Mar 2010
Making Money
03/24/10 20:29
It struck me on the drive down to campus today that one of the big social "value-adds" of the people I was researching last week (who, among other things, were millers and storekeepers) is that they spent an inordinate amount of time and energy getting their hands on money. Not in the sense that they were greedy; but in the sense that there just wasn’t a lot of cash around, and in order to run a couple of mills and a country store, you need cash.
I recall that Cronon sort-of races by the country storekeepers, as does Margaret Walsh in her book on meat-packing. Storekeepers were really only of interest because some of them went into pork packing as a full-time specialty in Walsh. And in Cronon, they’re mentioned primarily as retailers to hinterland consumers, who are ultimately pushed out of business by rural free delivery and Montgomery Ward.
Based on the letters I’m still sorting through, it seems my subjects (two brothers raised by a storekeeper, who beginning in their teen years partnered in operating two stores and three mills, as well as several other businesses) spent a lot of time writing notes and letters of credit on inventories and receivables, and managing widespread credit relationships linking farmers, urban grain brokers, and suppliers. Because during this period (after the end of the Second U.S. Bank in 1836 and before Demand Notes and Greenbacks in 1861 and 1862) there wasn’t a national currency, the supply of money in this rural area seems pretty limited. As a result, these storekeepers had to maintain relationships with a large number of local, state-chartered banks. A couple of these banks went under -- one in the 1839 panic, one later through embezzlement. Ultimately, each of the brothers ended up owning his own bank. In a sense, they were making money: creating currency and bringing their region into the cash economy.
Got some advice on a couple of books and articles to look at, to try to get a grip on how historians think about these storekeepers. Christopher Clark (The Roots of Rural Capitalism and Social Change in America), Martin Bruegel (Farm, Shop, Landing), and a bunch of articles by Daniel Vickers. From there, I may be able to decide if I’ve come across something new and interesting, or just a complicated and well documented instance of something already well understood. Another question will be, do regular people understand this or even know anything about it? And, does it illuminate the present in any interesting ways that might make it worth bringing to public attention?
Starch is the enemy?
03/21/10 08:36
Personally, I like the occasional potato with my occasional steak. So I try to get organic, locally grown foods, and cook them myself. I also like potatoes in my curry. I like baking bread. And I like some pasta under my homemade red sauce.
The year-round availability of fresh fruits and veggies has environmental costs as well, as we're all aware. Seems like a self-sufficient family farm (if that's the goal, or even just the ideal) might include some potatoes in the root cellar, even if it doesn't go all the way to growing its own grain for bread-making.
Spring Break
03/19/10 15:22
More on the research in the not-too-distant future.
Hill Towns of Northern New England
03/08/10 09:27
Started Harold Fisher Wilson’s The Hill Country of Northern New England. It’s beginning as expected, with a description of Thomas Nixon Carver’s five stages of New England agriculture. Wilson uses a seasonal metaphor for his narrative, beginning with Summer, 1790-1830. This is the age of self-sufficiency, which is followed by a fall attributed to the railroads and “external causes of unrest.” It’s interesting that in 1936, Wilson seems to be turning a corner from a Progressive/New Deal sort of optimistic elitism to a new social history concern with “those who stayed at home.” (4)
This will probably be fairly interesting, since Wilson is supposed to be a lifelong New Englander with deep knowledge of the place and people. The early pages reiterate a lot of the standard structure. The soil is thin and rocky, so “tillage is not profitable under modern conditions.” (5) But does this mean farmers were actually trying to compete head-on with western staples? Why do we generally assume they weren’t astute enough to recognize their disadvantages and choose to do something they were more competitive at? The later chapters seem to talk a lot about sheep and dairying -- we’ll see if the farmers get to be agents of this change, or if it’s just something that happens to them.
