Christmas Memories of Allan Hale - aka Like it usta be.

At this time of year when many are decorating and gifting I turn to a memory from my youth in Norwich Connecticut. It was in the early Fifties and the world I knew was prospering and mostly at peace. We could go to the local A&P and get a large paper sack of groceries for less than $5. We were members of the United Congregational Church that met in a historic building in downtown Norwich. I was approaching my teens and developing my impressions about important things of life. I attended Sunday school and learned the Old Testament stories of Joseph of the multicolored coat, Moses and the Ten Commandments, Solomon the wise king and the other inspiring stories. I also learned the story of the birth of Jesus Christ.

In our congregation we usually celebrated this season with an annual Christmas Pageant and this year I was participating as a shepherd. I was costumed in a bathrobe; a towel draped over my head tied with a piece of rope and carried a crooked stick. I remember kids playing angels dressed with a sheet draped around them; a tinsel halo over their head and cardboard wings attached to their backs. The three wise men wore fake beards and pieces of cloth wrapped like a turban around their heads carrying decorated boxes representing their gifts to the Lord. 

I mostly remember a peaceful reverent spirit in the sanctuary created by the singing of carols about the Christ child’s birth.

Everything was focused on the small family situated at the center of the tableau, a boy dressed in a bathrobe like I wore, standing by a pretty girl clad in a robe. They were gazing into a wooden cradle where a doll represented the most wonderful gift that Heavenly Father could ever give us, the Savoir of the world even Jesus Christ.

The strongest part of this memory is of the Spirit that filled me testifying of the divinity of that little boy who would live a life with out sin. Who, over his thirty years, communed with Angels and other messengers from his Father preparing for his ministry. Who then established His Church upon the Earth and then finished his earthly mission by giving his life as penance for our sins.

In this time of commercialism and pile building around a decorated tree that memory lives on in me as my first testimony of the humble birth and divinity of Jesus Christ. It reminds me that the true meaning of this season is to remember His birth and mission.

We have received many blessings this year including a trip to Florida in April to baptize Michael; two new sons-in-law, James Steed to Melissa in July; and Wayne Finlinson to Kristen in September who is blessed with their first child due in early July; during the time of Kristen’s wedding I also was privileged to ordain Michael an Elder. In November we connected with a granddaughter Ali (Alexandra) Townsend whom we thought was lost to us. We welcome them into our family.

We love and appreciate our family and friends. May you too remember the original purpose of this time and season.

Allan & Marilyn Hale

The final resting place of my father, W. Stanley Hale

W. Stanley Hale April 5, 1936 Lewis Field, Durham N.H.

My father chose to be cremated.  His ashes are spread at the base of a tree he visited many times on the wooded slopes of Mt. Hittie in Newry, Maine.  I will try to share what I know about why he chose this beautiful place as his final resting place.  But to help you really understand this, I'll need to include some memories from his own personal journal and from other family members...

I was not involved in dad's decision process to be cremated and where to spread his ashes - it was a decision between Mom and Dad. (I personally believe that economics was the primary reason.) However, with that said there is a lot more to it. Dad loved Newry, Maine.

My sister, Joan, shared some insight:

"Pa love the woods and mountains. So when he retired they traveled for several years until Pa's health wasn't good.  Then they were able to buy a piece of property in Newry, Maine. He had been going hunting in this area since before I was born. In fact, after staying in a hunting cabin for years he began staying with the family that owned it all. So it was like going home to him. They built this cute house that was high enough up to look off at the mountains. Everyday (weather permitting) he would go out doors and walk. He cut wood and planted gardens etc.

In fact in the winter he would build snowmobile trails. He belonged to a club that would go trail riding with Gramma Hale standing on a sled in back of his snowmobile. Can you imagine? Remember he was young when he died so these could be done when he was that age. He just had a bad heart.

Now, on the years Gramma Hale went with him they would go and he would carve their initials and the year on this tree. That was way back in their younger days before they moved up there. We saw many of his initials and dates on that tree.  So it was Pa's desire to have his ashes spread around this tree on the mountain he loved.

Stan's tree in Newry with most recent family visit by his daughter, Joan, marked (2000)

The year we went (as you can see from the photo) was 2000 and the tree was still there. It's quite a trip up there. You can drive so far in a 4 wheel vehicle and then walk a ways.  The family hoped the tree would stay but most of the older family members are now gone. We haven't been up there since 2000.

It is a beautiful part of the country and I see why my parents (especially my Father) picked that place. It really has a special feel when we go up there.  Every year I say I'm going back, but haven't."

My oldest son, Eric, had a very poignant observation:

"Regarding Pa's cremation.  I remember a very vivid conversation with him when I was young teen visiting in Newry.  He told me that he did not want a grave because there are better things to do with the land.  Future generations will need it.  It seemed very poignant considering his background in agriculture.  When I asked him “what about people who might want to visit your grave?”  He said "They can come here and visit me."

That's how I remember it."

Dad first started going to Newry, Maine for hunting trips. Here is an excerpt from his journal: 

"An event that started out quite small shaped the way for a change in our lives much later. In the fall of 1947 Tilford Cocks, who was a 4-H Club agent, went to Maine for deer hunting. He took his wife and son Lewin, who was eight years old. They drove up to some cabins where Tilly had stayed in previous years. The proprietor said there were no vacancies. He suggested that they drive up the road about seven miles where a farmer named Fred Wight had some cabins and he might have one for rent. They did and a cabin was available. They rented it.

