Maine Tales. What Are You Doing on the Fourth? Bridgewater, Maine, Circa 1977.

Aroostook Potato House Worker Rolling a Potato Barrel, Circa 1940.  Photo taken by Jack Delano, a photographer working for the Farm Security Administration who was hired to document how rural America worked during the Great Depression era.  Mr. Delano stayed in Aroostook County for the 1940 Potato Harvest.

People in Maine are legendary for their work ethic. Nowhere is this reputation more well-earned than in the potato fields of Northern Maine’s Aroostook County. Aided and abetted by a short growing season, each and every day matters for Maine farmers intent on successfully growing a crop between the last snow bank to melt in Spring and the first snow flurries of Fall.

Potato Country

In Potato country, the heavy work load continues right through Maine’s snowy and cold Winter, inside the sprawling insulated, windowless Potato storages known locally as ‘Potato Houses.’ Each Potato farmer and crew have millions of pounds of spuds to clean, sort, bag and ship. And this Winter’s work must be completed before the next Spring rolls around, when the snow exits and the cycle starts anew beginning with the annual rite of planting.

Now, the first European-American settler to land in this locale was Nathanial Bradstreet in 1827. Along with his sons John and Joseph, he left the safety and civilization of the Central Maine Town of Palermo to search for a streamside mill site to start and whittle down the forested wilderness which in time would become the Town of Bridgewater. Once the trees were removed the forest was soon converted over to farm fields in which to grow mighty potatoes. Jump down about four generations and you come to Bridgewater Seed Potato farmer Dan Bradstreet (1912-2006), grandfather to our friend, contemporary Seed Potato farmer, Ryan Bradstreet.

Work in the Potato House

Jim worked for Dan in his Potato House the Winter of 1976-1977. There had been a devastating drought in Europe the Summer of ’76. The demand for the export of Maine Certified Seed Potatoes to the Old World was strong. In addition to hanging 50-pound paper sacks for domestic trade, they’d fill and lug 50-kg burlap bags (110-pounds) into rail cars bound for Winterport, where sacks were reloaded onto boats headed to Europe.

The young men hung (filled), weighed and sewed the bags shut. Dan and a couple of older helpers graded out Potato culls on the inspection table portion of the grading line. Dan’s son, Wayne, kept the hopper full with a mechanized Potato shoveler and made sure the line was flowing well. Whenever Potato varieties had to be switched – and at the end of the day – it was time to clean up the floor of spilled and crushed potatoes and dirt. They’d also roll 11-peck Cedar Potato barrels full of ‘Seconds’ (smaller B-sized potatoes) separated out by a mechanical sizer to an awaiting bin. Some of the men were so talented at rolling barrels full of 165-pounds of potatoes that they did it effortlessly with one hand while walking beside the barrel. They could also skillfully and efficiently roll a full barrel up a single 12-foot 3”x 8” plank to a height of three or four feet, to allow the barrel to be emptied into an awaiting bin.

The noisy grading machinery would shut down during clean up and while moving about scores of barrels. It was a group activity and that created the opportunity for teasing one another. Of course, the working did not stop. This good-natured joking or rapartee is what Kentucky farmer and author Wendell Berry has called “labor saving devices.”

A Day Off for the 4th of July

Every so often Dan would take these dinless Winter opportunities to call out something like, “Jim, what are you doing on the 4th?” The “4th” was a universally-understood reference to the 4th of July, the one day – besides Sundays – a Maine farmer will take off during the year’s growing season. Daydreaming about the 4th no doubt served to shorten long Maine Winters. When outside the windowless Potato House it might have been a January morning of thrity-five degrees below zero, or blowing a blizzard, thinking about a sunny and warm ‘4th’ became a pleasant escape while doing Potato House work.

Dan’s escapades on the ‘4th’ were so well known among townsfolk that the topic rarely elicited comment. Beginning when he was a young man, rising at 4am he would toss a lunch into his pack basket and grab his fishing pole. He would traipse by foot many miles deep into the Unorganized Territory where our farm is located. Along familiar paths he’d traveled all of his life, Dan revisited the secret pools he had not laid eyes on for twelve months. These hidden pools sheltered the tasty Brook Trout that were the subject of this alternate passion. He’d loop around the woods the long way and completed his long circle back, arriving at home just before dark.

The next morning Dan was back in the Potato farming business. If it had been a good Spring, he would have just finished hoeing potatoes right before the Holiday. Now he’d be all ready to shift over to making hay, cutting Oats and getting ready for ‘Digging.’

Caleb, Megan & Jim