Farr’s Smokehouse"
As far as we know the house I grew up in, built by the Comstock family, was the third constructed in Corinth, New York. Our neighbor’s, the Farrs, was the first. We had a smoke house like the one in today’s painting, but I don’t have any photos of it. Meat was no longer smoked at home so the little buildings fell into disrepair. I can remember warnings to steer clear of ours, as it might collapse. One day, as we watched from a safe distance, my dad gave it a push from the side and the quaint little structure became a pile of bricks, soon forgotten. Luckily I took a photo of Farr’s smoke house sometime along the way. It’s probably gone now too, as it was deteriorating many years ago.
Mr. and Mrs. Farr, (were they Irving and Irene?), had gentle spirits and were good friends of the family, people we were happy to see anytime. I remember the color of her skin being close to the same as her white hair. She spoke softly, and gently reared her children, cooked and baked, and made quilts in the winter. He wore suspenders and blue shirts and pants, worked the farm, and always had a smile readily available. They were grandparents to my friend Debbie, and she called him "Grandpa Farr". Since he was special to me, but I didn’t feel that I could call him Grandpa, I started calling him "Uncle Farr". He didn’t seem to mind.
I still have fond memories of times spent there playing with Debbie and bracing for the over zealous greeting of her Newfoundland dog; of trying to ride the old draft horse, and being gently scraped off by a low hanging apple tree branch; and jumping off a high wooden beam into the hayloft at a sleepover birthday party in the spacious barn. But best of all was sledding.
The Farr’s land bordered ours on the other side of our woods, a nice walk through conifers and hardwoods. We spent many hours on the trails in the forest looking for wildflowers and berries or building "teepees" of sticks covered with layers of earthy smelling pine needles. In the winter the trail took us to Farr’s field, a wonderful steep hill for sledding. A few times through my childhood the rains fell on a deep layer of snow and froze, creating a magical world covered with ice. I’m sure it was a hardship for the "grown-ups" having to carry on with their lives but was wonderful for kids, getting time off from school and waiting to go sliding. We each had Flexible Flyers, sleek wooden sleds with metal runners that flew down Farr’s hill with exhilarating speed. Since it was almost impossible to get back up the ice-covered incline, some of the big guys helped us get some traction by making slight indentations, stomping their heels down on the crust. My siblings and neighbors, without adults, spent hours enjoying the rides on cold winter days. The bottom of the "perfect" hill was a little on the tricky side. We had to come to an abrupt stop just before slamming into a stone wall and pine trees. Luckily there was an extremely short incline just before the wall to help. When there was enough snow to cover the rocks, my younger brother was really impressive as he perfected going over the wall, grabbing his sled and standing up before smashing into the trees. Practicing that maneuver did prove a little painful. We also had to be very careful not to go off to the left into rocks and an open spring filled with water. With all these hazards there were no protests from the Farrs, no worry about liability. They just seemed happy knowing we were all having a great time. They are gone now, the features of their faces are blurred in my memory, but I will always remember this kind Adirondack couple and crisp cold winter days flying down the field with wings on my sled.
Mr. and Mrs. Farr, (were they Irving and Irene?), had gentle spirits and were good friends of the family, people we were happy to see anytime. I remember the color of her skin being close to the same as her white hair. She spoke softly, and gently reared her children, cooked and baked, and made quilts in the winter. He wore suspenders and blue shirts and pants, worked the farm, and always had a smile readily available. They were grandparents to my friend Debbie, and she called him "Grandpa Farr". Since he was special to me, but I didn’t feel that I could call him Grandpa, I started calling him "Uncle Farr". He didn’t seem to mind.
I still have fond memories of times spent there playing with Debbie and bracing for the over zealous greeting of her Newfoundland dog; of trying to ride the old draft horse, and being gently scraped off by a low hanging apple tree branch; and jumping off a high wooden beam into the hayloft at a sleepover birthday party in the spacious barn. But best of all was sledding.
The Farr’s land bordered ours on the other side of our woods, a nice walk through conifers and hardwoods. We spent many hours on the trails in the forest looking for wildflowers and berries or building "teepees" of sticks covered with layers of earthy smelling pine needles. In the winter the trail took us to Farr’s field, a wonderful steep hill for sledding. A few times through my childhood the rains fell on a deep layer of snow and froze, creating a magical world covered with ice. I’m sure it was a hardship for the "grown-ups" having to carry on with their lives but was wonderful for kids, getting time off from school and waiting to go sliding. We each had Flexible Flyers, sleek wooden sleds with metal runners that flew down Farr’s hill with exhilarating speed. Since it was almost impossible to get back up the ice-covered incline, some of the big guys helped us get some traction by making slight indentations, stomping their heels down on the crust. My siblings and neighbors, without adults, spent hours enjoying the rides on cold winter days. The bottom of the "perfect" hill was a little on the tricky side. We had to come to an abrupt stop just before slamming into a stone wall and pine trees. Luckily there was an extremely short incline just before the wall to help. When there was enough snow to cover the rocks, my younger brother was really impressive as he perfected going over the wall, grabbing his sled and standing up before smashing into the trees. Practicing that maneuver did prove a little painful. We also had to be very careful not to go off to the left into rocks and an open spring filled with water. With all these hazards there were no protests from the Farrs, no worry about liability. They just seemed happy knowing we were all having a great time. They are gone now, the features of their faces are blurred in my memory, but I will always remember this kind Adirondack couple and crisp cold winter days flying down the field with wings on my sled.
SOLD
