Vera and the Veterinarian

4/11/2018

By Jane Butterfield McLean, channeling her grandmother, Vera McClure Butterfield

Backstory #1: At Butterfield Farm in the 1970s I found a small wooden cutting board on the workbench of my late grandfather, Byron Butterfield. Around 1960, he had written a note to the veterinarian: “Forrest, Cow alright now. I had to go away. Please call your office.” On the back: Math calculations including cost per gallon and multiplying by pi.

Backstory #2: Nana is still remembered fondly for her big brown eyes, delightful alto voice, love of family, and generosity. You never left her house empty-handed. One of the highest compliments I ever received: “Janie, I thought that was Vera up there on the stage.”

“Byron! Telephone!” I met my husband as he was coming out of the barn. “It’s Earl.”
“I wonder what he wants,” he muttered as he went into the house. I thought, not for the first time, not even the hundredth, that if the Republicans had been in office when the postmaster of Antrim was appointed, that job would have been Byron’s. And he would be looking at retirement with a pension instead of the tail end of a cow. But I kept these thoughts to myself. Once again.
“Earl needs me to make a special delivery to Windsor right away. That cow is better now, but Forrest might come while I’m gone. I’ll leave him a note.”
Byron left for the post office, and I went back to making doughnuts and later worked on a hooked rug for Charles and Nancy’s new house. After a while I heard a car in the yard and went out.

Byron and Vera Butterfield, Antrim NH Grange Hall, 1966. Photo by Barry Proctor.

Dr. Tenney's story: Is There a Doctor in the Barn? by Elizabeth Yates

“Hello, Forrest.”
“Morning, Vera. Byron around? I hear he has a sick cow.”
“Earl called him down to the post office. He says the cow is better now. I’m awful sorry you came all this way. Jennie at your office called--would you call her back?” He hesitated at the doorstep, but I waved him toward the phone. I waited while he cranked the ringer box to get the Antrim operator, who would connect him to the Peterborough operator, who would connect him to his office.
After his call, he said, “You know, Vera? I’m thinking of getting one of those two-way radios so I can talk to the office in my car. Won’t be tracking my muddy boots into everyone’s house.”
“Why, Forrest, I’ve known you since you were a boy up on West Street. You wouldn’t think of coming to the farm without stopping in to say ‘hi,’ would you?”
“Always a pleasure to see you, Vera, always a pleasure. Mmmmmm, do I smell nutmeg? Well, why don’t I take a look at that cow just to make sure she’s all right.”

I walked with him out to the barn, and there, nailed by the big sliding door, was Byron’s “note,” a message written on a little cutting board. Forrest looked at me in puzzlement, and I looked back in surprise, saying, “He was in a hurry, and I guess he didn’t have a piece of paper in the barn.”
We both had a laugh, then Forrest checked the cow. “Tell Byron she’s OK, just keep an eye on her. No charge for the visit.”
“Now, Forrest, you don’t have to do that. But thank you.” As he got into his car, I handed him a paper bag of fresh doughnuts. “Will half a dozen be enough? Be sure to take some to Jennie.”

Aerial photo of Butterfield Farm
by William B. Nichols

WHO’S WHO:
Butterfield Farm, Clinton Road, Antrim NH (more info here)
Byron G. Butterfield, 1894-1971 (more info here)
Vera McClure Butterfield, 1895-1970 (more info here)
Forrest F. Tenney, DVM, 1910-1986

Author

As a toddler, I lived at Butterfield Farm among four generations under one roof. I later raised her family there 1970-1984 and is now retired in Midcoast Maine.

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