• Editor’s Note Winter 2012

    Editor’s Note Winter 2012

    We bushwhacked our way through a tangled patch of riverbank plants. The thick stems were still bent from the rushing flood waters, parallel with the ground as if bowing respectfully to the river. That river, the Dog River, was babbling as sweetly as any other Vermont tributary that early September day, but those of us on the volunteer clean-up crew at Dog River Farm in Berlin had a lot more respect for it—and for the power of water—than we’d had just a week before.

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  • A Poet and His Apples

    A Poet and His Apples

    At the Robert Frost Stone House Museum in South Shaftsbury—his Vermont residence from 1920 to 1928—an ancient and magisterially gnarled Snow apple tree presides over the grounds. Placed, probably by the poet’s own hands, in a commanding spot directly behind the house, it was the only one of its kind among the hundreds of apple trees planted on the 80-acre farm during the 1920s. The rest of the orchard, which Frost envisioned as “a new Garden of Eden with a thousand apple trees of some unforbidden variety,” was set behind the barn and populated with McIntosh, Northern Spy, Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, and Red Astrachan trees.

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  • From the Ground Up

    From the Ground Up

    There’s no doubt the colorful Earthgirl Composting signs on my black Volvo catch people’s attention and pique their interest. Some smile, wave, or give me the peace sign or a thumbs up. Others laugh when they read my “curbside compost pickup” sign. Those are the people who don’t understand what I do. I can only imagine what they think!

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  • A Canning Party

    A Canning Party

    The canning party began innocently enough. One young mother, living far from her own mother, wanted to learn how to preserve her garden’s bounty. Casually, at church, she asked if she could come help me can. We set up a time, and Sarah and I spent a happy couple of hours pressure-canning green beans.

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  • Set the Table with Kombucha

    Set the Table with Kombucha

    As cold and flu season approaches, health-conscious Vermonters are reaching back through the ages to brew kombucha, a fermented beverage with a unique taste and widely touted benefits to the immune system. Although kombucha’s benefits are of use all year long, the start of a Vermont winter seems a good time to investigate this intriguing drink.

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  • Three Farms, One Town, One Storm

    Three Farms, One Town, One Storm

    The Perley Farm stretches between Route 107 and the White River in South Royalton, on a piece of land exactly level with the river. A highway bridge for I-89 runs right above the pasture. It’s a 40-year-old conventional dairy with a mixed herd of approximately two dozen cows, owned by Harlan “Duke” Perley and run by Larry and Penny Severance. A week before Tropical Storm Irene, Duke was in New Jersey, where he lives part time with his family, undergoing surgery to receive a pacemaker. When parts of the East Coast began to evacuate, he loaded up his two nieces, their two grandsons, and a daughter-in-law and headed up to the farm, where they thought they’d be safer.

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  • Three Farms, One Town, One Storm—Perley Interview

    Three Farms, One Town, One Storm—Perley Interview

    Duke Perley: We’ve farmed here for 40 years, and down the river, 135 years.

    Penny Severance: I was a neighbor, so I always came down as a little kid and helped if the cows got out. [Duke] used to come and get us to help put the cows back in. Ever since I was knee-high to a grasshopper I’ve been helping the Perleys do something with the farm. He used to give me a quarter, then it got to 50 cents. I still have all my 50-cent pieces. My husband and I have both lost our dad, so Perl’s been our godfather whether he wants us or not, he’s stuck with us. He’s who we go to for fatherly advice, anything that we need.

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  • Three Farms, One Town, One Storm—Bigelow Interview

    Three Farms, One Town, One Storm—Bigelow Interview

    DK: What was it like when the flood came through?

    Jim Bigelow: My grandparents bought the farm in 1921, right before the flood of 1927. Dennis was telling stories about how my dad said they weren’t able to do anything with that field down there for five years after the flood of ’27.

    That used to be a schoolhouse over there. (He points past his lower field to a brick building across the river, next to the Perley Farm.) My grandmother was a schoolteacher. The ’27 flood came up to the bottom of the windows, and this time it got to the top of the windows. Of course things have changed since then. The interstate was put in over the river and I think the bridge changes the flood pattern, and that’s why it totally wiped out Perley’s.

