Farm Christmas Tree (from Roger)
Long before the advent of artificial holiday trees, cell phones and the internet, each home had to have a real Christmas tree at Christmastime. During the 1940s through the 1960s, the rolling hills around our farm yielded many a tree, usually pine and usually quite scraggly; many would’ve given a Charlie Brown Christmas tree some strong competition.
The November deer season was an opportunity to scout out a tree. It didn’t have to be on our land as we had unwritten reciprocal agreements with nearby farmers: Fences were there to keep dairy cows in, not neighbors out. A hillside east of Long Pond on John Vosburgh’s farm was dotted with fast-growing white pines. This was our go-to place.
The prized tree was dragged out to what is now Wiltsie Bridge Road where it was thrown in the back of our 1950 Ford pickup for the short trip back to Chimney Hill Farm. There it was erected in its stand and tied to the wall in a corner of the living room.
Yes, that’s right — the tree was tied to both walls in the corner as a matter of fact. Old farm houses often had floors that sagged inward from outside walls supported by a foundation. And some other tipping threats to the Christmas tree were farm pets — the usual cats and kittens and, in our case, a pet raccoon!
One Christmas in the late 1950s, our young pet raccoon took a keen interest in the cellophane-wrapped candy canes hung on the lower branches. He used his nimble front paws to quickly unwrap his purloined present and proceeded to wash it in the water reservoir at the base of the tree. It’s what raccoons do.
Well, this candy cane was the chiffon-type: low density and light weight. As quickly as he washed the sweet treat, it dissolved into sugar water. This made the racoon not only perplexed but also angry. I distinctly remember the little critter sitting back and holding up both paws in bewilderment, chittering his disappointment.
Roger Snyder grew up in Ancramdale on his parents’ Chimney Hill farm, now the site of the Cricket Hill Farm equestrian center. Snyder and his wife, Cyndy, live in Virginia.
A Country Boy Will Survive (from David)
Growing up in Ancramdale on a small dairy farm posed both challenges — and opportunities. With two brothers and a sister, the challenge was sibling competition and the opportunity was merely to escape. Our nearest neighbors were over a mile away.
One summer afternoon in the 1950s, when I was about eight, the need to escape became intense. I had to get away. A plan was formulated.
In a pillowcase, I gathered a small frying pan, a fork, some kitchen matches, paper towels and some items from the fridge. Carefully avoiding my parents and siblings, I set out furtively across the open field and into the woods.
The leaves crackled underfoot as I trudged purposely through Snake Hollow. Squirrels and chipmunks darted about and scolded me with their anxious chatter. After a traipse, I came upon an open field about a mile or so from home. The sun was warm on my face and the distant view was spectacular. This was my spot to escape to.
Gathering twigs, sticks and leaves, I fashioned a campfire at the edge of the woods. A kitchen match was ignited, and soon the fire was blazing away. Next came the frying pan, the fork and the food. The sizzling and crackling sounds excited my stomach and my taste buds.
The paper towels were laid out on the grass at the edge of the field and soon held the carefully tended food. I leaned back against a fence post, closed my eyes and lovingly consumed my “best meal ever” — three strips of bacon!
Licking my fingers, I enjoyed a few more minutes of bliss, doused the fire and hiked reluctantly back through Snake Hollow to the reality of home.
I loved when a plan came together.
David grew up on the family dairy farm in Ancramdale and graduated from Pine Plains Central School in 1961 with his twin brother Roger. After graduating from Cornell University, his career spanned 45 years in the railroad industry. Now retired, he and his wife Suzanne live in Virginia.