Franco-American Girls in the 1940’s:

 

A sketch of the life of Leola Lillian Dumont Gagnon

 

By

Sarah Wilhite

(many photos are not included but can be found in the text

Acadian Hard Times)

 

 

 

Chapter 1.

Living in Acadian Potato Country

 

Potatoes were a major crop in northern Maine, Franco-American country, in the 1940s and continue to be farmed today. Potatoes encompassed the entire community until the 1970s — you either lived on a potato farm, had relatives who lived on a farm, picked potatoes in September, ate potatoes for many meals, or any combination of the above.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A view of Franco-American country. Valley south of Fort Kent, August 1942.[i]

 

 

During the Depression, the Farm Securities Administration helped many farmers across the country secure loans or work in cooperatives. Photographers were sent out to visually record the effects of the program as well as the daily life of the recipients. Most of the pictures in this chapter come from an assignment to photograph farmers in the St. John Valley region of northern Maine. Jack Delano was one such photographer who ended up not just taking pictures, but becoming very interested in Franco-American culture. “ ‘You see,’ Delano wrote of the St. John Valley at the end of his work there, ‘this is a rather strange area. It is far removed from any large centers of population—Portland, the biggest city in Maine, is over three hundred miles away. As a result, any town up here is the center of activity for a large farm area. Because of the closeness to Canada and the strange history of the Acadians there is a large population of French Canadians along the St. John River. In towns such as Fort Kent and Van Buren, one hears more French in the streets than English. These French are the farmers—by no means well off and depending solely on potatoes to survive.’”[ii]

 

Here is a brief glimpse into potato farming, and how it encompassed an entire community—the Franco-American community.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A truck loaded with fertilizer and barrels of seed potatoes. Notice the young children who are helping. Potato farming involved whole families.[iii]

Planting Potatoes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“A wagonload of seed potatoes at the house of Lawrence J. Brown.” Eagle Lake, Maine, October 1940.[iv]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Leonard Gagnon loading Aroostook Federation of Farmers fertilizer into the hopper of his potato seeder for spring potato planting. Cut seed potatoes are being loaded in the other hopper.” Frenchville, Maine, May 1943.[v]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Claude Levesque (on left), his sister Lula Levesque Marquis (third from left), and others demonstrate the method of cutting and planting seed potatoes on the Levesque farm. Care is taken to have each of the four pieces from a single potato follow one another consecutively. If any plant of the four seeds is bad, all four are pulled up. This photograph was staged, because planting was out of season. Van Buren, Maine, October 1940.[vi]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Claude Levesque demonstrating the method of cutting seed potatoes for immediate planting. The potatoes were soaked in a chemical and put on racks to dry before they were cut and planted. The basket was standard equipment both for hand planting and for harvesting potatoes. Van Buren, Maine, October 1940.[vii]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Spring potato planting on Leonard Gagnon’s farm.[viii]

 

 

Potato Picking—The Acadian Rite of Passage

 

“Makes one tougher”

 

We survived all that and I think it made us stronger. Like John says, aww, I can’t believe you made us pick potatoes and I said, oh yes, and look what happened to you; it made a man out of you.—Leola Gagnon

 

Potato picking was almost a rite of passage for Acadians; everyone went potato picking at some point in their lives. It was a hard job, picking potatoes, but everyone was together in the suffering, which made it a little easier. This is the story of two generations of Acadian women potato pickers.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Basket of potatoes, October 1940.[ix]

 

People started picking potatoes unsupervised around the middle school years, and some picked as adults, although it was easier for young backs. Everyone was expected to go help the farmers. Many times people would pick on their own farm, or on a relative or friends’ farm. School started in August so that everyone could get the three weeks of potato picking in September off. People picked potatoes six days a week, with only Sundays off. There were different types of potatoes to pick, for example Maine potatoes or russet potatoes, which were longer and therefore filled the barrels faster. – Anita Wilhite[x]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Leola Gagnon at fifteen years old, in 1949.

