The Extinction of the Simple Life
by Ken Mathews




It is a sad part of the evolution Of our lifestyle and its demands - We have lost so many simple pleasures; There is so little time for us To smell the roses and enjoy What man cannot create - And seems increasingly to destroy.

My grandparents were the last Generation able to hold on to Remnants of those simple ways; Living much closer to the land - As did the folks of earlier days.

They never had store bought jelly, But always had some they had made From grapes or quince from the yard, Or wild elderberries from down below. In the spring they always had Several messes of dandelion greens; Picked their yellow flowers – To make a batch of bitter wine; Living and enjoying each day of life, Frugally, On simple means.

By fall their cellar shelves Were filled with many mason jars - The ones with glass dome lids Secured by metal wire clamps, And rubber rings to seal them tight; It was all food they had put by In an annual, sort of ritualistic, Preparation for the winter ahead. They had bushel boxes there too - Filled with apples from their trees, And potatoes bartered from a friend.

Thanksgiving saw pumpkin pie Along next to one of mock mincemeat - One of apples, those from their yard; Sometimes one of wild blueberries From bushes along side Parker’s swamp. Christmas would not be complete Without the long keeping winter squash, Blue Hubbard, which kept through - Well into the month of March, Lest they finished it off before then.

My grandfather would mend and solder Things that should not have broken But were good enough to mend - Like the handle of a dustpan, Which was made of metal back then. My grandmother would sew clothes On her foot treadle machine; And darn the holes in clothes and sox; She always knit me a pair of mittens – A Christmas present cherished each year.

They never seemed to be in a rush, But always had things to get done. The best part of it all really was They had time to spend together And always had time for their family.

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About the Author;
Introduction and Background I was born in Nashua, NH in 1948 as our country was recovering from World War II. A few days later, my parents took me home to Hollis, NH, where I lived until going off to college in 1967. My mother was a Hollis native, where my grandparents, her mother and father, lived. My Father was born in Brookline, NH, just west of Hollis. His mother, who was a widow long before I was born, lived in Brookline on the family farm. That area of Southern NH, bordered by the Nissitissett, Nashua, Souhegn and Merrimack rivers was the setting where I experienced life for my first 20 years. Hollis and Brookline were both small New England towns where everybody knew everybody, literally. Most of the people were at least third or fourth generation residents. There was no serious crime, no full time police force and for the most part, people didn’t even think about locking their house doors. There was no need.

The people, their culture and values were very conservative. The landscape, with hundreds of acres of woods, orchards and farmland, has numerous ponds and streams. The largest pond, Long Pond, eventually was renamed Silver Lake. The State of New Hampshire took over the north end of the lake in the 1950’s and made it into “Silver Lake State Park”. That was our major tourist attraction. On hot summer afternoons, particularly on weekends, it was always filled to capacity. Those were the days the “townies” stayed away.

It’s now been half a century since my very earliest memories, shaped by the rural life and culture that is rapidly becoming extinct. In my writing, every now and then, there will be traces of this culture and the values of rural Southern New Hampshire and the Merrimack Valley of New Hampshire and Northern Massachusetts.

Ken@boomerjournals.com