When the Ducktrap Bridge was rebuilt in 1932, and the top deck with its graceful arches added, the whole landscape changed. Now, instead of the road dipping precipitously to a wooden bridge at near water level, a bridge that sometimes washed away in the spring freshet, the road itself was raised, on fill, some 22 feet higher than it had been. In the process, the farm where Hazel Barton Dyer grew up disappeared. Stand at the Lincolnville end of the Ducktrap Bridge on the upstream side. Right there, between the brick house on the corner of the Whitney Road and the Ducktrap Stream – today we call it the Ducktrap River – is where the Barton farmhouse and barn stood. I spoke with Hazel, who incidentally, was Rosey Gerry’s grandmother, when she was nearing 90 — she died in 1994 — and heard a story that has stayed with me all these years:

Hazel was born in 1902, the youngest child and only daughter of Mary Agnes Sullivan Barton and William Barton. Her two brothers were so much older, that they were out on their own as she was growing up. Hazel loved playing dolls with Elizabeth Griffin, the little girl who spent summers across the road at her grandmother’s house. Not only did Elizabeth have wonderful dolls, but she had her own playroom which entranced Hazel. Sometimes the two children had picnics in the gazebo, which still stands in back of the house at the corner of Howe Point Road and Atlantic Highway.

            Most of the family’s food came from their own land and labor. Behind the house and barn they grew corn and potatoes. Mary Agnes would stand her little girl against the young corn to see which was growing fastest. In front of the house she had a smaller garden where she grew all sorts of vegetables. She canned everything – applesauce from their own trees, greens, the meat from a butchered cow, mincemeat. Root vegetables were stored in the dirt cellar. Up in the attic strings of sliced apples and herbs tied in bunches, were drying. Mary Agnes collected wild plants like caraway to use in her cooking and others such as clover for a tea which was good for the bladder.

            In fact, so much of their food was homemade and homegrown, that Hazel never forgot her first “store-bought” cookies, and first taste of bananas. Her mother had ordered a washing machine, a tub with a wringer on it, from George Bullock’s store across the road. When William brought it home, the tub was packed with her mother’s grocery order — the usual flour, spices, and tea. But in the bottom were a package of coconut cookies and a bunch of bananas, two treats for Hazel.

            William Barton worked in the cooper shops that were located down by the stream. He also worked some in the quarries in Rockport. Mary Agnes took in washing from the summer people who were beginning to come to the area. After washing, wringing, rinsing, and wringing again, she’d hang the clothes and spread the sheets on the grass to dry in the sun. She also did sewing at home for the pants factory in Belfast, putting in pockets and sewing seams. For her own house Mary Agnes made hooked rugs, stretching burlap on a wooden frame and marking out pictures, which she filled in with strips of wool cloth.

            It wasn’t all work; sometimes the family would take a picnic down to the Point. Hazel liked watching the schooners come in through the deep channel to tie up at the wharf by the hay shed. Christmas was celebrated with a little tree and presents – clothing mostly, though one year she got a doll. Another Christmas, the teddy bear she’d seen in Fallonsby and Woods Department Store in Camden, and really wished for, wasn’t under the tree.           

            Tramps were commonplace; frequently these men, out of work, and looking for odd jobs or a handout, would come to the door. Mary Agnes almost always gave them a little something. Once when William was home and laid up with an injury, he forcefully told a tramp to leave. Hazel saw her mother beckon to the man to come around to the back door where she gave him a cup of tea.

Gypsies were another matter. Once or twice a year a band of gypsies came through Ducktrap in their covered wagons. Word quickly spread through the community of the approaching caravan; mothers would marshal their children to pick up the dooryard, putting away tools and toys and whatever lay around, while they hastily pulled wash from the lines. Even the hens were hustled into their coops as if it were dusk. Then the children themselves were sent indoors to watch the strange procession of wagons from behind lifted curtains. It was commonly believed that the gypsies would steal whatever lay in plain sight, including children, though they’d never break into a house. Gypsy families always had a lot of children, and “everyone knew they were stolen”; Hazel said she never believed it.

            But Hazel’s childhood at Ducktrap was to be short. Her life changed forever when she was seven. On a cold January day William had a load of barrel hoops to deliver to Searsport, and he set off on the icy roads in his wagon. On a lonely hill in Northport, the horse slipped, toppling the wagon over. William was pinned beneath it with a broken leg. Perhaps he had set out late in the day, or maybe it was storming, but for whatever reason, no one came along the road for hours, while he lay in pain in the ice and slush of the road. Finally, he was discovered and carried home.

            He wouldn’t hear of a doctor coming to see to his leg, insisting instead that his wife set it. She did the best she could, but the damage was already done by the hours under the wagon. First infection, then gangrene set in. For nearly two months William lay in his bed, still refusing to see a doctor. In March he died.