 

Farmers would buy old school buses, and pick up all the pickers before the sun was up. The mornings were cold, so people wore many layers and even hats. By mid-day, the sun was out and people stripped down to jeans and a shirt. The jeans sometimes had patches on the knees since by the end of the day, people were kneeling in the dirt to pick the potatoes. Additionally, people wore gloves and boots to try to keep the dirt out as much as possible.—Anita Wilhite

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rena Gendreau beside a barrel of picked potatoes. Notice how she drags her basket between her legs.[xi]

 

Potato picking. In those days there was no machine. You harvest with the horse and some kind of digger but later they had a tractor with a digger in the back and it would go into the rows of the potatoes and the potatoes would go around the machine and fall back on the ground and then it would need to be picked and there was always a stalk and you would need to take the stalk off and pick the potatoes by hand with gloves and a basket and it was early morning and some mornings were cold in the fields and it was a hard job. When your basket was full you would have to empty it into a barrel. –Leola Gagnon[xii]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Potato season in earnest. Caribou, Maine, October 1940. Notice the pickers dumping their baskets into the barrels. Also, the tractor in the background digging up the ground.[xiii] The potatoes would get churned up along with the vines, while the dirt would slip through the gaps in the teeth.— Anita Wilhite

 

It was hard to fill a barrel. There would be rotten potatoes. And sometimes for fun you would throw potatoes. – Anita Wilhite

 

 

If you were slow and couldn’t pick your row of potatoes by the time the tractor came by a second time, they made your row smaller. When the field was done, they would bus you to another field until they were all done. And sometimes the fields were just small and you couldn’t pick many potatoes.—Anita Wilhite

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Picking potatoes on the isolated farm of Lawrence J. Brown. Eagle Lake, Maine Octboer 1940.[xiv]

 

 

There was a break for lunch. Pickers brought their own lunches. I remember the highlight of potato picking season the wonderful junk food packed in my lunch by my mother. You would get soda and maybe a Ding-Dong. It was such a treat. Everyone was ravenous after the hard work in the sun. Sometimes during the day the pickers would get so hungry they would eat raw potatoes. They are not good to eat, but sometimes you are so hungry, you eat raw potatoes.—Anita Wilhite

 

Some of the farmers were pretty rough and would swear in French. I learned a lot of curse words picking. I don’t know if my mom knows that.—Anita Wilhite

 

Sometimes it was too wet to pick. If you picked the potatoes wet, they would mold faster. But you also didn’t want them too dry. And some days you were sick and couldn’t pick. And sometimes the tractor would break down and you would sit around for hours in the sun. But you got to know the people who were picking next to you really well since you were with them for three weeks. – Anita Wilhite

 

After the pickers were through, farmers would let people go through the field and take any stray potatoes home for free. So even in the hardest times, everyone would still have potatoes to eat.—Anita Wilhite

 

The pickers were bused back at sunset. At the end of our hard day, we were tired and dirty. I remember having to strip in the garage, run across the covered porch, and then having to take turns with my brother to use the bathtub first. Dirt got everywhere; under gloves, in boots…you ended up literally eating dirt.—Anita Wilhite

 

Dirt and dirty and you would come home and no showers no tubs in those days. We did have running water, though, but my mother would have heated up some water and we would wash up with a little dish and a cloth and but can you imagine today to get in a shower after you have done all that picking but in those days there were no showers. But we did have indoor plumbing, no hot water, we had cold water so my mother had to heat some water. – Leola Gagnon

 

That’s how you were paid you were paid by the barrel and so you needed to pick a lot so you rushed to pick a lot so you could make a lot of barrels. When we were picking my sister used to pick over a hundred barrels a day and that was a big day and a big job. – Leola Gagnon

 

At the beginning of the day, the farmers would give you a bunch of cards with a number on it. When a barrel was full, you would put a card on top. At the end of the day, the farmers would count up how many barrels had your number on it, and that’s how you would get paid. Sometimes, when it was windy, the card would fly away and you had to make sure you got it or you would not get paid for it. I remember in the 1960s only getting 25 cents per barrel, and that was a lot of hard work. But potatoes were cheap so the farmers couldn’t pay you much. After you were done the barrels, a truck would come by and roll the barrels on the truck. – Anita Wilhite

