E-Newsletter: October 13, 2023

e-Newsletter | October 13, 2023

Only 10 Days Away - Please Join Us for a Day of Learning at the History and Cultures of the Great Marsh Conference. More here

Salt Hay in the Great Marsh

by Bethany Groff Dorau, Executive Director

Detail of an untitled painting of the Great Marsh by Agnes Brown. Collection of the Museum of Old Newbury.

A bird’s eye view of old Newbury sweeps across the hilly farmland of West Newbury, the rushing water of the falls at Byfield, following clusters of houses along ancient roads to a knot of buildings around the port, and then, looking toward the sea, the expanse of salt marsh that lies beyond the houses and farm fields.

The ways that this marsh shaped the human experience is the subject of next week's History & Cultures of the Great Marsh Conference. In anticipation, we have pulled some images from our collection that address a key aspect of life for the last four centuries - salt marsh hay.

Parker River and Old Town Hill Meadows, September, 1892. John White Winder Collection of the Museum of Old Newbury

The Great Marsh is an ecological wonderland, protecting the coast from erosion and flooding, offering food and refuge to hundreds of species, particularly waterfowl and fish hatchlings, and improving air and water quality. It is the largest continuous salt marsh in New England, twenty thousand acres running from Cape Ann into New Hampshire. Indigenous people fished and hunted in the Great Marsh, and it is no accident that many of the first European settlers in New England made their homes here. The key to this fortuitous relationship for many was the ubiquitous Spartina patens, or salt marsh hay.

Haystacks on Parker River, September 1894, John White Winder Collection of the Museum of Old Newbury

The Europeans that settled in Newbury in 1635 came to establish a religious community, but they also had their eye on profits. As a stock-raising company, their ability to feed cattle and sheep in the first years of settlement determined their chances of success. The harsh winters of New England necessitated a large store of nutritious hay for these animals. For inland farmers, clearing land of trees and rocks to encourage the growth of meadow hay was a labor-intensive, years-long process. For farmers in Newbury, the marsh provided feed for animals that was available immediately, rock and tree-free, nutritious, and plentiful. In addition, the coarser cordgrass (Spartina alterniflora) that grew along the lower marsh provided valuable bedding, thatch, and insulation.

Marsh haystack at high tide, Plum Island, 1890. Private collection.

Over time, specialized tools, traditions, and techniques developed to harvest salt marsh grasses. In the spring, ditches were cut in the marsh for drainage and channels in the marsh dredged and widened. In the late summer, hay was cut and collected into small piles, or cocks, which were then transported on pairs of long poles to higher ground or gathered by flat-bottom boats, called gundalows, that wound slowly through the channels cut into the marsh.

Gundalow near Winder's Farm, 1894. John White Winder Collection of the Museum of Old Newbury

Haying was often a community endeavor, with families sleeping out on marsh islands, cut off from the mainland at high tide. Despite its rigor and difficulty, haying often had a celebratory aspect, as friends and neighbors worked together in the sunshine.

The Noyes family horsing around during a break from haying on Grape Island, c.1920. Note the haying equipment - pitchforks, poles, and ladders - that have fashioned the makeshift tent.

Oxen, and later horses, were fitted with large, flat “bog shoes”, so they would not sink as they walked. A special sled called a pung carried hay from the marsh during low-tide or when the ground was frozen. Farmers kept a close eye on the moon and the weather, knowing that a high tide or a storm would sweep away their stacks and threaten their livelihood.

Bog shoes worn by oxen and horses, and the maneuverable skids on a hay pung or sledge allowed wagons to be pulled across the marsh at low tide without sinking into the spongy surface.

Haystacks on Plum Island, 1880s. Note the men working on the stack on the right. George W. Noyes Collection.

Once cut, hay was often piled and stored on staddles, long stakes driven into the marsh bed and forming a base that rose above high tide. These haystacks, with their distinctive beehive shape, were carefully formed by skilled farmers, often specialists who helped to build dozens of stacks and were paid or bartered for their services. It was said that you could tell who had built a Newbury stack from a mile away, its layers carefully sloped to repel rain and resist high wind.

Haystacks were sometimes placed behind outcroppings or trees along the edge of the marsh to offer some protection from wind, as in this undated image from the John White Winder Collection.

When the ground froze, hay was brought to the barn and fed animals through the winter. Haying was difficult, often dangerous work. Richard Coffin, who lived on Scotland Road, noted in his diary in 1800, “My father… let a Ditch knife fall from his Shoulder & cut his healstring about half off”.

