An Evening at 4th and Main

EJ Carpenter and Chuck Pyle, the Zen Cowboy, shared the spotlight on November 6, 2010, at the 4th and Main.
PHOTO COURTESY OF ANDY WINN

New Venue in Wray Opens with the Zen Cowboy

By Sharon Lakey

“Chuck Pyle is going to be in Wray!” my husband, Dwight, called out from the office.  He had discovered the singer/songwriter through an Internet search about the Big Thompson flood in 1976, and after checking Chuck’s music out on Rhapsody, we were properly wowed. (The song, for those who might be interested, is “Here Comes the Water.”) After investigating the Wray concert, he found that the venue was serving a meal and the price was very reasonable for the whole event. He contacted the owners through their 4^th and Main website for all the details. A nice email back cemented the date, and we were set.

It’s 70 miles from Julesburg to Wray, but Dwight’s parents and aunt were willing to make the trip with us. I wondered aloud if we should GPS the address, but Dwight said, “C’mon. How hard can 4^th and Main be?” To tell the truth, we didn’t expect much of the venue. We were going to hear Chuck Pyle! Little did we know that the venue itself would become share the spotlight of the evening?

When we walked through the doors, we were greeted by soft lighting on muted, earth-toned walls, music, stemware table settings and a cash bar, behind which two elegantly dressed women were serving drinks.  Banquet tables with white cloths were set in an alcove at the back, stacks of square, white plates on one end. The corner stage at the far end of the room held a microphone, guitar and monitors, silent, in anticipation of Chuck’s performance. The computer screen and soundboard out front looked professional.  “Whoa,” I thought, marveling at the scene. “This is more than we bargained for--much more.”

A man stood behind the banquet tables, arranging serving dishes. We asked about payment, and after some conversation, realized this was the owner, EJ Carpenter. Soon, we understood we were taking part in opening night for what he hopes will be a cultural venue for many such events in the area. He told us he had finished the stage during the week and his wife, Briar, one of the elegantly dressed women behind the bar, said she still had some paint on her hand from touching things up earlier in the day.

Soon, the food arrived through the doors, and we happily got in line for the salad and French bread. EJ explained the small piece of meat on the plate beside the romaine (topped with toasted walnuts and dressed in balsamic vinaigrette) was a slice of marinated and smoked duck breast. “Delicious,” was the verdict. “I’ve never had better duck,” Dwight’s father said. “It can be so dry.” Sides for the salad included smoked salmon and goat cheese.

The main courses were of superior quality as well: well-seasoned roasted potatoes, garlic mashed potatoes, pork roast, sliced beef tenderloin sandwich stacks and smoked brined brisket. “Where did you study?” I asked EJ, looking down at my plate in disbelief.

“At my grandmother’s knee,” he said with a smile. Obviously, this man loves food and its presentation in a beautiful setting.

Before Chuck arrived onstage, EJ took the microphone to introduce him and explain how he envisioned the evening progressing. “You’re going to be hearing one of the most unique finger-picking styles in the world,” he said, mentioning that Chuck plays private parties for Bill and Melinda Gates and plays approximately 100 venues a year. He also wanted us to know that he expected the audience to listen, like a concert. This wasn’t a bar scene—it was a cultural event. And, after a delightful opening poem by local cowboy poet, John Schaffner, Chuck, known as the Zen Cowboy, took his place in the spotlight. EJ seated himself at the sound board, the audience lights were dimmed, and we were taken into the world of his songs.

Chuck writes in his biography that critics gave him the title Zen Cowboy. Zen can be defined as “a belief that enlightenment can be attained through direct intuitive insight.” And it was his insight into an array of issues that we were treated to that night. As a performer he was very deliberate, and the music coming from one guitar and one voice was complex. If you closed your eyes, you would swear there was more than one performer onstage. That signature technique drove each song. He made us laugh, too, mixing serious messages with lighthearted social commentary. Between the two ample sets, dessert and coffee were served, giving the audience time to relax and chat.

When we headed back to Julesburg, there was a lot to talk about an extraordinary evening spent in Wray. We’ll stay connected through the website for our other trips out west. It was worth the 70 miles.


