tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29625210506952577492024-03-15T16:16:09.099-04:00Remembering DanversI enjoy writing about my memories of growing up in Danvers, Massachusetts. I began this weblog in 2007 in conjunction with the beginning of my series of monthly columns for the <a href="http://danvers.wickedlocal.com/">Danvers Herald</a>. I have used the blog to post links to the published columns, and also to provide photos and supplementary information relevant to Danvers and my family. I invite comments from Danvers residents or others who have shared similar experiences.Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.comBlogger329125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-27247821847625475102024-03-14T10:14:00.008-04:002024-03-15T16:15:35.686-04:00May 1913 letter by MWN<p><br /></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38iLk_QV-_aU5o-iuZcMXk87eBJCVvrrCWIZFnttq_A9kl-1E1snpP6cgtlL1eTyIOlCOkx7XL3Iq9i2jTwzkZCxSycP86dwad44nyzziT0o_FGt4lU82RzFTQUOwV_nqtfKNuEIcAT9iHLpyHj-Ddo1XNXWGW33nlr9roltQWkfO_PaQwIrf7T6Gxmam/s1280/IMG_1877.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="812" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi38iLk_QV-_aU5o-iuZcMXk87eBJCVvrrCWIZFnttq_A9kl-1E1snpP6cgtlL1eTyIOlCOkx7XL3Iq9i2jTwzkZCxSycP86dwad44nyzziT0o_FGt4lU82RzFTQUOwV_nqtfKNuEIcAT9iHLpyHj-Ddo1XNXWGW33nlr9roltQWkfO_PaQwIrf7T6Gxmam/s320/IMG_1877.jpeg" width="203" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Click on image to enlarge]</td></tr></tbody></table><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Here is another letter written in 1913 by Mary Ward Nichols to Miss Margaret Turner Holyoke.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">This is a followup to the </span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: large;">March 1913</span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> letter already posted. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">See transcript (below) prepared by Peter Houston, grand nephew of Miss Holyoke. He had found these letters among possessions of his late mother, Susanne Houston.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Peter also found an email that his mother had written to me in 2015 about family genealogy, so he emailed to inform me of her death, and to share these letters.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnmLN29TKFEBPwjk9WLMQjaz-EgXPFiBd0a_QRXtnlo6ndyisFjS19Ax-tt8jKk7J8SKimsB8JhI6jIiPcnW0vkjgcA7CtcKcHP1mkSRTFdLH9dQulSbBCkmzuOIDsyFzk7CX0v7pgcApdRT6QdKGg0LlMGAOR-1RUaDqJge0ZqMllQkWD1jbKgTVia4w/s1280/IMG_1878.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="901" data-original-width="1280" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLnmLN29TKFEBPwjk9WLMQjaz-EgXPFiBd0a_QRXtnlo6ndyisFjS19Ax-tt8jKk7J8SKimsB8JhI6jIiPcnW0vkjgcA7CtcKcHP1mkSRTFdLH9dQulSbBCkmzuOIDsyFzk7CX0v7pgcApdRT6QdKGg0LlMGAOR-1RUaDqJge0ZqMllQkWD1jbKgTVia4w/s320/IMG_1878.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1sGTkZfS1JKFslGfIOp5n1kDIkZelhRjce8IUYFej__Z8bobNX4EjVujRL1N6OLLoo0vDDgYVpFpNFbQZRERkN5QZfNxNTPYi0GUDvr-F-bGd13sHcsT44Z5l0TwdoTd8NBF6m9xJ-YA8ngwucK3GYch1ANr-45-N87VgMDy4Js31zw08w5ROpfpxJNw/s1280/IMG_1879.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1034" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_1sGTkZfS1JKFslGfIOp5n1kDIkZelhRjce8IUYFej__Z8bobNX4EjVujRL1N6OLLoo0vDDgYVpFpNFbQZRERkN5QZfNxNTPYi0GUDvr-F-bGd13sHcsT44Z5l0TwdoTd8NBF6m9xJ-YA8ngwucK3GYch1ANr-45-N87VgMDy4Js31zw08w5ROpfpxJNw/s320/IMG_1879.jpeg" width="259" /></a></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-size: 16px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><p><span style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Hathorne, May 11th, 1913</span></i></span></p><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">My Dear Miss Margaret,</span></i></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"> I should have answered your note much earlier, but waited to find out from the Secretary of the Essex Institute whether there were any copies of the diaries to be had. I was not able to see him until this last week and found that he had this printed circular , and copies of the book to sell, so I enclose it. I want to tell you that I was most relieved to to find that your home was not among those that were destroyed by the tornado which caused such ruin. I feared for your safety and I felt that I must wait to get a word from you. It happened so soon after you wrote of your receipt of the book. I thank you for sending me the pictures of your brother's children; they are bright, healthy looking children; the group of the three is very cunning. I am glad to see such a sturdy-looking Edward A. Holyoke of this generation; his little sister seem to me to have to have more of the Holyoke look. Since writing you, I saw your aunt, Mrs. Davis, when she spoke in Salem at the North Church (which was the church the centenarian E.A. Holyoke attended, not the same building however, but the one your grandfather did). She spoke at the union meeting of the three Salem Alliances. I only had a chance to say a word that I had heard from you as there were so many wishing to speak to her; she seemed well and had just returned from a southern trip. I hope to hear her in Boston a week from tomorrow, May 19th, at a meeting. I congratulate you on your fortunate escape which was wonderful, as it damaged your house and you were so near the heart of it. I hope you received the photographs of your Aunt Bessie I sent you and the others of your great-grandmother. I hope to hear from time to time from you and your family.</span></i></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Cordially,</span></i></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Mary Ward Nichols</span></i></div><div style="font-size: 16px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><i><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></i></div></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">----------</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">NOTE:</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">The name Edward A. Holyoke in this letter is well known in our families. When MWN refers to the "centenarian E. A. Holyoke" I know that is Dr. Edward Augustus Holyoke, a founder of the Massachusetts Medical Society and its first president. He lived from August 1, 1758 to March 31, 1859. He is the common link in our genealogies.</span></div><div style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0);">In 2015 Susanne Houston wrote to me, "</span>I am delighted find a new cousin, especially one descended from Susanna, since the only direct descends from Edward Augustus I, the old doctor of Salem, Mass. are through his 2 married daughters, your Susanna and our Judith." </span></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">I learned that her family line includes many others named Edward Augustus Holyoke, designated with Roman numerals to keep them straight:</span></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-family: times;"><span style="font-size: medium;">(Dr.) Edward Augustus Holyoke (Turner) II. (1796-1855)</span></span><span style="font-family: times; font-size: x-large;"> </span><span style="font-family: times;">In 1817 he dropped the family name 'Turner" at the request of his grandfather, the original Dr. Edward Augustus Holyoke.</span><br /><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: times;">Edward Augustus Holyoke III </span><br /><span style="font-family: times;">Edward Augustus Holyoke IV</span></span><br /><div style="text-align: left; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Edward Augustus Holyoke V etc.</span> </div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"> </div></blockquote><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span style="font-family: times;">My awareness of this side of the family tree really began in 2015, with a phone conversation with a woman in Ontario, Canada. She enjoyed reading this blog. In an email in 2015, she wrote, </span></span><span style="font-family: times;">"</span><span style="font-family: times;">Mom is going to help me figure out our family relationship... </span><span style="font-family: times;">The way my genealogy goes back to the "old doctor" (as Mom calls him) is as follows:</span></span></div><div><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div></div><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">Laura Porter Houston (now Weaver)</span></div></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">daughter of Susanne Elwood Houston (and Alexander Clayton Houston)</span></div></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">daughter of Pleasant Mariah Holyoke (and Samuel Harold Elwood)</span></div></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">daughter of Edward Augustus IV (and Emma Maryann Whitbread)</span></div></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">son of Edward Augustus Holyoke III (and Maria Bassett)</span></div></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">son of Dr. Edward Augustus Holyoke Turner (and Mariah Osgood)</span></div></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">son of Judith Holyoke (and William Turner Jr.)</span></div></div><div style="text-size-adjust: auto;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: times; font-size: medium;">daughter of Dr. Edward Augustus Holyoke and Mary Simpson Viall</span></div></div></blockquote><p><span style="font-size: medium;">Now I know, of course, that Laura is Peter's sister. The 'old doctor' is their 6th-great-grandfather, and he is my 5th-great-grandfather. I think that makes us 5th-cousins-once-removed or is it 6th-cousins-once-removed? </span><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>A simpler way to state this: </span><span>Laura and Peter are 6th cousins to my children, daughter Tonya Holyoke Ward (now Singer) and son Chris L. Ward. </span></span></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-65826184502949985132024-03-09T09:02:00.010-05:002024-03-10T17:27:23.141-04:00March 1913 letter <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">An intriguing letter has come into my hands this week. It was written 111 years ago by a woman in Danvers to a woman in Omaha, Nebraska. Both women were at that time (1913) in the process of learning about connections linking their families. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Likewise, I and the man who recently discovered this letter are now communicating about our relations to these women and the common ancestry we share. He signed a recent email "Your Cousin, - Peter" and I am grateful to him for sharing the physical letter and his transcription of the handwriting. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This letter is addressed to Peter's great aunt, Margaret Turner Holyoke in Omaha, Nebraska. (She was a young woman of 19 or 20 years old at the time, not yet an aunt). The letter-writer is Mary Nichols Ward, my grandfather's maiden aunt, age 71, who had moved from Salem to Danvers in 1880 to join her brother Andrew Nichols and his large family at "Pine Knoll" (98 Preston Street). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's an image of the envelope and first page of the letter dated March 3, 1913: </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoOJ1WBY3WpuMsZLW5KvS173qnwi34d9ioTKqdHwddcnpRTpZzzAG5GJqW27jEy5xzh_nilWcWqboyPiiotl9An4NeDj7aa4X_BFSsMS07qyXCBORS9aBH8xOlBgqBuZdPOgC4dcSp1g5e44bQ89YQtkmFX1fd9MBmG-F_7qHGUiVSb_MBpH6md0xxo3P/s1280/IMG_1874.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMoOJ1WBY3WpuMsZLW5KvS173qnwi34d9ioTKqdHwddcnpRTpZzzAG5GJqW27jEy5xzh_nilWcWqboyPiiotl9An4NeDj7aa4X_BFSsMS07qyXCBORS9aBH8xOlBgqBuZdPOgC4dcSp1g5e44bQ89YQtkmFX1fd9MBmG-F_7qHGUiVSb_MBpH6md0xxo3P/w300-h400/IMG_1874.jpeg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Click on image to enlarge]</td></tr></tbody></table><p>At first I struggled to read the handwriting, especially in places where the ink had smeared and/or bled through the paper. The transcription (below) really helps. Although the opening sentences are puzzling because we don't know the prior communications, the rest of the letter conveys interesting bits of family history. I'm eager to share the letter here, to make it accessible to more members of the very extended Holyoke / Nichols family tree.