In 1810, according to local lore, a resident of New Suncook Plantation (as Sweden and Lovell were then known) built a buggy – an open four-wheeled horse drawn carriage. How that particular buggy, which would be 214 years old if that date is accurate, remains intact, is a story of care, charity and some conjecture.
Becky Thompson and David Johnson found the buggy in the barn when they bought their house at 26 Ledge Hill Road from architect George Cash in 2000.
“George told us that the buggy had been built by the local doctor for making house calls,” Becky recalls.
He also told them the buggy had previously been in a barn across the street at the home of Alfa Brackett Cole (1898-1994), a longtime Sweden town clerk.
This tidbit of information led Becky to research the history of both houses because of the two marriages that involved residents of both houses. She explains.
“We lived in the Sanderson house, originally owned by Rev. Stephen Sanderson. His son, also named Stephen, built the house across the street and married Eliza Whitcomb. Young Stephen died in 1845. Eliza married Milton Jewett who joined her in the house Stephen Sanderson had built on Ledge Hill Road. They had three children, one of whom was William H. Jewett. William trained to become a doctor at Maine Medical School at Brunswick (now Bowdoin) and obtained the degree of M.D.”
He practiced medicine in Norway, ME until he died in 1880. Becky thinks the buggy is likely to have belonged to Dr. William Jewett and it had been stored at 19 Ledge Hill Road until Alfa Cole’s death in 1994. “My hunch is that George Cash rescued the buggy after Alfa’s death and brought it to the barn that later became ours,” she says. “We had it in our barn for over 20 years.”
In 2022, when Becky and David sold their house, they held an estate sale to dispose of what they couldn’t take with them. One customer bought the buggy but needed a truck to take it away. After the estate sale was over, but before the buggy was removed, SHS became aware of it for the first time in 20years and expressed an interest in taking possession of it.
“We then felt obliged to remove the buggy from the sale,” says Becky. She and David paid the man running the estate sale the commission he would have realized if the sale had gone through and donated the buggy to the historical society. SHS has displayed the antique buggy in Sweden’s town center the last two summers, and it played a supporting role during Sweden Days 2022when the owners* of the town’s oldest home, built in 1805 by Col. Samuel Nevers and his wife, Esther Trull, posed as Sam and Esther. And, thanks to the generosity of David and Kathy Sundwall who stored it in the Nevers-Bennett House barn, it has been protected from the winter elements. But without a permanent place to house it, SHS put the buggy up for sale. Nils Johnson and Rebecca Buyers have decided to buy the buggy and will give it a new home in the Nevers’ old carriage house where it will protected for the future.
This post was planned before I was aware of the existence of COVID-19. I realized that Albert Kimball, the subject of the post, was possibly a victim of the influenza outbreak that affected millions across the world in 1918.
The influenza epidemic drew many parallels to today’s COVID-19 pandemic. Closures of schools, churches, restaurants, and other places where people worked or gathered were widespread. Notices from health officials were widely advertised.
A significant difference, though, is that World War I was going on at the same time. Many Maine inductees were sent to Camp Devens in Massachusetts, ground zero for influenza in the United States. Albert Kimball, a young man from Sweden, arrived at Camp Devens in 1918.
Returning to the subject of the post, Albert Kimball was the son of Oscar Kimball of Bridgton and Mary Belle Elliot of Lovell. He was born on 7 May 1896 in Lovell and moved as a young boy with his parents and siblings to Sweden on a farm located at the top of the hill where Pietree Orchard now is located.
In June 1918, Albert was inducted into the Army and left South Paris bound for Camp Devens in Massachusetts. He was transferred from Camp Devens to Edgewood Arsenal in Maryland on 27 August 1918. On 21 October 1918, he died at the base hospital of pneumonia. The cause of the pneumonia is not clear. In his stay at Camp Devens, he was likely exposed to influenza, which ran rampant through the Camp. He was then transferred to Edgewood, where chemical weapons, including chlorine and mustard agents, were produced. Exposures to these toxic materials were common. Such exposure may have been the cause of Albert’s illness. Regardless, Albert’s illness and ultimate death was not all that surprising given his experiences.