For a photo album of the evening by Andy Winn, click here.

Sharon Lakey is a freelance journalist, who divides her time between Julesburg, Colorado, and Danville, VT. Her blog’s “East West, Home is Best” can be accessed at http://sharonlakey.blogspot.com/

Chuck Pyle: http://www.chuckpyle.com/

4^th and Main: http://www.4thandmaingrille.com/   

doggie

Howard Coffin Challenges Danville

"Let's Honor Thaddeus Stevens In Our Statehouse"

By Sharon Lakey

On January 10, Howard Coffin rose to expectant applause after the first annual meeting of the Danville Historical Society held at the newly-renovated Historical House. Coffin, a well-known writer on Vermont and the Civil War, had been in Danville during the summer, speaking on what he called "a magical night at the Old North Church." His presence was also an appropriate precursor of the coming sesquicentennial (150 years) celebration and remembrance of the War between the States, which will begin in 2011.

He held a sheaf of papers in his hand when he approached the lectern and, with the light from the fireplace behind him, began to speak about the sacrifices the small town of Danville made during America's Civil War. "According to Keegan, author of the most recent book I've read on the Civil War," said Coffin, "it was the third bloodiest war per capita ever fought in the world." The sheaf of papers in his hand were of some of the 194 individuals from Danville who had served, and he began a slow march through them. The papers were statements of fact, leaving the listeners to fill in gaps with the aching human story that went with every one of them.

The listing began with Danville's most famous soldier, Addison Preston. "A man whose body the infamous Custer leaned over on the battlefield and said, 'there lies the best fighting Colonel in the Cavalry Corps,'" said Coffin. Preston's widow would not allow a military funeral, but the local funeral procession included many from afar and stretched from the Village center to the grave site. Name after name Coffin read aloud from his pages, many of them surnames you still hear today in Danville. One of the most memorable facts for this listener was about a young man from West Danville whose death upon returning home was attributed to eating too much. He had just been released from Andersonville. That prisoner-of-war camp was often mentioned on the pages he held. Of the 44,000 Union soldiers held there for less than a year, 13,000 died, most from starvation and disease.

For 47 years, a week a year, Coffin has visited America's Civil War sites. "Remarkable things happen when you search for history at those places," said Coffin, and he shared a few of them with the audience. He walked the path of Pickett's charge at Gettysburg and just as he reached Cemetery Ridge, where the southern line met a blistering northern barrage, a thunderstrom arose and showered Coffin with hail the size of musket balls. Another time, he stood gazing up at Little Round Top, where the 20th Maine under Chamberlain saved the union line from breaking by mounting a heroic bayonet charge downslope. "Suddenly hundreds of lights appeared," said Coffin, "and in waves they came down the slopes. On the flat, they swirled around me before disappearing--fireflies!" And on the night of May 2, 1988, he walked the hills where Stonewall Jackson battled to rejoin the Union army. "A full moon rose and I heard the haunting sound of whippoorwills, the same sound Confederate soldiers wrote back home had made them so homesick." On a walk up Chin Ridge, "I saw a mental image of a Confederate soldier pass me, so vivid that I still see his face today, disgusted at the failure of the second battle of Bull Run."

At this point, Coffin seemed to switch topics, but assured us, "don't worry, I'm going to tie this together." He then began speaking with emotion about Thaddeus Stevens, who was born in Danville, graduated from Peacham Academy and attended the University of Vermont for two years before transferring to Dartmouth. "You never know where you're going to find Bethlehem," he said. "From humble beginnings arose this man, in truth, who dwarfs all the Civil War heroes."

This summer, Mary Prior escorted him along the Thaddeus Stevens trail, including a possible cellar hole of the place of his birth. "He was reverent there", shared Mary. "It can be argued," said Coffin, "that Stevens rivaled Lincoln." He is credited for the drafting and dogged determination to pass the 13th, 14th and 15th amendments to the Constitution during Reconstruction. These amendments guaranteed equality for all American citizens under the law.

"He was a man before his time," said Coffin. And then he laid before the audience a challenge. "We have a golden opportunity here, and I throw it out to you today. There is no sculpture or portrait of Stevens, one of our native sons, in our Statehouse. Why not?"