</p><p style="text-align: center;">--- Transcription of letter from Miss Mary Ward Nichols to Miss Margaret Turner Holyoke ---</p><p><i>Hathorne, March 3rd, 1913</i></p><p><i>My Dear Miss Margaret,</i></p><p><i>Your very interesting note reached me last week, when I was extremely busy, so have waited to answer it. I will send the book I spoke of, today probably. I knew your aunt, Mrs. Davis, as I met her occasionally at Unitarian meetings where she is such a worker, and it was from her that I learned your father's address. Your name interests me, also your sister's, you all have the family names. I knew your great-aunt Margaret Holyoke Turner, who was my mother's cousin, and who lived with my grandmother's (Mrs. Susan Ward's family), of which my mother and her two children formed a part the last eight years of her life. I feel you will be interested in the "Holyoke Diaries", some of which got out of the family, by being loaned to a Mr. Stickney, who never returned them; but it's an "ill wind," etc., as they would never have been printed if the sale of them had not led up to the final printing of them. Your Aunt Maria I remember so well as such a bright, wide-awake girl. I never saw her after she went to Syracuse: her daughter Mollie came to see us in Salem, with your Aunt Bessie, we all enjoyed that visit. I have a photograph of your Aunt Bessie, taken at that time, and feel that you are the one to have it. My mother and unmarried Aunt, Mehitable Ward, made their home together in Salem, (the latter died first, and my mother last, in 1880) this home was the place where the out-of-town relatives stopped. On the death of my mother, I came to live with my brother Andrew, in Danvers, and have been here 32 years; his family was large, seven living at home at the time; he celebrated his 50th wedding anniversary a year ago last September. His oldest living son is Supt. of the State Infirmary at Tewksbury, and his youngest son is a Unitarian minister settled at North Andover...he has a son named Edward Holyoke nearly six years of age. (A married niece, also nephew, live in houses very near). Two unmarried daughters and myself live with his wife and him; it is also the home of two granddaughters and a grandson (orphans), tho' two are away, one at college and one, Andrew the 3rd, who is in the Harvard Medical School, having graduated from Har. Coll. two yrs ago next June. The oldest, Annie, is a music teacher (& soloist) living here and going out to most of her pupils. My oldest niece is a public-school teacher, but lives at home. Neither father or mother are living of the three grandchildren mentioned. I was much interested in the account you gave me of your brother's family, and also of your own. I would like to see the pictures you speak of and see if I could trace a resemblance to the family; I well remember your grandfather's last visit to Salem, it was about 1862, I think. I went with him to the Salem Normal School where he talked with pupils in a classroom. Your aunt, Mrs. Davis, is to speak this spring in Salem, I believe, and hope to hear her; if I do, I will speak to her about hearing from you. The town I live in is Danvers, but the section where my home is has the local name of Hathorne; the railroad station & the post office have the same name and are very near us, also the street cars from Salem. The Danvers State Hospital for the Insane, of which I am one of the trustees, is also near. Please thank your mother for her kind regards & extend the same to her & yourself.</i></p><p><i>Cordially,</i></p><p><i>Mary Ward Nichols</i></p><p style="text-align: center;">-----------------------</p><p style="text-align: left;">Here are two more images of the original letter (all on a single sheet of paper that folded to fit in the small envelope):</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieM-neWNdPfzYsuEoEyTatuTo1GyFdizR2urOM55EGBB9c6VPCz_ReTVipBHWJKTpBmhNFiR-UQD9TAsbqW5Mr8ujgCA-cbkY6lZ9MEuoPgxmbLHcHA3AYubDQGMhSxLkW8ZVSLrdnR_WsekUXH_7e-dH4xoOoQUJxjWj7sFMQTYGw29Se-nMD9daEvMWs/s1280/IMG_1876.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieM-neWNdPfzYsuEoEyTatuTo1GyFdizR2urOM55EGBB9c6VPCz_ReTVipBHWJKTpBmhNFiR-UQD9TAsbqW5Mr8ujgCA-cbkY6lZ9MEuoPgxmbLHcHA3AYubDQGMhSxLkW8ZVSLrdnR_WsekUXH_7e-dH4xoOoQUJxjWj7sFMQTYGw29Se-nMD9daEvMWs/s320/IMG_1876.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Click on image to enlarge]</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__LzcZ4y-O2tTUzdth7blkvpKfElLMUTE1yCgX4eewcmTLG3NXnWqWCgXOqPdZlXEqZFnGJzVJ-VOPnHMR7HkvJxiWKSZ_x24lkNTmS9I5_1M-0mBbvE86bysPkqXbm30sIEGNi6JeZvUE_OjY3OTr0y_cMb_dBFo8hH2vyJ3xPKK1vt9cNA27pigQQKy/s1280/IMG_1875.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi__LzcZ4y-O2tTUzdth7blkvpKfElLMUTE1yCgX4eewcmTLG3NXnWqWCgXOqPdZlXEqZFnGJzVJ-VOPnHMR7HkvJxiWKSZ_x24lkNTmS9I5_1M-0mBbvE86bysPkqXbm30sIEGNi6JeZvUE_OjY3OTr0y_cMb_dBFo8hH2vyJ3xPKK1vt9cNA27pigQQKy/s320/IMG_1875.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Click on image to enlarge]</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p style="text-align: left;">Stay tuned... I will share a second letter, dated May 1913, after I have a chance to investigate a question or two. I'm hopeful that Mary Nichols Ward's diaries -- which have been stored in my home for over a decade -- will provide some clues. This week I've confirmed that I do have her 1913 diary. I haven't yet read it. To be continued...</p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-47204927899993170272024-02-29T11:27:00.009-05:002024-02-29T12:42:02.976-05:00Annalee Dolls<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw42Vr4vzFo3q-HTMvSJHchJgkmC3NH_eOMpDMiDz57FrSqUc07g5brTcdKVUUtfwK8x0D3K-tImVr5_zdma5lO3LPRTVKHkximz3XtuMCPB0ebiKAtq-CpTgJ8UfijxHXzaudpe54UUdsyAoQ7vas0A3YJToYVP03bf-JvU4ZVi0VK3t6-4DsKjheoJlG/s2780/Annalee%20dolls%20on%20skis,%20closeup.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2780" data-original-width="1772" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw42Vr4vzFo3q-HTMvSJHchJgkmC3NH_eOMpDMiDz57FrSqUc07g5brTcdKVUUtfwK8x0D3K-tImVr5_zdma5lO3LPRTVKHkximz3XtuMCPB0ebiKAtq-CpTgJ8UfijxHXzaudpe54UUdsyAoQ7vas0A3YJToYVP03bf-JvU4ZVi0VK3t6-4DsKjheoJlG/w255-h400/Annalee%20dolls%20on%20skis,%20closeup.jpeg" width="255" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>This image of skiers on a chairlift triggers many memories! Not only memories of chairlift rides, but also memories of Annalee dolls and their happy faces.</p><p>I wish I had visited the New England Ski Museum in time to see this winter's exhibition, "New Hampshire Ski History with Annalee Dolls." It closes tomorrow, so I know I won't get there.</p><p>In Danvers years ago I became familiar with Annalee dolls because my cousin Janet Nichols Derouin, who lived next door, admired them greatly and helped distribute them. Janet and her good friend Pat Poirier knew the woman who made the dolls. Many examples of the dolls, with different expressions and costumes, were at times in Janet's home as she fulfilled orders. It was fun to see them. </p><p>The image above comes from the Winter 2024 issue of the Newsletter of the New Hampshire Historical Society. I joined that society last fall after two very pleasant days using their library archives in Concord, N.H. I had no idea, then, that the society owned several Annalee dolls and would be lending them to the Ski Museum. </p><p>For more about Annalee Dolls, visit <a href="https://annalee.com/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://annalee.com/</a>. </p><p><br /></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-86606172805940171102024-01-08T20:44:00.005-05:002024-02-21T09:20:54.997-05:00Stories from the Slopes<p>Tonight while browsing through possible PBS shows to watch, I selected the category Documentaries and noticed a WGBH Special titled, "Stories from the Slopes: Western New England Skiing History."</p><p>That peaked my interest, especially today. My father was born January 8th and became an avid skier. He ran ski-tows in eastern Massachusetts for decades (especially the Locust Lawn Ski Club in Danvers in the 1940s-1960s). I loved skiing with him, and hearing my parents' stories of early ski history. But none of those stories involved WESTERN Massachusetts, where I have lived now for over 30 years.</p><p>This documentary taught me much about the downhill ski areas here, past and present. I'm astonished by the very early dates (1930's) when many of the ski slopes were first developed. I wonder if my father knew of these places. He was a college student at "Mass Aggie" (Mass State College) in Amherst 1930-34, so perhaps he did. </p><p>I really enjoyed watching the scenes in this 38-minute program. Although I didn't know the specific hills or operators, I certainly recognized the fun of the sport – just as I had grown up with it. Everything was SO familiar! The way we skied, the way rope-tows worked, the ski styles and technologies... Such memories! </p><p>Although I haven't been a customer at a downhill ski area in decades, I did ski today, on my x-c skis. The day was beautiful, bright and sunny with deep fresh snow from this weekend's storm. At one point I did aim my skis down a hill, and let myself go fast -- almost as if I were on downhill skis again. Fun!</p><p>If you'd like to watch the documentary (which first aired 12/06/17), visit this link:</p><p> <a href="https://video.wgbh.org/video/stories-from-the-slopes-western-new-england-skiing-history-vz1oru/" target="_blank">https://video.wgbh.org/video/stories-from-the-slopes-western-new-england-skiing-history-vz1oru/</a></p><p><i>Description: "Western New England was once a skiing mecca, with nearly 80 ski areas across four counties. Today, there are fewer than a dozen. Using archival film, historical images, and interviews, this locally produced film explores our ski history, revisits past ski-centric social norms, pays tribute to some of the major resorts no longer in operation, and celebrates the region’s still-active ski areas."</i></p><p><i><br /></i></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-36323970395999488962023-11-30T09:11:00.008-05:002023-12-02T16:57:18.421-05:00Preston Street cemetery<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAlbk_j991jZixff39cPxo3BF1zBDZqvbv8rf9obBUnBaauTM3F1wOE11KKMVygeaoq5-ijIQnNd_y0ycjZ45W81fsDt2DiZ7e3LHnRndlvgOeGq-dwGZyk-N_IGXJVwnTVmW6iL5aPNUN5BS5mlZwx8kylXjj4ZR7ce2vCmDfvvnocJTenj9azeAVURd/s1280/IMG_9918.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSAlbk_j991jZixff39cPxo3BF1zBDZqvbv8rf9obBUnBaauTM3F1wOE11KKMVygeaoq5-ijIQnNd_y0ycjZ45W81fsDt2DiZ7e3LHnRndlvgOeGq-dwGZyk-N_IGXJVwnTVmW6iL5aPNUN5BS5mlZwx8kylXjj4ZR7ce2vCmDfvvnocJTenj9azeAVURd/w400-h300/IMG_9918.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>I visited the old cemetery on Preston Street on a lovely fall afternoon last month (October 13, 2023). In the photo above you can see the cemetery entrance and beyond it, to the east, some of the condominium buildings that now stand where our old family "Pine Knoll" homestead stood for over 100 years (1861-1975).</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3r4PaJccJ10zuANeWT5lBIlz0CkvApqksYNpKQciwLpLnen0b1P1OOoFK3A198De3oGp6vq4ju_pTrGFCqd0iDFmhz80Q2hrJKg5sASSWp1l3b8iAhOCSWi_BfTq_M5M6ZP2ekSGchZ_664Q0Gpwmk3B0_ucqJU2sJFm5sX2iBwDMKLkrZK9kzfdKIfOi/s1280/IMG_9931.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3r4PaJccJ10zuANeWT5lBIlz0CkvApqksYNpKQciwLpLnen0b1P1OOoFK3A198De3oGp6vq4ju_pTrGFCqd0iDFmhz80Q2hrJKg5sASSWp1l3b8iAhOCSWi_BfTq_M5M6ZP2ekSGchZ_664Q0Gpwmk3B0_ucqJU2sJFm5sX2iBwDMKLkrZK9kzfdKIfOi/w400-h300/IMG_9931.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>I was a bit surprised that the old misshapen tree near the hilltop was still standing, looking much as it had in 2017, my previous visit.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cOhyphenhyphenc0SEynQD-nQcYlQU1c0JJdwpsXR6QsJW4_8YMsjpr8L2qDxdeSNsAgb6QxklEqItarUAE_CivZpmYCLG0xLyDzWkuOM-7MRrtb-KWurpOOXVpmsTmVXSCTRHOon9FvuVNFeOJ2pd7J9NAOHjeEFgAdUEZzSyq8YQetdNbA5rX2Au0-L2_g8v3E-A/s1280/IMG_9932.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-cOhyphenhyphenc0SEynQD-nQcYlQU1c0JJdwpsXR6QsJW4_8YMsjpr8L2qDxdeSNsAgb6QxklEqItarUAE_CivZpmYCLG0xLyDzWkuOM-7MRrtb-KWurpOOXVpmsTmVXSCTRHOon9FvuVNFeOJ2pd7J9NAOHjeEFgAdUEZzSyq8YQetdNbA5rX2Au0-L2_g8v3E-A/w400-h300/IMG_9932.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p>The rhododendron bush by that tree has grown larger, now covering some family gravestones. I parted the leaves and leaned in to take the photo below: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqnJvi1pfRm3C_oaTuNBnSZqXCpMwbxxHuJz_PbD-pNKrugAHKtelP-olNyESHnmHnOWO2Rh9_vnn7UcggWhy6DLT49E89Wwy1RPLzofD5nzOGOyinwDOx-_dQ9nBNsr0nbVp9Syoa0GpOTLB0Le8ULGGleXktiLSfr7Xr1OO26WmzOnoF7cWU7bpkk0u/s1280/IMG_9924.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwqnJvi1pfRm3C_oaTuNBnSZqXCpMwbxxHuJz_PbD-pNKrugAHKtelP-olNyESHnmHnOWO2Rh9_vnn7UcggWhy6DLT49E89Wwy1RPLzofD5nzOGOyinwDOx-_dQ9nBNsr0nbVp9Syoa0GpOTLB0Le8ULGGleXktiLSfr7Xr1OO26WmzOnoF7cWU7bpkk0u/w300-h400/IMG_9924.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><p>This gravestone is for Clara Louise Ballou (1869-1916), the first wife of Joshua Ward Nichols (1868-1928), whose gravestone is beside hers, only partly covered by rhododendron foliage: </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhH66Ykwbo96Rsjji5bajZPZrojAKrM66UP9zsm_s0gUl8SJolMd_R2hx66BUM3JPzqLTRd_UcSpCovN7P21NnKdk0EKZScfI3Dd4DK-yVBorpdj1PpMgdBMnsNcHFda80Wc6QtL4zmtJPk5KZfL__CDygyskp6a_elPqu-F9JZ7griicSDVVv0LRtOa0/s1280/IMG_9923.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQhH66Ykwbo96Rsjji5bajZPZrojAKrM66UP9zsm_s0gUl8SJolMd_R2hx66BUM3JPzqLTRd_UcSpCovN7P21NnKdk0EKZScfI3Dd4DK-yVBorpdj1PpMgdBMnsNcHFda80Wc6QtL4zmtJPk5KZfL__CDygyskp6a_elPqu-F9JZ7griicSDVVv0LRtOa0/w400-h300/IMG_9923.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p>To the left of his stone is the gravestone for his second wife, Maud Kimball (1868-1945).</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Rv9b8HgYbDA5KDNGEi2Q3j5ASt3gfdJ3Uu_gv7hHsO5GOB8L95ZdBuFr571SU9-L9B9HPvHJpj7XiK85-0nkBvHrXGAOBkYZl361Z3HoJ7niy4MlJbCA1GeGTgyF_iK13LZrNhsNKHvWEJ4C92bzEe06tgAdgOU8HgWkbbBrSvMffwqoyomJdOOFkBhb/s1280/IMG_9922.