Written several years ago from an interview with my grandfather when he was 88 years old.

"Back then everyone knew everybody, your neighbors were your friends, they were there when you needed them, not so much like today." That's what my grandfather said at the beginning of our interview as we sat down in the living room of his home on South Beech Plain Road, not far south of the intersection with Cold Spring Road.

The rooster crowed from out in the yard and I knew this was going to be a good honest interview. He didn't really filter what he said, he just told it like it is.

My grandfather was born in a farmhouse on South Beech Plain Road in Sandisfield in 1922. Our long-time family friend, Thelma Esteves, lives in that house now.

Into the Woods, Sight Unseen

My grandpa called Sandisfield a small cow town with no law.

His father and mother, immigrants from Russia, worked in New York City, his father as a tailor in a men's suit factory and his mother at a biscuit company. His father knew he needed to get out of the city, he just wasn't made for it; he wasn't happy and his health was poor. He bought a 50-acre parcel in Sandisfield on South Beech Plain Road without ever having seen it.

They moved to the country and started a dairy farm. They had two sons born at the farmhouse. They were a strong-backed, dedicated pair and taught my grandfather and his brother, Alexander, how to live off the land.

Winter was dedicated to chopping wood to keep the family warm and haying in the summer for their livestock. My grandfather had many responsibilities at a young age like taking care of their livestock and hunting for a lot of meals. He was taught to shoot at the age of five. They hunted for anything, squirrels, deer, turkey, and even raccoon when food was scarce. Really, they hunted anything that dared leave a track!

His father loved raccoon, but my grandpa hated the taste. He told me his father would tell him it was "tougher where there's none!" They always had a few dogs, including many beagles for hunting. Then, it wasn't just your father teaching you how to shoot, but everyone had to put their two cents in, of course, but all those guys' inputs made you a better shot, along with practice. Good shots meant good eating and survival during tough times.

They raised cows, horses, pigs, and chickens. Down Beech Plain Road at the junction with Sandisfield Road was a creamery (now The Silverbrook Cafe, "Best Little Honky-Tonk West of the Clam River"). At the creamery their milk would be turned it into butter, milk, and ice cream that was delivered all around Berkshire County.

School, and Working Too

My grandpa attended grammar school at the West New Boston school house. It had, at the most, ten students. He had to walk about two miles both ways to get there. From there they created the South Beech Plain School, which is now a hunting cabin. He moved from New Boston School to there for the 4th to 8th grade. There were only three students there in the winter, all boys.

My grandpa said, "They didn't care if the teacher who was hired knew what they were talking about, they were hired as long as they knew how to start a fire!" The teachers were fairly young and boarded in cabins that were rented out by a tender at Spectacle Pond. My grandpa said he didn't misbehave, nor did the others, because "they would have given you a good smack with whatever was handy!"

My grandpa grew up helping with his father's small sawmill set up in the woods, which many other neighbors worked at. He was about 12 years old when he worked with them, on top of his chores and labor at his own family's farm.

Grandpa bought his first sawmill at age 16 with his brother, Alex. The two of them worked side-by-side in same woods where my family's property is today on North Beech Plain Road.

His father continued to buy more land next to the farm and later on, my grandpa expanded even further. Our land had an old farm house on it where granpa and Alex lived for a while. It had no power, but the land was beautiful.

After grammar school he graduated from Lee High School and then went on the Oliver Walcott Trade School. During that time he worked as a machinist at a factory in Torrington, mostly forging submarine coils and other products that would contribute to the war.

A Long Life, Well Lived

"Then, when people fought, they fought it out and were friends the next day, there wasn't no law to stop them!" he said.

Locals knew how to have a good time. As a kid, he and his friends were outdoors all the time. He said he had many friends but he specifically mentioned his closest friends, also local residents, Homer Spring, Charlie Allen, and Willie Riiska. They spent summers fishing and swimming in the Clam River and Spectacle Pond.

Going to the movies was a big treat, grandpa and his friends went as often as they could. A ticket cost 10 cents.

He said, "We raised hell wherever it needed raisin'!" just before he told me how old he was when he bought his first vehicle. He purchased a 1927 one-ton Chevy pickup from a guy in East Otis for $35 when he was just 10 years old! That just goes to show you how different things were then.

Moonshine and bootlegging were common in Sandisfield. Grandpa and many of his friends took part in the drinking and making of it. Every other house was a bootleg joint and some people even concocted it up for the New Boston Inn.

Moonshine was common, but hard apple cider was a Hrykvich specialty. Every fall they would make about 8 barrels of the stuff. The apples were picked right on the farm and brought down to their friend's cider press where my grandpa and his family joined to make the cider, which of course they also helped to drink. Parties were highlighted by the cider supply and friends from all over town would come together and drink and just have a good time. "The amounts consumed were unbelievable," he told me.

After all the experience he gained working in the woods logging and sawing, he and his brother Alex began to build their own official saw mill, Hryckvich Brothers Lumber, which still stands on Route 8 in Sandisfield. They built from the ground up what would be a booming business that supplied lumber to people all around the Berkshires. The trees were logged from woods on their property and from jobs all around Berkshire County. They had a full operation going and my grandfather had even more responsibility than before. They set up the 52" circular saw and got to sawing. Their lumber built most of the houses in what is now Otis Wood Lands.

My grandpa knew my grandmother, Doris Linkovich, since they were very young. Their families were good friends, but she was four years younger so they were never in school together and most of their friends were different ages. Once they became teenagers, their first date was to the Great Barrington Fair. They ended up falling in love and it was just the beginning. They were married in 1953 and had two sons, Victor and Frank, who was known as "Bud." My grandparents were married 67 years when my grandmother died only two years ago, in 2020.

My grandpa said he wouldn't trade growing up in Sandisfield for anywhere else. "It's just...home." he would always say. He always seemed to be one with the land and seemed to be rarely indoors.

He and I spent much of my childhood together, and most of my memories are of us in the woods, haying in the field, or taking care of the animals. One of the things I treasured most about him was how he appreciated the value of time. He was just so calm and patient, at least with me. I love that he took the time to teach me things.

One Special Memory

I remember this one day, it was so damn hot and humid. My grandfather, my dad Victor, and I had been cutting grass all day. We were all exhausted, we just needed to drop off the last load, then we'd be done for the day. We were eager to get in front of a fan and in the shade. Grandpa and I were in the truck together and dad was on the tractor. What does my grandpa do? He shuts off the truck. Dad glared over and said something along the lines of "what the heck are you doing!? It's hot and we need to get this done!"

My grandpa smiled and pulled out three perfectly ripe tomatoes he picked earlier from our garden. There was nothing like those fresh homegrown tomatoes. He said "not until we have a snack"

He must've been planning on this earlier because he had a salt shaker that he stole off our kitchen table with him in the truck. He sat down on the tailgate of that old truck, took out his pocket knife and handed us each a piece of tomato sprinkled with salt. We all laughed and sat together on that tailgate and just took it all in.

He taught me to appreciate the little things and to not take any day for granted. I'll never forget the taste of that tomato, how happy we were in that moment and my grandpa saying, "Now don't that taste like heaven?"