After the meeting, a light supper was served, and much interest was generated by displays that included artifacts of Addison Preston's, most of them passed down to the Historical Society by Preston's widow. Coffin stayed as well, and many were able to shake his hand in thanks and share thoughts on how Thaddeus Stevens might best be honored.

This writer was able to tell him how much she enjoyed hearing about the strange events he had experienced while stalking history. "There are many more," he confided quietly. "Some of them are so strange, I don't repeat them. People might think I'm crazy." When pressed, he shared just one more. Someday, if you have the chance to speak with Howard Coffin, ask him about the time he saw John Brown on a lonely, wintry Vermont highway.

This article was first published in the February, 2010 issue of The North Star Monthly

For more pictures of the Danville Historical Society annual meeting, click here.

Legacy through the Lens

The work of Danville photographer George Cahoon to be celebrated

By Sharon Lakey

Most people who are connected to Danville in one way or another will have run into George Cahoon's work. His photographs have appeared in Vermont Life, on a variety of local calendars and exhibited at many nearby craft shows. His iconic photo of Danville, shot from Diamond Hill, also graces the cove of Village in the hills, a history of Danville, Vermont. Subjects for him have run the gamut, but he says “for the most part, they are scenic.”

On January 17, an exhibition of his life's work behind the camera will be held at the Danville Historical House. “The opening of the exhibit will be held from 11:00-2:00,” said Mary Prior, President of the Danville Historical Society, “and will be up through Valentine's Day.” In the planning stages are a reception, multimedia presentation and photos lining the walls for close-up viewing. “Pieces will also be available for purchase,” said Mary, knowing that many of the photos will connect the viewer to precious and personal images from their past.

George's photography career began humbly with a need to record his surroundings. “My family was always artistic,” he says. And that got him into a little Kodak in the mid-fifties. From there he graduated to his first SLR (single lens reflex 35mm) where he much more impressed with the resulting images. “I traded that one in on my first Rebel Canon and started selling a few of those shots.” Fifty years later, he has accumulated 25,000+ images that are stored in two rooms, neatly stacked and labeled. Most of the images were recorded around Danville.

Wanting to get a sense of the work that will be on exhibit, Mary and I looked through some of the proposed images stacked on a table at the Danville Historical House. As we leafed through them (many of them of well-known local farms), we wondered at George's perspective. “Look here,” said Mary, holding up one of the old George Swett farm. “Where was he standing to get that shot?” And it was difficult to determine, because it was not pictured from the usual angle one would have experienced from the road. As we continued through the stack, we noticed that all of the shots were like this. George had captured the farms as they lay in the landscape from an unusual perspective. “He always took a ladder with him,” mused Mary.

Earlier, George and I had spoken of perception when we looked at his most famous picture of Danville. In the photo, Cow Hill sits squarely behind the village. From our daily experience, driving to and through Danville, the mountain is more to the south. But George changed our perspective in that photo, too. One can imagine him trudging through a field with his cameras and ladder on that clear blue day. There he found the perfect spot on Diamond Hill to fill the frame and tweak our understanding of how the town fits into the landscape. It is subtle but full of intention.

Therin lies the artist's gift to us.

This article was first published in December issue of The North Star Monthly.

To view these and more captioned photos, click here.

Recording History with an Artist’s Eye

Betty Nickerson documents 26 years of the North Country Chorus

By Sharon Lakey

If you frequent Marty’s, you may have noticed Betty Nickerson. She is a stately, 84-year-old woman with a kind and interesting face. If it was winter, she was likely wearing a plaid tam-o’-shanter with a red pom-pom on top. That, and her quick eye, possibly piqued your interest.

She lives a few miles out of Peacham, on one of the tree-lined back roads. Her house is nestled above a rolling pasture, an old cape built in 1805. Betty is an artist, a writer, an archivist, and a singer. I came to interview her about her work with the North Country Chorus, an organization for which she served as historian for 26 of its 61-year (and counting) span.

