The rafts at Hopedale Pond have
    been sold and are now in Mashpee.
    December 1.

The bathhouse at Hopedale Pond.

    Pouring the foundation for the third new house at
    the upper end of Dutcher Street - December 2.

Hopedale in December 2010

December 1 Hopedale story - The Branded Hand  

December 15 Hopedale story -
Lizzie's Christmas Cards

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Dutcher Street

    The Lovejoy house on Park Street, that burned a few months
    ago, has been razed and is being replaced - December 3.

    Christmas tree on Community House lawn,
    with the Draper Gym in the background.

Christmas tree at the Unitarian Church.

Hopedale Street - December 5

    The rain that fell on the 12th going over
    the dam at Spindleville on the 13th.

    Hopedale Pond - December 15. The pond was covered with ice
    for a couple of days until the warm rain of the 12th, which left just
    a bit at the lower end. It was all covered again by the 16th.

    I've been thinking that I should include pictures now and then from other towns
    in the area. This one is of the Millville lock. It's one of two surviving locks of the
    original 49 that were part of the Blackstone Canal. Click here for more on the
    lock at Blackstone Daily, and here for more from the Massachusetts DCR site.

Parklands afternoon shadows.

Rosenfeld Concrete - Plain Street

A little snow, a little ice - December 21.

    Hopedale Pond - December 26, 7:30 AM

    The sun that brief December day
    Rose cheerless over hills of gray,
    And, darkly circled, gave at noon
    A sadder light than waning moon.
    Slow tracing down the thickening sky
    Its mute and ominous prophecy,
    A portent seeming less than threat,
    It sank from sight before it set.
    A chill no coat, however stout,
    Of homespun stuff could quite shut out,
    From Snowbound by John Greenleaf Whittier

    Click on the picture if you'd like to read  the entire poem.

    The Parklands - December 26, 330 PM

    As night drew on, and, from the crest
    Of wooded knolls that ridged the west,
    The sun, a snow-blown traveller, sank
    From sight beneath the smothering bank,
    We piled, with care, our nightly stack
    Of wood against the chimney-back,--
    The oaken log, green, huge, and thick,
    And on its top the stout back-stick;
    The knotty forestick laid apart,
    And filled between with curious art
    The ragged brush; then, hovering near,
    We watched the first red blaze appear,
    Heard the sharp crackle, caught the gleam
    On whitewashed wall and sagging beam,
    Until the old, rude-furnished room
    Burst, flower-like, into rosy bloom;
    While radiant with a mimic flame
    Outside the sparkling drift became,
    And through the bare-boughed lilac-tree
    Our own warm hearth seemed blazing free.
    The crane and pendent trammels showed,
    The Turks' heads on the andirons glowed;
    While childish fancy, prompt to tell
    The meaning of the miracle,
    Whispered the old rhyme: "_Under the tree,
    When fire outdoors burns merrily,
    There the witches are making tea_."

    Click on the picture above for an annotated
    version of Snowbound.

    Monday morning - December 27

    Next morn we wakened with the shout
    Of merry voices high and clear;
    And saw the teamsters drawing near
    To break the drifted highways out.
    Down the long hillside treading slow
    We saw the half-buried oxen' go,
    Shaking the snow from heads uptost,
    Their straining nostrils white with frost.
    Before our door the straggling train
    Drew up, an added team to gain.

    It was quite a storm in parts of
    Massachusetts, but I don't think we got
    more than eight or nine inches here.
    (The Milford News said a foot.)

    Click on the picture to read about snow
    plowing in Hopedale in the days when
    as many as 54 horses were used for
    the work.

    This William H. Barney pictures shows what a snowy
    day in Hopedale looked like around 1900.

    Meanwhile we did our nightly chores,--
    Brought in the wood from out of doors,
    Littered the stalls, and from the mows
    Raked down the herd's-grass for the cows
    Heard the horse whinnying for his corn;
    And, sharply clashing horn on horn,
    Impatient down the stanchion rows
    The cattle shake their walnut bows;
    While, peering from his early perch
    Upon the scaffold's pole of birch,
    The cock his crested helmet bent
    And down his querulous challenge sent.

Sliding at the golf course - December 30.

Football in the town park - December 31