Albert is memorialized in Lovell’s Cemetery No. 4, located on Kimball Road north of Lovell Village.
Albert was engaged to Marion Ridlon, daughter of Samuel and Martha Ridlon of the Ridlonville neighborhood of Sweden. According to a local source, Albert and Marion were engaged prior to Albert’s induction into the Army, but Marion refused to wed until Albert returned from the war.
After Albert’s death, Marion Ridlon married Marcellus Durgin, an orphan raised by Vianna and Seth Brackett at their farm on what is now Plummer School Road in Sweden.
Albert Kimball
Kimball Home in Sweden
Sawing Logs at the Kimballs
Albert in Front of the Old Cherry Tree
The Kimballs Haying
Albert and Friends
Albert and Marion
Albert and Marion Before Albert's Trip to Camp Devens
Albert at South Paris Waiting to Leave for Camp Devens
Obituary of Albert Kimball (date and source unknown)
The Sweden Historical Society was fortunate to have received a 1878 journal written by Clifford L. Pike. Clifford Pike was best known to those in Sweden as the compiler of the extensive Genealogies of early Sweden residents, an important reference for local historians.
This 1878 Journal represents another facet to the life of Dr. Pike. It is a handwritten journal filled with stories and poems. It is a real thrill to read and will be a wonderful addition to our library.
The volume was passed through Sweden’s Woodbury family to Mark Cadman, the grandson of Eugene Heald Woodbury.
Many thanks to
Mark and Deborah Cadman
for this generous and thoughtful donation
Records in My Life
Evil Be to Him That Evil Thinks!
I was born in the town of S – Co of O – State of Me. [erasure] at an early age my father enlisted in the 17th Me Regiment and went to war after the battle of Fredericksburg he died just across the river in Falmouth Va. I had the luck of having three uncles in the war one in the 12th Me one in the 23rd Me and one in the 12 N.H. Comp. 3 all the others were in the Comp B of their respective regiments all died except uncle A. of the 12th Me. After the death of my father, we lived a year or two on the farm he left us when my mother married a man by the name of B — where we soon went to live. I went to school at B. at an early age where I acquired a taste for poetry some of the pieces of which will appear in this book but not in the order they were written.
When very small I used to delight in running away with my Cz. who was visiting me and in some of our excursions we were often in great danger. I remember once getting upon a rock to go in bathing when I slipped off into a deep hole and came very close to drowning only presence of mind saved me. At another time while fishing at a very muddy pond a pickerel nearly pulled me in – if he had he would have had a chance to have pulled me in instead of me drowning him for no one was with me.
Once while at work at B.- husking corn for the factory we boys got to fooling throwing corn cobs at each other when an unlucky throw hit a horse which jumped and struck me knocking me down and running over me. For two or three days I hurt something. It was a narrow escape at least so I thought.
While out gunning with another boy one day we espied a large flock of Ducks. I fired at one of them wounding it, loading the gun again with a heavy charge. I started to go where I could get a better sight at them when in passing through some bushes my gun went off and some of the shot passed through my coat it frightened me not a little and taught me a lesson with guns I shall not soon forget.
When fifteen years of age I took my satchel of books on my shoulder with what few articles of wearing apparel I had and started for B. to go to school going almost entirely among strangers for there was only one in the whole school that I knew.
My advent in the school created no little amusement to the scholars specially the girls who seemed never to have seen a person from out of town before at recess they would either stand at one end of the school room and stare at me or else in crossing the room would try run over me, it amused me not a little but they soon got over this as new scholars more constantly coming in.
While still fifteen I taught my first school it was in my own town and I boarded at home. I had considerable success considering my age, the greatest trouble I found and that was not much trouble only amusement to me, was two large girls about my own age, if I helped one the other would be so mad she would not speak and it was difficult to please them both. I say deliver me from two large girls in a school and I have heard other teachers than myself say the same. It was about this time that I wrote my first piece of poetry. This piece was written when I was sick commenced June 21st ended Jun 26th 1877.
<poem follows, not yet transcibed>
Notes:
The initials S- and O- in the first line are the town of Sweden and the County of Oxford.