I was greeted on the lawn in front and guided through the former carriage shed and into her studio. There, in every nook and cranny and hung from every wall, are pieces of her art world. On the worktable are pages of her newest project: an album of her own life history.

She described her art medium as “cut-out, collage and montage.” In passing, she shared one of her new album’s pages. On it is glued a little Betty, holding a ball and giving the photographer who captured the moment a look at her serious side. The page resembles the scrapbooking craze that was revived in the 80s. The difference is that Betty’s is more organic; she is working from no manufactured scrapbooking materials.

We moved into her kitchen where she served mint tea. She shared that she lost her husband, Hal, a number of years ago. “That was rough,” she said, and then showed me a picture of the two of them in younger times, sitting on a beach at the Cape. They stare out at the camera, all smiles in grainy black and white. “It lifts my spirits every time I look at it,” she said.

The couple moved to Vermont in 1970. Hal taught agronomy at Blue Mountain and Betty was an art teacher in the St. Johnsbury schools. She retired from teaching in 1983, after a 30-year career in Connecticut, Rhode Island and Vermont. From her experiences, she wrote and published a book entitled Does a Stone Grow? She describes it as “…not a textbook, but a book in which I hope to share…the many ideas that prompt Art lessons.”

Hal (a tenor) and Betty (a second alto) loved singing with the North Country Chorus. But Mary Rowe, the beloved director of 50 years, recognized that she had more than a singer in Betty when she asked her to be the group’s historian. It was easy to see that on the way through the dining room, when Betty pointed to a stack of albums representing the Chorus’s history.

We sat to drink our tea in the living room, and, as we chatted, Betty moved about the house to gather things about which she was speaking. She set up a display rack that was made expressly for the albums. Because the albums are heavy, this rack allows them to be viewed more easily. Most of the albums are loaded with 24 pages. “The new Chorus board has talked about putting them on computer,” said Betty. Showing her generation’s comfort level with computers, she added seriously, “but I don’t know how they do that.”

Each page is made of illustration board cut to 15” x 20” at Ross Business Center in Wells River. The design space for each page is actually 15” x 17”, leaving the three-inch blank space if the left for binding. “I use principles of design, color and shape when planning each page,” she explained. Upon the pages she has glued photos, news clippings, images that she created or clipped, and other memorabilia. After completion, both front and back, the pages are taken to Sharon Reimer at the Framing Format in St. Johnsbury, where they are encased in protective plastic. Noreen Crane makes the cloth outside covers according to Betty’s direction, and the finished album is assembled by punching two holes in the binding and tied with string or ribbon to hold it all together.

In these albums resides a remarkable history of a remarkable organization. The North Country Chorus was formally established in 1948 by a group of music lovers in Littleton, New Hampshire. They set the precedent for the type of commitment they expected from their members from the beginning. At a meeting of the board on September 13, 1949, it is stated, “…The necessity of perfect attendance at rehearsals was discussed and the responsibility of each member of the Chorus to learn his notes was felt to be of the greatest importance.”

A few years later, in 1951, Mary Rowe of Wells River, VT, became the director. Her husband, Dr. Harry Rowe (a bass) joined the Chorus, too. It was more than a bit of good fortune for the group. Throughout the years, members have practiced once a week and given local performances during Christmas, spring and fall. A Madrigal Dinner was added in 1982, and, beginning with a trip to Ireland in 1977, the Chorus has made trips abroad about every four years.

In a memorandum to the Chorus before their trip to Austria and Hungary in 1986, Mary wrote: “…and we must be ready for spontaneous outbursts of song, but always remembering that we are representing America in the best possible way. Sing with joy and good feeling, communicating friendship and respect… Through our music and through our contacts with the people we will meet, we can create a positive image that could have important influences on events in the future.”

Betty reflects on that trip to Hungary. “When we went there, the country was still under Russian rule. As we sang their national anthem in their language, tears streamed down their faces. We felt the emotion of the moment.” Later, in 1990, Betty remembers singing in Poland in the Church Slavonic, which houses Poland’s most holy relic: the Black Madonna. “There had to be a special dispensation from the Pope enabling Mary to direct the chorus with her back to the icon,” said Betty.