Haybales are a relatively recent development, with marsh hay particularly difficult to bale. Most hay was brought from the marsh loose and stored in barn lofts, as in this undated photo from the John White Winder Collection.

Today, salt marsh hay is used primarily in gardening and construction work, and it is still harvested in Newbury using modern machinery. The careful marsh stacks are nearly all gone, clusters of staddles the only indication of where they had been. The marsh still protects and defines the area, however, and carries in its labyrinth of channels and slopes the memory of the years when it fed thousands of animals all winter long.

Video of the Cunninghams salt marsh haying in Newbury in the early 2000s.

From 2009 - Newbury's 375th Anniversary Committee demonstrates the lost art of

stacking salt hay on the Great Marsh, Plum Island, Mass.

Upcoming MOON Events

History and Cultures of the Great Marsh Conference

Monday, October 23, 2023, 8:30 am - 4:30 pm

The Governor's Academy

Join us for the History & Cultures of the Great Marsh Conference on Monday, October 23, 2023 at The Governor's Academy. This is an in-person event with limited capacity - get your tickets soon! Museum of Old Newbury members and members of Essex County Greenbelt: $30, General Admission, $45. Add-on field trips an additional $10-15. Lunch, snacks and beverages included.

Topics include:

"The Great Marsh, Newbury, and the Indigenous Worlds of the Merrimack River Valley System and Beyond."

"Contention in the Commons: The Open Field Land System in 17th Century Newbury"

"Slavery and Memory in the Great Marsh"

"Splendour in the Grass: Art Inspired by the Great Marsh"

"Agriculture, Fishing, Hunting, & Conservation in the Great Marsh"

Optional afternoon field trips include:

Bird watching with Laura Vehring in the Parker River marsh surrounding The Governor’s Academy
Guided tour of Plum Island’s cranberry bogs
Guided tour of the Spencer-Peirce-Little Farm & its salt marsh hay production, past & present.

Attendees will also be invited to tour the Academy's brand-new Alfond Coastal Research Center (completed just this summer), a state-of-the-art marine study facility overlooking the south bank of the Parker River near Thurlow's Bridge.

More Info and Get Tickets

We are grateful to Eastern Bank for sponsoring this conference.

The Memoryscapes of Turkey Hill Road: Road Signs and West Newbury’s Colonial Past

...by Annabelle Svahn, MOON Summer Intern

When driving around Essex County, you’ll pass dozens of monuments, memorials, and small road-markers noting places of historical significance. Some places call out the place of a local cemetery, some point out the birthplace of a notable person, and others might even honor the visit of George Washington during his tour of the future 13 states in 1789. While meandering backroads this summer with a friend, we came across one of these signs in Georgetown, MA. I slowed the car down to read the words. Erected in 1930 for the Massachusetts Bay Colony’s settlement tercentennial, it points out the site of the “Goodrich Massacre” on October 23, 1692, where Benjamin Goodrich, his wife, and two children were killed by Native Americans. This prompted me to research other signs in the area noting the landscape’s colonial-settler past. Closer to home, numerous signs line Turkey Hill Road in West Newbury, describing various events in the town’s history.

Two signs on Turkey Hill Road sparked controversy in recent years because of their language. The signs were erected in 1975 by the Bicentennial Commission and replaced and restored in 2003.^[1] One sign said: “Near this site the only Native American recorded killed in West Newbury was killed by Hananiah Ordway.” A second sign further down the road described the events of the Brown family during the Anglo-Abenaki War, reading: “Near this site a child was killed, and nine other persons taken in a Native American raid on October 7, 1695. All were retaken.” Until recently, these signs stood uncontested by the public, acting as informative historical markers just like the dozens throughout the county. These historic markers lay claim to a specific narrative about the past and perpetrate memories of violence caused by European colonization and settlement. These are not unique - other such signs exist in the physical landscape in the form of monuments, memorials, and placards across New England.

The Ordway and Brown historical markers as they stood before 2021

Recent scholarship by Christine DeLucia, a Associate Professor of History at Williams College, illustrates the relationship colonial markers have with the land and the created memory in the present. She uses the term “memoryscape” to explain how places have created divergent stories over time that are infused with emotional memories. Often these physical markers, erected by white settlers primarily in the 19^th century, stake an undisputed claim to both the land and the memory of the site. Historically, these monuments and plaques have only presented the past from a Euro-American settler perspective that sought to mark the land and the past as their possession.