The initial B- as a location is Bridgton.
Clifford Pike was the son of Elias Pike of Sweden and Hannah Howe. After Elias’ death, Hannah married John Bennett (written as B– by Pike)
Elias, the son of John Pike and Esther Richardson had a sister and two brothers, Gillman and Alvin (referred to as A.). All three sons served in the Civil War but only Alvin survived the war.
Mark Cadman’s mother was Katherine Woodbury, daughter of Eugene Woodbury and sister of Sylvia and Ruth all of Sweden.
Transcribed by Janet Mahannah (Sweden Historical Society and GLLT). Paragraph breaks added for readability.
In 1873, a group left North Bridgton for an autumn trek across Waterford and Lovell just north of Sweden. One of their objectives was to meet up with ‘Uncle Amos’ and his Mountain in Lovell. Read about their journey. The map is keyed to locations mentioned in the text.
All the world knows it to be the fashion now-a-days to go to the mountains. So, getting infected with the prevalent mania, and circumstances preventing our doing the regular routine, our party of four started one morning, recently, in search of some localities not laid down in the guide books. Our way lay through the quiet village of North Bridgton, and as we rode along the valley road and neared the picturesque scenery of Waterford, many were the exclamations of delight at the leafy beauties on either hand.
The maples had already laid aside their brilliant robes and betaken themselves to their slumbers, but the oaks and beeches were out holding a carnival, appearing to consider the tulip-like hues of their neighbors in bad taste. These were clad in more subdued colors, but we noticed many of the younger ones were no way reluctant to add the garnet tint to their attire. As we neared Bear Mountain, its sides were brilliant in the morning light, while feathery mists still clung to its summit, and the whole was mirrored in the lake below. (1)
On through the ‘City,’ with its busy mills, we follow the brook, stopping so often on its way to aid the hands of man, never losing its music, though often delayed in its course. (2) On to the picturesque scenery of the ‘Flat.’ (3) What more lovely spot for a summer sojourn than these places, nestled so comely among the hills, with here and there a home-nest clinging to their wooded sides. What charming irregularities, a village kaleidoscope brining out a varied picture.
No. Waterford (3) we find to be a thriving place, with a usual complement of stores, mills and other necessities usually found in such localities. And now, after due inquiries of a man we see hurrying to his dinner, we make an abrupt turn to the westward, and congratulate ourselves on the near proximity of Kezar Falls (and lunch) which are said to be two and a half miles ahead.
But ah’ how much longer are some miles than others. There had been a heavy rain, and the swampy road was full of holes filled with water, through which we blundered, over countless log bridges, which served no visible purpose, since the water was everywhere. After going on in a while in this way, we again inquired, and were told to go on till we passed the pond, which we saw on our right; then go up a little hill, then down into a hollow, up again, along a level, ‘keep our eyes peeled’ and we should see a road to the right, which we were to take. We did all of this and presently the roar of the waters proclaimed the vicinity of the Falls. We turn to the right and find ourselves on the spot. We haste to alight from our carriage, and before disturbing our dinner basket hurry for a peep into the gorge, where [illeg] along the foaming waters. We hold our breath as we carefully step to the verge of the rock and gaze down the deep chasm into which the torrent makes its final plunge, perhaps forty feet, into the dark pool below. We were just getting ourselves into quite a sublime frenzy, when we were suddenly brought down by the voice of our Senior calling us to postpone sight seeing and come to lunch. I don’t think we quite got to that height again. A big rock served for our table; and we ate and drank and returned to the falls.(4)
These Falls are on Kezar River, near the outlet of Little Kezar ponds, in the town of Lovell. (Why are not these bodies of water always called lakes?) The water, after leaving the pond, comes dashing down in its mad gallop, over a rocky incline, for some distance, then gathering force, it makes a final plunge through a narrow gorge some forty feet into a dark, foaming pool below, then glides along into a placid lake. They are not generally known to tourists, and are more worthy of a visit than the many more noted places. We lingered long, gathered souvenirs of our visit, and departed.