Knowing that I was coming for the interview, Betty had searched through the albums and found an article I had written about the Chorus for the North Star in 1991. As I read through it, I vividly recalled the first time I heard the Chorus--Mary, so small in stature but supremely focused, directed the many voices into one beautiful sound. In the article, I described that sound as “holy.” Betty understands that description. “There is a tremendous sense of comradeship in the group. It is bigger than each of us, a celebration of the blending of many voices into a single voice. It is a spiritual experience,” she said. She attributes much of this to the character of Mary herself. “She had a deep concern for each of us and the creation of beautiful music together.”

Mary passed away in 2002. As with all long-lived organizations, the reins of leadership have passed to others to carry on the tradition. Alan Rowe, Mary’s son, is now the able director, and Betty has turned over the historian’s duty to Cindy Mitchell. A new round of rehearsals are set to begin on September 1.

And, by the way, Dr. Rowe is still singing bass at 95 and Betty’s singing second alto this coming season.

For more information on the North Country Chorus, including information on joining and performance schedules, go to http://www.northcountrychorus.org/index.html

This article was first published in the August 2009 issue of The North Star Monthly.

To see the photo album related to this article click here.

Oh, Neato!

The Life and Times of Marion E. Sevigny

March 12, 1922-May 29, 2009

By Sharon Lakey

“Sev and I were in Florida, retired in a nice, clean development. Every morning, we would sit at our breakfast table and watch the ambulance go by--in for someone and out with someone. We looked at each other and knew this wasn’t for us. That’s when we decided to come back to Danville and give the time we had left to our own community.”

That’s how I remember Marion’s story about how she and her husband Paul--who she often referred to as “Sev”--felt about retirement. We were on our way back from a library meeting in Montpelier, chatting in the car. She was dressed in her usual attire—a skirted dark suit, white blouse and heels. Not a hair out of place. When I dropped her at the library, she took her powder blue file box from the back seat, and we said goodbye.

That’s the most intimate conversation I ever had with Marion. Her veneer could be intimidating, but under that impeccable surface lived a thinker and a doer, and that conversation helped me understand why this woman and her husband were at the epicenter of all things Danville.

Marion was the first of five children born to Howard and Alice Calkins: Marion, Roy (Deke), Paul, Leland (Gus), Carmen and Zana. “Marion was A+, you know,” points out her brother Deke, “I was down the alphabet some.” He also went on to explain that while Marion was hitting the books, he was doing the chores, something he says he didn’t mind doing.

Her penchant for neatness probably came from her mother, Alice. The family still tells of their mother’s memorable trip to school to fetch daughter Zana, who had failed to make her bed! Carmen laughs, telling a story about her sister Marion’s neatness. “She was watching me as a baby, and I dirtied a diaper. Horrified, she plunked me into a pillowcase to avoid the mess but waited for my brother Paul to come home and change me.”

True to her studious nature, Marion was named the Salutatorian of her class in 1940. Classmates and staff were already in awe of her organization and ability to keep books. From the yearbook Danville Hi-Ways classmate Nathan Morrill wrote in the class gifts: “To Marion Calkins I present this law book, hoping it will give her the exact points she can prove her arguments by.” Classmate Frances Roberts wrote in the class will: “To the next School Comptroller, we will Marion Calkins’ ability to keep books—alone!” Principal Manning added: “All class treasurers will please meet Marion Calkins after school so she can check up on your bank books.”

And in class epitaphs:

“Marion Calkins,

Here we see,

Passed away,

When she got a D.”

Classmate Donald Douse, in the same yearbook, wrote an interesting essay that questioned our country’s ability to remain neutral in the European war. Just over a year later, after Marion graduated from Champlain College, it was no longer a question, and her life would take a new direction.

Her boyfriend at the time, Paul Sevigny, had joined the Air Force and was determined to fly. In his memoir, he writes, “In May, 1943, I wound up back at Sheppard Field, Texas, to learn how to assemble the new gliders we would get overseas in five crates. While there, my girlfriend from high school days asked her parents if she could come to Texas to see me. Her dad said, ‘Sure, go ahead, but don’t marry that little Frenchman. He will never amount to a tinker’s damn.’ Well, she came down and we got married the day she arrived.”