            That spring, unable to carry on the farm’s work alone and without her husband’s income, Mary Agnes took Hazel and left Ducktrap. For the next several years she worked as a cook, moving to different lodgings with each job. The year Hazel was 11 she was the cook at the Bayview Hotel, which stood on the present Camden Village Green. Mother and daughter had a room in the hotel. Mary Agnes passed out one evening while climbing the Opera House stairs; she was carried across the street and put to bed. Hazel helped take care of her for several weeks. Then one day her mother said she was going to get up and pack their things, so they could return to the Ducktrap house. She collapsed as soon as she stood up, dying in front of Hazel, apparently of a stroke.

            Hazel’s life from that day to her marriage at 17 to Lloyd Dyer was a series of short stays with relatives and friends. An orphaned child in those years had to pull her own weight; her needs were seldom considered. So after a few months with one of her brothers and his wife, perhaps helping with a new baby, she’d be sent on to another family. Soon after her mother’s death she was taken to Lewiston to care for an old lady. There she caught scarlet fever and was sick for a long time, ending her schooling with the eighth grade.

            She had another summer at Ducktrap, and it must have seemed an adventure. She was 12 or 13 and staying with her mother’s sister, Annie, who had a restaurant in Camden. Annie’s daughter, Elizabeth, was a year older than Hazel. Annie wanted to get the girls out of Camden for the summer, probably because she had to work every day, so she sent them up to Ducktrap.

            The two girls set off on foot one morning, carrying their suitcase with all their clothes, and some food between them. The Atlantic Highway was hot and dusty in the summer sun, and they had seven miles to walk. When they were almost to Lincolnville Beach, Warren Pitcher, the mail carrier, picked them up and drove them part way. Finally they got to Ducktrap, to the house Hazel and her mother had left years earlier.

            The girls hid the food they’d brought with them in the upstairs bedroom. Every few days Aunt Annie came up from Camden with food, showing them how to warm it up on the woodstove. Most days the girls were completely on their own, living in the house alone. They weren’t afraid, although wary that a tramp might find their food and take it.

To earn some money they picked blueberries on Peaked Mountain [today it’s called Ducktrap Mountain, the site of Point Lookout]. It took almost all day to pick a ten quart pail each, which they’d sell to Orren Ames for a dollar. Occasionally, “very occasionally” according to Hazel, her brother Leon, who also delivered the mail from the Beach Post Office, gave them a little money. A visit to Leslie Ames’ store [which was located on Atlantic Highway just north of South Cobbtown Road] would take care of that, as both girls had a sweet tooth.

            Sadly, all of her mother’s things were gone when it came time for her to set up her own household, taken and dispersed to various relatives without regard for Mary Agnes’ only daughter. After her marriage, Hazel was living on Islesboro with her husband and children. One day when visiting a neighbor, she saw a hooked rug of a lily — it was one her mother had made so many years before. Did the woman offer to give it to her, I wondered. Hazel’s reply was quick: “That woman wouldn’t give you the steam off a plate of beans!”

 Read more Ducktrap stories in Ducktrap: Chronicles of a Maine Village, available at Western Auto, the Schoolhouse Museum, or at Sleepy Hollow Rag Rugs http://www.sleepyhollowragrugs.com/books.

Beach Gardeners

The whiskey barrel planters on the Frohock bridge are filled with little plants, a sure signs that Lincolnville’s volunteer gardeners are at it again. Lee Cronin and Mariette Scheier have been busy planting the Robie Ames boat, as well as weeding and cleaning up several of the flower beds at the Beach.

Kathleen and Andy Oliver put in several hours working on the beds at the entrance to the Post Office, tearing out plantings that had become infested with grass and putting in new plants. Lillian Amborn from Chez Michel and Dorothee Newcombe from the Whales Tooth keep up the plantings at their restaurants, as well as watering the barrels on the bridge. Katherine Lippman keeps up the Spouter Inn’s roadside bed, while Ann Mill’s garden on the corner is quite colorful this spring. There are still a few of these beds that need a dedicated gardener, someone to pull the weeds, dead head the spent blossoms, and keep things looking cared for. It doesn’t take a lot of time, and helps make the Beach look great. Contact Lee, 236-0028 or email croninredsox@aol.com if you’d like to take it on.

Workshops for Children

Once again, Lasansky Studio of Dance will be offering two creative workshops for boys and girls this summer. The first, with two sessions by age, “Creative Movement and Art” for 4-5 year olds and for 6-8 year olds will be held July 6-10. “Overlapping”, a thematic Choreography workshop for 9-12 year olds will be the week of July 13-17. For more information go to Jimena Lasansky’s website. http://lasanskydance.com/classes/

Stained Glass at the Beach

Robert Bolton, stained glass artist, had a shop at the Beach with his work and carrying stained glass supplies in the 1990s. That space is now Dwight Wass’ Lincolnville Fine Art Gallery http://www.lincolnvillefineartgallery.com/, and Robert, who is a well-known for his restoration work on stained glass windows, etc., once again has his work on display in his former shop. Dwight invites all to stop by and see the beautiful handmade colored glass balls Robert’s working on now. If you like seeing what Maine artists are up to, you don’t have to leave Lincolnville. Stop by the Fine Art Gallery, right next to the Beach Store. You’ll be surprised at the quantity and quality of the work on display!