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  • Three Farms, One Town, One Storm—Hurricane Flats Interview

    Three Farms, One Town, One Storm—Hurricane Flats Interview

    DK: When you heard on the news that the storm was coming, what did you think?

    Geo Honigford: I know from history that storms and floods happen. It never occurred to me that we’d get that much rain. The standard joke when I was on jobsites the week after the hurricane—I spent the whole time working on other people’s houses—was ‘oh we don’t have to do that, the river will never get THIS high again.’ It never occurred to me that the river would get up there. We were buttoned down for wind. We had greenhouses full of crops and we were really concerned about wind. And it turned out that we had no wind whatsoever. Just copious amounts of rain. The sides of my greenhouses are slashed – we did that. We waded out into the river, and the pressure was building up on the greenhouse sides and was going to collapse it. So we had to let the water go through the greenhouse, basically reverse the process; instead of battening them up, we had to open them up. We didn’t have time to open them up properly so we just took knives to them. It’s a lot cheaper to lose the plastic than to lose the frame.

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  • Farmers' Kitchen—Parse the Parsnips

    Farmers' Kitchen—Parse the Parsnips

    Life on a vegetable farm slows down in the late fall and early winter. Most of the daily chores that keep us hopping the rest of the year—seeding, planting, weeding, and harvesting—are pretty much completed by this time, with some notable exceptions: We’re still harvesting the hardiest of crops, including parsnips, kale, spinach, and Brussels sprouts, even with the snow flying. But most of the land lays fallow, sporting only the nutrient-rich cover crops of winter rye and oats.

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  • The Other Great Flood

    The Other Great Flood

    When the 1927 flood hit, devastating damage occurred on Vermont farms, primarily losses of livestock and barns. And yet the same spirit of cooperation evident after Irene was very present back then, as illustrated by the flyer at right, which could have been written today.

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  • The Threats from Upstream

    The Threats from Upstream

    If only it had been simpler. If only the rain had just washed the crops away.

    But the floodwaters of Tropical Storm Irene didn’t wash much Vermont produce away. Instead, crops on flooded farms became covered in water and silt that potentially harbored chemicals or microbes that could endanger human health. Accordingly, on September 2, the Vermont Department of Agriculture released a warning about the consumption of fruits and vegetables that had been inundated by floodwaters. Borrowing the succinct wording of the U.S. Food and Drug Administration, the Agency stated that “there is no practical method of reconditioning the edible portion of a crop that will provide a reasonable assurance of human food safety.” In other words, flooded crops had to be thrown away.

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A Poet and His Apples

The trees of Robert Frost are alive and well—again—in South Shaftsbury (and who knows where else)

Robert Frost's Snow apple
Robert Frost's Snow apple

Written By

Ellen Williams

Written on

April 30 , 2013

At the Robert Frost Stone House Museum in South Shaftsbury—his Vermont residence from 1920 to 1928—an ancient and magisterially gnarled Snow apple tree presides over the grounds. Placed, probably by the poet’s own hands, in a commanding spot directly behind the house, it was the only one of its kind among the hundreds of apple trees planted on the 80-acre farm during the 1920s. The rest of the orchard, which Frost envisioned as “a new Garden of Eden with a thousand apple trees of some unforbidden variety,” was set behind the barn and populated with McIntosh, Northern Spy, Golden Delicious, Red Delicious, and Red Astrachan trees.

Today, 90-odd years after the soil was first tamped down around its roots, the heritage tree, as the Snow apple is known, remains vigorous enough to produce a bountiful harvest of distinctively striped and tasty white-fleshed fruit every year around Labor Day. But the old orchard is a ruin. After the Frost family relinquished the farm, all but seven acres of the land was sold, including the orchard, which was subsequently neglected. Although the trees are still visible on neighboring lots and are occasionally reported to bloom, the majority are choked and dying.

If Frost were alive, the plight of his beloved trees might well elicit a poetic lament. Then again, he might be pleased. In “Unharvested” he wrote:

May something go always unharvested!
May much stay out of our stated plan,
Apples or something forgotten and left,
So smelling their sweetness would be no theft.