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3Rv9b8HgYbDA5KDNGEi2Q3j5ASt3gfdJ3Uu_gv7hHsO5GOB8L95ZdBuFr571SU9-L9B9HPvHJpj7XiK85-0nkBvHrXGAOBkYZl361Z3HoJ7niy4MlJbCA1GeGTgyF_iK13LZrNhsNKHvWEJ4C92bzEe06tgAdgOU8HgWkbbBrSvMffwqoyomJdOOFkBhb/w400-h300/IMG_9922.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Joshua Ward Nichols was a brother of my grandfather (William Stanley Nichols). A larger monument nearby lists them both, and all their siblings, and their parents and grandparents, with notes indicating other cemetery locations where some were buried.<div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzOho7wrdHtfD0LCRgDILHJNoFmXsW0TBECebdFIv6cUsbt_CsvPVuF3zFmUsxA6lgHk3SvXga3ofVvVxYvipsW0fvi7tf2ArZ5xHVZ9lN3bFVcEe5L2ahv3LhtWf8ERS7UIYSfOwFSoRSZpsHHPOEgpq65G2L1BqDx-SPitTIw_-Fun9kDkjMo2vN11i/s1280/IMG_9929.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmzOho7wrdHtfD0LCRgDILHJNoFmXsW0TBECebdFIv6cUsbt_CsvPVuF3zFmUsxA6lgHk3SvXga3ofVvVxYvipsW0fvi7tf2ArZ5xHVZ9lN3bFVcEe5L2ahv3LhtWf8ERS7UIYSfOwFSoRSZpsHHPOEgpq65G2L1BqDx-SPitTIw_-Fun9kDkjMo2vN11i/w400-h300/IMG_9929.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Click on photo to enlarge]</td></tr></tbody></table><div><p>The 8 children listed above were all born (1862 to 1878) in the Nichols family home at Pine Knoll. That home had been built in 1861 by Andrew for his Salem bride "Lizzie". </p><p>On the back of that large monument are the names of another generation, the children of the Andrew born in 1862:</p></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwolZHRLtC1Sc6_duyXQGUF0KlUv9Kk5v-ZC5z22_IAWbquSaSB8CJdLZ9z_U6mo6T_X6U7ALm8W_6V9UIM3HY4N0Q6kuWm5g-0RH2NxjVdQog5Y40TgOWC_QuXGYcHGSTuG4plBJdvWjS4srW1nHWUAgsWXhUk0G3K6h7h8v7BcMOC-OEf0iXPAGqVDLH/s1280/IMG_9927.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwolZHRLtC1Sc6_duyXQGUF0KlUv9Kk5v-ZC5z22_IAWbquSaSB8CJdLZ9z_U6mo6T_X6U7ALm8W_6V9UIM3HY4N0Q6kuWm5g-0RH2NxjVdQog5Y40TgOWC_QuXGYcHGSTuG4plBJdvWjS4srW1nHWUAgsWXhUk0G3K6h7h8v7BcMOC-OEf0iXPAGqVDLH/w400-h300/IMG_9927.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Click on photo to enlarge]</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: left;"></div></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-70954240879288039752023-10-27T10:46:00.004-04:002023-10-27T11:14:08.318-04:00Ferncroft Pond<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGt-wM-YrKYrV8vyDj_59VeZnP1F7dsrr4PUj0KZmRAYWj2FbNDuIkdoS0K25V0dwbkl-OkAPjYfNpGQXqb8-l149uZWLeTQXJKm9hj4gyWvV6f87gAnl2Z5tnWBG-3JgaO6teB58npHuGL3Ss2VcwBcL4mmM-IOU_RL95lfCr_eSMiE6bXRmdmrZoX-U/s1280/IMG_9903.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBGt-wM-YrKYrV8vyDj_59VeZnP1F7dsrr4PUj0KZmRAYWj2FbNDuIkdoS0K25V0dwbkl-OkAPjYfNpGQXqb8-l149uZWLeTQXJKm9hj4gyWvV6f87gAnl2Z5tnWBG-3JgaO6teB58npHuGL3Ss2VcwBcL4mmM-IOU_RL95lfCr_eSMiE6bXRmdmrZoX-U/w400-h300/IMG_9903.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>I re-visited Ferncroft Pond in Danvers this month. It looks very much the way I remember it from years ago.</p><p>So many memories! My family liked to come here to skate in winter. This pond was larger than the little pond by our house, and easier skating than the Meadows (where my parents sometimes played ice hockey with their friends). </p><p>I'm glad to see that the old Ice House foundation is still in place. We used to sit there as we put on our ice skates.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVfnfEIqgRea8XTjRJAOciMPDqYIpPKU15f28iCQM_YIuOctfb6JVvL3bf_mdI-Qjv4Lbl8Tt4pQHXq6iuADLJkUVtOi2xoIiIwAk5sIBkiIiwcWasqzwxea7UAyw4kNTRCWgT0_uqr-xf7iPhg6B39U6wJpW4ufolYsNysmzAZKvZTE8Pe2tkb_eWpa9/s1280/IMG_9904.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijVfnfEIqgRea8XTjRJAOciMPDqYIpPKU15f28iCQM_YIuOctfb6JVvL3bf_mdI-Qjv4Lbl8Tt4pQHXq6iuADLJkUVtOi2xoIiIwAk5sIBkiIiwcWasqzwxea7UAyw4kNTRCWgT0_uqr-xf7iPhg6B39U6wJpW4ufolYsNysmzAZKvZTE8Pe2tkb_eWpa9/s320/IMG_9904.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGTkZedSKKt3d_h-_Bo6LVu3R8Sez4EhaUP22mLn0L8U6qE30rbGz9M4Ini4WD0h1V2yidIUDcbCUT-mMEEmtVNV0_-dqiesUWROL-wqXv53EC9xV3UFCn1vmAvOBlGEqA9l676zsmnRw4aZBvRpS42wE1ANuWSDbf0AmWMHxSFogzYIghlJKR_vIE02_m/s1280/IMG_9902.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGTkZedSKKt3d_h-_Bo6LVu3R8Sez4EhaUP22mLn0L8U6qE30rbGz9M4Ini4WD0h1V2yidIUDcbCUT-mMEEmtVNV0_-dqiesUWROL-wqXv53EC9xV3UFCn1vmAvOBlGEqA9l676zsmnRw4aZBvRpS42wE1ANuWSDbf0AmWMHxSFogzYIghlJKR_vIE02_m/s320/IMG_9902.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>I'm delighted that this pond and the surrounding land is now protected as a conservation area, with trails. Here's a photo of the large Trail Map posted near the entrance. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_7BHK0ETDHbF-ZnHNeuycVOsHWgGxAYmgBE8o2kNeXz7LBd285WijXOtl2vqAFO-Y_2bZzxdS_zoYuwt301XNoQ7pqogHRx6uPHOa_Bc4oqSf4jDGxxMzxChz_a8j1shRBkfMVTogFHTErBi8LvqAqvFUkYdqCce5JJIUOlbaXbMD2i3qRMe3BjDFaVr/s1280/IMG_9905%20(1).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="948" data-original-width="1280" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_7BHK0ETDHbF-ZnHNeuycVOsHWgGxAYmgBE8o2kNeXz7LBd285WijXOtl2vqAFO-Y_2bZzxdS_zoYuwt301XNoQ7pqogHRx6uPHOa_Bc4oqSf4jDGxxMzxChz_a8j1shRBkfMVTogFHTErBi8LvqAqvFUkYdqCce5JJIUOlbaXbMD2i3qRMe3BjDFaVr/w400-h296/IMG_9905%20(1).jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>On a previous trip I had enjoyed walking those trails. This time my visit was brief, but a welcome respite after long days in a windowless Exhibit Hall at the MA Councils on Aging Fall Conference (October 11-13, 2023) held at the big hotel at 50 Ferncroft Road, Danvers.</div><div><br /></div><div>Historic note: I learned to skate BACKWARDS at this pond. When I wrote about that memory in 2007, my written piece unexpectedly launched two new projects: writing a monthly column for the <b>Danvers Herald</b> and learning to create this blog in support of that column. See my original piece:</div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <b><span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="text-align: center;">Skating Backwards</span></span></b></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2007/03/skating-backwards.html">https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2007/03/skating-backwards.html</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-74268758035606188202023-07-30T12:19:00.003-04:002023-07-30T12:22:51.492-04:00Brewster cousins!<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpO9rnhPURynLgjNVZwcTjlY82PgWQxKAs0CgEo5K8lYQJDs4D5TGHiVqraJu-JzrC2-DiW4c1lh97BdiZvTCutNrYyAUWVkEDVXrXCT1faFMkxaoLxmf-keJXDoGn1FYlb2BCA0mSID7EjQoE4BqAPxGTH_CwRKTgtETHTxyf7dguht-LxX3YY5zemg/s2452/Stuart_Sandy_Louise_,Andrea_May2023.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1820" data-original-width="2452" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpO9rnhPURynLgjNVZwcTjlY82PgWQxKAs0CgEo5K8lYQJDs4D5TGHiVqraJu-JzrC2-DiW4c1lh97BdiZvTCutNrYyAUWVkEDVXrXCT1faFMkxaoLxmf-keJXDoGn1FYlb2BCA0mSID7EjQoE4BqAPxGTH_CwRKTgtETHTxyf7dguht-LxX3YY5zemg/w400-h297/Stuart_Sandy_Louise_,Andrea_May2023.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo by Dave Brewster</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>I enjoyed a special luncheon gathering in May 2027 with my second cousin Stuart Brewster (left in photo above) and many of his Brewster relatives, including his niece Louise and his daughter Andrea (at right). </p><p>Stuart had come east from his home in California and spent a week in Danvers, revisiting old places and reconnecting with family. Much of his childhood had been spent in Danvers, living at "Pine Knoll," the Nichols family home built in 1861 by our great-grandfather Andrew Nichols (1837-1921). </p><p>From childhood I have many memories of Stuart and his older brothers, David and Dudley. They shared many interests and activities (e.g., skiing, sailing, square dancing) with my father, who – being a bit older – often referred to them as "the Brewster boys." </p><p>Ah, how the years have passed! At the May gathering I mingled with two younger generations of Brewsters, all descended from those three brothers. Some of the youngest had no idea who I was, since I'm not at Brewster descendant, but a cousin on another branch of the Nichols family tree.</p><p>My grandfather was the youngest son of that original Pine Knoll family, whereas Stuart's grandfather was the oldest son, a naturalist named Andrew. Annie Nichols, daughter of that Andrew, married a Brewster, and had three sons: David, Dudley and Stuart. I remember Annie very well. I had piano lessons with her for many years on an old upright piano at Pine Knoll.</p><p>I'm so glad that Stuart invited me to this family reunion. Here are a few of my photos taken May 27, 2023: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZDX5aeLYSmgTi50KQLdYhuzENCMJcDft7Nf1xrot3ZpL34zfyduCl5NFByktgZNTZZikgp3ZnjEkePROswbrk068W4MAplod59qRk4gZ3TvAY_rsg037GepqXZBhVUMDhlTa2bMrifLc9ujcRAc7MPtubc1pdZH8f93iTNFrQEuvBOVRpBP6SiEyuQ/s1280/IMG_7569.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicZDX5aeLYSmgTi50KQLdYhuzENCMJcDft7Nf1xrot3ZpL34zfyduCl5NFByktgZNTZZikgp3ZnjEkePROswbrk068W4MAplod59qRk4gZ3TvAY_rsg037GepqXZBhVUMDhlTa2bMrifLc9ujcRAc7MPtubc1pdZH8f93iTNFrQEuvBOVRpBP6SiEyuQ/w300-h400/IMG_7569.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRTFNhtPRZZLePr4T7MeVecvRrjZ1Q3VfROZ5gOykfnh56H8DrxhpNwEaoYRZC9jYk_ALio4GDMeCPnWdd7Tt1bI5lbOvWFGXHCTr-OM5M0jwMoybTS7U2uRJlVuO_BO3ElQqdUQFtAPYXphgIQB_AVl1uevIujhT4TElLXUgJFrdlSBzFOdp68kenA/s1280/IMG_7575%20(1).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="951" data-original-width="1280" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIRTFNhtPRZZLePr4T7MeVecvRrjZ1Q3VfROZ5gOykfnh56H8DrxhpNwEaoYRZC9jYk_ALio4GDMeCPnWdd7Tt1bI5lbOvWFGXHCTr-OM5M0jwMoybTS7U2uRJlVuO_BO3ElQqdUQFtAPYXphgIQB_AVl1uevIujhT4TElLXUgJFrdlSBzFOdp68kenA/w400-h297/IMG_7575%20(1).jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLSOAvqpZ1YRh-pcuynfsdVHfSSbUiwbfC7BTu2HimA08tQVvRl8Roh46D91r8WG0dNRLI_ipQrif6TDEM7NBcpxhf9T44MUz6n39Tes0bg7yurR0kNaP6V7xW8sa2IkZybJKyhZbxDMAo-z2-EG4BQSaFfgRdYRsbqTF9RWQji1xgB3djpLqi-d7Bg/s1280/IMG_7581.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="938" data-original-width="1280" height="294" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLSOAvqpZ1YRh-pcuynfsdVHfSSbUiwbfC7BTu2HimA08tQVvRl8Roh46D91r8WG0dNRLI_ipQrif6TDEM7NBcpxhf9T44MUz6n39Tes0bg7yurR0kNaP6V7xW8sa2IkZybJKyhZbxDMAo-z2-EG4BQSaFfgRdYRsbqTF9RWQji1xgB3djpLqi-d7Bg/w400-h294/IMG_7581.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>I enjoyed the story-telling, especially when Stuart stood up to speak about the 1939 World's Fair. His great uncle John drove him there from Danvers to NYC. Two of the great aunts, May and Margaret, also came on that trip. I asked if they had used Aunt May's 1932 Ford (which she later gave to my parents, so I grew up with it in the 1940's and 50's -- even learning to drive on it in the 1960's). No, Uncle John drove his own car. As Stuart spoke, many of the dozen or so younger relatives in the room lifted cell phones to record his stories. Memorable! <br /><br /><p><br /></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-69545965015235566412023-07-14T16:17:00.024-04:002023-07-23T12:45:09.868-04:00Montpelier floods<p> </p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0w8vBMUxOaY5ZgXD8lkdHBITJRS0QoY_q4uly3gjYiFY2NfJYmBdf29zDrsomnw2uphaWhtdSO-e5eh0MX90dzlmDVpnu0IhrqSXaG53BaD46OVyis9A-LQsvsYW0_V-W0a3SdKJpeO6Ctfo3X0nZ89wEuRt02MS5uswZMfk1mnWlgL-3oiFA9rV8qYK/s1910/IMG_8520.jpg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1432" data-original-width="1910" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG0w8vBMUxOaY5ZgXD8lkdHBITJRS0QoY_q4uly3gjYiFY2NfJYmBdf29zDrsomnw2uphaWhtdSO-e5eh0MX90dzlmDVpnu0IhrqSXaG53BaD46OVyis9A-LQsvsYW0_V-W0a3SdKJpeO6Ctfo3X0nZ89wEuRt02MS5uswZMfk1mnWlgL-3oiFA9rV8qYK/w400-h300/IMG_8520.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">July 12, 2023</td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">News of the current flooding in Montpelier triggers memories – memories of my father... and memories of a recent Montpelier visit. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">My father, Nathan "Nick" Nichols, had told us many stories of his youthful years in Montpelier, including a huge flood that ruined his mother's garden and swept away barns. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqS9OwubM5xKaycSFKSc2BkDmWZz94C4vK2Ewagmh174VS0nDftxwt4Xp8Gd9EQ8kilaCA9Q5r5MbtcjYDrtKicE4M4fFADbZxr5I-3A1vM9UlmliDHcUuuQnV1nKRf66rzrgUm-c5ke1yzghzYnfm7N4SkkOEP84e1jGn0beWN00AOgIsVOZULA5rwQLJ/s1280/IMG_6525.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqS9OwubM5xKaycSFKSc2BkDmWZz94C4vK2Ewagmh174VS0nDftxwt4Xp8Gd9EQ8kilaCA9Q5r5MbtcjYDrtKicE4M4fFADbZxr5I-3A1vM9UlmliDHcUuuQnV1nKRf66rzrgUm-c5ke1yzghzYnfm7N4SkkOEP84e1jGn0beWN00AOgIsVOZULA5rwQLJ/w240-h320/IMG_6525.jpeg" width="240" /></a></p><div style="text-align: justify;">This spring on a roadtrip in VT, I had stopped briefly in Montpelier to buy gas, and happened to notice a "High Water Mark" sign on the wall of the gas station. As I stood beneath it, I tried to reach up, but could not touch it, even on my tiptoes. I would have been completely UNDER WATER if there in 1927.