But, aside from the war, these things had little effect on Vermont.

The percussion cap was invented in the United States that year, and the first steamships were introduced to the Great Lakes. It would be three years more before the modern cast-iron plow was patented, but you can see that incredible advances were being made, nonetheless. The nation’s focus was on expansion west, and on the new modes of transportation that would make that expansion possible. But again, aside from sharing the general interest in the lush Ohio Valley, these things had little to do with life in Vermont.

It was a time of great contrasts, with amazing inventions being made yet glass still so rare that homes having more than ten panes were taxed for every extra piece. For the farmer, however, as in the past, there were literally not enough hours in the day, and a great deal of work was done by moonlight. And, as in the past, the phases of the moon dictated the kinds of crops to be planted or harvested, or the sort of work to be done. That the moon had strange powers was taken pretty much for granted – especially by the people closely attuned to the harmonies of the earth – and its dictates were seldom ignored.

These things were very much a part of Vermont in 1816. But what if the people themselves?

Visit an old, old farm on a fine Summer’s day and you’ll know. Contemplate the land, going back to timber, now; think of it cleared from virgin wood and planted by the family who lived here more than a century and a half ago. What were the people like? They were like Vermonters today: practical, caring people. Whether the land attracts this sort of person, or whether the extremes of beauty and harshness exact this growth from those who stay, is beside the point; that’s what Vermonters are like, today, and what they’ve always been like.

Here in Vermont, that year of 1816 began like other years, with too much cold and too much snow. The Winters, then, took their toll of young and old, as they take their toll of the old, today. In the home of Andrew and Sarah Stone, on a small hill farm in central Vermont, there were three children: Ephraim, twelve; Rebekkah, nine; and Josh, just turned seven, who was very, very ill. . . .