At the Cuyahoga Valley's southwestern edge sits an impressive three-story red brick house surrounded by 140 acres of fields, gardens, and woods. Familiar to many school children, it is now a popular regional attraction that overlooks a recreated historical village.
Despite the building's grandeur, Hale Farm began like any other farm: with hard work. In 1810, farmer Jonathan Hale arrived in Bath to begin a new life on the Western Reserve.
C.O. Hale.
Courtesy Peninsula Library & Historical Society
For over one hundred years, generations of the Hale family worked and managed their land. In the early 1900s, the farm passed to Jonathan's grandson, C.O. Hale, a kind and ambitious man who hired local families as farm laborers. Part of a newer trend in "gentleman farming," C.O. Hale oversaw the work on his property and earned additional income by entertaining friends and tourists.
During the 1920s and 30s, the Wilson family worked for C.O. Hale, clearing land, plowing fields, baling hay, and making maple syrup. Sweating under the summer sun, they planted and harvested vegetables and grains. During the chill of winter, parents found additional employment and children went to school—after milking the cows in Mr. Hale's barn.
We had to get up and milk the cows early, winter time or school time, we had to milk the cows, and eat breakfast and get dressed and go to school. ~laughs~ We had to walk a half a mile to get to the bus, which was nothin’ then. ~laughs~ In the summer when we were workin’ we had chores assigned to us. My dad had the milk route and he left early in the morning. We milked the cows and tended the fields, plowed the ground, whatever, planted the corn and I think we planted wheat, oats, and soybeans. We had a team of horses and a plow, and you walked behind the plow. You plow about an acre a day. The corn we cut by hand and stacked it up into bundles, and then when it comes winter or sometime, we’d go out there in the field and husk the corn. And the grain, we had a combine or something—cut the grain and tied it in bundles, and then we took the bundles and stacked ‘em up, and then when we’re all done, ready to thresh, why we’d take the wagon, come out and pick up all our stuff and the threshing machine would meet at the barn. Generally all the farmers got together when they threshed. It was a big day.
Well you walk in the door, into his living room, and there was a big fireplace in here. He always had a big couch near the fireplace, he laid there and relaxed. ~laughs~ I can remember when we’d go to see him, he’d be in there, relaxing. And then to the left of it is stairs—you went up the stairs and then there was a bedroom on the first landing on one side, and one on the other. Then you’d go on up, there was two more upstairs. And that kitchen was there, and then they had a kitchen out—in an outbuilding out in front. They did a lot of cooking out there, I think, ‘cause they had to feed all those guests.
Syrup and Taffy Parties
Hale Farm recollections of maple syrup collection.
On Hale Farm they have what they call the sugar bush, where they made maple syrup. We had to tap the trees and hang a bucket on ‘em and put a lid on the bucket to keep the rain out. Hale was sorta fussy about his trees. He wouldn’t let you put but one bucket on the tree. And he made the syrup, generally. He was there. Had a high stool—I don’t know whatever happened to that high chair—that was about six foot high. He could set up in that and he'd oversee the whole operation. See, you'd haul the--we had a big sled or something with a team of horses and pull it in when you got it full. And up in back they had a vat, I guess you'd call it, and we'd dump it into this vat and then it would go down inside, into the--they had a, like a table like this and they started down here, in different sections, and they'd run it in here and it'd siphon from one to the other up to the end where they--when you took it off. And he'd have to tell how--it had to meet certain specifications, had to be 11 or 12 pounds to the gallon or something like that. You know syrup was expensive then 'cause you could get about $2.75 a gallon for it! And he had parties there all the time, on Saturday, they call 'em taffy parties or something. He'd make taffy and have all these people comin' out. It was pretty good. It was interesting: it was hard work, but it was interesting.
Mr. Hale and the Owl
Ott Wilson, with his father and brothers, performed daily duties on Hale Farm that changed with the seasons. Ott talks about his family's experiences working for C.O. Hale in the 1920s and 30s.
He taught me a lot 'cause I worked with him and he'd--if he needed something--he'd be out mowing weeds with a scythe and I'd either help him sharpen the scythe or he'd teach me how to do it and work with him. Yeah, I knew him pretty well. 'Cause he liked us kids. When we go in the house he'd always give us a piece of candy or something, you know. Well I remember one day when we'd shoot an owl out of a tree, and I'd never shot a shotgun! ~laughs~ And he said, "Aw, sonny, you just point it up there, keep it against your shoulder. And then see that owl?" He couldn't see very good, I guess. It was a ten-gauge shotgun. ~laughs~ And I put it up there and I pulled the trigger and ~laughs~ hit the owl, I don't know how! And I felt like it went down in the ground. ~laughs~ And that was the first time ever I'd shot a gun.
In the 1930s, Clara Belle Ritchie, the great-granddaughter of Jonathan Hale, inherited the farm, supervised the initial restoration work, and then donated the property to the Western Reserve Historical Society. Today, visitors can experience an outdoor living history museum at Hale Farm & Village.
