Before the arrival of my ancestors to the hills of East Wallingford, Connecticut, a meandering river kept company with the land. It flowed through the flat acres at the bottom of the hill and continued on through Northford. The earliest deeds to the farm refer to it as Muddy River. When the land was settled and the farms built, the moist banks made rich pastureland for cows and entertaining playgrounds for children.
Muddy River, Carol Crump Bryner, Gouache
The river connected the two significant farms in my life. It flowed not only through the Hall farm – the farm of my mother – but also through the Newton farm in Northford, Connecticut – the farm of my father’s aunt and uncle. Until recently I hadn’t thought of the two “Muddy Rivers” of my childhood as one continuous waterway. The Newtons and the Crumps gathered at the Newton farm beside the cool stream to picnic near the little summer house and swing on the hammocks. We paddled in the shallow rocky water, caught lamprey eels, pulled leeches off our legs, and refused to enter the spider-filled outhouse. In Northford the river was still a river.
But in Wallingford, by the time I was born, the part of the river at the foot of Whirlwind Hill was gone. In 1943 the town dug a hole and flooded the land to create the MacKenzie Reservoir. I never knew the Muddy River of my mother and grandfather and his father before him. I’ve searched for photos of the way it used to look, but have found only this one of my grandmother Agnes in 1921 with her three children and some of the neighbors. In the background is the farm that belonged at that time to Grace and Walter Ives. The children and my grandmother dressed for a party and brought toy boats to float along the bank of Muddy River.
Agnes Hall and children on the bank of Muddy River, 1921
In 2009 the town of Wallingford drained the reservoir so it could be dredged and cleaned. For the first time I saw the path of the river, the stumps of trees that had grown next to the Muddy River School, and the footprint of the old road where, it is said, George Washington rode on his way from New Haven to Boston in 1775 and 1789. At the far south end of the reservoir an old stone wall emerged from the water. It ran through one of our fields and must have once ended at the river. My brother and I kept meaning to walk out and explore it, but time passed and before we could go the reservoir was filled, and all traces of the past were again out of sight.
Reservoir Drained, 2009
It must have been peaceful and beautiful along the river, but the reservoir is my own personal history, and I love it. I fished there, watched birds there, and found peace sitting on the front steps of the house and looking over its quiet water.
A View of the Reservoir, Carol Crump Bryner, gouache, 1992
On Monday: Decoration Day
I am trying to picture you fishing! In the meantime I am so enjoying those little children about to have a play day in their wonderful white clothes – a group of contemporary children would be such a tatty sight by comparison. Is there still a Muddy River in Northford or did the building of the reservoir end the river all together?
The history amazes me. George Washington for heaven’s sake. And I love your images along with the photos.
Fishing for me involved mostly sitting on the bank in the sun watching the little red and white bobber.
The river still flows at either end of the reservoir, and is pretty much unchanged in Northford, where it seems more of a stream than a river.
And, yes, those clothes were so very optimistically white. Even my grandmother is dressed in white. I can’t imagine my grandchildren staying clean for very long in those outfits.
I grew up on Woodvale Dr. in Northford and Newton’s Farm was our backyard! We enjoyed it immensely and Mr Newton was always very nice to us. I remember an old shack on a bend in the river that we used to play in. I think Mr Newton told us that that little house was the original house built by his parents. Later on they built the house and barn close to Village St.
Thank you for your memories, pictures and paintings! It all brings back memories of the childhood fun we, the neighborhood children, had up at Newton’s farm!
How lovely to hear from you Nancy! I still love to go to the Newton’s farm. Marge Newton still lives in her parents’ house across and down the street from her grandparents’ house and barn. She keeps the old house looking perfect, and it’s wonderful to go visit her and walk down to the river and to the place where we used to have family picnics.
Thanks so much for your kind comment. Do you still live in Northford?
Hi Carol,
No, I don’t live in Conn. anymore. I’m in Florida. I still have a younger brother who lives near Hartford and yesterday he happened to drive through Northford and took a picture of Newton’s cow barn! We used to go visit the cows all the time! Wonderful times spent up there and SO MANY adventures which have stayed with me all these years! Once, Mr Newton let me bring my Girl Scout troop up there for a picnic! We crossed Muddy River on the stepping stones and had our picnic on that side of the river! I loved walking up that big hill that is on that side!!!!!
Is the farm still a working farm? So, the Mr. Newton I knew in the late 1960s, early 1970s was Marge’s grandfather?
Thanks for everything!
Sounds like you have great memories! I too have good memories of the place – especially the river with the leeches and the Lamphrey eels in it. And the outhouse down by the little cabin that had black widow spiders in it (At least we speculated that it did!)
The farm is no longer a working farm, although I think Marge still has a couple of burros there. But she keeps it looking wonderful, and may let other farmers rent the fields to grow crops. The man you met was either her father, Bob Newton, or her uncle, Lew Newton. Lew was the one who never married, and stayed on living in the farmhouse until he died. He was a shy and sweet man. Bob was handsome and tall, and his wife Helen was a lovely woman. Their two children were Margery and Nancy.
I never met Marge’s grandfather. I think he had died by the time I was born, or a few years later. But I did know Marge’s grandmother, “Auntie Annie” as we called her. She was my grandfather Gus Crump’s older sister.
Thanks for this walk down memory lane!