Stories and Highlights from Green Mountain Whittlin's
Congratulations to the 2011 essay contest winners!
First place: Stygles Show: The Circus Came to Vermont by Nancy Knapp
Second place: Walter, the Hired Man by Lucille James
Third place: Cats and Dolls by Laurie Jordan
Second place: Walter, the Hired Man by Lucille James
Third place: Cats and Dolls by Laurie Jordan
Congratulations to 2010 essay contest winners!
First place: Ina M. Isham, The Green Swamp Monster
Second place: Jean B. Alexander, The Incurable Romantic
Third place: Robert Webster, Night Remembrances
Stories from the 2010 Whittlin's
The Green Swamp Monster
I was born in 1937 and grew up on a small farm in St George, the smallest town in Vermont, our farm was located between Mount Pritchard and Shelburne Pond, and it provided our family of ten almost everything we needed. The nineteenth century buildings were on east or upper side of VT Route 116. The out buildings consisted of two barns for the cows and horses, a tool shed a house for the pigs, a hen house, and a woodshed. There were orchards and gardens on both sides of our house and my grandfather, “Gramps”, house. The houses had been built on ledges, with only a few feet separating the buildings from the thick woods which surrounded both sides of the yard. There was a pond behind the houses to collect the water that flowed out of the ledges. A spring for drinking water was located in the woods behind and above the house. The bee hives and bee keeper’s shed was in the back against the ledges, between our house and Gramps. Near the road, on the right side of the driveway my Dad had a little county store, and gas pump. His name was Floyd Isham.
This area of about two acres was my whole world for most of the first six years of my life. I was not allowed to cross the road by myself. Now that I think about it, two acres is a pretty large playground.
I could only see a bit of the road at the end of the driveway, Butternut and Walnut trees lined the road side, Grapevines grew between the trees. Time went on, and I was six years old starting school. The schoolhouse was about one mile away. So now that I was considered old enough to walk to school I could cross the road to the fields and pastures. A lot of warnings came with that freedom. First I had to stop, look and listen every time I crossed the road. Just as important was not to go into the Swamp, ever!
I was told by my Dad and Gramps that a huge Green Swamp Monster lived there, and it did not like to be disturbed. This was not a surprise to me, as for years I had been hearing these same warning given to my three older sisters. They liked to scare me, telling me tales about the Swamp Monster, such as “if I didn’t watch out it would come across the road and carry me back to the Swamp!” One night I woke up screaming and when my Dad came I told him the Swamp Monster was coming up the stairs. He told me it was just a dream as the Swamp Monster was way too big to get into the house. I asked him how big? He thought awhile and then said, “As big as both our work horses put together”. The thought of old Broom tail and Jennie trying to fit through our door made me laugh which helped me to feel better. My older sisters did not give up; they said it would come and get me in the yard. So I wouldn’t go out side unless my Dad or Gramps were close by. When they figured out why, they told me not to worry as the Swamp Monster could not live outside of the Swamp, it could never survive long enough to get through the hayfield and cross the road, to get to our yard. I never told on my sisters, though you can be sure I stayed as far from the Swamp as possible. When I wondered where the Green Swamp Monster was in the winter, Dad told me it went by way of the brook that flowed from our swamp to the larger swamps near Shelburne Pond. There it spent the winter with other Swamp Monsters.
There was a lane between the field and the Swamp, to bring the cows in from the pastures at night. That was the closest I got to the Swamp for several years, I think I help my breath every night until I reached the end of the lane. Now, I had a little brother, Junior, he was just one year younger than me. He was my shadow and followed me everywhere. When I started school he was upset at being left at home with no one to play with. The next year he started school too, and could cross the road with me. We were both happy, most of the time, but he liked to tease me a lot. Junior was not taken in one bit by the huge Green Swamp Monster warnings.
Our Swamp was more like a bog. If you stepped on one of the humps of grass you would be stuck deep in water and mud. It was all fenced in, about an acre in size. On one side was a hay field. The pastures bordered the other three sides. When we went after the cows Junior would crawl under the fence to get in the Swamp. When he jumped from one hump of grass to another, other humps ahead of him seemed to pop up and down. He would yell at me to look and see the Green Swamp Monster. I really believed that I saw it. It was green, with black spots, and had long brown hair. He got a big thrill out of scaring me. I couldn’t leave the cows. I learned to put the cows between me and the Swamp and hurry along until I was past it. Of course I never told on him. I did not go in the Swamp for years, until my Dad, took me in, and explained it all to me. We walked on a wooden bridge he had built across it; I never did walk on the grass humps!