</div></div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">That fact startled me, and made me reflect on Daddy's stories. No wonder barns were moved and gardens ruined. The most amazing story I recall was of a barn that seemed to have survived in place, yet a fancy car stored inside that barn had disappeared! Daddy said that a strong cable from the house to the barn had held the barn, allowing it to float upwards while its contents were washed downstream. When the flood waters receded, that barn rested back on the ground, as if it had never moved. Close examination, however, revealed that it wasn't exactly on its original foundation. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">The date on High Water Mark sign enabled me to connect my father's stories to real history. Montpelier was his home base from age 6 in 1918 to 1934, the year he graduated from college. He was born in January 2012, so would have been 15 in 1927. </div><div style="text-align: justify;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: justify;">His father, Rev. William S. Nichols, was then minister of the Unitarian Church of Montpelier, 130 Main Street. In April 2023 I took these photos of that same church, which is, according to a plaque on the wall, "listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Architect Thomas Silloway, 1865."</div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPUS4ujlq-ZUK3khMhsm2kei2hg1l9PPZoFd0SSMUU-uTunCdfllzEAuQokW6m7ueBRuWJ4ZMw_vgoYHPci0uNjrTYTnHcnkVh8_8tMarft-aboq0WjONzF9tz3PMGkTaBEgVY2zMDXOoc_BhIbkwC7bDJ54NCrcvoorxCrvlLeaeXeECnyOgLTl8OsJR/s1280/IMG_6504.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMPUS4ujlq-ZUK3khMhsm2kei2hg1l9PPZoFd0SSMUU-uTunCdfllzEAuQokW6m7ueBRuWJ4ZMw_vgoYHPci0uNjrTYTnHcnkVh8_8tMarft-aboq0WjONzF9tz3PMGkTaBEgVY2zMDXOoc_BhIbkwC7bDJ54NCrcvoorxCrvlLeaeXeECnyOgLTl8OsJR/s320/IMG_6504.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLB-zVYdmnjinAaivV5mZUM1FgKvMmUksYaurJURbqnILftVHeQi2sV_oo5jSSYrOnKnrh_pKeOnkkQAHcXLWOtr_3K2ntkkPsXBqDE66Z3QB_UFrv8-7WTOlcKFd5ijuNxOQ9lZVvb-k4Z1xzYjbJGkGIFRWbKVragIOpSPUzxgb9H61x9YWx2KaJqCPF/s1280/IMG_6517.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLB-zVYdmnjinAaivV5mZUM1FgKvMmUksYaurJURbqnILftVHeQi2sV_oo5jSSYrOnKnrh_pKeOnkkQAHcXLWOtr_3K2ntkkPsXBqDE66Z3QB_UFrv8-7WTOlcKFd5ijuNxOQ9lZVvb-k4Z1xzYjbJGkGIFRWbKVragIOpSPUzxgb9H61x9YWx2KaJqCPF/s320/IMG_6517.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note how close the river is to the rear of the church building (right) </td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My thoughts go to that church, which must have been damaged in 1927 and again this week. Here's an update on the church's website, written by the current minister: </div><p></p><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #373839; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">7/15/2023 6:45am. A lot has been accomplished since Tuesday night! Thank you to ALL the volunteers who have mopped floors, hauled buckets of mud, moved ruined items, and dropped off food and water.</span></p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #373839; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">We have a couple of teams lined up to help today with removing damaged sheetrock and power washing the basement. ...<span style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></span></p></div></blockquote><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; color: #373839; margin: 0px 0px 12px;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With our cleanup moving along, I encourage you to help out in other places if you can. There’s a great opportunity to do so tomorrow (Sunday), July 16 starting at 9am across the street at Trinity Methodist Church and the Montpelier Food Pantry.</span><span face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif"> </span><span face="Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: transparent;"> </span></p></div></blockquote><p>See also the minister's earlier message reporting on the flooding:</p><p style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://ucmvt.org/2023/07/12/historic-flooding-july-12-2023/" target="_blank"> https://ucmvt.org/2023/07/12/historic-flooding-july-12-2023/ </a></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-16108650532351561162023-05-04T16:07:00.008-04:002023-05-04T18:33:44.642-04:00May 5<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidM1f3OyyxBpIq2Kx-wsFJI2yuziC69QH5_DiYZv1mhAE4LlSdRIZu3jo4endhcHqD8lMD0BL9EZk6Gx8qhDAQ6N_twdmAmCX_6I-mHgF7WL2VGsBU1-oUR5WWWVM8bfnpxF8xrt1xw4jlK-4NDof21kh-HwfzG1z4o6i0a7UqfpUwQIbtVewzYO0zHA/s640/lilacs.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidM1f3OyyxBpIq2Kx-wsFJI2yuziC69QH5_DiYZv1mhAE4LlSdRIZu3jo4endhcHqD8lMD0BL9EZk6Gx8qhDAQ6N_twdmAmCX_6I-mHgF7WL2VGsBU1-oUR5WWWVM8bfnpxF8xrt1xw4jlK-4NDof21kh-HwfzG1z4o6i0a7UqfpUwQIbtVewzYO0zHA/w300-h400/lilacs.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p>Ah, the beauty of lilacs in spring! Today, as I leaned into this lilac bush to inhale the fragrance of the flowers, memories of my grandmother's lilacs flashed in my mind. I recall a large hedge of lilacs in the yard beside my grandparents' home next door to our home. </p><p>Tomorrow is the anniversary of my mother's birth (May 5, 1912). I have wonderful memories of her and the springtime flowers she loved: lilies of the valley, daffodils, and especially the flowering dogwood trees. </p><p>This week my husband and I have been considering what type of tree to plant in our front yard to replace an old spruce that had died. I think a white dogwood would be a good choice. Here's a lovely one we noticed this week in our neighborhood.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OXnSkHtgX8JNwrzCO77N8lMKnS1A1d4mmUs_5x3d8O_ZEu-B9AChczE_MznDX5rmS-xDIcO84vZf5cSi1eWsmGWeJiRhq0wz1K9e1YS-fozV0O2IE2JiHBpmFjpffd5y__CooXugbeLhXDwNInXw5ZBbcZwA9sIgbuvDRyf7pNr4jjdOxPSlSG-L9g/s1280/IMG_7213.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1211" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_OXnSkHtgX8JNwrzCO77N8lMKnS1A1d4mmUs_5x3d8O_ZEu-B9AChczE_MznDX5rmS-xDIcO84vZf5cSi1eWsmGWeJiRhq0wz1K9e1YS-fozV0O2IE2JiHBpmFjpffd5y__CooXugbeLhXDwNInXw5ZBbcZwA9sIgbuvDRyf7pNr4jjdOxPSlSG-L9g/s320/IMG_7213.jpeg" width="303" /></a></div><p>I recall the white dogwoods my mother had planted on the south side of our little house in Danvers. I understand that she had transplanted them from her childhood home in Westport, Connecticut. She loved to take us to Westport in May to see the flowering dogwoods there. Some streets were lined with huge dogwoods arching over the roadway – an impressive canopy of flowers, pink ones alternating with white.</p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-71067945453847353552023-04-15T11:14:00.016-04:002023-04-25T10:26:19.433-04:00Andrew's Genealogy<p>My great-grandfather, Andrew Nichols, had a strong interest in genealogy. He was known to help other people with their searches for information about ancestors. When I saw his detailed genealogy of our Nichols family ancestors, I was not surprised. Taped inside the front of an old book, I found a well-worn printed copy, marked up by subsequent family members. (See photos of it, below.)</p><p>That copy lacks a date. The pages were not torn or cut from a publication, but issued separately as a reprint, it seems. I spent some time searching among old issues of the Essex Institute Historical Collections (dusty ones in boxes in my storage room, and digitized ones online), hoping to find the original on which this reprint was based.</p><p>I thank Richard Trask, Town Archivist, Danvers Archival Center, for answering my questions. He wrote, </p><p></p><blockquote><p>The "Genealogy of the Nichols Family," by Andrew Nichols was originally published in volume 3 of the Historical Collections of the Essex Institute (1861) on pages 29-32.<span style="caret-color: rgb(0, 0, 0); font-family: Helvetica; font-size: 14px;"> </span> </p></blockquote><p>Wow! 1861 is a significant date in Andrew's life. Later that year he would be marrying his beloved "Lizzie" (Elizabeth Perkins Stanley) of Salem and bringing her to live in Danvers, in the cottage he had designed and was in the process of building. </p><p>April 15, 1861, was the date of the foundation of the new house. Also on that date, <a href="https://housedivided.dickinson.edu/sites/lincoln/presidential-proclamation-april-15-1861/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">President Lincoln called up state militias</a> (the start of the Civil War). </p><p>Coincidently here I am on April 15, 2023, thinking about this history and sharing a bit of my great-grandfather's research.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWQ0V29keZIs7CMBeZn3gjFN7fOMKRoVIR9AltyyTbaGb7CVHBgux5nYsRvRJrW5SacuEsmR2U8dS9969ELHFH-jKPtEPPRt1Mu0wZxK5ExsqTzYp16pUtzw4drPyBidmjctsDrMHAeu3MPsI_1vNHl3Bo7IZahGaYzJ_Pr0NTSzIvxdsVA31RN_vng/s2016/IMG_6256.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeWQ0V29keZIs7CMBeZn3gjFN7fOMKRoVIR9AltyyTbaGb7CVHBgux5nYsRvRJrW5SacuEsmR2U8dS9969ELHFH-jKPtEPPRt1Mu0wZxK5ExsqTzYp16pUtzw4drPyBidmjctsDrMHAeu3MPsI_1vNHl3Bo7IZahGaYzJ_Pr0NTSzIvxdsVA31RN_vng/s320/IMG_6256.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">[Click on each image to enlarge]</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEp94gnt2vuD2fyijJ3_u8vzyng-_NIeGUtYUcJjnIvmFgRMQx_9uu4asKnwIGpaBkxoJHYlIjDQlxlsStee_d4cX9lBYc6xd9zesq-KpljfTheGk6_UWQ4S3ws62AZIv0Hb_hno-PtanKjKohXqvc-vatqk7yGo0SmTxeBb72VaRijnUDPgJOS1snfA/s2016/IMG_6257.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEp94gnt2vuD2fyijJ3_u8vzyng-_NIeGUtYUcJjnIvmFgRMQx_9uu4asKnwIGpaBkxoJHYlIjDQlxlsStee_d4cX9lBYc6xd9zesq-KpljfTheGk6_UWQ4S3ws62AZIv0Hb_hno-PtanKjKohXqvc-vatqk7yGo0SmTxeBb72VaRijnUDPgJOS1snfA/s320/IMG_6257.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIhEAtWFzNA7xUPYMjlYO4TwXL9X1iZaNJyjtHVN09pMunjyO3gz6-4ZpPXJQ4gKnh62z8OrW4nuDtA2SDQYAwQH1VyPrf0Ox4ckg6_00MLYK_FrJGITNsSSR2ea_F8I3fJNq25rNT8PLZ-h1qpzF7qBa24Zg9d7tPKnK3E3O36n50bbUtwTPatU26w/s2016/IMG_6258.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAIhEAtWFzNA7xUPYMjlYO4TwXL9X1iZaNJyjtHVN09pMunjyO3gz6-4ZpPXJQ4gKnh62z8OrW4nuDtA2SDQYAwQH1VyPrf0Ox4ckg6_00MLYK_FrJGITNsSSR2ea_F8I3fJNq25rNT8PLZ-h1qpzF7qBa24Zg9d7tPKnK3E3O36n50bbUtwTPatU26w/s320/IMG_6258.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5cmUue93w4WTodepuI1VBtNE5d1212-hOYaqCtV563fDoyXflq5Y5hxNRx7odB3gDZy5c4ttIRegIL2hAiSeDWg5qWe8APRP4N7ROgCwelBk1YY6l8vsrka2Xh3fDzhEdlpaC-33TTfCledKMR_XcO4n3F9RP07qEu9kgigA6jn1L0b8y3PKP5VNXA/s1902/IMG_6262.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1902" data-original-width="1425" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjL5cmUue93w4WTodepuI1VBtNE5d1212-hOYaqCtV563fDoyXflq5Y5hxNRx7odB3gDZy5c4ttIRegIL2hAiSeDWg5qWe8APRP4N7ROgCwelBk1YY6l8vsrka2Xh3fDzhEdlpaC-33TTfCledKMR_XcO4n3F9RP07qEu9kgigA6jn1L0b8y3PKP5VNXA/s320/IMG_6262.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p>Now I will share images of the context in which I found this reprint. I thank cousin Betty Nichols in Modesto, CA, for passing to me several meaningful family items that had belonged to her late husband Bill Nichols (William Stanley Nichols, II), including a copy of the Holyoke Diaries (1911). </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kvlHR5kDENmRZ84xUwZU5db1h1S7ZQ3G79cDFy193k5md5CmHjos7CQkznD0t9PFsMyK8gxA7Za26gOL1BhQKGP7-KYkjyXO5xaD3obdB8IzD7kFR2ICLieos_PZTFqK3wpGka19FyAW7AgkZ1fIQ_ZQvklCGHKAwX6V-2h5GQLE0Ah1ylQOYPLIOQ/s640/IMG_6263.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="640" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1kvlHR5kDENmRZ84xUwZU5db1h1S7ZQ3G79cDFy193k5md5CmHjos7CQkznD0t9PFsMyK8gxA7Za26gOL1BhQKGP7-KYkjyXO5xaD3obdB8IzD7kFR2ICLieos_PZTFqK3wpGka19FyAW7AgkZ1fIQ_ZQvklCGHKAwX6V-2h5GQLE0Ah1ylQOYPLIOQ/s320/IMG_6263.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Note that Andrew had given this copy in 1911<br /> to his son William Stanley Nichols (my grandfather)</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJx8p83xsKRWhMkB12KRWAxzxGFxgeoPpQKkbsD8_jpyKtgofzQUVAhD0KdfO5ii8ZMFK3yPlTK6spy5wgywiLJ5b7TFECYwizQ_aA4zeAtt7xhV9nNSk1cuw90PD_HiqZUMo6hHK1Ktx92A-y2rnm0DyT1voDZSRIZJtp_7AX0ODmrNyrtI0lNgI4A/s640/IMG_6266.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="517" data-original-width="640" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJx8p83xsKRWhMkB12KRWAxzxGFxgeoPpQKkbsD8_jpyKtgofzQUVAhD0KdfO5ii8ZMFK3yPlTK6spy5wgywiLJ5b7TFECYwizQ_aA4zeAtt7xhV9nNSk1cuw90PD_HiqZUMo6hHK1Ktx92A-y2rnm0DyT1voDZSRIZJtp_7AX0ODmrNyrtI0lNgI4A/s320/IMG_6266.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>I've had that book for several years now, but it was only THIS WEEK as I was handling it to take these pictures that a folded piece of paper slipped from between some back pages. Oh! <div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aW3k9SsFvjt8UiHFFYObevuphRhdJrpKY6rj1ZSIYg-Wcx2pu8ysjAEkjsU7UTLlvgy5V8HkaW5BFD_sFfm-yAuXNZl7DyAXh2APcXpDNfyIEOVwBzttmXH4gx6rhB7GkVMtgbkdQUKSmL67uRHkS2yLhXGJ6RUPMX99pHp1J924CBeJw7Cemz5ecg/s640/IMG_6268.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3aW3k9SsFvjt8UiHFFYObevuphRhdJrpKY6rj1ZSIYg-Wcx2pu8ysjAEkjsU7UTLlvgy5V8HkaW5BFD_sFfm-yAuXNZl7DyAXh2APcXpDNfyIEOVwBzttmXH4gx6rhB7GkVMtgbkdQUKSmL67uRHkS2yLhXGJ6RUPMX99pHp1J924CBeJw7Cemz5ecg/s320/IMG_6268.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An Addendum to Andrew's Genealogy of the Nichols Family.