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bertha Gendreau picking potatoes in St. David, Maine, October 1940.[xv]

 

Storing the potatoes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Daigle house. “Barrels of potatoes were rolled in through the front door and lowered into the cellar through a trap door.” Fort Kent, Maine, August 1942.[xvi]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This is an old fashioned potato house. It used to be partly in the ground to keep the

potatoes from freezing in the winter.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Barrels of potatoes being unloaded at the Etscovitz Potato Co. warehouse in Fort Kent.” October 1940.[xvii]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mrs. Baptiste Deprey and her child and grandchildren. The barrels were left outside when the potatoes were stored in the cellar. The potatoes would fill the cellar to the floorboards. Soldier Pond, Maine, October 1940.[xviii]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Fort Kent starch factory surrounded by trucks loaded with potatoes in October 1940.[xix]

 

 

Eating the potatoes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dinner of ployes, milk, potatoes, baked beans, butter, mustard, and blueberries in Wallagrass, Maine, October 1940.[xx]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Favorite French recipes passed down through the generations involving potatoes:

 

Tourtiere (pork pie)

From the kitchen of: Leola Gagnon

Ingredients:

1 ½ lbs. of pork

¼ teaspoon cinnamon

¼ teaspoon poultry seasoning

1 medium onion dried fine

3 medium potatoes cooked and mashed (without milk or butter)

½ teaspoon flour

salt and pepper to taste

Preparation:

Start the recipe the day before by browning the ground pork, onion, and seasonings. Let simmer for 30 min., drain the fat, and refrigerate overnight. Next day, reheat the pork mixture, cook, and mash the potatoes, add the flour, and combine. Place mixture into pie pastry (double) and bake at 450 for about 30 min. or until brown.

This is a traditional recipe for Christmas Eve or New Year’s Eve. Very popular for Franco-Americans.

 

Chicken Stew

From the kitchen of: Leola Gagnon

Ingredients:

3 lbs. chicken breasts or chicken parts

onions

salt and pepper to taste

6 potatoes

Dumplings:

1 cup flour

½ cup milk

1 teas. salt

Preparation:

Boil chicken with onions, salt, and pepper for about one hour or until chicken is tender. Make sure you have enough water to cover the chicken. Remove chicken. Add cubed potatoes and cook until tender. Make the dumplings: mix the ingredients well to make a dough. Roll on floured board and cut up in squares. Drop in the stew and leave the cover off. Make sure the water doesn’t boil when adding the dumplings. Cook for ten minutes. Cover and add the chicken. Make sure you have deboned and removed skin from chicken.

This must be made more than once to master. Served on Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve.

 

 

 

 

 

A big treat for us, since there was plenty of potatoes, at night my mother had a cast iron stove. They didn’t have the stoves like today, they had a big cast iron stove. On the round things to cook the food on the cast iron stove you’d put a little bit of oil on it and slice up the potatoes and cook the potatoes right on the stove. It would turn brown and you would turn it over and eat it with butter. So at night instead of popcorn or potato chips, because there was no such thing growing up, that was the big treat. It was done right on the cast iron stove. And, oh, that was delicious and we had that often at night when we were hungry, we would have potatoes on the stove. – Leola Gagnon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emma Gagnon making soup on a wood stove in Frenchville, Maine, August 1942.[xxi]

Potato picking today

 

Today we still have some hand picking, would you believe, we still have some people who don’t have machines. But now its organized so much and they have harvesters. – Leola Gagnon

                                    

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Potatoes still being hand-picked in the St. John Valley, Aroostook County, Maine, October 1989.[xxii]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mechanized potato picking along the St. John River, October 1989.[xxiii]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Potato harvesting, St. Agatha, Maine, October 1989.[xxiv]

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A field full of potato barrels. Van Buren, October 1940.[xxv]

 

 

“I can never forget that smell. To this day, the smell of diesel engines from tractors triggers memories of potato picking.”—Anita Wilhite