There's a place of quiet peace In beautiful Vermont It is filled with history It beckons you, and haunts In pacific Lake Champlain It's called Isle La Motte
The lake is long and narrow A lovely gem-like blue The Island lies within its shores It is a jewel, too. Emerald in the summer In fall a topaz hue
Old style houses charm us With plain stone quarry frames There are many maple trees In fall these become flame Churches with tall steeples All barns look much the same.
From Blanchard's Point to The Head North to south we go Clark's & Reynolds to Fisk & Scott's These east/west points we know From The Lighthouse & Fort Stann To the marble quarries low.
It seems the rock on Isle La Motte Was formed from glacial ice Which pressed the clay beneath it As if it were a vice The marble from the quarries Is especially nice!
Samuel Fisk founded some of these Marble blue, black, and grey Many used the sturdy stones Solid houses in the way They can be found everywhere And still stand to this day.
There was an ingenious sawmill Powered by a boat! A large and hearty steamer By The Dock would float The "Utica" by name As sawmill founders wrote.
The taverns and inns Had distinctive place It would be so heartening To see a merry face There the weary travellers Could find warmth and grace.
Famous for its apples There are many orchards found John Bowman & William Yale Planted in the ground My father was one who picked from them Folks came from miles around.
The Fleury Store had merchandise Sold to people from their stock Carson's Store and Naylor's Store to store the folks would walk Often a place of meeting Where people stood to talk.
Elizabeth Fisk. Creative. She had looms, and linen wrought This fabric so very fine Much of it was bought There were also boats and ferries On an island... used *a lot!
Nelson Fisk secured the Post Office James Ritchie built in stone His relation, Cynthia Maintained the library alone Succeeded by M. LaBombard For faithfulness much known.
Both Methodist and Catholic Worship the Divine The faithful go to churches No matter what the clime A place of fame on Isle La Motte Is lovely St Anne's Shrine.
The original schools on Isle La Motte We're founded by strong men Independent. Intelligent. Created they back then. Back in 1782 they had discerning ken.
The school my father went to Only had one room. He graduated the 8th grade For his future groomed But went to High School elsewhere Back then quite a boon!
The Jarvis' were tennent farmers Not much to be made But the beauty of the place Embraced them in its shade T'was in this environment Where young Clinton played.
Amongst the leaves - jade and fire Honey'd amber caught He found a love of nature He was reared and taught Here his story started
A place called Isle La Motte.
SoulSurvivor Catherine Jarvis (C)1/11/2017
Finally completed! This segment in my father's biography took a while due to the amount of research done. As you can see!
Sorry i haven't been around. This poem is part of the reason why!
I'm going to present this to my now hospitalised father this weekend. It will be written out on posters in large writing so he can read it... he's completely deaf and going blind. It will bring back many fond memories to him I'm sure! He certainly deserves happiness about now!