</td></tr></tbody></table><blockquote><p>(103) Andrew Nichols C.E. the scribe married the 5th Sept 1861 to Elizabeth Perkins Stanley the dau. of John Stanley born in Liverpool England and his wife Elizabeth Hunt of Salem Mass, ...</p></blockquote><p>Note: This Addendum page is based on a manuscript that I’ve never seen. I’m guessing that my uncle Edward Holyoke Nichols typed this during the years when he was assisting his daughter, Janet Nichols Derouin, as they sorted old letters from the Pine Knoll home (where Andrew raised his family). Edward, retired and living in Florida, transcribed many, many handwritten letters, mailing packages of them to Janet. (I have those packages and the resulting files that Janet gave to me. There are lots of letters from the 1890’s, which Janet says will be very interesting to read... if I ever get that far. I spent several years reviewing her earlier files, as I edited a draft of her book and created a separate website for <a href="https://pineknoll.nonotuck.us/wp/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Pine Knoll Story</a>. Her draft ends at 1880.) </p><p>P.S. <span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">Here's a relevant quote from my cousin Janet's Pine Knoll Story. She had compiled charts to show the family lineages in that story. On page 16 of her charts, I see this:</span></p><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">"Andrew Nichols wrote the following on the subject of ancestors."</span><br style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><br style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif;" /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><blockquote>From my examination during the past 62 years I have not been able to find a single ancestor (of those not born here) who came to this country after 1700, which is a fact that very few can say that have traced as many as I have. In three cases cousins married reducing the number to be accounted for. My children cannot say it as my wife's father was born in Liverpool.</blockquote></span><p></p></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-10795635132794622862023-04-07T08:14:00.020-04:002023-04-11T20:43:55.497-04:001852 Elements of History<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-5JfJth38MPbkK12ZAQeo5KpNv0QWs3zT-UafRCj6AHRhNXTosGQZ_CxIYHMHeSR34e13XKrfGZt5I76RbqYaOVShmIjlozoWz2wR0jMd_CjduvnNs_AUDI5XbpYxLM1vUD5GZIqkvDtQZi8n3EEjpUpFH0gcS_r_mgg64H7wGONTYmY1bXqJen9Tw/s1280/IMG_6189.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEin-5JfJth38MPbkK12ZAQeo5KpNv0QWs3zT-UafRCj6AHRhNXTosGQZ_CxIYHMHeSR34e13XKrfGZt5I76RbqYaOVShmIjlozoWz2wR0jMd_CjduvnNs_AUDI5XbpYxLM1vUD5GZIqkvDtQZi8n3EEjpUpFH0gcS_r_mgg64H7wGONTYmY1bXqJen9Tw/s320/IMG_6189.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div>Here are photographs of a history textbook published in 1852 and owned by my great-grandfather Andrew Nichols in Danvers.<p></p><p><b>Elements of History, Ancient and Modern</b> was written by Joseph B. Worcester. This new edition includes statements that it was adopted in the Grammar Schools of many cities (Salem, Worcester, Cambridge, Boston...), and also "required in the examination of candidates for admission into the Freshman Class at Harvard College."</p><p>Online, you can now find digitized copies of many other editions (e.g., <a href="https://archive.org/details/elementsofhistor00inworc_201807/page/n13/mode/2up" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">1831</a>, <a href="https://www.google.com/books/edition/Elements_of_History/oEygAAAAMAAJ?hl=en&gbpv=1" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">1835</a>, <a href="https://archive.org/details/elementsofhistor03worc/mode/2up" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">1866</a>), but I have not yet found this exact one. I've photographed selected pages of this book to share here. Perhaps someone will want to compare these samples to other editions? </p><p><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22O6zp-sA66hjPqmc5WfB9UArqoH4lRk-0M2bxn2cALl9XVG8oCSAnxHklbKrgKD6St7fCznYnhFdGHuaEe0gBWj6ypzBGKnQhMCG09-8SlxKpI_VPtYdLaQHseNwo4I6z1K6MsKEIsCK33eFIBDP6Tt9lslfIyO1EbOXvY_EjX4VRMcHJDPT4ZCI3A/s1280/IMG_6194.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg22O6zp-sA66hjPqmc5WfB9UArqoH4lRk-0M2bxn2cALl9XVG8oCSAnxHklbKrgKD6St7fCznYnhFdGHuaEe0gBWj6ypzBGKnQhMCG09-8SlxKpI_VPtYdLaQHseNwo4I6z1K6MsKEIsCK33eFIBDP6Tt9lslfIyO1EbOXvY_EjX4VRMcHJDPT4ZCI3A/w240-h320/IMG_6194.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">See my prior post re "Peabody High School"</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPt6V98o_ZQpdQMEFdbQNw6Hsh8Dj5xTLkMOzbROblkILefdZXpOIjyVLXLse_uU8R-a4Jtr0qRWDpM1Kegtv_UH9KQbemOLtOwWVXfH4S8bjPXrSK7ix9-Fs9gPenh_-J4TFiRjDFl2wlRM1yTjB1m1rXh5eT9OFE2lUGvDWDvFxBrxw1UIL_ZP7xIw/s1280/IMG_6195.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPt6V98o_ZQpdQMEFdbQNw6Hsh8Dj5xTLkMOzbROblkILefdZXpOIjyVLXLse_uU8R-a4Jtr0qRWDpM1Kegtv_UH9KQbemOLtOwWVXfH4S8bjPXrSK7ix9-Fs9gPenh_-J4TFiRjDFl2wlRM1yTjB1m1rXh5eT9OFE2lUGvDWDvFxBrxw1UIL_ZP7xIw/s320/IMG_6195.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">[Click on any image to ENLARGE it, for legibility.]</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBcEkFqDEcsCRhreRlVPasP8b-2kfpcXh-BSLx7DO8mTF6W_EiPPoT3xt3-x5SDHTx_A1rSCWI3fhzoP7jw0AEjve8TJ17wbrX-NENuNek8EsGLKDMGaPXc8atD4LDeOEBVYE9U8KP0-bXNNx-jpim7zJor-V5Fg_d9HfnikzFZqwLKg6DqmrMK2JlxA/s1280/IMG_6196.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1088" data-original-width="1280" height="272" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBcEkFqDEcsCRhreRlVPasP8b-2kfpcXh-BSLx7DO8mTF6W_EiPPoT3xt3-x5SDHTx_A1rSCWI3fhzoP7jw0AEjve8TJ17wbrX-NENuNek8EsGLKDMGaPXc8atD4LDeOEBVYE9U8KP0-bXNNx-jpim7zJor-V5Fg_d9HfnikzFZqwLKg6DqmrMK2JlxA/s320/IMG_6196.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRiL7y1H0DD_2bcrN_3SpnUSz4tt6s4qQUlvkV_kHcU48WFTTMgS0oT7YSGW-V7dLfGrEplbFor0WYw1jBqzUhW67tEFbp5SZs0vr_fYHkwGPLM8NsUkteFdfl7sGssECcsuaM_tYd6ijUpcvp87wnj_sTXhdh0aKv_j2wDkXCPSb9FsLPxIm4CgqwuQ/s1280/IMG_6198.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1023" data-original-width="1280" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRiL7y1H0DD_2bcrN_3SpnUSz4tt6s4qQUlvkV_kHcU48WFTTMgS0oT7YSGW-V7dLfGrEplbFor0WYw1jBqzUhW67tEFbp5SZs0vr_fYHkwGPLM8NsUkteFdfl7sGssECcsuaM_tYd6ijUpcvp87wnj_sTXhdh0aKv_j2wDkXCPSb9FsLPxIm4CgqwuQ/s320/IMG_6198.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuO_BD1yBDZ1B7JVSnuFJyhW1LycWtDZF2zxqtto8zUZ2BaXRTWy_ZGRtUeWu_519eVxrD5wqjoROdtmokENZpuk-Xzsk3dvt65lljVQdHq7HaJaUYYnE-elvTHY75vdCsiPWYA751WsK6La5ilkuOZmHRsceo2eC1x6fMwotlb70wuTCe9QVlQlZoyA/s1280/IMG_6199.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1062" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuO_BD1yBDZ1B7JVSnuFJyhW1LycWtDZF2zxqtto8zUZ2BaXRTWy_ZGRtUeWu_519eVxrD5wqjoROdtmokENZpuk-Xzsk3dvt65lljVQdHq7HaJaUYYnE-elvTHY75vdCsiPWYA751WsK6La5ilkuOZmHRsceo2eC1x6fMwotlb70wuTCe9QVlQlZoyA/s320/IMG_6199.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div>Much of the book is devoted to the history of Greece (pages 15-52) and Rome (58-110). Then, after brief chapters on Crusades and Chivalry, the Modern History section starts on page 131. Of the European countries, France and England get the emphasis. The history of America starts on page 251. <div><br /><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8F4zXPuGvLbEx00g9T2_gS2ljmsXTof3hmcfHkWUhnYOl6eHJpWAqtm1RCsR8_Hn4-pKSoyYb2AgxkHDnYZfFVhxdUXGgi9hhM_CA4VnjpPuGchlv2oWaf8QYdPPSeSvGkpui7Bd-D4gHTIJgfc133_KxGSWBpwikfOdTMB1HHsNk0V5-Vq0GaS9Rg/s1280/IMG_6204.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA8F4zXPuGvLbEx00g9T2_gS2ljmsXTof3hmcfHkWUhnYOl6eHJpWAqtm1RCsR8_Hn4-pKSoyYb2AgxkHDnYZfFVhxdUXGgi9hhM_CA4VnjpPuGchlv2oWaf8QYdPPSeSvGkpui7Bd-D4gHTIJgfc133_KxGSWBpwikfOdTMB1HHsNk0V5-Vq0GaS9Rg/s320/IMG_6204.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Many Tables and Charts are included; here are some examples, densely packed with information:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD86LVIaTDmdaaTxD5rUGZEgg3YBuxANnlOkQkdJHbxYMg5hpyArryF38ChXPCIjdUjHNv7dQPIz43gvQpIMD8FQyIy29f-bZNjlkAYxg6kPNFstlgVMmcq2qDdQLW365qQLCR_IsM6P1LtPMmQWo7nB_yZMJtNGa5VqCbLB41zqcHP9sOn0JIrQ-w9w/s1280/IMG_6205.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1169" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD86LVIaTDmdaaTxD5rUGZEgg3YBuxANnlOkQkdJHbxYMg5hpyArryF38ChXPCIjdUjHNv7dQPIz43gvQpIMD8FQyIy29f-bZNjlkAYxg6kPNFstlgVMmcq2qDdQLW365qQLCR_IsM6P1LtPMmQWo7nB_yZMJtNGa5VqCbLB41zqcHP9sOn0JIrQ-w9w/s320/IMG_6205.jpeg" width="292" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeK5RR6O73BMvGL8EM31mnO_rCFZnsLxbALt3vKw3vuwbN8_9mv5cv432wBUPkgopx9xSWWFRd6fvnbbjnzu1twnunZxcOfcWicjOnl40_3vzOIHNhFtNfhzN6uV--yg_0aZdBVmnDWz3pDyyZkFxzs22PBe4yd8ywAFWl0EyEJubDY8FKPhA1agzBQ/s1280/IMG_6206.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1233" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxeK5RR6O73BMvGL8EM31mnO_rCFZnsLxbALt3vKw3vuwbN8_9mv5cv432wBUPkgopx9xSWWFRd6fvnbbjnzu1twnunZxcOfcWicjOnl40_3vzOIHNhFtNfhzN6uV--yg_0aZdBVmnDWz3pDyyZkFxzs22PBe4yd8ywAFWl0EyEJubDY8FKPhA1agzBQ/s320/IMG_6206.jpeg" width="308" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Note this "Sources of History" on page 8, reminding us of alternatives to written documents:</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76dIbj3DQFIIwqqh5NqYTHJsniBhZRea80VlnpkfkOiuOTEckaeL6dasOAmPzTCmQ0V-kDLGAs1So5jV-wuJqmJh8DxY-TJKez9QDrZ-9zxqnILGrL5Z2cUjvtEG0x7zYzowv5lE1W9TXKuuKhhffdp0acMqJHaIJs1WLox-YgpFB21BRwpp3iR7Haw/s1280/IMG_6210.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="783" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh76dIbj3DQFIIwqqh5NqYTHJsniBhZRea80VlnpkfkOiuOTEckaeL6dasOAmPzTCmQ0V-kDLGAs1So5jV-wuJqmJh8DxY-TJKez9QDrZ-9zxqnILGrL5Z2cUjvtEG0x7zYzowv5lE1W9TXKuuKhhffdp0acMqJHaIJs1WLox-YgpFB21BRwpp3iR7Haw/s320/IMG_6210.jpeg" width="196" /></a></div></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">This old book of course reveals perspectives and prejudices of the era (19th century). It gives us an idea of what was taught in Danvers schools (and elsewhere) at that time. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I did appreciate reading some frank comments by the author where he acknowledged great harms done by European colonizers. Here's an exceptionally revealing section (from pages 257-8):</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">30. It was the practice of Europeans to take possession of the parts of America which they visited, by the pretended right of discovery. The original inhabitants were treated as if they had no rights, and were no more owners of the soil than the beasts of the forest. This example was set by Columbus himself. He landed upon St. Salvador, the first island discovered, in a gorgeous dress, with a drawn sword in his hand, and the royal standard displayed, and took possession of the island for the crown of Castile and Leon ; and in conformity to this practice, it was inscribed on his tomb, that to this crown he "had given a new world."</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">31. The pope, in accordance with principles that were acted upon in an age of ignorance and superstition, granted to the sovereign of Spain the countries discovered by their subjects in the new world. The propagation of Christianity was held out as the chief reason for taking possession of America; and the promotion of a religion which breathes "peace on earth and good-will towards men," was made the pretext for every species of injustice, cruelty, bloodshed, and slavery, which the defenseless inhabitants of America were destined to experience from Cortes, Pizarro, and other unprincipled invaders.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">32. The Spaniards who first came to America were stimulated by the desire and expectation of finding the precious metals, gold and silver. So powerful was this passion for gold, that the first adventurers encountered every possible hardship and danger in search of it, and sacrificed millions of the wretched natives, whom they compelled to work in the mines. The unfortunate Indians were distributed, like cattle, into lots of so many hundred heads each, and sold to the colonists. The Indians, who were naturally of a weak constitution, were rapidly wasted away by the hard service to which they were subjected. So great was the mortality among them, that out of 60,000 Indians who were in the island of St. Domingo, in 1508, only 14,000 are said to have remained in 1516 ; and it was not many years before the race became nearly extinct in most of the islands.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">33. This cruelty to the Indians was strongly condemned by Las Casas, and other benevolent persons, and the colonists soon began to look to Africa for a supply of laborers in their mines and on their plantations. It was found that one able-bodied negro could do as much work as four Indians.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">34. The first importation of negroes from Africa to the West Indies was made, in 1503, by the Portuguese and a larger one was made by order of Ferdinand of Spain, in 1511 ; since that time, the inhuman traffic in African slaves has been carried on by most of the European nations ; nor has it yet been abandoned by Spain and Portugal, the two European countries which were the first to begin this barbarous traffic and which seem disposed to be last to relinquish it.