Whatever Frost’s opinion might have been of the current seedy state of his orchard, he would surely approve of the path to rehabilitating the seven-acre farm that Carole Thompson, the museum’s founder, curator, and chief apple detective, is now taking. She gets right to the point: “What’s Robert Frost without apple trees on the place? It’s like having Robert Frost without birch trees.”

How this passionate and effervescent 68-year-old came to be the steward of the Shaftsbury farm and its Frostian legacy of apples is itself the stuff of epic poetry. After a 30-year career as a sales executive for the Reynolds Aluminum Company, she retired and moved in the early 1990s to Bennington, an area familiar to her from many ski trips to Mt. Snow. At the time, she had no idea that Frost had any history in the area, nor did she have a particular connection to him other than through his poetry, which she had loved since she first read it in high school.

But after settling into her new home, Carole learned, quite by chance, that Frost was buried in Bennington. That discovery led her to search locally for a Robert Frost society, similar to the Robert Burns societies prevalent in Scotland. “But,” she says, “I found no one here who I could bond with over Frost. Finally, I posted a notice in the Bennington Banner for a Frost poetry group and 10 people showed up.”

The group met regularly and at first stuck to the poetry. After a few years, they began to delve into Frost’s biography and family history. Then, in 1999, the group curated an exhibition for the Bennington Museum to commemorate the poet’s 125th birthday. That was the turning point for Carole. She immersed herself in the Frost collection at the Bennington Library, which led her to discover that Frost had lived in a stone cottage in Shaftsbury during the 1920s. After that, obstacles fell like dominoes before Carole’s seemingly inexhaustible energy and enthusiasm. In November 1999, she contacted the owners of the Shaftsbury cottage and, to her great astonishment, learned they had been planning to move.

“I always felt that this was meant to be,” she reflects, referring to the founding of the museum, “that it was just waiting to happen, just waiting for someone with arms and legs to come along.” Within two months, Carole assembled a board of directors (starting with key members of the poetry group), established a nonprofit organization with bylaws, and began the years of negotiations that culminated, in October 2001, with the signing of a purchase contract. At that time, the Friends of Robert Frost nonprofit organization was awarded a $100,000 grant from the Vermont Division for Historic Preservation, and fund-raising began in earnest. The sale was completed in May 2002, and the following September the Stone House Museum opened its doors.

However, it took a bit longer for the apple project to be launched. “Once we knew we had these apple trees on the property,” Carole explains, “we looked for years to find somebody who would help us propagate them.” Propagating apple trees is a complex, delicate, and exquisitely time-sensitive process. Orchardists skilled in the art were far too busy with their own orchards during propagation seasons to be able to help with the Frost trees. But in 2005, Carole found Russell Allen of Westminster Station, a retired expert on apple propagation and grafting. He was ready and able to help.

“The project had one goal,” Carole says, “to make baby trees that could be planted.” Some of the baby trees would be used to populate a planned display orchard—a new 20-tree orchard on the Stone House’s seven acres—and the rest of the saplings would be sold to the public to raise funds to support the museum.

Ideally, all the saplings would have been produced using grafts taken from the old orchard, or at least from Frost-planted trees at his other homes. Unfortunately, after doggedly researching a slew of options, it became clear to Carole that she would have to settle for only partial success. “Of the historic trees in the Stone House orchard,” she continues, “none could be propagated. They couldn’t be relied on, because they’d gone wild.”

But four original Frost trees from Shaftsbury could be grafted. “The Snow apple and the Transcendent crabapple [planted by Frost’s daughter-in-law in 1935] were produced from the historic trees at the Stone House,” Carole explains. “We used two other varieties from The Gully, which is the house in Shaftsbury where Frost lived after he gave the Stone House to his son for a wedding present. One of the Gully trees we were able to identify as a Rhode Island Greening. We never could identify the other Gully tree. Zeke Goodband, the orchardist at Scott Farm in Dummerston, thought it was a wild apple, so we called it Gully’s Wild Patience.”

The rest of the grafts that were propagated—Gravenstein, Red Astrachan, Sops-of-Wine, and Duchess of Oldenburg—were provided by Zeke Goodband. Zeke’s grafts were not descendants of the historical trees, but did represent the species that Frost planted, at the age of 83, in a new orchard at his cabin in Ripton.