That was the beginning of Marion’s life as a military spouse, who traveled the world with Paul throughout his 24-year career. Sister Zana explains, “She was an involved military wife. While Paul was away, she never complained, and she always worked.” That life had its high points, especially in the 50’s when Paul got into racecar driving.

From Paul’s memoir, he writes of the couple’s trip to Los Angeles, “We [he and Marion] went to the sales place and saw this beautiful XK-120 M Jaguar, bright red, and it had been clocked at 142 miles per hour at a trial in Belgium. Well, we…drove out with this Jaguar. When we got to the race …we ended up in the pit area where all the race drivers were…We had a ball there with many people looking over our new Jaguar. One movie star, Paul Newman, who was racing said, “Hey, take it around a few laps!”

Two of Marion’s siblings credit the globetrotting couple as instrumental in their own careers. Zana, the youngest said, “They were my mentors. One trip back home, they took my friend and me to Boston to see the Ice Follies. It was my first trip to Boston. And as I neared graduation, they convinced my parents that I needed to go to college. After college, they convinced them I needed my masters.” She did both, with an undergraduate degree from the University of Vermont and a graduate degree from the University of Michigan in the field of special education. Carmen credits Paul and Marion with encouraging her to join the US Air Force, where she worked as a nurse.

Paul and Marion were thinking about a future in Danville when Paul wrote: “In 1954, I was promoted to captain and my wife and I had a chance to purchase Diamond Hill Cabins in our hometown of Danville, Vermont. [We] drove the Jaguar back to Vermont and purchased the 14 acres and 12 cabins. It was a summer business, so we planned on Marion running the business in the summer and join me in the winter.”

The couple continued to manage the cabins for a few years after Paul’s military retirement. He left the Air Force with a rank of major. After their short attempt at full retirement in Florida, they returned to Danville with their newfound goal of “community” before them. Marion went to work for Bruce Corrette at his accounting firm, where she remained for 40 years. During off-hours, Marion joined Paul in their dedication to community. As her good friend and co-worker Irene Trudholme said, “I never saw Marion and Paul socially, because they were so civic-minded. I think that defined their life together.”

One cohort in her activities was Steve Cobb, who owns and runs the Danville Restaurant and Inn. He called his relationship them as a “close friendship,” one they developed over 30 years. Paul and Marion became two of his best customers. Stories of their selfless gifting abound, and Steve shares this one. As chair of the building committee for the Danville Methodist Church, she would ask him yearly to be thinking about something the Church really needed. “When we were working on our handicapped accessibility remodel, Marion ordered a dozen donuts from me. When Paul came to pick up the donuts, he handed me a check for $2,000, written to the Church. They did things like that,” said Steve.

Marion offered him advice, too, in his own role as community volunteer. When he was President of the Pope Library, she told him, “’Always choose your helpers by what they can offer either physically or financially.’ It’s a piece of advice I’ve often thought about.”

The “neat thing” never left her, either. Steve remembers Marion showing up on a Sunday for a library cleaning in a blue blazer, matching pants, white-collared shirt, heels, and yellow rubber gloves. Former Town Clerk, Ginny Morse, remembers going on a cemetery clean up with her in a similar outfit, and Carmen and her daughter, Chelle, still laugh about Marion gardening in pantyhose and pumps.

This joy of tidiness is best described in Marion’s own words. Carmen shared the story of how Marion reacted when she showed her older sister how she had fixed up a basement room for her young daughter. When she beheld Carmen’s handiwork, Marion stopped mid-stair and exclaimed, ‘Oh, Neato!’”

“Neatness was one of her bugaboos, alright,” said Ginny. “She would order a dozen donuts and pound of coffee from Steve for the town garage crew every once in a while. It gave her an excuse to down there to see if everything was in order. She didn’t like to see a lot of spare parts lying around. Marion took a lot of pride in the Town and wanted it to be shipshape.”

As a Town Selectman for 18 years (Selectman being the designation she preferred) Ginny said, “She was a peacekeeper, but very firm. If she had an issue, she held to her position-- very calm, very determined and very steely. She was one of the most delightful people I’ve ever met. Danville is going to miss her in so many ways.”

