Sidehill Vermonters (youngsters:non fiction, 1822 words)
Author: Lou Hill	Added: Apr 23 2002	Views/Reads: 5219/3032	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Updated to add the right story for the title. A story about "real" Vermonters and one of my favorites.

SIDEHILL VERMONTERS 

Whenever we traveled during the early years of our marriage, my wife and
I would point out various sights to our daughter, Lesli, to try to keep 
her amused on the journey.  On our trips from Manchester, NH to Alburg, 
VT to visit my parents, we would most often direct her attention to 
"moo cows."  As she grew older and more difficult to distract from the 
boredom of a long ride, I had to become more inventive. 

I finally came up with a diversion that worked for quite a while.  I
told her to watch for "Sidehill cows."  Now as every "real" Vermonter 
knows Sidehill cows evolved on the hill farms of Vermont where many of 
the pastures are almost vertical.  These cows are never found in the 
flatlands.  They are usually seen in the deep valley and high ridge 
sections of the state.  However spotting one is extremely difficult. 

For the uninformed, a Sidehill cow can be of any breed.  She has adapted
to her environment by growing the legs on one side of her body longer 
than those on the other side.  This allows the cow to graze on the side 
of steep pastures, keeping her body level, without the danger of 
tipping over.  Sidehill cows are true survivors, having overcome the 
obstacles presented by nature. 

Over the years I have come to the realization that many of the people I
knew in my past and many that I know at present are what I call 
"Sidehill Vermonters."  Like Sidehill cows, they have adapted to their 
environment, overcoming difficulty, enduring hardships and personal 
tragedy, doing whatever is necessary to survive and still stay upright 
and on a level path. 

Perhaps the best example of a Sidehill Vermonter was my grandmother, Ada
Hill.  She was a tomboy, the eldest of four children. When she was 
born, her hair was bright red and her mother, my great-grandmother 
Sarah Austin, was so ashamed of the color that she hid the baby.  I 
have a picture of her taken shortly after the turn of the century when 
she was in her early teens.  She is standing astride a battered 
bicycle, hair askew, middy blouse, half in and half out of the 
waistband of her skirt, stockings bagging at the ankles and knees.  She 
is staring straight into the camera, unsmiling, eyes squinted with a 
determined look on her face.  This is what I remember best about her, 
her determination. 

After graduating from grammar school, she attended "Normal" school for
two years in preparation for a career as a teacher.  She taught for 
several years than married my grandfather, Louis James Hill, for whom I 
am named.  They moved to Lewiston Maine where they lived for over a 
year and where my father was born. 

It must have been lonely for her.  Tucked away in family bible, I found
a card she had written to her grandmother in which she mentions that 
her husband had been away for several weeks but that she was lucky to 
be in her warm room in the cold weather. 

Sometime around 1914 or 1915 they moved to a house in Colchester,
Vermont.  On January 9, 1916 my grandfather died, the victim of 
ruptured appendix and the resulting peritonitis.  After her husband's 
death, my grandmother moved to her parent's home in West Enosburg with 
her 17-month-old son, my father, William Hill. My grandfather had left 
her penniless.  He had also elicited a deathbed promise from her to 
never remarry. 

To support herself and her son, my grandmother resumed teaching in the
Enosburg Town schools.  Most of her 42 years of teaching were at the 
West Enosburg school where, for many years, she taught all eight 
grades. 

My grandmother was a tiny woman, barely 5 feet tall and weighed less
than a hundred pounds.  However she had no difficulty in controlling a 
roomful of rambunctious farm children, usually with just a look.  Often 
some of the hulking sixteen-year-old "big boys" were twice her size.  
Yet she rarely had to resort to notifying parents of a discipline 
problem. 

When my great-grandfather died, Ada became the support of my
great-grandmother as well as of my father.  After my father married and 


Click here to read the rest of this story (117 more lines)