I was eight years old when we moved into the new home.   It was an ample square building with a massive stone chimney in the center.   The eaves of the four-sided roof were trimmed close, the narrow projection without bracket or relief of any description.  The structure gave more the impression of strength than of beauty but the site was chosen for the fine scenery it offered.

The new house stood directly north of the barn with the garden between, and was painstakingly lined up with the compass.  One cannot help wondering to what extent ancient sun worship enters into the orientation of buildings, for from the pyramids onward there has ever been this feeling of the need for such meticulous arrangement of walls.   It is as if these spots were so sacred that a careful setting was its due.  The more modern and admittedly more practical idea of orientation is to insure the proper sun and lighting to the various rooms.  I fear this did not enter into our home placement.  The river, the beloved river, dominated all! The house was "square with the universe" but was carefully placed where there were two inspiring views, one from the front and one from one side of the house.  On the brow of the river embankment, its front was raised a few steps and this to make the rear entrance on a level with the land and the dairy and spring house which were but a few steps from the rear.  An eight-foot basement, not properly a cellar as it was well lighted from three sides was used for the general workroom, where washing, ironing, fruit preserving, and meat curing were done.  Back of this was the capacious frost-proof cellar.  This well-thought-out planning left the combination kitchen and dining room a very tidy spot whose floors though bare were a pleasure to see as mother and sister Olive kept them "fit to eat off of" as the expression then was, and this was on their hands and knees with a block of sandstone from the fields.

The sitting-room was a large one as the first floor of the house above the basement had but three rooms, the third being that of my parents.  This room was entirely covered with the gay, new rag-carpet which mother had woven for it.  Its fireplace glowed with a coal fire as for some time now we had developed our own coal bank.  Very few framed pictures were on the walls but the great clock brought "over the mountains" in 1810 and father's many books were enough with the treasured chest of drawers to satisfy our humble tastes.  This spot generally saw our parents at the center table.  Here father read aloud while mother sewed or knitted underwear and stockings.  This reading aloud was not solely for our benefit, although I know well my busy mother would have missed much without it.   Father and his father before him had the rather odd custom of reading aloud even when alone.  Maybe this was a survival of the days when the mere ability to read was so unusual that not a scrap of anyone's enjoyment should be enjoyed selfishly.  "Morris" and "Odd and Even" were our games around the fireplace.  Cards were anathema to my mother, their faces "pictures of the devil," and the sole one I recall ever having been dropped in our home (left by a visitor), she picked up with her apron between it and her hand lest she be in some way contaminated.  That left quite an impression on us, and we never played cards while we lived at home.

In all seasons the great front porch with its low banister was our glimpse of the outside world; the vantage point from which we viewed romance.  Its varied scenes were doubtless enhanced by having sympathetic companions for we boys equally thrilled to its views.

The river, the changing river, came abruptly around a hill and flowed directly toward us for a mile, when it took a sharp turn to the right.  A hillside of pine, hemlock and birch with a suggestion of young orchards at its base was on one side of the river, while on the other the view was of level lands with fields, homes and orchards.  Here we watched the rising sun reflected directly in the water, and here father called our attention to weather signs in the cloud formations and in the coloring of the morning and evening sky.

How the river smashed along when the ice was breaking up, and how its swollen waters seemed to rejoice when the scent of flowers and songs of birds floated over it in the spring!

But there was a call to the outer world coming to us in a strong undertone; that was when the rafts of lumber began to float down the river.  Scarcely was the ice out of the way when an occasional raft could be seen to pass down, and at times a dozen or more would be in sight at once, increasing daily until so many would go by in a day that we could keep no count of them, although we variously estimated them in prodigious boyish numbers.  Occasionally we would witness a wreck for it was a turbulent mountain stream and rocks were plenty.  Many a time we watched those muscular young raftsmen exerting themselves to the last ounce of their energy.  I know that in that hour to be a raftsman was the most glorious calling I could imagine, and my heart swelled with anticipation.

Directly across the river was a raftsman's boarding house kept by John Elder.  It was a favorite stop for it had a well-sustained reputation for comfortable beds, bountiful country fare, and "that which makes merry."  It was thrilling to watch from our porch the manoeuvering when the rafts were shaped for landing at the boarding house.  In the flood time the current was too strong and the eddy sharp and small for a turn at any season.  Generally John Elder tried to accommodate by having a man on the shore to help with the snubbing, if this were not the case the raft would have to be brought near enough to the shore for a raftsman to jump off.  An effort was always made to reach the first tree with the cable that other chances might be left.   As I grew older, I often used to leave my work and cross in our skiff to be in the thick of the excitement and was sometimes privileged to take a hand at the oar.  On rare occasions I would cross the river at daybreak and make the short trip out to the confluence with the Allegheny River.  Of course, I had to walk back but what was that! In this way I gained experience that stood in good stead later.

Near John Elder's place there was a headrace which led the water off to Bell's combination saw and grist mill.  The power was furnished each mill by horizontal water wheels attached to vertical shafts.  Only one set of burrs was installed to do the grinding which therefore was limited to the making of chop feed and corn meal.  One man constituted the entire crew at the saw mill where an old fashioned up and down saw did the work.  It was here that the lumber for our farm buildings was sawed.  Higher up the course of the river there was more power and the mills utilized it more fully, but "turning a score of mills, the river no more ran free."  Bell's mill was swept away in the flood of '61 but the dam remained for many years.