Our Senior had been impressed to visit ‘Uncle Amos’ and his mountain, referred to in the News, some weeks since. Accordingly we continued a westerly course, over a very uninteresting road. A birch wood on each side prevented out looking out to the mountains and gave but small compensation. We thus passed over about four miles of almost unbroken solitude, when we came to a schoolhouse (we wondered where the scholars came from) and turning northerly, commenced to ascend a considerable elevation, know as Eastman’s Hill. Up, up, until at last we are at the summit, and have a grand panorama opened to our view.
Before us are the eternal hills. Range after range – ‘Alps on Alps arise.’ No created thing approaches them in majesty. How small are we before ‘their awful fronts sublime.’ We can scarcely turn our gaze from them to other objects.
On our right is Sabatus, (5) of itself but a pigmy when we look at Washington, Kiarsarge, Carter, and their lofty kindred. On the left, at some distance, we noticed quite a large sheet of water, and our Senior asked a boy what pond that was. His reply was: ‘No pond at all; that is Fryeburg overflowed.’ Rather dubious for a journey that way as we had anticipated. This road leads us by a fearfully steep hill, or succession of hills, down to Lovell Center, a neat, sunshiny village.(6) We noticed here a very fine residence, a large two story building, with a Mansard roof, and owned by Mr. Heald, and I was near saying, a still finer barn. We stopped to admire it, and enter it upon our note-book. Size—forty by one hundred feet; clapboarded and painted white, (Query, Why will so many in the country paint their buildings a glaring white, thereby outraging the laws of harmony?) granite underpinning, and incline of the same material to the door, and the structure surmounted with a cupola, on the top of which is a gilded ox. Here we accosted some men at work, as to whether such a person as ‘Uncle Amos’ lived hereabouts.
‘Are you any of his folks?’ ‘No, we are strangers.’ ‘How do you know anything of him?’ ‘O, we have heard of him, and have come to see him.’ ‘Well, you will find him a queer man.’
They told us he was a man without a family, and boarded with a relative a mile or two beyond. We proceeded to the house designated, were told he had left there in the morning to visit his mountain, and we should probably find him at a certain house in the immediate neighborhood, where we might find lodgings for the night, as we were too far from the village to avail ourselves of the hotel accommodation there. Night was fast gathering about us, when we turned aside through a winding road to seek this shelter. We were soon comfortable housed, but did not find the person we sought. He was still in advance. Passed a very pleasant and social evening with the family. They gave us some very interesting information respecting ‘Uncle Amos.’ He is now eighty-two years of age. Had purchased the mountain thirty years ago for sixty bushels of rye, he had cleared the whole southern slope, had walled in several fields, in one or two of which he had set out a large number of apple trees, which are now bearing fruit—last year sixty-five barrels of apples. But the great feature of the place is, that he has actually set out shade trees from the base to very nearly the top of the mountain, a distance of half a mile. He had also laid out a carriage road, which is in tolerably good condition. But let me speak of our ascent.(7)
Our host kindly volunteered to go with us, and soon after breakfast we started. After walking a short distance on the side of a hill, we presently struck into a wood road, which continued through to the foot of the mountain. From this point the ascent is gradual until we pass the orchard which has a very thrifty appearance. Our way is by a winding road, with maples on either side. As we look up we see them marking the path to the top. To the right and west of us are a double row to shelter the whole declivity from the westerly winds. As we near the top the way is more steep, and the trees less in size. Upon gaining the summit a grand view is spread before our vision. To the north and just below us lies North Lovell and the whole range of the Stoneham mountains is before us. To the west and south stretches Great Kezar Pond, eight or nine miles. While our Senior was examining a granite quarry near the summit, ourself and young ladies became absorbed in gathering some choice mosses which we found in profusion. We rambled about for awhile, and were half way down the mountain on our return, when one of the party called our attention to a person approaching from another direction.
‘The very man you wish to see, ‘Uncle Amos’ himself,’ said our host. An elderly man, tall, erect, with staff in hand, came briskly towards us. We made ourselves known, with the object of our visit. He at once entered into conversation. Said he was convinced years ago, that sooner or later the iron horse would open this region to the travelling public, and this mountain would become a place of resort.
