Since Westminster has been making Oyster Crackers in New England since the early 1800's it's a safe bet they made the crackers in question.

It was March in Bristol, Vermont. It may have been March other places as well, but family folklore is silent on this point. My Great Great Grandfather, Boardman Marsh Bosworth, came home to the homestead (One Park Place, Bristol Vt, the oldest frame structure in the town) to find that Dorothy, his wife and companion of many years, had a pot of oyster stew on. This was good news, as a stew made from rich Vermont butter, cream, and milk with winter oysters, which have a richer flavor than summer ones, was always welcome provender.

Sadly, she told him…they had no oyster crackers…so they would have to do without.

Boardman was not the sort of man to let a little extra effort stand in the way of doing something the way it should be done, so he put his boots back on and went back out into the cold wet night. Did I mention it was sleeting?

Bristol Market wasn’t all that far from the homestead, and is still there today, a few blocks away on the other side of the street, so it wasn’t more than a half hour later that he came tromping back up the rear porch steps, shaking the ice and snow off his boots and clutching a bag of oyster crackers.

Attaining the top step he slipped on the slush, falling backwards down the three steps to the drive, his fall cushioned only by the bag of crackers.

Dorothy, having heard the commotion,  went to the door to see what was the matter, and found Boardman sitting in the slush at the foot of the stairs. Looking up at her, he uttered what has become an enduring comment regarding lost causes in our family, to wit:

“Well…that settles the cracker question.”

Then he brushed himself off and went inside.

(In Vermont, this is considered high hilarity)