In 1947 was a very dry year in Maine and there were some terrible forest fires. The town of Bar Harbor was burned and much woodland around Bridgeton was also burned. Because of this the State of Maine ‘slapped a ban on’. This meant no hunting. Tilly stayed as long as he could, hoping that the no hunting ban would be lifted but he had to come home. When he came back into the office he said he hoped to go back and I said I would like to go with him.

When we heard that it had rained and the woods were again open we called the Wights. They said their cabin had been rented to some one else but they had a room in their farm home and although they didn’t take in ‘sports’ we would come. So we drove up and came to the Wight’s home. The room we slept in had been their son’s room and he was in the service.

I well remember that first evening. We were rather ill at ease, not knowing each other. Mrs. Wight wanted to know what we did. Tilly told her he was a 4-H Club Agent and I said I was a County Agricultural Agent and that broke the ice. Mrs. Wight was a 4-H club leader and active in Home Extension. Mr. Wight had taken part in agricultural work and was Community Committeeman for the Agricultural Conservation Program. We stayed there about a week.

I had one incident in the woods that was real amusing. Tilly and I were standing near together and we saw a deer. Tilly raised his gun and fired. I aimed at the deer and jacked all the shells through my gun and never pressed the trigger! That was what is called ‘buck fever.’ I did not get a deer that year but Tilford did.

Following that year Tilford and I went up there again and for several years and then I took Doris up. Joan and Marcia went on one trip. We began to form a friendship that just built up. Fred and Ida were in their 60’s and they had four sons. Willard was in the Forestry Department. Paul worked on the state highway and Owen the youngest, was attending Gould Academy in Bethel. Following a hitch in the Army he married Sue Brook, who had been widowed and had three small children. George, the oldest son died of cancer.

We became quite close to the family and they ‘adopted’ me. I helped Fred with an income tax problem and as a result he became eligible for Social Security. Later I again helped him with another problem—an inheritance. These helps gained me the confidence of the sons for Fred was becoming blind.

The Bear River Valley in Newry, Maine is located about 15 miles from the New Hampshire line. At the west end of the valley is Grafton Notch, a pass through the mountains and the road passes Lake Umbagog—one of the Rangely Lakes. This pass has been made into a State Park.

We fell in love with the area and bought some land on which to build a home—but that is another story."

The “other Story” dad talked about comes also as an excerpt from my rendition of his travel journal:

Winter 1975/1976

"Hale's Hill" - Homestead in Newry, ME

"This winter snow bird trip was a down and back just to get out of the cold. They were gone from 8 December to 31 March. It was at this time that Mom and Dad sold the 37 Mulberry St, Norwich, CT., house. It had been home for 25 years but they had plans. During their last trip north to Newry the Wights offered to sell them a nice piece of property which had a beautiful southern view of the valley in northern Newry right on the edge of Grafton Notch State Park. Their property was adjacent to Step Falls and was the last place before the park.

Dad contracted with a local builder to build their house and dad bragged that the contract was a handshake and a check for $25,000 as a down payment. Dad indicated that it had W-truss for roofing 16 inches on center (very heavy construction) 6” wall, double paned glass and they heated it with a 3 log Jotul stove in the basement. They had 4 wonderful happy years in this house."

Newry Community Church

Dad in his usual manner became involved in the town. He was appointed Civil Defense Director for Newry. I remember him showing me a Geiger counter that he had stored at the house in Newry.
He and Mom became involved in the Newry Community Church. When any of the grand kids came to visit and remained over the weekend he would bring them early to church and they got the ring the bell that announced services. It was a large bell and could be heard for miles up and down the valley. Dad would unlock the door and right inside the entry was a rope that hung down from the bell. It took a couple of pulls to get it going but the kids really got a thrill to be able to ring that bell.

A write up in the Lewiston Sun Journal was written by Rodney Hanscom who later became the lay minister for Newry Community Church and he preached the eulogy for dad. Find it at http://news.google.com/newspapers?id=z8QgAAAAIBAJ&sjid=3mkFAAAAIBAJ&pg=1565,4810038
 
 Behind their house in Newry was Mt Hittie. Dad purchased an old Ford 4 FWD pickup truck with a 4 on the floor and it was so old that it had a manual choke. It would not pass an inspection but when he went to register it he told the people at the Registry that it would never be driven on the highway as he only intended it to be used to bring firewood back to the house. There were holes in the floorboards and the fenders flapped when you went over a bump. The big deal was that when the grand kids came he would pile them into the truck, start it up and put it into 4 wheel drive and shift into the lowest granny gear. He would pull out the choke a little and then off it would go. He even let the kids steer. The road was unimproved so it was rutted and bumpy but the old Ford just would creep along and the kids were thrilled.

Mt. Hittie (named for an old woman once lost on the mountain)

Up on Mt Hittie was a special Beech tree. The Beech tree retains its scars and Dad had scratched his initials in the tree one of the times he was up there hunting and they still showed decades later. He would have the kids scratch their initials and a date. I personally never went there but Eric and Amy and Greg, Tim and Jason all have their initials on the tree. This place was dearly loved by Dad and this is where his ashes have been scattered.