My Dad said that the Green Swamp Monster tale was a way to keep the kids safe from harm. He said it was better to be “scared to death, than be dead”. He then told me about a little boy who had drowned in a swamp, on a neighbor’s farm sometime ago. That was a true story, it really did happen. Of course he didn’t explain until I was old enough to understand. He had been scared just like me, by his father Irving Isham, who in turn had been scared by his father, Gilbert Isham, who was scared by his father, Amasa Isham, who was scared by his father, Jehiel Isham, who started the Swamp Monster story in 1874 when he moved to St George Vermont, from East Haddam, Connecticut. All of these Isham families lived in the area between Shelburne Pond and Mount Pritchard from 1784 to 1965. It is possible the tale goes a long way back to England. The first Isham in my direct linage to appear in America was John Isham of Barnstable, Massachusetts, in 1670.
This story taken from Green Mountain Whittlin's Vol. LXI 2010 p. 29
Note: Joe A.Citro wrote about the Green Swamp Monster in his book,
The Vermont Monster Guide, 2009
First place 2010 Green Mountain Whittlin's: Ina M. Isham
This area of about two acres was my whole world for most of the first six years of my life. I was not allowed to cross the road by myself. Now that I think about it, two acres is a pretty large playground.
I could only see a bit of the road at the end of the driveway, Butternut and Walnut trees lined the road side, Grapevines grew between the trees. Time went on, and I was six years old starting school. The schoolhouse was about one mile away. So now that I was considered old enough to walk to school I could cross the road to the fields and pastures. A lot of warnings came with that freedom. First I had to stop, look and listen every time I crossed the road. Just as important was not to go into the Swamp, ever!
I was told by my Dad and Gramps that a huge Green Swamp Monster lived there, and it did not like to be disturbed. This was not a surprise to me, as for years I had been hearing these same warning given to my three older sisters. They liked to scare me, telling me tales about the Swamp Monster, such as “if I didn’t watch out it would come across the road and carry me back to the Swamp!” One night I woke up screaming and when my Dad came I told him the Swamp Monster was coming up the stairs. He told me it was just a dream as the Swamp Monster was way too big to get into the house. I asked him how big? He thought awhile and then said, “As big as both our work horses put together”. The thought of old Broom tail and Jennie trying to fit through our door made me laugh which helped me to feel better. My older sisters did not give up; they said it would come and get me in the yard. So I wouldn’t go out side unless my Dad or Gramps were close by. When they figured out why, they told me not to worry as the Swamp Monster could not live outside of the Swamp, it could never survive long enough to get through the hayfield and cross the road, to get to our yard. I never told on my sisters, though you can be sure I stayed as far from the Swamp as possible. When I wondered where the Green Swamp Monster was in the winter, Dad told me it went by way of the brook that flowed from our swamp to the larger swamps near Shelburne Pond. There it spent the winter with other Swamp Monsters.
There was a lane between the field and the Swamp, to bring the cows in from the pastures at night. That was the closest I got to the Swamp for several years, I think I help my breath every night until I reached the end of the lane. Now, I had a little brother, Junior, he was just one year younger than me. He was my shadow and followed me everywhere. When I started school he was upset at being left at home with no one to play with. The next year he started school too, and could cross the road with me. We were both happy, most of the time, but he liked to tease me a lot. Junior was not taken in one bit by the huge Green Swamp Monster warnings.
Our Swamp was more like a bog. If you stepped on one of the humps of grass you would be stuck deep in water and mud. It was all fenced in, about an acre in size. On one side was a hay field. The pastures bordered the other three sides. When we went after the cows Junior would crawl under the fence to get in the Swamp. When he jumped from one hump of grass to another, other humps ahead of him seemed to pop up and down. He would yell at me to look and see the Green Swamp Monster. I really believed that I saw it. It was green, with black spots, and had long brown hair. He got a big thrill out of scaring me. I couldn’t leave the cows. I learned to put the cows between me and the Swamp and hurry along until I was past it. Of course I never told on him. I did not go in the Swamp for years, until my Dad, took me in, and explained it all to me. We walked on a wooden bridge he had built across it; I never did walk on the grass humps!
