Back to the thrilling days of yesteryear.....
On one of my trips down to Maine Prairie, I noticed a side road named Bartlett Road. Now it wasn't as if the road had just materialized...it had always been there..... but now that I was finding old bottles this dusty gravel road had taken on a new meaning. Why Bartlett Road ?
That evening at family dinner my father told me the story of Ed Bartlett.......
It seems that Ed Bartlett & his wife lived near the inland "port town" of Maine Prairie, California...My dad said that Ed & his wife were a very old couple when he was a kid . They had tried to make a living running sheep on the sparse alkaline fields in the area...They lived from hand to mouth and barely made a go of it. Their cabin-like home was built on stilts so that rising slough water of Winter would not flood them out. They had no electricity and heated the home with firewood & read by kerosene lantern.
The next weekend I drove down towards the town site of Maine Prarie but turned off about a mile short on to Bartlett Road. I parked my car (a 1960 Chev Impala) and climbed the fence... I walked back to a pile of lumber where the Bartlett house used to be. After poking around in the debris and not finding anything, I concentrated my attention on a lane of stunted growth Tamarack trees to the West of the house....They were dry & dusty trying to hang on to life...the very existance that Ed Bartlett & his wife had given up so many years ago.
The lane of tamaracks led back about 100 yards from their collapsed home to a slightly raised area where a barn & corals would have been.... I was real new at probing for bottles but found a place that seemed promising...small bits of china & glass were about here & there.... I noticed an indentation in the landscape near by....I shoved my probe into the ground and felt the familiar crunch of glass....I picked up my shovel & opened up a 3 foot by 3 foot area....This ground was noticibly softer then the surrounding rock hard alkaline soil around it.
The first bottle I found was a small green snuff with a flared lip...the second, a cathedral pickle with brick laying dead center through it. The third bottle was a B J McGee Benicia Soda Bottle (blob top)....The fourth & final bottle came out of the "sidewall" and was at the very bottom of the outhouse.....about 7 feet down.
That bottle is pictured below: a Dr C W Robacks Stomach Bitters Cincinnati.O....the bottle is the earlier one with a graphite pontil & stands 10 inches tall.....I had scored....and scored well. The reverse of the bottle has a real unusual repair....something was going on with the bottle mold.... I like it!
Years later....I have only the Roback's bitters....the other bottles have found other happy homes.
The field where Eddie Bartlett & his wife tried to make a living has been leveled. The farmer has enrichened the soil & plants sugar beets there now.....There is nothing to tell their story....save telling you-all this one......Here's to Eddie & his lovely wife.....Thanks for the memories...Thanks for the good times. Thanks for the Robacks.
On one of my trips down to Maine Prairie, I noticed a side road named Bartlett Road. Now it wasn't as if the road had just materialized...it had always been there..... but now that I was finding old bottles this dusty gravel road had taken on a new meaning. Why Bartlett Road ?
That evening at family dinner my father told me the story of Ed Bartlett.......
It seems that Ed Bartlett & his wife lived near the inland "port town" of Maine Prairie, California...My dad said that Ed & his wife were a very old couple when he was a kid . They had tried to make a living running sheep on the sparse alkaline fields in the area...They lived from hand to mouth and barely made a go of it. Their cabin-like home was built on stilts so that rising slough water of Winter would not flood them out. They had no electricity and heated the home with firewood & read by kerosene lantern.
The next weekend I drove down towards the town site of Maine Prarie but turned off about a mile short on to Bartlett Road. I parked my car (a 1960 Chev Impala) and climbed the fence... I walked back to a pile of lumber where the Bartlett house used to be. After poking around in the debris and not finding anything, I concentrated my attention on a lane of stunted growth Tamarack trees to the West of the house....They were dry & dusty trying to hang on to life...the very existance that Ed Bartlett & his wife had given up so many years ago.
The lane of tamaracks led back about 100 yards from their collapsed home to a slightly raised area where a barn & corals would have been.... I was real new at probing for bottles but found a place that seemed promising...small bits of china & glass were about here & there.... I noticed an indentation in the landscape near by....I shoved my probe into the ground and felt the familiar crunch of glass....I picked up my shovel & opened up a 3 foot by 3 foot area....This ground was noticibly softer then the surrounding rock hard alkaline soil around it.
The first bottle I found was a small green snuff with a flared lip...the second, a cathedral pickle with brick laying dead center through it. The third bottle was a B J McGee Benicia Soda Bottle (blob top)....The fourth & final bottle came out of the "sidewall" and was at the very bottom of the outhouse.....about 7 feet down.
That bottle is pictured below: a Dr C W Robacks Stomach Bitters Cincinnati.O....the bottle is the earlier one with a graphite pontil & stands 10 inches tall.....I had scored....and scored well. The reverse of the bottle has a real unusual repair....something was going on with the bottle mold.... I like it!
Years later....I have only the Roback's bitters....the other bottles have found other happy homes.
The field where Eddie Bartlett & his wife tried to make a living has been leveled. The farmer has enrichened the soil & plants sugar beets there now.....There is nothing to tell their story....save telling you-all this one......Here's to Eddie & his lovely wife.....Thanks for the memories...Thanks for the good times. Thanks for the Robacks.
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