HOW WE GOT OUR SWEET, AND THE HISTORY OF MY FIRST PIG.
We made troughs, tapped hard maples on each side of the creek; took our
oxen, sled and two barrels (as the trees were scattered) to draw the sap
to the place we had prepared for boiling it.
Now I had an employment entirely new to me: boiling down sap and making
sugar, in the woods of Michigan. This was quite a help to us in getting
along. We made our own "sweet" and vinegar, also some sugar and molasses
to sell. Some springs, we made three or four hundred pounds of sugar.
Sugar was not all the good things we had, for there was one added to my
father's family, a little sister, who was none the less lovely, in my
eye, because she was of Michigan, a native "Wolverine."
Now father's family, all told, consisted of mother and six children. The
children grew to be men and women, and are all alive to this day,
January 26, 1875.
After we came to Michigan mother's health constantly improved. She soon
began to like her new home and became more cheerful and happy. I told
her we had, what would be, a beautiful place; far better than the rocks
and hills we left, I often renewed my promise that if she and I lived and
I grew to be a man, we would go back, visit her friends and see again the
land of her nativity.
To cheer her still more we received a letter from Mr. G. Purdy of York
State, telling us that he was coming to Michigan in the fall, with his
wife (mother's beloved sister, Abbie,) and her youngest sister, Sarah,
was coming with them.
Asa Blare, the young man who picked up the Indian's knife, bought forty
acres of government land joining us on the east, built him a house, went
to Ohio, married and brought his wife back with him.
Now we had neighbors on the east of us, and Mr. Henry Travis (a
brother-in-law of Mr. Pardee) came, bought land joining Mr. Pardee on
the west, built and settled with a large family. About the same time
many families from the East came and settled along the creek, for miles
west of us.
Now we were on the border of civilization. Our next clearing of any
importance was the little ridge. Father commenced around the edge, cut
the brush and threw them from the ridge all around it to form a brush
fence; then all the trees that would fall into the line of the fence were
next felled, also, all that would fall over it, then those which would
reach the fence were felled toward it. Then we trimmed them, cut the logs
and piled the brush on the fence. I felt very much interested in clearing
this piece. When father took his ax and started for work I took mine and
was immediately at his side or a little behind him. In this manner we
returned and we soon had the two acres cut off and surrounded by an
immense log, tree-top and brush fence; at least, I thought it was a great
fence. Now came the logging and burning, father worked with his oxen and
handspike, I with my handspike. Some of the large logs near the fence he
swung round with the oxen and left them by it. Others we drew together
and when we piled them up, father took his handspike and rolled the log,
I held it with mine until he got a new hold. In that way I helped him
roll hundreds and thousands of logs. We soon had them all in heaps but
they were green and burned slowly, some of them would not burn at all
then. We scratched round them and put some seeds in every spot. We could
do but very little with a plow. Father made a drag out of the crotch of a
tree and put iron teeth in it; this did us some service as the land was
exceedingly rooty.
In raising our summer crops we had to do most of the work with a hoe.
Sometimes where it was very rooty we planted corn with an ax. In order to
do this we struck the blade into the ground and roots about two inches,
then dropped the corn in and struck again two or three inches from the
first place which closed it and the hill of corn was planted.
Now I must go back to the first season and tell how I got my first pig.
It was the first of the hog species we owned in Michigan. Father went to
the village and I with him. From there we went down to Mr. Thompson's
(the man who moved us out from Detroit). He wished father to see his
hogs. They went to the yard, and as was my habit, I followed along. Mr.
Thompson called the hogs up. I thought he had some very fine ones. Among
them was an old sow that had some beautiful pigs. She seemed to be very
cross, raised her bristles and growled at us, as much as to say, "Let my
pigs alone."
[Illustration: "THE THOMPSON TAVERN"--1834.]
I suppose Mr. Thompson thought he would have some sport with me, and
being generous, he said: "If the boy will catch one I will give it to
him." I selected one and started; I paid no attention to the old sow, but
kept my eye on the pig I wanted, and the way I went for it was a caution.
I caught it and ran for the fence, with the old sow after me. I got over
very quickly and was safe with my pig in my arms. I started home; it
kicked and squealed and tried to get away, but I held it tightly, patted
it and called it "piggy." I said to myself, '"Now I have a pig of my own,
it will soon grow up to be a hog, and we'll have pork." When I got home I
put it in a barrel, covered it up so it could not get out and then took
my ax, cut poles, and made it a new pen and put it on one place in Adam's
world where pig and pig-pen had never been before. Now, thought I, I've
got an ax, a pig and a gun.
One morning, a day or two after this, I went out and the pig was gone.
Thinking it might have gone home, I went to Mr. Thompson's and enquired
if they had seen it. I looked in the yard but the pig was not there. I
made up my mind that it was lost, and started home. I followed the old
trail, and when within sixty rods of the place where I now live, I met my
pig. I was very glad to see it, but it turned from me and ran right into
the woods. Now followed a chase which was very exciting to me. The pig
seemed running for its life, I for my property, which was going off,
over logs and through the brush, as fast as its legs could carry it. It
was a hard chase, but I caught the pig and took it back. I made the pen
stronger, and put it in again, but it would not eat much and in a few
days after died, and away went all my imaginary pork.
Mr. Pardee had bought a piece of land for a Mr. Clapp, of Peakskill, New
York, and was agent for the same. He said the south end of this land was
openings. It was about one mile from our place, and Mr. Pardee offered to
join with father and put corn on it, accordingly, we went to see it.