Wilson introduces the population question by remarking on the beginning of a trend in population loss as early as the decade from 1790 to 1800 (first two census decades), but accelerating in the 1820s-30s. My question, after looking at the Ashfield census is, did these towns have a loss in households? Or just in total population? Once these townships were fully occupied (all the viable farmland divided and distributed), it seems almost inevitable that a homestead farming community was going to produce too many sons within a generation or so. At that point, net outmigration is virtually guaranteed, until the “pioneer generation” stops having kids. Wilson mentions that although people in the 1790s believed many farms had been abandoned, they were in fact “unoccupied,” they “continued to be held by actual owners who paid taxes on them.” (9) Does this imply a different attitude toward these properties on the part of their owners, from the declension story we see?
This will probably be fairly interesting, since Wilson is supposed to be a lifelong New Englander with deep knowledge of the place and people. The early pages reiterate a lot of the standard structure. The soil is thin and rocky, so “tillage is not profitable under modern conditions.” (5) But does this mean farmers were actually trying to compete head-on with western staples? Why do we generally assume they weren’t astute enough to recognize their disadvantages and choose to do something they were more competitive at? The later chapters seem to talk a lot about sheep and dairying -- we’ll see if the farmers get to be agents of this change, or if it’s just something that happens to them.
Wilson introduces the population question by remarking on the beginning of a trend in population loss as early as the decade from 1790 to 1800 (first two census decades), but accelerating in the 1820s-30s. My question, after looking at the Ashfield census is, did these towns have a loss in households? Or just in total population? Once these townships were fully occupied (all the viable farmland divided and distributed), it seems almost inevitable that a homestead farming community was going to produce too many sons within a generation or so. At that point, net outmigration is virtually guaranteed, until the “pioneer generation” stops having kids. Wilson mentions that although people in the 1790s believed many farms had been abandoned, they were in fact “unoccupied,” they “continued to be held by actual owners who paid taxes on them.” (9) Does this imply a different attitude toward these properties on the part of their owners, from the declension story we see?
First glance at the data
03/06/10 16:27
First thoughts about the census numbers I've been staring at:
I looked at a New England hilltown between the years 1790 and 1840. The town was established in the 1760s, and mostly settled in the late 1760s and 1770s, after the danger of Indian raids diminished. By the first national census in 1790, there were 257 people counted as heads of household. The town was nearly full, and the family* count ranged from 274 to 298 throughout the rest of this half-century.
First pass at the data, it looks like there aren’t many people present at the end, who were there at the beginning. We start with 257 families, and end up with 289. As you’d expect, although many of the same extended families are represented (the Williamses, the Smiths, the Phillipses, etc.), only 15 actual heads of households make it across the decades from the first census to the last. In 1840, there were 274 new families who hadn’t been there fifty years earlier, and nearly all of the original families were gone.
Of course, you say. The old guys died, and their sons took over. This fits right into the mainstream interpretation of rural America. And you’d be right, but only to a point. 132 of the old guys did in fact die. And 181 of the people living in this town over these years are sons who stayed in town. But this is just the tip of the iceberg.
A first-to-last comparison that looks at only the 1790 and 1840 names, misses all the action in between. You think, okay, there was an almost complete turnover in families, but what the heck? It was fifty years, and anyway about half those new people are sons. But when you look at all the census years, it turns out there were people coming and going all the time. The first-to-last comparison only sees the net change, not the total change.
This is where it gets interesting. The standard story of New England towns says that after the construction of the Erie Canal, hardscrabble hilltown farms could no longer compete with western commercial agriculture. And the soils were exhausted, and young people wanted to live in cities or run bigger farms. So you’d expect a big exodus around the late 1820s and 1830s. That’s where you’d begin to be surprised.
Between the 1790 census and the 1800, 117 families disappear from the original 257 households and 142 new ones arrive in town. From 1800 to 1810, it happens again. 140 families move out, and are replaced by 157 new families. Every ten years, roughly half the residents of this town leave, to be replaced by new faces.
In all, between 1790 and 1840, 644 families leave the town and 678 move in. Twice as many people leave as ever live there at one time, and an even larger number arrive from somewhere else, each bringing their own unique heritage, family loyalties, religious and political affiliations, etc. The quiet, isolated, inwardly focused community of the traditional history turns out to be a lot more dynamic than expected.
