Icy Palmer and the Virtues of Vermont
DOROTHY CANFIELD FISHER was an author and activist, born in Lawrence, Kansas in 1879 and educated at Ohio State and Columbia University — but her mother was a Canfield from Arlington, Vermont. The Canfields gathered in Arlington in the summer, and as an adult, Dorothy moved to Arlington.
Her father used to say he felt he’d lived in Vermont since 1763; the Canfield family stories went back that far. Israel Canfield was the first Canfield to see Vermont. A soldier from New Milford, Connecticut, he marched up to Canada to fight for England in the Seven Years War, was struck by the beauty of the territory he was marching through and vowed that when the war was over, he’d return to Vermont and settle there.
One of Israel Canfield’s grandsons was Dorothy’s great-uncle Zed Canfield, and “Uncle Zed” and little Dorothy “Dolly” Canfield walked together in summer, with Zed telling stories and Dolly soaking up the history. Zed claimed to remember the War of 1812.
Dolly grew up into the adult Dorothy Canfield Fisher, and wanted to write about what she felt was distinctive in Vermont’s history and in the character of its people. In 1953, she published one of her most interesting books: “Vermont Tradition: The Biography of an Outlook on Life.”
She explained that Vermont had never been a battleground with hardy Indians driven out by encroaching white settlers. Vermont was for the Abenaki and other New England tribes a thoroughfare. Its deep forests and many rivers and lakes made for excellent hunting and fishing but it was not a sacred home. Deer and bear were plentiful here — but not warfare.
Nor was Vermont involved in the fight between the English and the French over who would control North America. Fisher felt this left a mark on Vermont. She described Vermont farmers as able and hard-working — but not obsessed with farming, and capable of ignoring their fields for a day when a pressing issue or a delightful distraction came along.
She once noted sadly: “The desire to assert one’s own importance by bossing or pushing someone else around sprouts in the human heart as vigorously as thistles in a cow pasture.”
She freely acknowledged a certain cussedness among Vermonters, a fierce resistance to anyone who might try to boss them or re-arrange their lives. But she pointed out that it also went the other way; Vermonters don’t presume to boss other people, nor to intrude on the lives of others.
She admired Vermont friendships for being slow-growing and deserving of deep respect. Friendship, she believed, should never be faked or given false ornaments. Success at anything should not be sought hastily or by shortcuts. Empathy should be expressed in gestures, not flowery words.
Perhaps her strongest conviction in “Vermont Tradition” was that happiness can’t be given to someone by the outside world; it comes from within, or it doesn’t come at all.
Young Dolly was intrigued by an old Native American lady in the area named Louisa Palmer. Her first name was pronounced “Lo-EYE-see” and, over time, this became “Icy” — ICY PALMER.
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Icy Palmer had no known family or fixed address. She traveled around, by the four seasons of the year, staying in one farmhouse or another, sleeping wherever there was room, always making herself useful, departing with little warning or explanation. Cold wind, snow and ice never deterred her from walking the roads.
Small and wiry, calm and good-natured, Icy joined readily in the tasks of farm life. She sewed quilts and washed clothes.
She was skilled at boiling down cider, keeping a wood fire going under a large kettle of apple juice, skimming the foam, stirring, stirring, stirring, knowing how long to let the mixture simmer until it was thick but not undrinkable.
She was also good at drying corn, carefully hanging the ears in a ventilated space where they could dry enough to be stored without gathering mold.
Quiet, patient and sure, Icy could get even skittish animals to feed, whether a cosset lamb or a runt pig. Sometimes, slow quiet movements around the animal was enough. At other times, she might add a little salt or a corn mash to stimulate the animal’s appetite and entice them to eat.
Icy Palmer was especially known for the excellent horseradish she made by peeling and grating various roots down to the pulp and adding distilled white vinegar and salt. This concoction she sold, and many people bought it, to eat with fish or boiled meat.
When Icy got too old to walk in all weathers, the Ladies Benevolent Society of the local Congregational Church decided Icy should have a small house of her own. Icy blessed the project, and the Ladies Benevolent Society raised the money needed. A tiny house was built and Icy moved in and managed well there.
Only after she died in 1911, was it learned that Icy had quietly bought herself a handsome tombstone. It read:
MISS ICY PALMER
BORN SEPTEMBER 1824
DIED JULY 1911
Rest in Peace… asleep in Jesus.
