Wayne County Wanderings: When Honesdale really was a winter wonderland

Last week, our News Editor was putting together a story about the season and she asked us to share favorite memories from winters past.

It was fascinating to listen as my colleagues revealed their recollections.

They included epic blizzards and long peaceful walks in the snow; the unbridled joy of listening to the radio and hearing that school was called off; making snowmen, building snow forts, snowball fights, sleigh riding, hot cocoa.

The list goes on and on.

“Winter is full of magic,” she wrote. “And the holidays put the magic of the family front and center. Each holiday reminds us to enjoy the simple things in life, even if it is just a fresh snowfall.”

The story conjured a swirl of happy memories from my own childhood and there’s one in particular I’d like to share … a most amazing experience and one that just may resonate with local readers of a certain age.

The Family Farm

By the time I came into this world, the Edwards Family Farm in Lake Ariel wasn’t much of a farm anymore; but, it still played a central role in my childhood.

All I have to do is close my eyes and the memories come flooding back: Family reunions. Hiking in the woods. Wiffle Ball games in the backyard. Maple Syrup. Practice driving while bouncing across the pasture in an old pick-up truck.

Gem, our last work horse … a gentle beast that stood nearly 18 hands tall and never complained no matter how many squealing, squirming kids clambered onto his back.

Yes, there were endless adventures to be had in the fields and woods that seemingly went on forever. But, the focal point of our existence there was the farmhouse itself. The two-story home was built in the early 1800s by my great-great grandfather, a farmer who also drove stage coach.

The house was a magnet for us kids, especially in the winter when we played outside in the snow until our lips were blue and Grandma called us in.

Just inside the front door was an unheated mud room where we shed our boots and snowsuits. Then, we opened the big wooden door to the kitchen and a wave of warmth from the ancient stove washed over us.

Grandma was always waiting there, wearing her apron and a big smile, the mouth-watering aroma of freshly-baked bread wafting through the air. She would gather up all our wool hats, mittens and scarves, then carefully arrange them to dry on the big hissing silver radiator.

Moments later we’d be seated at the old kitchen table drinking hot cocoa and bickering about who got the most marshmallows.

Unforgettable

The snowstorm seemingly came out of nowhere that cold December day while visiting the farm.

I remember everyone being caught off-guard by how quickly it arrived and how rapidly it intensified.

Not surprisingly, the storm was greeted very differently by the adults and the children. While my brothers and I frolicked in the flakes with our cousins, Mom and Dad debated whether to head home quickly or try to ride it out.

To be honest, some of the details are muddled in my mind. I think we ended up staying the night, but my memory of what follows is crystal clear.

The storm was over and the sun shining as we piled into the station wagon for the trip back to Honesdale. Dad drove the 12 miles at a snail’s pace and I don’t think we encountered a single car in either direction all the way home.

Route 191 had been plowed, but there were huge drifts looming on both sides of the road, looking very much like they could reclaim the asphalt at a moment’s notice.

After what seemed like hours, our car began creeping down Sunrise Avenue toward town. Dad pumped the brakes and we all held our breath as the old wagon fishtailed toward the intersection in front of Moore’s.

The light was red so we stopped and waited, even though Main Street was completely deserted. My brothers and I were all in the “way-back” horsing around when all of a sudden Mom spoke up.

“Boys! Settle down and look outside.”

There was something in her voice that made us stop what we were doing and scramble into position. I remember us using our hands to create three little portholes in the fogged-over window, followed by our eyes opening wide in disbelief.

One Horse Open Sleigh

It was starting to snow again. And there, gliding down Terrace Street past the old Fife & Drum, was a vision seemingly plucked right out of a dream: An honest to goodness one-horse open sleigh.

“It’s Judge Rutherford!” Mom exclaimed.

And indeed it was.

The legendary Wayne County jurist had lived at the top of Golf Hill Road for decades on a small estate called Broadlawn Farms. The property featured immaculately maintained stables which housed standardbred horses

And on this winter’s day, Judge Rutherford had hitched up his sleigh to one of those beautiful horses and come to town. He and his wife were bundled up against the cold, a big furry blanket tucked around their legs.

Reflecting on the moment years later, I couldn’t help thinking that somehow we’d been whisked into a Currier & Ives print just like the ones Grandma and Grandpa displayed around the farmhouse each Christmas.

Dad rolled down his window while my brothers and I scrambled around to get a better view. With that window open, we could hear the tinkle of sleigh bells.

The judge pulled up alongside our car and paused for a few seconds. He and his wife were ruddy-faced and beaming. They waved to us. We waved to them. The horse danced in place, nickered happily and before we knew it they were off again.

The light was green as the Judge turned left and headed up Main Street. It was a magical sight and we all squinted to watch until the little sleigh finally disappeared into the swirling snow.

Art and Life Intersect

I've carried this happy memory with me for nearly a half-century now.

I'm not 100 percent sure why it affected me so deeply, but there's no denying that it has.

For awhile there, the image started to fade … crowded out by the sheer volume of life events that pile up over the decades.

Then, quite by accident, it came surging right back to the forefront of my consciousness. Why? Well, because I came across this wonderful painting by local artist Howard Becker.

It shows the very image that I remember from that magical winter's day all those years ago … right down to the sleigh bells and big furry blanket.

Howard dated the canvas 1974 and that would be just about right, making me 8-years-old, my brothers 6 and 5.

At the risk of sounding overly nostalgic or just plain sentimental, there's so much goodness in both my cherished memory and Howard Becker's painting.

They exude innocence and remind us of a simpler time when life wasn't so fast-paced and hectic.

They recall a moment in history when the big snowstorm wasn't an occasion for panicked trips to WalMart. Rather, it was a chance to hitch up the sleigh, bundle up with your girl and glide off right into the heart of winter.

Part of me is sad that I'll probably never witness another one-horse open sleigh cruising down Main Street in Honesdale.

But, part of me also rejoices that I was lucky enough to see it that one time so many years ago … and perhaps most importantly, to see it through the eyes of a child.

This article originally appeared on Tri-County Independent: Wayne County Wanderings Kevin Edwards Honesdale One Horse Open Sleigh