In 1993, Marion and Paul celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary at the Danville Restaurant and Inn. It was a joyous occasion for the couple, and Paul lived another seven years before passing away in 2000. After his death, Marion continued in her service to the community and her job. According to family members, she and Paul had decided that upon their deaths their legacy of community service would continue. Always well prepared, Marion made plans that the estate would be divided up and given to community organizations in percentages that she and Paul had previously identified.

Over the last several years, Marion’s health began to deteriorate, though she was able to work through it. Her eyesight was difficult and there was a circulation problem in one of her legs. A stint, put in to improve circulation, brought on a staph infection that complicated her recovery. Her doctors told her an amputation was a necessity.

Though she had fought long, she made a decision at that time that “enough was enough,” said Zana, who was honored to spend the last week by her side. “She never wavered in her decision. Dartmouth Hitchcock was outstanding in meeting her request to be kept as comfortable as possible. There was no fear of death on her part, no delusions. She and Sev had talked this over. She said it was her time to go, and she was ready to rejoin him. Whenever Marion set a goal, she went for it.” She died with dignity on May 29, 2009.

Marion’s eulogy was read by her niece, Marion E. McHugh, Zana’s daughter from Raleigh, NC:

“Being her namesake has come with responsibility, and I am honored to rise to the occasion. My prayer is that the legacy of Marion E. Sevigny transcends time. Here is what I believe MARION stands for:

M is for Mighty in spirit and work—no one can deny that Marion was a hard worker.

A is for Always generous and kind—with her possessions and time.

R is for Right choices—doing the right thing. The things we learned when we were young still apply when we are old.

I is for Integrity and accountability.

O is for Oath—she was a woman of her word.

N is for Negotiator of peace—Jesus said on a hill long ago…blessed are the peacemakers for they will be called the sons and daughters of God (Matthew 5:9).

On this day, we have the peace of God that passes all understanding. We love you Marion E. Sevigny!”

This article first published in the North Star Monthy, July, 2009

To view the accompanying photo album, click here:

The Dream of Dairy Farming is Alive in Danville

The new Carson Family Farm is up and running

By Sharon Lakey

Twenty-five-year-old Casey Carson leaned forward in the chair, his eyes lit with determination. “I don’t consider it a risk. I went into this with the attitude that it is going to work.”

Striking out on his own as a dairy farmer in tough economic times is daring in anyone’s book. It is also a hopeful sign that dreams still flourish in an industry that has been in decline in our state for a long time now. Presently, only nine Danville farms are shipping milk; the Carson Family Farm, the newest, began shipping to Horizon Organic in March.

Dreams take a lot of work and support from many corners to become a reality. For Casey, the idea generated from a love of place. Many Danville residents may remember him from his youth; he and his brothers, Brett and Asa, were those handsome boys driving a pair of young oxen in Danville Fair parades. The Carson land lies between the villages of Danville and North Danville. Beautiful rolling acres spread out on both sides of the road, and the stately Kittredge Hills stand guard in the distance.

Grandparents Leonard and Helena lived just down the road from Partridge Lane where the boys grew up under the watchful eye of Janet, their mother. Though they never milked, they raised beef, and the whole family got together in summers to do the haying. This effort kept 114 acres of Carson land free of forest.

After graduating from Danville High School in 2002, Casey found work milking at two local dairies: the Webster farm in Danville and the Kempton farm in Peacham. In the fall, he entered Vermont Technical College to study dairy, but it was always a “hands-on” education that compelled Casey. He sought and landed a job at Sprague’s Dairy Farm in Brookfield, VT, an operation milking 400 head, three times a day. “I was spending a lot more time out there than in class,” Casey admits. He quickly decided college wasn’t for him.

In the back of his mind was a burning question, one that was put to him by two older mentors when he was hiring out as a milker. Don Moore of Peacham and Matthew Lindstrom of Molly’s Pond asked him, “What are your long term plans? Where are you going from here?”