And this is only half the story. 181 sons carry on their extended family presence in town between 1790 and 1840, some of them replacing the 132 old patriarchs who died. But there are 800 sons recorded in the Vital Records. What happens to the rest?
Actually, there are more than 800, but exactly 800 live to majority (there are as many girls, but once again, they’re invisible in the data). 181 settle in town between 1790 and 1840, and either die or are still there at the end of my study. That leaves 619 sons who usually marry a local girl but then go somewhere else to start their families. Add these to the families who disappear from the census data, and you have over 1,200 families leaving a town that never had more than 300.
I think this is pretty dramatic, and I don’t think it’s impossible for a historian to appreciate the significance of these data presented by themselves, when it comes to questions about the relative openness and dynamism in rural towns. But I can’t imagine putting this into a popular history, without faces to give the numbers life. So, back to the question of how to weave between the real stories of interesting people and the interesting world I want to show? Well...they lived it, didn’t they? There must be ways this environment they found themselves in had an impact on their lives, right? Otherwise, it’s just something I found in data, and it really doesn’t matter. So I have to find ways to think about the contingency and craziness of these lives in the context of this world. Okay...I can do that...
I looked at a New England hilltown between the years 1790 and 1840. The town was established in the 1760s, and mostly settled in the late 1760s and 1770s, after the danger of Indian raids diminished. By the first national census in 1790, there were 257 people counted as heads of household. The town was nearly full, and the family* count ranged from 274 to 298 throughout the rest of this half-century.
First pass at the data, it looks like there aren’t many people present at the end, who were there at the beginning. We start with 257 families, and end up with 289. As you’d expect, although many of the same extended families are represented (the Williamses, the Smiths, the Phillipses, etc.), only 15 actual heads of households make it across the decades from the first census to the last. In 1840, there were 274 new families who hadn’t been there fifty years earlier, and nearly all of the original families were gone.
Of course, you say. The old guys died, and their sons took over. This fits right into the mainstream interpretation of rural America. And you’d be right, but only to a point. 132 of the old guys did in fact die. And 181 of the people living in this town over these years are sons who stayed in town. But this is just the tip of the iceberg.
A first-to-last comparison that looks at only the 1790 and 1840 names, misses all the action in between. You think, okay, there was an almost complete turnover in families, but what the heck? It was fifty years, and anyway about half those new people are sons. But when you look at all the census years, it turns out there were people coming and going all the time. The first-to-last comparison only sees the net change, not the total change.
This is where it gets interesting. The standard story of New England towns says that after the construction of the Erie Canal, hardscrabble hilltown farms could no longer compete with western commercial agriculture. And the soils were exhausted, and young people wanted to live in cities or run bigger farms. So you’d expect a big exodus around the late 1820s and 1830s. That’s where you’d begin to be surprised.
Between the 1790 census and the 1800, 117 families disappear from the original 257 households and 142 new ones arrive in town. From 1800 to 1810, it happens again. 140 families move out, and are replaced by 157 new families. Every ten years, roughly half the residents of this town leave, to be replaced by new faces.
In all, between 1790 and 1840, 644 families leave the town and 678 move in. Twice as many people leave as ever live there at one time, and an even larger number arrive from somewhere else, each bringing their own unique heritage, family loyalties, religious and political affiliations, etc. The quiet, isolated, inwardly focused community of the traditional history turns out to be a lot more dynamic than expected.
And this is only half the story. 181 sons carry on their extended family presence in town between 1790 and 1840, some of them replacing the 132 old patriarchs who died. But there are 800 sons recorded in the Vital Records. What happens to the rest?
Actually, there are more than 800, but exactly 800 live to majority (there are as many girls, but once again, they’re invisible in the data). 181 settle in town between 1790 and 1840, and either die or are still there at the end of my study. That leaves 619 sons who usually marry a local girl but then go somewhere else to start their families. Add these to the families who disappear from the census data, and you have over 1,200 families leaving a town that never had more than 300.