He had carried these trees up the mountain, a dozen or so at a time, and set them out. One large field entirely surrounded with trees, and designed as a site for a dwelling, was one of his plans. With his own hands, chiefly, he had accomplished all that had been done here. He had fallen short of what he wished to carry out, but had provided for his pet scheme in such a manner as to make it probable that it yet might be accomplished by those who should come after him. We would gladly have stayed longer in his company, but had already tarried too long, and were therefore reluctantly compelled to bid him adieu, and wend our way downward. We were soon at the farm-house and not long in starting.
To our kind host and hostess we are under lasting obligations for the brief but pleasant sojourn with them. For thee, Amos Andrews, may the remainder of thy days be pleasant. Although thy cherished hopes may not have been realized in this world, in the other life, to which thou must shortly pass; where, according to thy belief, thou wilt enjoy these things to a greater extent. These trees will be in after years, more fitting monuments to thy memory than stately mansions or granite columns. E.
In the Bridgton News issue of January 2, 1948, Julia Chadbourne, the 93-year-old correspondent for the News, acknowledges that she is the last Sweden native who personally remembers the Methodist Church at its original location in northeast Sweden. The original church was built by Stephen Sanderson on land adjacent to the homestead of Francis Hamlin (see 1858 map). In 1873, as the center of population of Sweden shifted to the south, the church was relocated to its present location at the Town Center. The church is now known as the Sweden Community Church.
In her article, Mrs. Chadbourne describes the original neighborhood, the move, and the people involved. Her article has been transcribed below.
Julia Chadbourne was born in Sweden in 1854, the daughter of Charles and Eliza Whitehouse. The Whitehouse residence was located on what is now a long-abandoned road in the northeast of Sweden (see map).
Julia Whitehouse was married first to Nelson McIntire (1851-1910) of Fryeburg. After his death, she married Frank Chadbourne (1852-1942) of Bridgton. A graduate of the Gorham Normal School, she taught most of her working life. Her first teaching experience was at the age of 15 when she taught school in Sweden. She went on to teach in Bridgton, Fryeburg, Bolster Mills, and Harrison. She also served for a time as matron of the Lancaster, Massachusetts, Industrial School for Girls.
Mrs. Chadbourne had a long relationship with the Bridgton News where she was a correspondent for North Bridgton beginning in 1912. Her last article for the newspaper was published not too long before her 100th birthday.
Julia Whitehouse McIntire Chadbourne died in 1955 at the age of 100 and is buried in the North Bridgton Cemetery.
Locations referred to in Julia Chadbourne’s article below
Julia Whitehouse Chadbourne, Age 100[/caption]Julia Whitehouse Chadbourne, Age 100
Bridgton News, January 5, 1948
Transcription of article by Julia Chadbourne
The Bridgton News, January 2, 1948
Some Early History of the Sweden Methodist Church
While attending the Service of Recognition of the Sweden Church into membership of Union Association of Congregational Churches, it occurred to me that I was the only one present who had attended services in the old building which stood in the north part of the town near the old Hamlin house, built in 1813, still standing but long unoccupied.
This part of the town is now called the Brackett Neighborhood. Among my earliest recollections is that of going to church there to hear the new minister, and of saying when asked how I liked the new minister: “I tell you, he’s an awful smart man; you ought to see how he pounded that pulpit.”
I attended the church there until the building was moved to its present location. The reason for the moving was that it would be for the welfare of the church to be nearer the center of population. Towards the North and East, there are many old cellar holes which show where homes once stood, whose owners, as was the custom in those days, were regular attendants at the church.
On the “Goshen Road” leading to North Waterford were several houses, and also on the one leading over “Breakneck Hill” to South Waterford. A schoolhouse stood a little beyond “Chaplin’s Turn.” Some of the pillars of the church still lived in that neighborhood, then called either the Sanderson or the Hamlin Neighborhood. If they were sorry to see the old building torn down they made no sign and there was, to my knowledge, no opposition to the move.
