Corn bread and salt pork were the staple articles of food of the early settlers of Garland. This unwritten bill of fare was sometimes varied by fish taken from the streams which threaded the township, and wild game captured in the forest.

After a yearÕs residence in the township, the pioneer could raise the corn needed for the family, but not much pork was produced for several years.

In the autumn of 1803, John S. Haskell was boarding in the family of John Tyler. On a certain day Mrs. Tyler had raised the last piece of pork from the bottom of the barrel. She cut this into halves, one of which fell back into the brine with a splash, which if not "solemn", was sadly suggestive that the supply was running short. It was plain that a fresh supply must be obtained or the bill of fare curtailed. The latter alternative could not be submitted to if possible to avoid it. But a fresh supply would require a journey through the woods to Bangor on horseback, a distance of twenty-five miles, coupled with the uncertainty of finding it in that place. The case was urgent and Mr. Haskell volunteered to make the journey.

Knowing that his friend, Isaac Wheeler, had a quantity of the coveted article stored at Levant, now Kenduskeag, for future use, he took the wise precaution of obtaining his consent to take a stipulated quantity of it in case the journey to Bangor should be fruitless.

Researching the latter place in due time, he could find the article he was in quest of only in one place. and that was of the quality that the historic Jack Spratt is alleged to have preference for. Mr. Haskell ventured the suggestion that the price seemed high for the quality of the meat. The merchant replied, ÒIt is cheap as it can be afforded--take it or leave it." Quietly accepting the alternative so curtly offered, he cast a lingering look at the barrel whose contents he had come so far to inspect, and bidding the proprietor a respectful good-bye, started on his return home. Reaching Levant, he took from Esquire Wheeler's barrel the quantity stipulated for and resumed his journey homeward.

At new Ohio (now Corinth) he met the old hunter. Snow, who two years earlier had opportunely helped Moses Hodsdon to the historic mill crank, to take the place of the one which had unfortunately broken. Mr. Snow had just killed and dressed a large and very fat bear. In those days there were more bears than people who relished the flesh of that animal. It had, therefore, no remarkable value, and the old hunter gave Mr. Haskell as much of it as he could conveniently carry. Greatly elated at his good fortune, Mr. Haskell resumed his journey. On reaching home he informed his friends, who were impatiently awaiting his return, that he had brought with him "a good lot of excellent meat, both fresh and salted."

It was now supper time and for obvious reasons the members of the family were unanimous in their desire to sit down to a square meal of fresh meat. A frying-pan of good size was forthwith placed upon the glowing coals and filled with generous slices. It was soon cooked and placed upon the table and supplemented by such other articles as their limited supplies afforded, it presented an inviting repast.

Joseph Treadwell and family who lived under the same roof were invited to the feast. Gathered around the table they partook of the supper with unmistakable satisfaction, the fresh meat being greatly relished. Mr. Haskell was warmly congratulated upon his success as a caterer. And now comes the denouement. With a mischievous twinkle of the eye, the caterer quietly informed the company that the meat they had eaten was not pork as they had supposed, but the flesh of a bear. A Frenchman would say that a person can learn to eat almost anything if he will only try. The trouble in this case was, that those who had so highly enjoyed the entertainment had not been used to eating the flesh of bear, and French philosophy did not save them from the consquences of having eaten the kind of food, the name of which as food had a most unsavory sound. The women of the party suddenly exhibited unmistakable indications of repugnance, the caterer wickedly indulged in one of his heartiest laughs. But the tables were soon turned. Brooms were plenty in those days because the women could make brooms. A small sapling of the requisite length and size, a little bunch of flaky boughs of hemlock or cedar placed in layers, a strong flaxen string twisted on the spindle of the old wheel in the corner, constituted all necessary materials. The stems of the boughs were tightly tied to the handle and the broom was ready for use. But then, as now, brooms were not used exclusively for sweeping floors. When those women had partially recovered from their recent upheaval, they instinctively seized the brooms that stood in the corners and made a sudden and resolute attack upon our future deacon, who, deeming Òdiscretion the better part of valor" made a hasty retreat in to the shadows of the forest. Now the laugh was fairly turned, illustrating the old proverb that" he laughs best who laughs last."