A Morning’s Work on the Water

“will you pleas put in water if Possible from 15 to 20 16 foot Poplar Logs so I can hav them to saw tomor Morning”

Imagine, if you will, a crisp morning by the mill pond, the air smelling of damp earth and fresh-cut wood. I recently pulled a little slip of history from our archives that brings that exact scene to life. It is a simple note from S. H. Brown to Mr. Gwin, written on a piece of cream-colored lined paper that has seen better days but still carries a lot of heart.

The paper itself tells a story before you even read a word. It has been folded over, and it looks like it was tucked away while the ink was still wet. There is this beautiful, heavy dark ink that bled through or smudged onto the bottom half, making it feel like Brown was in a bit of a hurry to get his message across. You can almost see him leaning over a desk, scratching out these lines before heading out to the lumber yard.

In the note, Mr. Brown is asking a favor of his friend. He needs about fifteen or twenty poplar logs, all sixteen feet long, rolled into the water. He wants them ready so he can start sawing first thing the next morning. It is a humble request, but it speaks volumes about the way neighbors used to depend on one another. It was a world of handshakes and short notes, where the rhythm of the day was set by the arrival of timber and the turn of the saw blade.

Today, we look at this smudged piece of paper and see more than just a business order. We see a snapshot of a community in motion. It reminds us that behind every grand old house or sturdy barn in our town, there were people like Mr. Brown and Mr. Gwin, working together to build something that would last. It is a gentle nudge to appreciate the quiet, daily labor that connects us all to the land and to each other.

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