Hoping to answer that question, he decided to try his hand at milking on his own. He rented a farm in 2005 from Melvin Churchill in Cabot. Finding the barn too small, he looked for a larger space and moved his cows to an empty barn owned by Betty and Albert Ackerman, where he milked through the winter of 2007. But when the Ackerman grandchildren decided they wanted to milk, he was out of a barn and ended up selling his herd to them.

Without a barn, what was he to do? “My Grandfather and Mom were very supportive,” says Casey, and the thought of placing a new barn on Carson land took hold. When he expressed self-doubt, he remembers his mom’s reflective words, “Money worries everyone.” Fellow Danville dairyman, Everett McReynold’s encouraged him as well, and Casey came up with a plan. The Vermont Economic Development Authority (VEDA) thought the plan sound and family support worthy, because they offered him loans to build the barn and start operations. “They’re working with me,” said Casey, who will begin to pay back the loan this fall.

Those driving the road between North Danville and Danville last summer saw the dream-barn emerge, stick by stick. With added muscle from Jesse Kittredge, Geoff Pelletier and Ryan Ward, who helped set the posts and carrying beam, the big barn gradually appeared. It’s located in the field just behind his boyhood home, set at an artistic angle to the road and painted red. The free stall design was chosen for the convenience of a one-person milking operation. “I think it’s better for the cows, too,” said Casey, “because they can walk around.” The design also allows for lots of airflow, keeping the barn fresh during Vermont’s long winters.

Leonard got to see the barn, but didn’t get to see it in action. “It really hurt me when he died; he was a big support for me,” said Casey of his death in early January. In spirit he is there, though, in the form of a portrait hanging in the tank room and his red tractor sitting beside the barn along with Casey’s yellow Caterpillar Challenger. The skid steer, used to clean the barn, is yet to arrive.

Casey decided to go organic because of the size of his farm and a higher price for the product. He likes the management style that comes with organic, too, because the cows must be able to pasture. To accommodate their range, he will work to clear more of the pastures that have grown up. Grain is purchased from Morrison Custom Feeds in Barnet, who handle organic feeds in the area. “I trust them,” he says. Fieldwork is hired out to Matt Gilman of Wheelock.

His favorite cows are a cross between Holstein and Jersey. “Holstein for the production and Jersey for the milk quality,” said Casey. He purchased young cows that had never been milked this spring from John and Beverly Rutter, who were downsizing their herd. The bank considers a cow viable for three to four years, but “they can go longer if organic, because you aren’t pushing production so hard,” said Casey. For the next few years, he plans to milk around 60, but his eventual goal is to milk 80, a figure he feels is economically sound and matches the size of his barn and acreage.

Though there is no set schedule, a typical day for Casey might go like this:

5:00: up for morning milking (1 ½ hour job)

7:30-8:00 feed the cows

Break: never set, but sometime between 8:00 and 9:00

Fencing and odd jobs

12:00: lunch

More work around the farm

4:30: get ready to milk

5:00: evening milking

7:00 to 7:30: finished

On the day of this interview, Casey was hard at work with a very important partner—two-year-old Taylor, his daughter. It was the evening milking time, 4:30 in the afternoon on a cold April day. “She loves the barn,” said Casey, and it was apparent from everything she did. The child was in perpetual motion. First, she used her little pink shovel, then loaded a bucket for feeding the calf, then practiced using the cups for the milking apparatus, then moved a few cow piles from one place to another with a hoe in the unused side of the milk parlor. Finally, she asked her dad if she could lie down, and he escorted her into the front room where there was a couch for Taylor’s well-deserved nap.

“It only takes about an hour and a half to milk now,” said Casey, moving easily from one cow to the next in the milking parlor. Perhaps all those hours working the oxen as a kid helped, because everything went smoothly for the young cows. Two were confused when entering the parlor, but in short order Casey was able to talk them through it without raising his voice. “I used to yell a lot, but yelling doesn’t really get you anywhere,” he said.

What kind of person does it take to dairy? “It’s hard to tell,” said Casey. “You have to like to work, especially outside. You never know what’s going to happen, and there’s always something to do. It takes the right kind of person to want to dairy.”

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This article was first published in June issue of The North Star Monthly.