There was some brush, but it was mostly covered with what we called
"buffalo grass," which grew spontaneously. Cattle loved it very much in
the summer, but their grazing it seemed to destroy it. It soon died out
and mostly disappeared, scrub-oak and other brush coming up in its place.
Mr. Pardee and father soon cleared five or six acres of this land, and
with the brush they cut made a light brush fence around it, then tore up
three or four acres and planted it with corn. The soil was light yellow
sand. When the corn came up it was small and yellow. They put in about
two acres of buckwheat. A young man by the name of William Beal worked
for Pardee. He helped to tend the corn. One morning, as they were going
up to hoe the corn, William Beal took his gun and started ahead; this he
frequently did very early. He said, when about half way to the corn, he
looked toward the creek and saw a black bear coming toward him. He stood
in the path, leading to the corn-field, which they had under-brushed.
The bear did not discover him until he was near enough, when he fired
and shot him dead. This raised quite an excitement among us. I went to
see the bear. It was the first wild one I saw in Michigan. They dressed
it, and so far as I know, the neighbors each had a piece; at all events,
we had some.
They hoed the corn once or twice, and then made up their minds it was no
use, as it would not amount to much, the land being too poor. The whole
crop of corn, gathered there, green at that, nubbins and all, was put
into a half bushel handle basket, excepting what the squirrels took.
The buckwheat didn't amount to much, either. Wild turkeys trampled it
down and ate the grain, in doing which, many of them lost their lives. I
began to consider myself quite a marksman. I had already, with father's
rifle, shot two deer, and had gotten some of the turkeys.
Father never cropped it any more on the openings, and his experience
there made him much more pleased with his own farm. That land is near
me, and I have seen a great many crops growing on it, both grain and
other crops, but never one which I thought would pay the husbandman for
his labor.
Father's partnership with Mr. Pardee was so unsuccessful on the openings,
and in having to take the oxen back, and buy hay for them when that
article was very high (their running out helped him some) that he
concluded to go into partnership with Mr. Pardee, no more.
He sold half of his oxen to Asa Blare, who paid the money down, so their
partnership opened in a little better shape. This partnership, father
said, was necessary as our money had become very much reduced, and
everything we bought, (such as flour and pork) was extremely dear;
besides, we had no way to make a farthing except with our "maple-sweet"
or the hide of a deer.
Father could not get work, for there were but few settlers, and none near
him, who were able to hire. So he economized to save his money as much as
possible, and worked at home. The clearing near the house grew larger and
larger, and now we could see the beautiful sun earlier.
Father worked very hard, got three acres cleared and ready for wheat.
Then he went away and bought about four bushels of white wheat for seed.
This cost a snug sum in those days. About the last of August he sowed it
and dragged it in with his drag. He sowed about a bushel and a peck to
the acre. (I have for many years back, and to the present time, sowed two
bushels to the acre).
His wheat came up and looked beautiful. The next spring and early summer
it was very nice. One day a neighbor's unruly ox broke into it. I went
through it to drive him out and it was knee high. Father said take the ox
home. I did so. The neighbor was eating dinner. I told him his ox had
been in our wheat and that father wished him to keep the ox away. He said
we must make the fence better and he would not get in. This was the first
unkind word I had received from a neighbor in Michigan. The wheat escaped
the rust, headed and filled well and was an excellent crop. It helped us
a great deal and was our manna in the wilderness.
Father and I continued our chopping until we connected the two clearings.
Then we commenced to see the sun in the morning and we thought it shone
brighter here than it did in York State. Some of the neighbors said that
it really did, and that it might be on account of a reflection from the
water of the great lakes. Perhaps it was because the deep gloom of the
forest had shaded us so long and was now removed. Israel like, we looked
back and longed for the good things we had left, viz:--apples, pears and
the quince sauce. Even apples were luxuries we could not have and we
greatly missed them. We cleared new ground, sowed turnip seed, dragged it
in and raised some very large nice turnips. At this time there was not a
wagon in the neighborhood, but Mr. Traverse, being a mechanic and
ingenious, cut down a tree, sawed oft two short logs, used them for hubs
and made the wheels for a cart. These he took to Dearbornville and had
them ironed oft. He made the body himself and then had an ox-cart. This
was the only wheeled vehicle in the place for some years. As Mr. Traverse
was an obliging man the neighbors borrowed his cart. Sometimes it went to
Dearbornville to bring in provision, or other things, and sometimes it
went to mill. (There was a mill on the river Rouge, one mile north of
Dearbornville.) With this cart and oxen the neighbors carried some of
their first products, sugar, butter, eggs, &c., to Detroit. Some young
sightseers, who had not seen Detroit since they moved into the woods and
wished to see it, were on board. They had to start before midnight so it
would be cool traveling for the oxen. This was the first cart and oxen
ever seen in Detroit from our part of the town of Dearborn.
They reached home the following night, at about ten o'clock, and told me
about the trip.
We wanted apples, so father took his oxen, went and borrowed the cart,
loaded it with turnips, went down the river road half way to Detroit,
traded them with a Frenchman for apples and brought home a load which
were to us delicious fruit. In this way we got our apples for many years.
These apples were small, not so large and nice as those we had been used
to having; but they were Michigan apples and we appreciated them very
much. They lasted us through the winter and did us much good.