</div></blockquote><p>I do know that my great-grandfather, the student owner of this textbook, became an abolitionist. </p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-82699219036654547952023-04-06T08:18:00.010-04:002023-04-07T08:01:51.760-04:00Peabody High School<p>My great-grandfather Andrew Nichols attended "Peabody High School, Danvers" -- according to his handwriting, dated April 1853, in the front pages of an history textbook printed in 1852.</p><p>I've had that old leather-bound book in my bookcase for decades, along with many other dusty old books inherited from my father and his Danvers ancestors. Not until last night did I begin to READ that book and think about the school in which it was used.</p><p>Peabody High School? In Danvers? </p><p>I don't recall ever hearing of such a school in my hometown. I've known, of course, that a southern portion of Danvers had eventually separated and become Peabody. And I'm aware that my great-grandfather's earliest years, before his father died, were spent in south Danvers.</p><p>My curiosity about this is heightened right now. I plan to come to Danvers on April 21, and to attend Salem Ancestry Days April 22-23. </p><p>I've just looked up the history of Peabody, to review when Peabody became separate. The website of the <a href="https://peabodyhistorical.org/history/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Peabody Historical Society and Museum</a> has a very helpful "Timeline for the Evolution of Peabody." That includes formation of the Middle Precinct of Salem (1710); founding of the District of Danvers (1752) with the Middle Precinct becoming known as South Parish of Danvers; Town of Danvers incorporation (1757); official separation from Danvers, to become Town of South Danvers (1855), with later name change to Peabody (1868) and incorporation in 1916 as the City of Peabody.</p><p>Thus, young Andrew Nichols lived and attended high school in Danvers (the South Parish of Danvers). That school was already named "Peabody" – no doubt in honor of the famous George Peabody, born in South Danvers in 1795.</p><p>According to the <a href="https://peabodyhistorical.org/history/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Peabody Historical Society and Museum</a>,</p><blockquote><p></p></blockquote><blockquote><blockquote><p>Peabody had to leave school at the age of 11 to work and help support his family. Because of his lack of schooling, Peabody’s desire to provide access to education became the foundation of his philanthropic philosophy. Following the war of 1812, Peabody started a wholesale dry goods company based in Baltimore, Maryland, then a major hub for trade and commerce. By the 1830s, he had transformed the company into a mercantile banking empire based in London. Peabody’s vast earnings enabled him to donate more than $7 million to museums and educational institutions in England and America.</p></blockquote><div></div></blockquote><div>Now the words "Peabody High School, Danvers" written in 1853 by young Andrew Nichols make sense to me.</div><div><br /></div><div>See next post for photos of his history book, and information about its content.</div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-450694317080303962022-12-19T20:42:00.010-05:002022-12-19T20:59:18.140-05:00Conundrum of Chairs<p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Here's a piece I wrote in 2017 about old family chairs. It does not mention the Victorian high chair (mentioned in my previous post), but it provides some context about our family's habit of retaining old things. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Considering a conundrum of chairs</span></p><p class="p1" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;">By Sandy Nichols Ward</p><p class="p2" style="font-family: Helvetica; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Once upon a time, when my father in his 80’s was preparing to move to a retirement community in California, carloads of chairs and antiques came my way. I happened to be living in a very large rented house near my new job in western Massachusetts, and was happy to acquire some family tables, chairs, and chests to help furnish empty rooms. I was also delighted to “inherit” certain special pieces while my father was still alive; I enjoyed hearing his related memories and stories.</p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">As the carloads kept coming, I realized that I was also taking on the responsibility of storing New England antiques and family items that my sister would eventually inherit. A very heavy and handsome desk arrived, and more tables, more chairs, more boxes. My father was quite cheerful as he unburdened himself of long-held stuff, and prepared for a new life in a warmer clime.</p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It became clear that he was bringing to me whatever he no longer needed or wanted, clearing out his home while filling mine. This was a mixed blessing. As he handed me one box filled with old papers, he commented that someone had passed it to him long ago and he never knew what to do with it, so now it would be my turn to decide. I set aside such boxes, focusing instead on arranging in the living room familiar chairs from my childhood, including the ones my mother had called “Hitchcock chairs.”</p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">It was fun to see those distinctive old chairs again. There were four side chairs and two armchairs. I recall Mommy muttering that the armchairs, with arms already broken, were reproductions, newer than the originals. But by the time I received them, the originals were also quite worn and fragile, with evidence of repairs here and there. I smiled today when I found this apt description on a webpage: “<i>Everyone knows what Hitchcock chairs are, right? They are the small, rickety chairs with the rush or cane seats, usually painted black with a lot of leaves and flowers and fruit painted all over</i>.” <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">Rickety is the right word. What do you do with rickety chairs of sentimental value? For a while I was pleased to have them in my home. After an awkward incident, however, I learned to warn large guests NOT to sit on them. Perhaps I should have marked the chairs with caution tape, or “For Display Only” signs, but I didn’t want the living room to look like a museum. I felt caught in a puzzle that I couldn’t solve:</p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"></blockquote><blockquote style="border: none; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; padding: 0px; text-align: left;"><ul style="text-align: left;"><li><span style="font-family: Cambria;">These chairs are too fragile to use</span></li><li><span style="font-family: Cambria;">These chairs are too special to discard</span></li><li><span style="font-family: Cambria;">Fixing them would cost more (in money or time) than I want to spend</span></li></ul></blockquote><div><span style="font-family: Cambria;"><br /></span><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">The conundrum of the Hitchcock chairs was solved two years later, when I invited my sister Jean to come from New Mexico to select her share of the Danvers furniture. She expressed strong interest in the Hitchcock chairs, but worried that her children would be rough on them. I encouraged her to take them anyway and enjoy them while they last. </p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><br /></p><p class="p3" style="font-family: Cambria; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;">What’s the point of saving chairs that can’t be safely used by large adults?<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I felt relieved when the big truck carrying my sister’s choices pulled out of the driveway, thus lightening the load before I moved into a smaller home in 1995.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>In the years since, on various trips to NM, I have enjoyed seeing those chairs and other Danvers “treasures” in their new context.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I still retain a selection of family antiques in western Massachusetts, but no rickety chairs in the living room. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></p><p class="p4" style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 12px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 14px;"><br /></p></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-952410848449823522022-12-19T17:53:00.009-05:002022-12-19T20:35:58.048-05:001944 Photo<p> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWVSq5gbPEEdA0vfXx-feCZWwMpLTBKdehPlrlfsjDIWruswVyrHh3yKTGdbqVLGNdNVVhZnNlutekRQs61TWzZEy5xt9s5i3lZBNYa8--y-IKz4keQNY7lz5jhruvHdxBgKl3crZ1n8uV7UiXwDp9X5VZU07CUH5PxepkgAXm_N8v7MsOCSdhGRcPQ/s2942/highchair8_22_44.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2942" data-original-width="2583" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOWVSq5gbPEEdA0vfXx-feCZWwMpLTBKdehPlrlfsjDIWruswVyrHh3yKTGdbqVLGNdNVVhZnNlutekRQs61TWzZEy5xt9s5i3lZBNYa8--y-IKz4keQNY7lz5jhruvHdxBgKl3crZ1n8uV7UiXwDp9X5VZU07CUH5PxepkgAXm_N8v7MsOCSdhGRcPQ/w351-h400/highchair8_22_44.jpg" width="351" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sandy with stuffed toy. August 22, 1944.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Here's an old photo! It is an 8x10" photo of me at a young age in the living-room of our home at 120 Nichols Street, Danvers. I have no recollection of that time; I was very young (13 months old). But the scene is VERY familiar. The photograph, too, is familiar. I've seen it – and similar ones taken that same day – many times over the years. Perhaps my parents had hired a photographer to come and capture me in various poses.</p><p>Ah, I do remember that stuffed cat. I dragged it around for a long time, so in my memories that terry-cloth cat is thinner, much darker, and missing an eye. </p><p>Yesterday when I went to the attic to fetch a sweater from a storage closet, I noticed again a print of this old photo. For years it has been lying there on the empty seat of that Victorian-era chair. Yes, the SAME chair pictured above. Tucked under the photo was a printout of a composition I had written some years ago about old chairs inherited from family.</p><p>Today I came to this blog, curious to see what I had already posted about this photo, that chair, and/or my reflections about keeping old chairs. Surprise! I had not yet shared ANY of these topics here. I'll fill those gaps now with this post, and my next one.</p><p>Fortunately I already had in my computer a digital version of this 1944 photo. The image you see above is much clearer and cleaner than the dusty copy in my attic. </p><p>I also had compiled (in 2017) a photo gallery about that Victorian chair; see <a href="https://sward.smugmug.com/Other/High-Chair/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank"> https://sward.smugmug.com/Other/High-Chair/</a>. Note: it really is a HIGH CHAIR that can convert to a very stable low chair (as in photo above) or to a chair that rocks. A remarkable chair!</p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-42292502576399863892022-11-25T10:09:00.004-05:002022-11-25T10:16:51.942-05:00Underground RR<p>I thank my cousin Andrea Brewster for bringing my attention to an article on the history of the Underground Railroad in Massachusetts. She quoted a passage that mentions our ancestor Dr. Andrew Nichols. We've known that he was an abolitionist, but this article provides specific information about his house in South Danvers as one of the stations, and his role in anti-slavery work. </p><p>The article, <a href="https://www.americanantiquarian.org/proceedings/44806916.pdf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD IN MASSACHUSETTS</a> by Wilbur H. Siebert, was published in the <a href="https://americanantiquarian.org/aasproceedings" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Proceedings of the American Antiquarian Society</a> in April 1935, pages 25-100. The section about Danvers stations begins on page 53, and I'll quote the first paragraph here:</p><blockquote>A fourth line of fugitive travel out of Boston ran
some eight miles north to Saugus, where Benjamin
Franklin Newhall and his wife Dorothy befriended the
wayfarers. The next station on this line was South
Danvers (now Peabody), where Dr. Andrew Nichols,
a graduate of the Harvard Medical School and head of
the Free Soil Party in Danvers, extended hospitality
to refugees, as well as to anti-slavery lecturers. His
house now stands on Main Street near the square,
back of the Essex Club. His tombstone in Monumental Cemetery, at Peabody, bears the inscription,
"Erected by the Friends of Humanity to Humanity's
Friend." At Danversport, formerly called "The
Neck," the daughter of John Page, Esq., of Danvers,
and wife of Dr. Ebenezer Hunt, once a candidate of
the Liberty Party for lieutenant governor, gave "the
strength and grace of her womanhood to the service of
the poor and oppressed." As anti-slavery societies
early took shape in Danvers, it became an Underground centre with a group of workers, including Mr.
