(HOST) Here in Vermont, we’re surrounded by reminders of the generations that have lived here before us, and in the hustle of our daily lives it can be easy to pass them by without thinking, but commentator Edith Hunter believes that even the simplest of them shouldn’t be taken for granted.
(HUNTER) During the past summer season our Weathersfield Historical Society had the usual number of out-of-town visitors seeking information about their Weathersfield ancestors.
Two such recent visitors wanted to find the cemeteries where their ancestors were buried. The family had been a large one and they had lived in several different sections of town. Family members had been buried in several of our cemeteries. I offered to take the visitors to those cemeteries.
As we walked through a field in a sparsely settled part of town, I said: " Over there by those lilac bushes, is one of our very interesting cellar holes."
"A what?" said one of the women.
"A cellar hole," I said.
"What is a cellar hole?" she asked.
I couldn’t believe my ears. How could anyone not know what a cellar hole is? And so I began to explain. "A cellar hole is a site where a house once stood. Maybe it burned, or just fell down, but all that remains is the cellar."
"Oh," said the visitor.
It occurred to me that the visitors were from the city. If a house in the city burns or is taken down, usually the site is bulldozed over and another house is quickly built on the same location.
By contrast, here in Weathersfield, we cherish our old cellar holes. They help us reconstruct our past. In fact, Dr. Ernest Butterfield, one of our great town historians in the first half of the last century, in connection with his study, The Inhabitants of Weathersfield, 1780-1813, produced a map on which he pinpointed the location of all of our early settlers. He assigned each site a number, and if the house was gone and nothing but a cellar hole marked the place, he drew a circle beside the number and put a line through it. Going through old deeds in the town office, he listed, if possible, all the owners of those sites, from the earliest to the owners at the time he completed his research.
Here in Weathersfield we consider it almost sacrilegious to bulldoze in a cellar hole. Or, even worse, to visit one with a front-end loader and carry off some of the wonderful old stones used in the foundations or that served as doorsteps.
Donald Hall’s poem "New Hampshire" begins with these lines:
"A bear sleeps in the cellar hole, where pine needles
heap over the granite doorstep. ……… "
Many of our history hikes have been to visit old cellar holes.
No doubt, the day will come when building lots will be at a premium and our old cellar holes will have to be sacrificed to the needs of the living.
But, for a little time longer, we here in Weathersfield cherish our cellar holes.
Writer and historian Edith Hunter lives in Weathersfield Center.