Yelping Hill history: Beauty, simplicity key to happiness

CORNWALL — The hayloft, where for decades Yelpers gathered for dances and homespun plays and rainy days, has been transformed into a museum of sorts. There, the 90-year history of the Yelping Hill Association is spun out. The plan to create the museum — and dispel the mystery that shrouds what began as a summer enclave, and remains so to some extent — was done for the anniversary celebration. Yet some were surprised when a reporter arrived for an open house July 28. This far northeast corner of Cornwall goes virtually unnoticed, and that’s the way its residents like it. They worry about losing their privacy, despite the safeguards that guarantee exclusivity. That first summer, 1922, there were 22 homes on the family lots, ranging from the luxurious to rustic cabins.Despite steady rain on July 28, the afternoon’s open house brought lots of visitors. Most were local and curious, having never ventured up Yelping Hill or Barn Road. Yelpers have little to worry about. Even a few longtime residents had some trouble finding the place. The original leases are inherited and originally expired in 2021. But at the association’s 50th anniversary, there was a unanimous vote to extend them to 2071.However, the story of Yelping Hill is not one of real estate or legalities, but of people who sought to make life there as simple as possible, so as to have time to enjoy the country and each other.Refreshments were served in the barn’s cozy main room, where a fire in the fireplace cut through the dampness. Some sat out on the porch that spans the back of the barn, built against the hillside. Among those who meditated was poet Robert Frost, who reportedly, when asked what he thought of the sunset, replied, “I never talk shop after dinner.”Below are the kitchen and the indoor and porch dining areas. For the first 25 years, Yelping Hill’s summer residents gathered there for meals every day. They were one big family, looking to enjoy leisurely summer days away from it all, but not in solitude. Wild acres, nudist rumorsA plaque that lists the founding families (Canby, Dodd, Kunkel, MacCracken, Smith and Trowbridge) includes their goal of finding a “few wild acres” where they could live individually in communal conditions. Historians describe them as “distinguished eccentrics.” Many were faculty members at Vassar and Yale, such as Henry Noble MacCracken, who was president of Vassar and built an “appropriate house” at Yelping Hill.Other residents included Connecticut Gov. James McConaughy, whose original cottage was destroyed by fire in 1941. Interestingly, during his term in office, which lasted for a little more than a year before his death in 1948, he approved $20 million in bond money for school construction that prioritized rural areas over cities. Architect Ruth Adams designed the community and most of the homes, including her own large Cliff House, where the second floor was accessed only from the outside.Their relaxed, communal lifestyle, and a lack of firsthand knowledge by outside observers, led to more than a few rumors.The most pervasive rumor, likely by virtue of having the most shock value and being the one folks most wanted to prove, was that Yelping Hill was a nudist colony. Yelpers responded, in the 1930s, to that query with their typical aplomb in the face of the opinions of the outside world. Association President Henry Seidel Canby (founder of the Saturday Review and Book-of-the-Month Club) advised residents, “The rumor has spread that Yelping Hill is a hotbed of communism and free love. We must all pay our bills by the 10th of the month.”Ephemera tells a taleAmong all the items on the display boards that span the loft, probably the best barometer of what life was like there are the fliers . Over the decades, someone carefully filed away copies of notices for dances and potlucks and all sorts of gatherings, many worded and drawn with humor. When the bathhouse path needed repair, a flier went up admonishing “Work, you lazy people!” Potluck picnickers were told to, “Bring what you want to cook, eat or drink.” Everyone was called to meet at Yelping Pond one morning to “make a beautiful beach very quickly.” Children specifically were told to bring their “buckets and shovels and work.” They didn’t seem to mind, or maybe they even relished the small challenges that came with life on the hill. Plumbing was part of the original construction of most homes, but never seemed to work right. The well had a tendency to run dry and the pumping engine was blamed for mysterious diversions of water.“Water meant for one bathtub appears in another,” read a note from the 1940s. “Some people call it an accident, others a mouse in the tank. But some call it the Devil.”This was, and still is a somewhat primitive place, one that doesn’t suit everyone.The exhibit includes an anonymous quote from about 20 years ago, that could relate to a variety of perceived deficiencies: “It should be called Yelping Hell!”Yet most probably took as a great compliment the thought of a foreign exchange student hosted by Dorothy Lee in the 1960s.“Being in Yelping Hill is the first time since I left Tonga I’ve felt at home.”These days, the barn is still a gathering place and there are only a few more homes. The kitchen and dining hall are used mostly by residents entertaining large groups, and the hill is generally on its third population generation. People like Jeremy Brecher live there full time; Michael MacCracken, grandson of Henry, stays occasionally at the big house at the top of the hill. The house is also made available as an event and wedding venue. There are still common issues to be discussed and voted upon. There is WiFi, and while some may still play checkers in the barn, others bring their laptops.Oh, there is one more thing; How did Yelping Hill get its name? The question everyone asks has only legend for answers.Foxes yelping at night is one. Some say it was named for the Yelpin family, but there is no record of that family. Rather far-fetched — but who knows? — is that the shouts of congenitally deaf members of one local family echoed through the surrounding valleys.Some offer proof. A history written for the 50th anniversary said, “It is believed this trait has passed into the genes of the present residents, to reappear suddenly at the more heated community meetings.”Summing it all up, Ruth Brecher probably said it best in the 1960s.“Yelping Hill survives because no one can remember every summer what we were fighting about the previous one.”