His "Cheesy" Memory

I need something charming to take my mind away from the dark place it's been this year - this 2026 when we're instructed not to believe our eyes.  This piece, written by my grandfather in 1947 (when he was 71), fits the bill. 

A few days ago the Golly guy munched fresh, crisp crackers and some excellent snappy cheese. Nothing very strange about that.

The point was that it brought back over the years a memory – an exciting experience – exciting for a country boy of nine or ten years of age.

This little lad resided where there was no railroad and even the thought of a train of cars made his blood tingle. He was invited by a neighboring farmer to journey to a town nine miles distant, the trip to be made on a load of hemlock bark being hauled to a tannery. That tannery passed from the industrial scene long ago.

The lad's mother gave her consent and early the next morning Calvin Jones said Giddap to "Kit" and "Ned" and the adventure began, the boy stocked with coin of the realm to the amount of one thin but precious dime.

The trip up through the long winding Hazletine Gully, over the rolling farm highlands and down Quigg Hollow, took hours that seemed almost interminable. The roads were all of earth, well seasoned with sand and cobble stones of various sizes.

Farmer Jones entertained with stories and commented on the crops of oats, corn and potatoes, and at one point along the way by an orchard there was a box mounted on the fence. It bore the legend "Hungry Box – Help Yourself."

Harvest apples, Golden Sweets and Red Astercans* The last variety may not be spelled correctly but that how it sounded to the boy. The apples were ripe, mellow and delicious. They helped to pass the dragging time as the heavily loaded wagon jolted over the long miles.

At last the village of Andover (N.Y.) could be seen in the distance with its several church spires pointing toward the zenith.

A thrill surely!

 

But down the valley as far as could be seen there was smoke. It was appearing great back puffs and then – a train of cars!

It was a long freight train. A locomotive headed the train, and as it neared, a pusher could be seen at the rear laboring mightily up the grade.

Farmer Jones explained that pushers were stationed at Wellsville to help the heavy trains over Tip Top Summit four miles east of Andover.

At long last our heavy load arrived at the tannery and the boy was on his own for the period of time required to unload the bark. Timidly he wended his way toward the railroad station. nearing that destination he heard an approaching train, and he ran with all the speed he could muster to be at the depot when the train arrived to get a close view of the smoke-belching iron monster and cars that it hauled down the western grade.

To his later regret he was winner of the race and was on the station platform when the locomotive came thundering along, followed by that great string of clattering cars. The noise and din were frightening. The youngster crouched against the locked door of the freight room terrified. He would gladly have given up that thin dime he treasured in the pocket of his knee pants to have been elsewhere – anywhere.

After what seemed like hours to the frightened lad, the train passed and faded into the distance, much to his relief. After he had recovered from his fright he realized he was hungry and he must find a place to make a purchase of crackers and cheese. A kindly grocer by the name of Beebe must have been generous in serving his small and timid ten-cent customer as the paper bag was well filled, and later munched to the entire satisfaction of the customer.

The memory of that repast lingers even to this day. Never does the Golly scribe nibble crackers and cheese but he thinks of that distant day of boyhood. 

The long homeward ride on the jolting lumber wagon is not so well remembered but home was reached just at nightfall after a day that was exciting and eventful. That night a tired kid drifted quickly to sleep to dream of iron monsters, snorting black smoke and white steam, while he fesated in his dreams on ripe red apples and crackers and cheese in huge quantities.

It is a delightful memory to this day.

*Red Astrachan (a Russian variety) made its way to North American via Sweden and England and arrived in North America in 1835, soon recognized for hardiness, vigor, quality and early bearing. Because of its short season and keeping qualities, it is not widely grown today.