West Bolton turns 150

By : David Rollert

The little town of West Bolton turns 150 years old this year. A big celebration is planned. The world has changed over those 150 years, but in many ways, West Bolton has remained very much the same. Rural. Peaceful. A great place to call home.

Some 200 years ago, the place we now call West Bolton looked nothing like it does today. Dense forest covered it. There were no roads and no navigable rivers, no settlements by the Abenaki that hunted and fished here. The boundaries were first drawn in the 1790s by some unnamed British bureaucrat, breaking the territory into rectangular chunks. The chunk named Bolton, named somewhat arbitrarily after the English Duke of Bolton, made no topographical sense, bisected by a giant of a mountain.

By 150 years ago, in 1876, things had changed to look a lot like they do today. The new town of West Bolton split from the rest of Bolton along the spine of Mount Foster. About 700 people lived here, almost exactly the same number as today. By then, almost all of the land had been cleared by the hardy families who found their way here, with the aid of nothing more than saws, oxen and horses.

Growing rocks

Most descended from English speakers who left the new United States either because they were loyal to the British crown or because it was a chance to own land. The earth was poor – good for “mostly growing rocks,” as farmers still grumble. Some of the earliest families started with a couple of hundred acres, while others eked out a living on small subsistence farms. Everyone who lived here was a farmer, with at least a horse, a cow, perhaps an ox, a pig or two, and chickens. Many small farmers worked seasonally on the larger farms. Up on Mount Foster, families packed in provisions and disappeared in the autumn, reemerging when the snows melted. Life could be good, but very hard.

Community centered around the places people could walk: the small local churches, schoolhouses, and then small mills and factories that made things like barrels and windows. With the Bolton Pass extending the stagecoach route east, residents could sell their lumber, dairy and maple syrup to surrounding towns. The arrival of the railroads in the 1870s and 1880s opened West Bolton to the wider world.

Plus ça change…

The town continued changing, of course. As late as the 1960s, the Glen was the idyllic setting for the film My Side of the Mountain, even as Glen Mountain was developed for skiing, attracting weekend residents. The dairy farming and local creamery that once were central to farm life are gone. There is no industry to speak of. No shops. No schools. Still no traffic lights or sidewalks. The most active working farms, many still run by direct descendants of the first farmers who lived here, now raise livestock or grasses for feed. Many of the cleared fields that once opened up spectacular views have been taken over by forest and brush, looking more like the land two centuries ago. Today, the residents are a diverse group, with many artists, retired professionals, gentlemen farmers and people who love peaceful country living. French is the mother tongue of half the residents.

Stay tuned for details of the 150th anniversary festivities planned for late August.

Thanks to Eddy Whitcher, John Badger, Don Badger, Loren Allen, Jack Walker, Musée Lac-Brome Museum and its archivist Anne-Marie Charuest for their wonderful stories and information.

Click on a photo to see the legend.