My Dad said that the Green Swamp Monster tale was a way to keep the kids safe from harm. He said it was better to be “scared to death, than be dead”. He then told me about a little boy who had drowned in a swamp, on a neighbor’s farm sometime ago. That was a true story, it really did happen. Of course he didn’t explain until I was old enough to understand. He had been scared just like me, by his father Irving Isham, who in turn had been scared by his father, Gilbert Isham, who was scared by his father, Amasa Isham, who was scared by his father, Jehiel Isham, who started the Swamp Monster story in 1874 when he moved to St George Vermont, from East Haddam, Connecticut. All of these Isham families lived in the area between Shelburne Pond and Mount Pritchard from 1784 to 1965. It is possible the tale goes a long way back to England. The first Isham in my direct linage to appear in America was John Isham of Barnstable, Massachusetts, in 1670.
This story taken from Green Mountain Whittlin's Vol. LXI 2010 p. 29
Note: Joe A.Citro wrote about the Green Swamp Monster in his book,
The Vermont Monster Guide, 2009
First place 2010 Green Mountain Whittlin's: Ina M. Isham
The Incurable Romantic
Reg and I had been dating a month, when he gave me my first bouquet. It was my 18th birthday, and the florist sent over 12 carnations with a note attached, which read: "Happy Birthday. Sorry I couldn't get you better flowers, but they we all out of stink weed. Reg." At twenty-one he was cute, kind, courteous, caring, protective, generous and very sexy, oh yeah! And romantic? Well judge for yourself.
Two and half years later in 1948: We have just been married, and it is 11 o'clock p.m., and we are at last to leave the reception. We are to spend our first night together somewhere on the road. Despite my mother's many and profuse warnings to her new son-in-law, that without hotel reservations, we would never ever find a place to park the car, by the side of the road. Particularly after 11pm at night, she reiterated, and on a Saturday, and especially God forbid, on Labor Day weekend. The groom way adamant. We would stop at some quaint little cabin, by the side of the road, when we were ready to retire. Well Mother was dead wrong. We found our quaint little cabin by the side of the road, at exactly quarter of four on Sunday morning.
To read the rest of this story please turn to page 20 in the Green Mountain Whittlin's Vol. LXI 2010 .
Second place 2010 Green Mountain Whittlin's: Jean B. Alexander
Two and half years later in 1948: We have just been married, and it is 11 o'clock p.m., and we are at last to leave the reception. We are to spend our first night together somewhere on the road. Despite my mother's many and profuse warnings to her new son-in-law, that without hotel reservations, we would never ever find a place to park the car, by the side of the road. Particularly after 11pm at night, she reiterated, and on a Saturday, and especially God forbid, on Labor Day weekend. The groom way adamant. We would stop at some quaint little cabin, by the side of the road, when we were ready to retire. Well Mother was dead wrong. We found our quaint little cabin by the side of the road, at exactly quarter of four on Sunday morning.
To read the rest of this story please turn to page 20 in the Green Mountain Whittlin's Vol. LXI 2010 .
Second place 2010 Green Mountain Whittlin's: Jean B. Alexander
Night Rememberances
I sit here at my desk as evening approaches. It's not yet the black of a winter night, but the sunless sky gives little light to the country side. The foliage of still-leafed cedars has blended in the gathering darkness into a black mass against the gloaming sky, becoming a wall with nothing to distinguish one from the other. The day has been one of those December days; short, lit by the slanting sun, cloudy at times and stingy with warmth. We have settled into our winter mode, a slower pace partly necessitated by our not being able to perform jobs outside and partly because of the darkened environment. As I gaze out my window at the lowering light, I am reminded of those dark short days of winters past, particularly those long nights when I was about 12 years old. At that time, in the 1930's, I had reached the age when I could obtain a library card and, by doing so, opened up a Pandora's box of books. Day after day, instead of my usual rush up Seminary Hill when the final school bell rang, I now sped to the Kellogg Hubbard Library and its treasures. I had discovered new worlds I knew little about and thirsted to learn about them. Since we were limited at this age to taking only two books at a time from the library, I usually read at a table there until about four o'clock, then rushed for home in time for supper around five. About twice a week, I was allowed to return to the library after meals as long as I got home by eight. These hours are what I vividly remember, especially the brisk late evening walk back home.
Note: This is the first chapter of Mr. Webster's unpublished book, Stories.
To continue reading this chapter please turn to page 32 in the Green Mountain Whittlin's Vol. LXI 2010 .
Third place 2010 Green Mountain Whittlin's: Robert Webster
Note: This is the first chapter of Mr. Webster's unpublished book, Stories.
To continue reading this chapter please turn to page 32 in the Green Mountain Whittlin's Vol. LXI 2010 .
Third place 2010 Green Mountain Whittlin's: Robert Webster