The first cuttings of the four historic trees from Shaftsbury were made in the third week of August 2006. Only during that brief period does sap production decline while new buds start to form. Carole then drove the precious budwood to the nursery in Aspers, Pennsylvania, that Russell Allen had recommended—“some people ship their budwood in coolers, but I didn’t trust that because if it got caught on a hot day on a shipping dock somewhere then my budwood was cooked.” In Aspers, the nursery professionals grafted the cuttings onto rootstock—a process called custom budding—and absolutely pampered the grafts for the next 18 months, until they were about six feet tall and sturdy enough to be transplanted. In the spring of 2008, the saplings were shipped to Shaftsbury, and the museum had its first sale of historic apple trees.

At that sale, the Snow apples sold out. The second sale, in 2010, included the Ripton species, but again, it was the Snow apples that sold out. Three of the 2010 trees were sold on eBay. The popularity of the Snow apples does not surprise Carole. “There’s a great emotion about those trees,” she says. “It’s like having Robert Frost in your yard. How good the apples are is almost immaterial.”

No sales have been held since 2010, and none are currently planned. The sales, Carole notes, are not the easiest way to raise funds. For one thing, the economy has not been cooperating and, at almost $100 per tree, the purchase price is substantial. In addition, the timing is difficult. The saplings must be shipped in early spring, when the museum is not yet open for the season. And they must be planted within three days of delivery, which limits prospective purchasers to those willing and able to collect their new trees during mud season, a time of year that is one of Vermont’s less appealing.

Still, Carole will continue the propagation project. Her preferred option is to be able to graft the new trees herself, rather than deliver budwood to Pennsylvania and ship saplings. “I was never formally educated in literature or Robert Frost, nor in running a museum or raising apples; I simply know that if you love something, you can do anything.” Her early experiments in grafting, not surprisingly, have already yielded some promising results. And there are a number of Vermont orchardists she could always turn to, including Zeke Goodband.

Carole hopes that the next sale at the museum, when there is one, will feature her own Shaftsbury-grown historical saplings. Maybe it will even raise some money, but if not, Carole will do it anyhow. “I like doing it for the fun of it,” she comments, “and for the sharing of the Frost pleasure with people. That’s really the point of it.”

Ellen Williams is a freelance writer, literature buff, and dedicated 
consumer of apples. She lives in Newfane.

Photo by Kevin Bubriski

 
Good-by, and Keep Cold

by Robert Frost

This saying good-by on the edge of the dark
And cold to an orchard so young in the bark
Reminds me of all that can happen to harm
An orchard away at the end of the farm
All winter, cut off by a hill from the house.
I don’t want it girdled by rabbit and mouse,
I don’t want it dreamily nibbled for browse
By deer, and I don’t want it budded by grouse.
(If certain it wouldn’t be idle to call
I’d summon grouse, rabbit, and deer to the wall
And warn them away with a stick for a gun.)
I don’t want it stirred by the heat of the sun.
(We made it secure against being, I hope,
By setting it out on a northerly slope.)
No orchard’s the worse for the wintriest storm;
But one thing about it, it mustn’t get warm.
“How often already you’ve had to be told,
Keep cold, young orchard. Good-by and keep cold.
Dread fifty above more than fifty below.”
I have to be gone for a season or so.
My business awhile is with different trees,
Less carefully nourished, less fruitful than these,
And such as is done to their wood with an axe—
Maples and birches and tamaracks.
I wish I could promise to lie in the night
And think of an orchard’s arboreal plight
When slowly (and nobody comes with a light)
Its heart sinks lower under the sod.
But something has to be left to God.

“Good-by and Keep Cold” from the book, The Poetry of Robert Frost, edited by Edward Connery Lathem. Copyright ©1923, 1969 by Henry Holt and Company. Copyright ©1951 by Robert Frost. Reprinted by permission of Henry Holt and Company, LLC.

About the Author

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Ellen Williams

Ellen Williams is a freelance writer, literature buff, and dedicatedconsumer of apples. She lives in Newfane.

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