The pool above the dam's headrace in the river proper was called "Sassafras Eddy" and had a soft sandy bottom making it ideal for swimming.  Daily on warm summer evenings we would run down for a swim.  The cove where we entered was quiet and shallow so the water was warm, but the deeper water was so exhilarating we screeched like Indians.

With a tow line of mother's spinning I landed my first fish on the bank of Pine Hollow Run.  It was all of five inches long!  It was to be expected with our love for the river that we boys would have a mania for fishing.  The pure waters of the Clarion at that time were teeming with a variety of fish, which, with our simple home-made equipment, required a fund of fish lore if we caught enough for our large household's needs.  Their biting depended on the season, the time of day, the state of the water and the weather conditions.  There were then no law restrictions, so we got our largest catches by spearing through a hole in the ice in the winter and with a basket in the other months.

My first business transaction was with Jimmie Bell; a partnership catching fish.  He to furnish the craft and I the tackle.  There was a deep hole in the river at the further end of Bell's Loop where Jimmie lived.  This had the reputation of giving refuge to some regular old grandfathers of the finny tribe during low water.  Jimmie found two large pine scantlings which he framed together by nailing on cross strips; this answered for the craft.

Mother helped me to double and twist, from her homespun thread, a stout line long enough to span the hole.  In addition, we made a dozen short drop lines to which we attached as many hooks.  This was my addition to the stock of the partnership.  To each end of the long line we attached heavy stones to serve as anchors and dropped them on either side of the deep, dark hole after baiting the hooks and fastening a piece of wood to the center of the line for a float or marker.   Ready for business we left the hole for the night.  Next morning before breakfast I ran down and with Jimmie hurried to the raft.   I took the front end, and we pushed out to where I could seize the line.   Something was on it and the block of wood was being swished hither and yon.  The line whistled through the water as we piloted the unwieldy craft along, and I managed in great excitement to draw alongside a ten pound catfish.  It was a strange bewhiskered specimen with no scales, and had swallowed the hook.  The short drop line refused to be loosened from the main line, and we were not strong enough to break the line, but boys have their teeth with them all the time.  I chewed off the strong twisted linen thread and bore our catch from one house to the other to display it in greatest triumph.

That evening after the two families had declared that particular catfish more delicious than brook trout and certainly "more of it" Jimmie called a serious business meeting.  He would forswear being an Indian fighter if I would give up being a raftsman.   I did, but with mental reservation.  A mile below our fishing hole and sixty rods up a ravine flanked by a steep rock wall was a precipice one hundred and fifty feet high.  Alum exuded from its surface, but aside from that peculiarity, it was most interesting to the people for miles about who came to picnic and leave their initials on the trees around about.   Its profile resembled that of a giant Indian, and to make it more realistic it was overhung by a segment of earth and shrubs giving the impression of a forelock.

Level land extended back from the edge, and it was reported that long ago a buck and a pursuing dog went over the cliff together.

Martha Bell is one I associate with the river.  Scott Bell, her husband, was one of the first to enlist from our section when three month's volunteers were called.   His patriotism was rather questioned by those who well knew how little responsibility he had ever shown for his large family.  He had always left the brunt of their support to Martha and used his regular earnings to support the local saloon man's family, so his going really made little difference although he re-enlisted for three years.

The Bells lived on our side of the river.  During Civil War times when she was the sole support of her family, I used to help her catch stray timber and lumber.  In rafting time it was a common occurrence for a stick or two of timber or a few boards to be knocked out of a raft and go adrift.  From the vantage point of our porch, strays of this kind could be seen in time for me to run down to the river.   My shouts as I ran down the hill gave her time to be in the boat with oars balanced ready for me to jump in at the stern.  She would swing expertly around when we met the prize, I would hook into it, and she would pull for shore.

If the owner from some mill above came down the shores toward the close of the season hunting through the various "catching pieces," he would first have to pay a small fee for the catching before he could take it, and he also had to show his private timber mark.

The alert Martha would meet all comers with a quizzical gaze.  Before they began conversation, she would get to the essentials: "Have you-uns a mark?"  "H and C" was the mark most often heard.  If we had it, she would know it, but she generally made it a little harder by asking:  "What kind o' timber air ye looking for?  When did you-uns stove?" or "What do you pay for ketchin'?" before she would lead them to her neat pile with the timber marks laid where they could all be seen at one end of the lot.

After the rafting season was over there would remain a good number of sticks.  One year we received twenty-eight dollars for our season's catch when we took the timbers by raft to Munn's Mill, and this was in addition to our several little catching fees.

Martha lived in a tiny house, crowded with children, but it was neat and clean.  In some way she was able to do a man's work outside and a woman's work too without seeming to neglect either.  She had just enough bottom land for a small garden and kept a row-boat with which she earned stray nickels ferrying travelers across the river.  On her boat she rigged a "jack" where she burned pine knots at night with spear in hand, a very Amazon.  Woe to the fish that lingered too long in the glare of that light!

And so the river was as essential in those days as the veins of a man are to his own life; it carried salt for the pioneer; was the common way over which the products of farm and forest went to market, and for our pleasure it provided pure and lovely spots for bathing and fishing.  It was all things to all men.