DeLucia’s work on the memory of King Philip’s War helps contextualize the Turkey Hill signs and their mark as Euro-American claims to the land. These signs continue to mythologize the experience of early American colonial life through “othering” Indigenous people and excluding their history. Not only do they present only one narrative, but they also occupy the physical landscape. The Brown site has been claimed by the story of the Brown family from their perspective, without any markers to discuss the history before this event, or of why the raid was conducted. The Brown family were unfortunate “martyrs” to the American colonial cause, not possibly violent actors in the Anglo-Abenaki War. While these signs do not outrightly celebrate one narrative like a monument may, it could be said they are monuments themselves. They pose as educational, but in doing so have promoted a one-sided narrative of the Browns as the victims, where the site belongs to a single version of what happened in West Newbury in 1695.

During a debate to change or replace the signs in 2021, residents expressed sentiments that echoed the notion that these sites are markers of colonial claim to the land; they brought their concerns to the town’s select board. The debate originated in 2004, when Francis Culver wrote to the town about the Hananiah Ordway sign that stood on the edge of his property, noting that “perhaps the sentiments that caused a sign to be put up in the 1930s are no longer appropriate. If their purpose is to educate about the town’s history – and this [story of the murder] is but a legend – I question its inclusion – unless it admits to being local lore.”^[2] (Read here for more on the Ordway legend). Culver’s critique touches on the essential arguments throughout DeLucia’s work that these signs are a part of “legend,” a type of folklore that promotes a separation of space both physically and also in the public’s mind and memory. In a 2021 letter to the select board, residents wrote that, “the companion sign on Turkey Hill Road perpetuates old stereotypes of Native Americans as marauding raiders.”^[3]The residents expressed what they believed the memoryscape of the area to be, which contained a stereotype that lived on through a sign’s language. Their discussion prompted a greater project to reevaluate these signs.

The Turkey Hill Road sign debate included not only conversations about the signs’ language but also their veracity and importance. Some residents called for the signs’ complete removal, while others still advocated for other signs that highlight “more positive facts about First Nation people from this area” and break down the negative stereotypes about the behavior and culture of the local Indigenous peoples. Other issues also arose out of the select board meeting, in which one select board member called the removing of the signs a “slippery slope.” Would this cause other signs to be removed? Who gets to determine what should and should not be remembered? Ultimately, these decisions shape what parts of West Newbury’s history become expressed in the landscape. DeLucia reminds us that “what qualifies as a historically important place remains disputed.”^[4] Small towns like West Newbury are not debating the importance of large-scale historical sites or monuments, but their discussions still inform the creation of a memoryscape. In the end, the town select board decided that these signs mark important historical places in West Newbury, but that they needed to be changed to be more historically accurate and inclusionary of Indigenous histories.

West Newbury agreed to modify several signs’ language. The Hananiah Ordway story could not be confirmed by any archival or archeological record, so the sign was changed to:

Indian Hill is named for the Pawtucket-Pennacook Abenaki people who lived, farmed, hunted and fished here before colonization by English settlers. Most Indigenous inhabitants were displaced, and their descendants now live throughout North America.”

While this sign now includes the history of Indigenous people, it still marks the site where Ordway is said to have committed murder. The Brown sign was rewritten to provide more context for why the Brown family was captured:

During the Anglo-Abenaki wars, the Massachusetts Bay Colony issued bounties for capturing and killing Indigenous children, women, and men. In this time of conflict, French-allied Native Peoples raided this site in 1695, capturing and killing members of the Brown household. Nine members of the Brown family were captured, and later freed.

The updated historical markers

Those critiquing the markers in West Newbury didn’t need the scholarly terminology of “memoryscape” and “alternative place” to change signs that acted as monuments amplifying legend and a settler perspective. How do other historical markers take and hold space? Is it at all possible to reinstate a new and different memory to this land? The residents of West Newbury effectively created real change, and they themselves did the reevaluation of the signage. This is just one step – and an important one – toward changing and updating the perspective the public has about the past.

Annabelle Svahn is a senior at Williams College; this article was adapted from a paper she wrote this fall.

[1] Jennifer Solis, “West Newbury officials vote to replace historically dubious sign,” The Daily News, (Newburyport, MA), Oct 15, 2021. Updated Nov 19, 2022.

[2] Jennifer Solis, “West Newbury moving forward with replacing questionable historic signs.” The Daily News, (Newburyport, MA), Dec 20, 2021. Updated Jan 24, 2023.

[3] Jennifer Solis, “Residents speak out against 'racially insensitive' West Newbury signs,” The Daily News. (Newburyport, MA), Nov 10, 2021. Updated Dec 15, 2022.

[4] DeLucia, Christine. “The Memory Frontier: Uncommon Pursuits of Past and Place in the Northeast after King Philip’s War.” Journal of American History, no. 98 (2012): 997.