I think this is pretty dramatic, and I don’t think it’s impossible for a historian to appreciate the significance of these data presented by themselves, when it comes to questions about the relative openness and dynamism in rural towns. But I can’t imagine putting this into a popular history, without faces to give the numbers life. So, back to the question of how to weave between the real stories of interesting people and the interesting world I want to show? Well...they lived it, didn’t they? There must be ways this environment they found themselves in had an impact on their lives, right? Otherwise, it’s just something I found in data, and it really doesn’t matter. So I have to find ways to think about the contingency and craziness of these lives in the context of this world. Okay...I can do that...
- A note about the data: the only thing recorded on the early census sheets was the name of a “household head.” No ages, occupations, incomes, origins. Worse still, no women, unless they were widows or spinsters (three in the fifty-year range I looked at), and definitely no children. That info has to come from somewhere else. Thankfully, there are Vital Records books for most Massachusetts towns. I’m going to call them families, because in nearly all cases they are. You can count on one hand the number of single men whose names made it into this town's census data. So, when I say “289 families,” think “husband, wife, and six kids,” because that’s really what the counts represent.
Rural myths begin to crumble
03/04/10 09:04
One of the persistent myths about early American towns is that they were inherently stable, inward-looking communities; in contrast with cities which are thought of as the scene of rapid, disruptive changes leading to modernity. Cities are imagined as filled with new people and ideas, and focused on trade, progress, and material success. Towns, on the other hand, are pictured as being filled with families and focused on “good, old-fashioned” values. In contrast with the city’s commerce and profit-motivation, the farmers, artisans and small merchants of these exceptional New England communities are supposed to work for a competence or sufficiency. Rather than upward mobility, town and country folk are believed to appreciate staying put. Democratic town meetings and the Congregational assembly are seen as institutions that focus social life and best represent the character of rural people.
I’ll have to marshall my sources when I argue this point in the dissertation, but even off the top of my head, a number of core texts that present this view come to mind. Even the classic history of those who stayed behind, after admitting that people left a small New England town, argued that then it acquired all these characteristics. The problem is not so much that any of these preconceptions about towns is dead wrong, but that they’re not really drawn from evidence. Rural life has been defined in contrast to urban life in most American histories, so historians and their readers have expected to find the opposite end of the spectrum from the cities. When they find these traits, they make a big deal about the difference between urbanity and rurality -- possibly a bigger deal than the actual people made at the time.
The census, I’m finding, can be a black hole that sucks you in and never releases you. There’s always more to find, always one more way to verify that the person you’re looking at on the 1810 page for Lysander NY is actually the guy who was in my town in 1800. This involves at least eliminating all the other guys with the same name, by figuring out where they were. Much of the time it’s impossible, especially when the guy has a common name. It helps that there were so many fewer people in the first few census years!
I have to remember HCR’s advice: if you’re only going to spend 10 pages talking about this point in the book, don’t research 100 pages. On that basis, I’ve already spent too much time on this. My excuse is that, this first time, I want to see how far this can be pushed. Prove my claim that online census, vital records, and town histories (thanks to ancestry.com and google books!) have changed the game for historians. I think there’s a paper in this -- at least a point to be made in my talk in England this fall.
So what have I found in the census so far? The most striking thing is, the majority of people who live in this particular New England hilltown between 1790 and 1840 don’t stay. Many go to neighboring towns farther up in the Berkshire foothills, and a surprising number go to upstate New York. I expected there to be a big exodus around the 1830s, but there’s actually a steady flow of people, from the very first years of settlement.
Another surprise is that, when the town’s political/religious crisis happened in the 1830s (which in itself is a huge counterstory, but more on that later), the richest family in town (based on the 1830 tax book) pulled up their stakes and moved out. Constant mobility, continued connection with extended family in the west, and willingness to abandon social and financial roots seem to be the themes of this story; not some set of unique rural values creating static New England exceptionalism.