It was a great undertaking for a church of small means, but everyone put shoulder to the wheel, according to ability. A young man happened to be pastor at the time and helped with the courage and enthusiasm of youth. But it was the sacrifice and devotion of some of the members and friends of the church that carried the work through.
Deacon Joseph Perry, who came a babe in this mother’s arms to the place now the summer home of Rev. Pierpoint (sic) Harris and spent the rest of his life there with his wife, a woman of culture and devoted Christian character, and five children, gave all the new lumber needed to build the church to supplement all that was usable from the old building.
A deed of the land on which the church stands was given the church by Benjamin Nevers, one of the Nevers family noted in the early history of the town. He owned a pasture which cornered where the church now stands and from this land was given. I am quite sure also that he gave the land on which the schoolhouse was built. His great grandson and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Charles Bennett, now live in the house at Nevers Corner where he lived.
Deacon Benjamin Holden, who owned the farm where now Camp Tapawingo is located, gave in memory of a deceased daughter, what he called “Martha’s Portion,” which was five hundred dollars in money. Many of the able-bodied men, young and old, gave labor.
The only legacy as far as I know left the Methodist Society there is that of Mrs. Caroline Evans, widow of James Evans. The amount is not known to me.
It was a day of rejoicing when the finished structure was dedicated. The Rev. Frank Strout, a man of some note in the Methodist brotherhood, and an eloquent speaker, preached the sermon, which it was my privilege to hear, and I remember he spoke of the three buildings, located, as may be seen, almost within a stone’s throw of each other, as “The Bulwarks of New England,” –“ the church, the schoolhouse and the townhouse.”
How the venture fared and how the work was carried on may form the subject of another article, if this merits enough interest to warrant it.
JULIA M. CHADBOURNE (The former of Julia M. Whitehouse of Sweden)
From the September 29, 1871 edition of the Bridgton News:
In Sweden, on Saturday, the 23d Sept, the dwelling house owned and occupied by Mr. James Sands and three orphan children by the name of Green, was totally destroyed by fire. The furniture in the lower part of the house was mostly saved, while that in the chamber and cellar was entirely consumed. How the fire originated remains a mystery. No insurance on the property owned by the Green [sic] family, and the orphans are thus deprived of a home.
So, who was James Sands? Was he married? Who were the orphaned children? Thanks to resources available through Ancestry.com and SHS files, we can learn more about the Sands and the orphans described in the Bridgton News.
See their story below.
James Sands of Maine In 1860, James Sands (1806-1886), his wife Louisa (1805-1897), and daughter Charlotte (age 9) lived in Milo, Piscataquis County.
By 1870, James and Louisa have relocated to Sweden. Charlotte is not included in the household in the 1870 census: perhaps she died or married. From the 1870 census, we know that James Sands was a farmer in Sweden. He owned a total of 50 acres, of which 36 acres were improved. The value of his real property is $900. He has a single “milch” cow, two working oxen, three “other” cattle, one sheep, for a total of $240 in value. He grows spring wheat, indian corn, and buckwheat.
In the 1870 census, James and Louisa live with Frances (22), Eugene (18), Samuel (16), Lucy (13), orphaned children of William and Harriet Greene. The children’s maternal grandmother, Rebecca Bangs, also lives with them.
By 1880, James and Lucinda Sands were settled alone in Fairfield, Somerset County, Maine where James died in1886. Louisa died in Waterville in 1897.
The Green(e) Family The orphans were children of William Henry Green (1815-1857) and his wife, Harriet Frances Bangs (1821-1860). William and Harriet (who died of consumption) are buried in Flint Cemetery. From various documents, we know that Harriet Bangs was not only a descendant of a Revolutionary War veteran, but also a Mayflower descendant.
William Henry’s father was William S. Greene, an early settler: coming to Sweden from Beverly, MA before 1813. From Pike: “He cleared the farm and built the buildings near the Bridgton town line, which was his home to the time of his death. The buildings were a little way from the main road, on the west. The entrance on which he lived has ever since borne the name of “Green’s Hill.” He died in 1867, and his wife died in 1861. The buildings were burned about 1870.”
Julia Whitehouse Chadbourne, Age 100[/caption]