and Mrs. D. Brooks Baker, who lived in a cottage
that stood at the corner of Elm and Putnam streets.</blockquote><p>There is additional Danvers information on page 54. Note: you can read the <a href="https://www.americanantiquarian.org/proceedings/44806916.pdf" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">entire article</a> online. After reading the Danvers part, I turned to the beginning and read all 75 pages. What a history! I had not realized how extensive the underground railroad activity had been in Massachusetts. And, this summary only includes known, documented parts of this vast secretive movement to aid fugitive slaves. </p><p>I'm glad to learn of such wide-spread support for anti-slavery work. </p><p>Elsewhere in the American Antiquarian Society publications, and other online archives, you can read reports of slavery in Danvers. Some include specifics about slave-owning families in Danvers. Anti-slavery activism was controversial, of course. See my <a href="https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2020/07/abolitionists.html" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">2020 blog entry</a> with quote about difficulties some relatives recalled. Those challenges were minor compared to the terrible experiences of the enslaved. I've just finished Colson Whitehead's novel The Underground Railroad (2016). He creatively invents an imaged underground RR, with real rails and engines, but powerfully conveys real dramas and traumas of the enslaved. His book gives me a greater appreciation of the role of the station agents and other activists who risked their lives trying to aid people escaping slavery.</p><p><br /></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-16492723512409881632022-11-21T17:24:00.093-05:002022-11-22T13:20:06.906-05:00Old Bibles<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygAZL2sC9PeJTBpf47AvvqVHZu-ABVtje7ooIPQwIslQLKGeuyEoBwE-oM5HWUfUH_NABdQWOKmz5YQvBWl9kx_0S0N2yP4j7m20htkkyM3jjyE3MjJPjAiTs3B8cOkf4iUXqXQUleQ2OrHPYmwzx-SwPEwGbUi2ZSzxjxscQfp-MnmCswaY4C8FYbg/s1280/IMG_4412.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhygAZL2sC9PeJTBpf47AvvqVHZu-ABVtje7ooIPQwIslQLKGeuyEoBwE-oM5HWUfUH_NABdQWOKmz5YQvBWl9kx_0S0N2yP4j7m20htkkyM3jjyE3MjJPjAiTs3B8cOkf4iUXqXQUleQ2OrHPYmwzx-SwPEwGbUi2ZSzxjxscQfp-MnmCswaY4C8FYbg/s320/IMG_4412.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br />This past weekend I read some information about John Eliot's work in translating the Bible into one of the languages spoken by Indigenous peoples in New England. I was quite delighted to discover that his work – originally intended to support the Christianization of the natives – has NOW become useful in language reclamation projects. On the American Antiquarian Society's website, under a heading "From English to Algonquin: Early New England Translations," I found this overview of current projects: <p></p><p></p><blockquote><span face="Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; text-align: justify;">The Wampanoag, Nipmuc, and Mohegan people are now working to reclaim their language. Colonization, assimilation, and the loss of sovereignty caused these once widely spoken native dialects to be lost over time. Today, tribes use the </span><a href="http://americanantiquarian.org/EnglishtoAlgonquian/items/show/41" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); box-sizing: border-box; color: dimgrey; font-family: Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-decoration-line: none;">Algonquian Bible</a><span face="Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; text-align: justify;">, </span><a href="http://americanantiquarian.org/EnglishtoAlgonquian/items/show/50" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); box-sizing: border-box; color: dimgrey; font-family: Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-decoration-line: none;">Massachuset Psalter</a><span face="Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; text-align: justify;">, </span><a href="http://www.americanantiquarian.org/EnglishtoAlgonquian/items/show/43" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); box-sizing: border-box; color: dimgrey; font-family: Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-decoration-line: none;" target="_blank"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Indian Grammar</em></a><span face="Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; text-align: justify;">, Williams’s </span><a href="http://americanantiquarian.org/EnglishtoAlgonquian/items/show/38" style="background: rgb(255, 255, 255); box-sizing: border-box; color: dimgrey; font-family: Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif; text-align: justify; text-decoration-line: none;"><em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Key to the Language of America</em></a><span face="Lato, Verdana, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #444444; text-align: justify;">, and other primary Algonquian language texts to piece together a language that has not been spoken in centuries.</span></blockquote><p>The WÔPANÂAK Language Reclamation Project (wlrp.org) is especially interesting. On display is part of a bible page translated into Wôpanâak by John Eliot in 1663 (published in 1685). "The existence of this bible and other legal documents written in the Wôpanâak langauge has made the reclamation efforts possible. Click ... to see a full digital version of the Bible." </p><blockquote><p><a href="https://archive.org/details/mamussewunneetup02elio/page/n3/mode/2up" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">Full digital version of the 1685 Bible translated by John Eliot and his helpers</a></p></blockquote><p>Wow! I had not realized that John Eliot's famous Bible could be so easily viewed. VERY impressive - with over 1200 pages! Years ago, when visiting libraries at Yale, I did see an example of John Eliot's Bible - locked securely in a display case. I'd heard family stories that we were somehow related to John Eliot. But I did not at that time know any details, nor even know if the story might be true. </p><p>Now as I explored the online version, I found the Psalms near the very end. Here's what the 23rd Psalm looks like in Wôpanâak: </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CFNkrzH7wo1XxTEFX74tBDuW6S2InT3hmHm63tLgY8HG377_a-K41d0zVIgfeMSC0ENq__X4O32g9rgBkNGPoFtCFV9REsdH1qNvBkretKEtfBeAAcIOYjaygWSjeVmWi6ojxRR-9eW02JsVcwuEBU_tx3PKCRJHUs-fGq4KCx32wq72CuWkY4C6mw/s1198/Screen%20Shot%202022-11-20%20at%201.44.08%20PM.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1198" data-original-width="1138" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6CFNkrzH7wo1XxTEFX74tBDuW6S2InT3hmHm63tLgY8HG377_a-K41d0zVIgfeMSC0ENq__X4O32g9rgBkNGPoFtCFV9REsdH1qNvBkretKEtfBeAAcIOYjaygWSjeVmWi6ojxRR-9eW02JsVcwuEBU_tx3PKCRJHUs-fGq4KCx32wq72CuWkY4C6mw/s320/Screen%20Shot%202022-11-20%20at%201.44.08%20PM.png" width="304" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click to enlarge this screenshot </td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>To compare this to English, I looked on my own bookshelves, expecting to find the blue-covered Bible I'd had since high school. But my eyes didn't spot it. Instead, I reached higher, and looked through the shelf of OLD books inherited from older relatives (see photo at top of this post). I found two Bibles there. I pulled down the big tall one, an 1834 publication, and took a photo of the 23 Psalm: </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZJu-W5PkdIxIXk09-movb-EUX9JdTaABrrtHc782L2HvUTeTUZhjd53OXvui6Je6rl5nQn_wXxbNyh5_drUCTKG1eGnH0yZNOw-IwWoEhWiyWAUW3Visdz-Fqt0RUbV0pn6geHB9GiU4vXrCPbjqmgVUX5PzeXVQkHdc79VUqfbu-NovAHP-FREDsw/s1280/IMG_4411.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZZJu-W5PkdIxIXk09-movb-EUX9JdTaABrrtHc782L2HvUTeTUZhjd53OXvui6Je6rl5nQn_wXxbNyh5_drUCTKG1eGnH0yZNOw-IwWoEhWiyWAUW3Visdz-Fqt0RUbV0pn6geHB9GiU4vXrCPbjqmgVUX5PzeXVQkHdc79VUqfbu-NovAHP-FREDsw/s320/IMG_4411.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Click on image to enlarge</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I did not solve the question of why the Psalms were so far to the end of John Eliot's Bible; I did confirm that the Psalms come much earlier (in midst of the Old Testament) on the English version, as I had expected. But then I became distracted by new discovery... </p><p>SURPRISE! Thumbing through that 1834 Bible, I noticed a "FAMILY RECORD" section between the Old and New Testaments. Just two leaves, double-sided, covered in handwritten notes about Marriages, Births and Deaths, mostly concerning Williams Johnson and his wife Merilda Paddock. The name Paddock really jumped out as familiar. I spent the next few hours studying the information there, comparing it to genealogical charts, and uploading photos of those special pages of family history. See my separate post titled, "<a href="https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2022/11/paddock.html">Paddock</a>." </p><p></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-88499882114398495002022-11-20T19:05:00.017-05:002022-11-21T15:37:25.790-05:00Paddock<p>Today the name "Paddock" caught my eye. I noticed it in some handwritten names inside an old bible, and wondered about my connections to the people who wrote these notes. I especially thought of my father, Nathan P. Nichols. I had long known that the P. in his name stood for Paddock, but I didn't know why. Daddy seemed to dislike the name, muttering, "A paddock is for horses." Perhaps he had been teased about it as a young school boy? In his adult life he went by "Nick" and Nathan P. Nichols and N.P.N, but avoided telling people his middle name. So we didn't ask him about it.</p><p>Today the combination "Nathan Paddock" really jumped out at me as I read this inscription on one of the Family Record pages inside the Bible:</p><p style="text-align: center;"> "<i>Nathan Paddock Johnson was born in Parma, N.Y March 26th, 1827</i>."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15kQ01f4aXzTsVR5D9f9FXSARQBNnXQqnOQKU2N6hAhZwHG_8qXX5IWy6fwYX-YjReOeMRC4i1w30hpA4icraZtoAhK7RgUsayCCEavtZla-JB0GucuICReNVdrAKnDowyhnbWv4qHKQ6kOTlL1FBKnQWJhyZBkAKOkeR7q7Z4hLfFH8b-55Wa85CtA/s1280/IMG_4406.jpeg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg15kQ01f4aXzTsVR5D9f9FXSARQBNnXQqnOQKU2N6hAhZwHG_8qXX5IWy6fwYX-YjReOeMRC4i1w30hpA4icraZtoAhK7RgUsayCCEavtZla-JB0GucuICReNVdrAKnDowyhnbWv4qHKQ6kOTlL1FBKnQWJhyZBkAKOkeR7q7Z4hLfFH8b-55Wa85CtA/w150-h200/IMG_4406.jpeg" width="150" /></a></div><p>That Bible, published in 1834 in Cooperstown, N.Y, belonged to Williams Johnson. On the first page is written, "Williams Johnson's Book, Jan 1," but the year is missing; part of the page is missing, as you can see in this photo:</p><p>Fortunately the Family Records pages inside (between the Old and the New Testaments) are in better condition. I'll post photos of those 4 pages here. [Click on any image to enlarge it.]</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0aMOdUN1RP21_PZ2yqAAUg4cg-Buxdv8m48nK8fkPyqAa-VEnzRzT_n5194V4pE-fttZm6_CNbCP50Qo8UCzPva7fZNQodGobOoFJk6tXnZ0Srpo_puS6TW-9iL3CLOKtLhj01lRirYKhwvDrqcE-pa6wVYnMiu-bL1A_A0rKSU5EBoOFjt4bU9rpA/s1280/IMG_4400.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK0aMOdUN1RP21_PZ2yqAAUg4cg-Buxdv8m48nK8fkPyqAa-VEnzRzT_n5194V4pE-fttZm6_CNbCP50Qo8UCzPva7fZNQodGobOoFJk6tXnZ0Srpo_puS6TW-9iL3CLOKtLhj01lRirYKhwvDrqcE-pa6wVYnMiu-bL1A_A0rKSU5EBoOFjt4bU9rpA/s320/IMG_4400.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><b>Marriages</b><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Williams Johnson</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> And </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Merilda Paddock </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>were united by Marriage in the vilage of Manlius New York</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>December 29th 1825</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Williams Johnson</i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><i> And </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Mercy D. Davis </i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>were united by Marriage in the town of Parma New York February 18th 1847</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNddLwUdDAk8_kkCCkPS2R7eQy8F88ttzwjTSv9BTbGNrGQJ1-lMzscv1K7KA2s99P7vbOO67VejW8RvRGqjt-lYYIKv_Ko4WOA8CuNGGDHcWWrSLdXOOifdLL48k4ISOj9RJLmCjQP31ehOqoDwOJRDEICSdmp-AypB4d730FQP3iFmG36LKofBXBaA/s1280/IMG_4401.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNddLwUdDAk8_kkCCkPS2R7eQy8F88ttzwjTSv9BTbGNrGQJ1-lMzscv1K7KA2s99P7vbOO67VejW8RvRGqjt-lYYIKv_Ko4WOA8CuNGGDHcWWrSLdXOOifdLL48k4ISOj9RJLmCjQP31ehOqoDwOJRDEICSdmp-AypB4d730FQP3iFmG36LKofBXBaA/s320/IMG_4401.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><b>Births</b></div><div><i>Williams Johnson was born in the Town of Haverstraw N.Y. December 29 1799</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Merilda Paddock </i><i>was born in the Town of </i><i>Manlius N.Y.</i><i> May 16th 1808</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;">Nathan Paddock Johnson was born in Parma N.Y March 26th, 1827</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;">Charles Williams Johnson </i><i style="text-align: center;">was born in the Town of Parma N.Y. April 13th 1829</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i>Ellen Merilda Johnson was born in Parma September 11th 1832</i></div><div><br /></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-yFT8_TAfZtwLdyiqKIu93k22rqon6cIc3ZzkKtumE1Bq_v_Mhkdt3Gn9IbdnqJOX_uYtlxw3gIKQCMBTXVRqU8lxbd4RgMKbZBE_5aMdeaY8vVM5gSjppsgl5KOXspiB3kN_8ETOb12XesPwa-I9PtqGLxYOu8rjM5xlAsPxUfjg7C9hosrWfyNvsw/s1280/IMG_4402.