If you grew up in New England and happened to live in an extended farm family, the revolving seasons had a profound affect on your thoughts and actions. You’re also infused with a plethora of Norman Rockwell-like memories of the past. This phenomenon becomes more acute — more vivid — as one grows older. It’s easy to romanticize these halcyon days of yesteryear, to mythologize the past and paint by-gone days with bright colors alone, ignoring, or minimizing the harder or grimmer side of agrarian life: favorite calves that got “shipped,” pets that had to be “put down,” the inevitable passing of loved ones, the sale of time-honored pieces of property, frozen drinking cups in the stable during sub-zero Januaries, wet hay combusting and burning barns to the ground, sometimes with livestock still in their stalls and stanchions.

But these old farm families were resilient and determined to forge on; after all, what choice did one have? The not uncommon death of an infant, a disabling injury or condition, a failed crop, or equipment failure — all were faced with a stoicism seldom talked about or dwelled upon. Good food from well-kept gardens and harvested wildlife, hard work in the fields and woods, celebrations of dance and potluck suppers, hard cider and the annual county fair of livestock judging and horse- and ox-pulling — these activities characterized the lives of the yeoman.

Bob “Lefty” Goodell was one such yeoman. He milked a small herd of Holsteins on 100 acres or so of land. He raised six children, served on various town boards, including road boss, planted and cultivated amazingly bountiful gardens, and loved to hunt whitetail deer. In the summer he would tan-up like a berry, which served to highlight his super-white, toothy grin. He was a kindly man, always willing to lend a hand and to chip in when needed.

I’m waxing nostalgic probably because Vermont deer hunting opens in a few days. When I was a boy this event  was eagerly anticipated. Along with my dad, Lefty and his son Bobby, old Joe Jurek and a handful other “locals” would hunt the hills of southern Vermont for two weeks and three weekends. The sounds and smells of of the late fall woods are indelibly etched on my consciousness.

This writing coincides with the release of Ken Burns’ documentary on the 250th anniversary of the Revolutionary War. As I reflect upon the personages of my rural upbringing I realize that the indomitable spirit of independence and fierce determination of the Revolutionary generation are still very much intact and at work in 21st century New England. These qualities go unnoticed much of the time but surface occasionally at town meeting or other such forums, however small or large. Lefty and his fellow farmers embodied these sensibilities of fairness, independence, and decency. He loved his family and his way of life; he took those qualities to his grave. My next meal of venison will be consumed in honor of my dad and Lefty. 

Brad Brigham lives in Colrain.