Day, the Second

What is Past is Prologue

THIS IS A STORY ABOUT NOTHING. Or rather, very little. And what little there is, can be defined as so common, so mundane, as to be instantly forgotten. Or at least, normally it would be.

This is the story of a farmer who picked up a stone and a little girl who loves rocks.

We begin in 1918, though this story could begin anytime in the next ten years, so let’s call it between 1918 and 1928. The story starts in New Boston, NH on a lovely farm owned by a man named Orren Waldo. Farmer Waldo’s home was built around 1830 so by the time Orren found himself in his yard clearing rocks to build a wall, his farmhouse was already a century old.

On a whim, or perhaps directed by some hand of the Gods, Farmer Waldo discovered a smallish, flat stone that – if looked at in just the right manner – resembled a face. Was Farmer Waldo thinking of New Hampshire’s famous Old Man of the Mountain in Franconia Notch when he lifted that stone out of the earth? Who knows.

What he did do, though, was heave the stone onto his shoulder to carry it back to his house and, as fate would have it, his wife took a picture. And there it was, stone face Farmer Waldo.

That picture survived. Even after Farmer Waldo moved his home to nearby Goffstown, the picture was passed down from generation to generation for a hundred years until finally, thanks to technology Orren could not possible even imagine in his time, the photo appeared in a Facebook New Hampshire history group, and a new curiosity was ignited.

“That looks like that Old Man stone,” my daughter is saying. As soon as I saw the Stone Face, I thought Little Bean might appreciate it. Since writing our first Field Guide together, NH Rocks That Rock, she’s been enamored with rocks, stones and minerals. Her collection sits in every room in every corner of our house. When she refers to the Old Man, she is not thinking of the giant famous old man, but rather the Old Man of the Valley, a larger boulder in Shelburne, NH that we’ve visited for our writings.

FARMER WALDO FINDS STONE FACE / LITTLE BEAN FINDS THE OLD MAN

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“It does, “I say. “But this is a picture taken a long time ago.”

“Where’s he taking it,” she wants to know.

“Well, his house maybe, I suppose.”

“Can we go see it. In his house, I mean.”

Honestly, that had never even occurred to me. “I don’t think a stone that small exists anymore, baby.”

“Why? Can you ask?”

She’s learning that there’s an inherent benefit to having a father who was a journalist and is a librarian. Finding stuff out is kind of my thing.

“Sure, what the heck, let me make some calls.”

Obviously, a hundred-year-old, small face stone moved to make a wall no longer exists, but I reach out to some New Boston historian friends because I figure the least I can do is collect some information about Orren Waldo.

It takes about three whole minutes for New Boston Historical Society curator Lisa Rothman to get back to me.

“Sure, we still have the stone,” she says. “Bring your daughter, we’ll show her.”

And just like that, we’re going to New Boston.

Tomorrow: We venture into the strange wilds of New Boston where we discover much more than a farmer’s stone. Join us for part two!