Two Schoolhouses on the Move

In the days of the one-room schoolhouse, each town needed several, spaced out so children could walk to school, since there were no buses and darned few roads. Woodstock had five schoolhouses, each built — by decree — in the exact center of their respective school districts.

Except somebody messed up, and Park Mountain School ended up being built 471/2 rods* north of center. Town meeting voters decided the schoolhouse should be moved to its proper place by a committee-of-one, who’d be paid to make it so.

After the meeting, frugal taxpayers complained: “Why should we pay money to move the schoolhouse? Leave it be!” They started a petition calling for a special meeting to overturn the vote. The wife of the committee-of-one heard about the petition and walked 15 miles to the Profile House (where her husband worked) with the news. The two of them then walked 15 miles home, so distraught they didn’t even stop to look at the Old Man.

What to do?

A plan was hatched.

That night, the committee-of-one and friends — with skids and four yoke of oxen — moved the schoolhouse 47 1/2 rods south. So come morning, when a petitioner tried to tack the petition to the schoolhouse door, it was gone.

Ida Sawyer, in Woodstock History, says the petitioner asked the nearest neighbor:

“Who in @#*% stole that schoolhouse?”

“What, has the school house been stole?” said the neighbor. “Yes by @#*% it has.”

“Well I swan,” said the neighbor.

That’s the story of the Schoolhouse that Moved in the Night.

A couple hundred years later in Northwood, a one-room schoolhouse next to town hall has fallen into disrepair. The town votes (by a slim margin) to tear it down. A date is set for demolition. But history buff Gary Tasker, business owner Jamie Lynne Cavarretta, and others think it should be saved. In recent years, it was a beloved preschool; before that, an American Legion hall. Lots of people had fond memories of that dear old schoolhouse.

What to do?

A plan was hatched.

What if the school is surgically deconstructed and rebuilt elsewhere? Tasker, Cavarretta and Cavaretta’s 12-year-old daughter, Karelyn, present their idea to the select board. As long as the schoolhouse disappears from town hall yard, the vote to be rid of it can be honored and the building saved. Cavarretta bid $100 for the privilege.

Hers was both the highest and lowest bid. (Actually, it was the only bid.)

She assembled a team, and together they moved the schoolhouse — nail by nail, board by board, timber by timber — 160 rods east along the First New Hampshire Turnpike to Cavarretta Gardens, her garden center and farm. Here it will be resurrected, she says, as a retail shop, with “unique artifacts and historical relics for the community to see and enjoy.” Who knows, she might even offer classes and bring the old schoolhouse full circle.

That’s the story of the Schoolhouse that Moved in the Day.

Short version.

I left out political maneuverings and pushback as well as the challenge of raising money, organizing volunteers, hiring specialists, scheduling the work, and meeting deadlines despite a lot of rain.

Ollie Fifield of Canterbury, experienced in moving old buildings, could have charged a bundle for his services. Instead, he and Gary Tasker cut a Yankee-trader bargain. Fifield would move the schoolhouse, which he deemed well worth saving, for free if Tasker, a landscaper, agreed to cut his grass for two years. Ayuh, handshake, done deal.

* 1 rod = 51/2 yards, therefore 471/2 rods = 2611/4 yards