Bear News Beartown News

APRIL1, 2000


The annual sugaring season has come and gone along with all of winter's traditional outdoor activities. The sleds, toboggans, skis, snowshoes, mittens, felt lined boots, face masks, etc., etc., etc. are put away until next winter.

The sugar content of this years sap was less than normal requiring about 50 gallons of sap to make one gallon of the delicious syrup. As usual residents of all ages and all walks of life were observed participating in this annual late winter event.


On a pleasant springlike day in mid March, taciturn "Pear" Huntley, so named as a noted orchardist, drove into town from his Swearing Mountain farm and found that dour Irishman Hal Macomber looking at a $1.99 straw hat displayed in the window of the Beartown General Store.
"Howdy Hal. Say, tell me again what was the medicine you got when your hoss had the heaves?"
"Galuga oil," Hal grunted without looking up. "The feed store carries it."
A week later Pear is coming back into town and stops at Hal's place up on Guideboard Hill, where Hal was raking up the yard.
"Say Hal, what kind of oil did you say you used for the heaves?"
"Galuga oil."
"Yeah, thought that's what you said."
Pear angrily spat tobacco juice and turned a mean eye on Hal. "It kilt my hoss."
Hal looked up, never blinking an eye. "Kilt mine too." he replied.

Did somebody say Beartown?


With no contested races for any of the town offices this year and a slight decrease in both the town and school budgets, the majority of the time was spent discussing Population Explosion. Many varied predictions were presented about what would occur if something drastic weren't done pretty soon to control the problem.
One resident reported that he'd read that in so many years there would be "Standing Room Only" here on earth.
An older Beartowntonian who had offered little or nothing until then, stood up, removed his hat, scratched his head, and observed, "Well, that oughta slow 'em down a bit."

Looking Back

In the "roaring 20's" bootleggers rather than tourists were the most frequent travelers on the back roads of Beartown. After crossing the Canadian border with their illicit cargo, the game of hide and seek between the runner and the revenuer began in earnest. Beartown was enroute to the population centers of the eastern U. S. and its rural setting provided several routes to transport the hooch.
One favorite route of the "bad guys" was little more than a logging trail. Travel was difficult at any time but in mud season or after heavy rains even the most powerful cars of the times often bogged down on a particular steep and slippery grade in the northeast corner of town.
Late one evening, near the end of one of Vermont's worst droughts, the farmer living just below the hill was awakened by loud, persistent knocking. Stepping outside he was not too surprised to find a flashily dressed and obviously disturbed stranger on his porch. After learning of the man's difficulty and humbly accepting a ten dollar fee, a team of horses were lead out of the barn. Soon the big touring car was pulled from the mire and the grateful bootlegger was on his way.
At breakfast, the next morning, the farmer chuckled, "Motha," he said to his wife, "things is pickin up! Thuty dollahs this week and weah jest beginin. Shudda thot of it befoah. Yes suh; me an you is gonna git rich, ef the spring holds aout an the kids don't fergit ta slosh watah on the rud evry day. Haint no use dependin on natcha ta help a fellah make a dollah, all the toim."


Mr. Burnham related his examination for a certificate to practice law consisted of but two questions:
"Have you studied law?" asked Judge Tyler, a member of the examining committee.
"Yes, sir." replied Mr. Burnham.
"Is the legal-tender act constitutional?"
"Yes, sir, it undoubtedly is." was the reply.
"That is all right," said Judge Tyler. "You may consider yourself admitted to the bar. Anybody who can answer offhand a great question like that, upon which so many mighty minds are divided, ought to be able to practice in any country."


We do not tear your clothing with machinery. We do it very carefully by hand.
757-6663 or RIP-NONE

Farmer Hastings was a very religious man. He missed church one Sunday because of all the farm chores. The next Sunday the minister asked why he hadn't been in church. Farmer Hastings explained that he had planting to do. The minister said, "But our Lord worked six days and rested on the seventh."
"Yes," said Farmer Hastings, "but he finished and I didn't."


Copyright 2000 Claude Dern, All Rights Reserved
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