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-yFT8_TAfZtwLdyiqKIu93k22rqon6cIc3ZzkKtumE1Bq_v_Mhkdt3Gn9IbdnqJOX_uYtlxw3gIKQCMBTXVRqU8lxbd4RgMKbZBE_5aMdeaY8vVM5gSjppsgl5KOXspiB3kN_8ETOb12XesPwa-I9PtqGLxYOu8rjM5xlAsPxUfjg7C9hosrWfyNvsw/s320/IMG_4402.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><i><div><div><i>Theodorus Johnson was born in the town of Haverstraw August 10th 1777</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Jane Eliza Powell was born Oct. 30 1832</i></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div></div>Mercy D Davis was born in the town of Hamilton N.Y. August 12th 1809</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Milton Davis Johnson was born in the town of Clarkson N.Y. January 5th 1850</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Roswell Theodorus Johnson was born in the town of </i><i>Clarkson N.Y. January 27th 1852</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Rebecca Brown departed this life at Homyny [?] falls June 24th 1882<br /></i><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZMntRNmr8OsM0ffwR1oI3PxQ_1gCCZbtHAoM6bFZZo_cgS8uMne9Y8kgCftaUax-mY5tpYpXMAtPJRJN5Qx0vAOA2AKRWpoI6LA57NS6cKEbjo9bkW-e0FU5bIKwxMxcaMUN3QJKUdKtGoNCWtq3oDR8e0gjPVVfDBJvwSDVRc6rllHMzCJsnjGO-Q/s1280/IMG_4403.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheZMntRNmr8OsM0ffwR1oI3PxQ_1gCCZbtHAoM6bFZZo_cgS8uMne9Y8kgCftaUax-mY5tpYpXMAtPJRJN5Qx0vAOA2AKRWpoI6LA57NS6cKEbjo9bkW-e0FU5bIKwxMxcaMUN3QJKUdKtGoNCWtq3oDR8e0gjPVVfDBJvwSDVRc6rllHMzCJsnjGO-Q/s320/IMG_4403.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div><br /></div><b>Deaths</b><div><br /></div><div><i style="text-align: center;">Nathan Paddock Johnson Departed this life March 11th 1828 Aged 11 Months & 16 days</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;">Merilda Johnson Departed this life at Clarkson June 20th 1845 Aged 37 years 1 month & 4 days</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i>Milton Davis Johnson </i><i style="text-align: center;">Departed this life January 2 1851 Aged 11 Months & 28 days</i></div><div><i><br /></i></div><div><i>Theodorus Johnson </i><i style="text-align: center;">Departed this life </i><i style="text-align: center;">at Clarkson July 17 1851 Aged 73 years & 11 Months</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i>Roswell Theodorus Johnson </i><i style="text-align: center;">Departed this life Dec 26th 1859</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;">Ellen M Norton departed this life at Alexander bay Jefferson N.Y. July 13th 1874 Aged 41 years & 10 Mo</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i>Williams Johnson </i><i style="text-align: center;">Departed this life Dec 19th 1886 Aged 86 years 11 months and 20 days</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;">Charles Williams Johnson died at Rockford Illinois August 15th 1916 Aged 87 years 4 months & 2 days</i></div><div><i style="text-align: center;"><br /></i></div><div><p>--------</p><p>By now I have figured out that my connection to these people is via my grandmother Nellie Eusebia Johnson (1874-1953), whom I called Nana. See <a href="https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2022/07/nana.html">my posting about Nana</a>. Her father was Charles Williams Johnson (1827-1916), the last name entered on the death record in this Bible. She probably inherited the book from him, or from her brother, Charles Sumner Johnson, who died in 1936.</p><p>When my father was born in 1912, his maternal grandfather Charles Williams Johnson was still alive. It is very likely that the name Nathan Paddock was given to this baby in honor of Charles' maternal grandfather, Nathan Paddock (1783-1865).</p></div></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-7760495380811336242022-11-02T15:06:00.010-04:002022-11-02T15:38:08.878-04:00Trains in Danvers<p>Disclaimer: I have no personal memories of train service in Danvers. I do remember walking along abandoned beds of former RR lines.</p><p>Today, in an old book on my bookshelf, I spotted this illustration of the railroad stations in Danvers. I was astonished to learn that there had been NINE stations! </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkP9lBgbDNYK4uu56rnXHHGNsvyOsZoLxVJbH-lUPFZxU0k-CEtwqriPhZsdR9yx_B96sNtfTalPYs4tmA2XmdV2lTiCAV4Efo99d5bkouNUEa6FZM4QP5tH0EXTAHPMorglSeR5ues_kLZ2IwDDquhNhL3rFm0LwKAWdxPtsEO83CUGzWjsRsNGDgtw/s2016/9%20Danvers%20RR%20stations.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkP9lBgbDNYK4uu56rnXHHGNsvyOsZoLxVJbH-lUPFZxU0k-CEtwqriPhZsdR9yx_B96sNtfTalPYs4tmA2XmdV2lTiCAV4Efo99d5bkouNUEa6FZM4QP5tH0EXTAHPMorglSeR5ues_kLZ2IwDDquhNhL3rFm0LwKAWdxPtsEO83CUGzWjsRsNGDgtw/w300-h400/9%20Danvers%20RR%20stations.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">from Danvers, Massachusetts. A Resume of Her Past History...<br />(Danvers Mirror, 1899), page 108<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p>According to this 1899 book, "For more than fifty years, Danvers has had as good railroad facilities as any and much better than most of the towns of her size in any part of the country." </p><p>"There were twenty-one passenger trains daily between Danvers and Boston, some fast express trains, and a night theatre trains gives great satisfactions to a large number of patrons of the road." </p><p>"...such are the railroad accommodations that one can start at any hour for almost any town in New England and make the journey in an almost incredibly short time."</p><p>For a full view of this page and the accompanying text, "Boston & Maine Railroad," see <a href="https://archive.org/details/danversmassachus00moyn/page/108/mode/2up?ref=ol&view=theater" target="_blank">this digitized version in the Internet Archive</a>.</p><p style="text-align: center;">I'm glad the whole book has been scanned and archived. (My copy is fragile and worn.) Full title: </p><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: center;"><b>Danvers, Massachusetts. <br /></b></span><b>A Resume of Her Past History and Progress<br /></b><b>Together with A Condensed Summary of <br />Her Industrial </b><b>Advantages and </b><b>Development. <br /></b><b>Biographies of prominent<br /> Danvers men and a series of <br />comprehensive sketches <br />of her representative<br /> manufacturing and <br />commercial <br /></b><b>enterprises.</b></p><p style="text-align: center;"><b>by Moynahan, Frank E. (1865-1917)</b><b> </b></p><p>The online version is searchable by keyword, a very convenient feature. Here is the address for the online book:<span style="text-align: center;"> </span> <a href="https://archive.org/details/danversmassachus00moyn/mode/2up" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">https://archive.org/details/danversmassachus00moyn/mode/2up</a></p><p style="text-align: center;"> ____</p><p>I also found online a photo of a <b>steam train stopped at a Danvers station</b>: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/bmrrhs/12660159875/in/album-72157637003976464/" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">digitized version of a 1900 photograph</a>, thanks to the Boston & Maine Railroad Historical Society's archive of photos on Flickr: https://www.flickr.com/photos/bmrrhs/</p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-66631232937713222112022-10-30T21:08:00.044-04:002022-11-03T09:27:23.178-04:00Nick's goon costume<p>As Halloween approaches, I think again about trick or treating in Danvers when I was young, and the year that my father startled us with his goon costume. </p><p>Here's a good photo of the costume (with Nick inside):</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiXR31eNoRjl1y39ncsmbY8uF1cvXMLwAY019FL232VXAj0JrPfvCm702CXJaJpjp_3oOpFXwMXXR779JR_78hGcH09PiwRRgALGzGEHfHE7rDEZS0noucG1J-6mdTRQ708G_T6uvEBPuSrEl9ib-On5JFaqqeOG74C4nMglq6XzG8D2t2-RNOD_YfGw=s1280" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="899" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiiXR31eNoRjl1y39ncsmbY8uF1cvXMLwAY019FL232VXAj0JrPfvCm702CXJaJpjp_3oOpFXwMXXR779JR_78hGcH09PiwRRgALGzGEHfHE7rDEZS0noucG1J-6mdTRQ708G_T6uvEBPuSrEl9ib-On5JFaqqeOG74C4nMglq6XzG8D2t2-RNOD_YfGw=s320" width="225" /></a></div><br /><p>Please read the story I wrote about my first encounter with this huge creature. I wrote it in 2007 and it was published in the Danvers Herald in October 2008. You can now read it in this blog: <a href="https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2008/10/halloween-independence.html">https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2008/10/halloween-independence.html</a></p><p><br /></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-64401459177285666632022-09-09T21:01:00.012-04:002022-09-09T21:43:26.279-04:00The Queen<p>Today's newspapers carried articles about the very long reign of Queen Elizabeth II, who had died yesterday at age of 96. This news triggers, for me, memories of seeing pictures of the young Elizabeth as she became Queen. I recall sitting in the living room of our small Danvers home with my parents as we perused issues of Life magazine. She looked beautiful in the photographs in Life in 1952 and 1953. </p><p>One day my mother was quite excited to see that Life had published a chart of Queen Elizabeth's ancestors going back to King Alfred. My mother knew that someone in her own family had compiled a family tree that also had King Alfred at the top. She was eager to find that chart and compare it to the one in Life. When she was able to make the comparison, she announced that she was sometime like a "32nd cousin" of Queen Elizabeth! Or maybe 34th cousin? I do remember Mommy's excitement about this; I do not remember the exact number. Nor can I –today– find the old family chart.</p><p>Thanks to the searchable database of the Life Magazine Archive available via the New York Public Library website, I was able to view again the chart of Queen Elizabeth's ancestry. It appeared in the issue dated July 1, 1953, on page 15. Here's<a href="https://books.google.com/books?id=30cEAAAAMBAJ&lpg=PA14&dq=king%20alfred&pg=PA15#v=onepage&q=king%20alfred&f=false" target="_blank"> a link to it, as seen in Google books</a>. You can scroll back 2 pages to the beginning of the article, which is titled THE EVE OF A QUEEN'S BIG DAY. It describes her coronation ceremony in June 1953.</p><p>My mother never seriously considered that "cousin" calculation to be important. She knew that people rarely keep track of 3rd and 4th cousins, let alone 10th cousins or more distant ones. By the time you add 30 or more generations, there might be thousands of such relations. But we had a bit of fun, in Danvers in 1953, thinking about being cousins to the new Queen. </p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-49518931808277984972022-09-06T19:42:00.035-04:002022-09-13T08:16:22.783-04:00Crazy Quilt<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCrGHKweUwGLNFSVROxnDoOCWffytk7zeleymUIIW3f7kIU5hYhLpQgjGJi8k5S_B3cTiTAPl3YwOKb1nzGq7gJV5AxcSI50PdKXGtgGLUQLuvnU6iw5eimUnqivUSlCrtB9t6bInOIz0ueufPCJkcjno6_CGTtJrIEaUAytKLyXB6-Rw2aUSfRrMxg/s1280/IMG_3347%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1224" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvCrGHKweUwGLNFSVROxnDoOCWffytk7zeleymUIIW3f7kIU5hYhLpQgjGJi8k5S_B3cTiTAPl3YwOKb1nzGq7gJV5AxcSI50PdKXGtgGLUQLuvnU6iw5eimUnqivUSlCrtB9t6bInOIz0ueufPCJkcjno6_CGTtJrIEaUAytKLyXB6-Rw2aUSfRrMxg/w306-h320/IMG_3347%20(1).jpeg" width="306" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div>In Danvers, in a bureau in our guest room in the mid-20th century, a colorful "Crazy Quilt" from the 19th century was folded and stored. <div><br /></div><div>My sister and I considered this quite a treasure. We liked to spread the quilt out and admire its features. </div><div><br /></div><div>The variety of fabric shapes and textures, colors, and decorative details fascinated us. Fancy embroidery along the seams added much to the interest, with many different styles of stitches and colors of thread. </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVOnSvjgsC2adeQijJw0IReLwtvJqXxxA2adcmoI8e881ApkCcKbKTm3b1U2cSoIsimgVVrZJgAu6eIQf_MiHgTwifS6m141nh6JqkSWhd7vpicLj4lL63UUbJLKJNH4ukNGbzjtJSj3s5t-TCcqkn6OxdPla1nw740dtcugfh9Ae--QpiXL32wd1ww/s1280/IMG_3351%20(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1280" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyVOnSvjgsC2adeQijJw0IReLwtvJqXxxA2adcmoI8e881ApkCcKbKTm3b1U2cSoIsimgVVrZJgAu6eIQf_MiHgTwifS6m141nh6JqkSWhd7vpicLj4lL63UUbJLKJNH4ukNGbzjtJSj3s5t-TCcqkn6OxdPla1nw740dtcugfh9Ae--QpiXL32wd1ww/w320-h320/IMG_3351%20(1).jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: right;"></div><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">The shapes seemed random and crazy, but clearly there was an overall organization: 12 squares of similar size (approx. 13" x 13.5" each).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />Who made this? When and where was it made? We don't know, and didn't get (or don't remember) any answers from our parents. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">Now, in 2022, I am belatedly making an effort to learn more. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8ydk7LRANs00gLfIY8v7-VcwBGmxweawR25_j8t9IPjG21FGm0TMu8iVwb4iBEjZe499_IjgvJWUVRDRPmBHNO0hP4G3N5doXKyDzygavP4E2GkbOr-RYEcTiemXWKsqKPeISqOqJNLHGELrDWPsm2KinLqg6RmtUNpXy_lTEwS6Dc2BoXJtAVxezw/s1280/IMG_3355.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI8ydk7LRANs00gLfIY8v7-VcwBGmxweawR25_j8t9IPjG21FGm0TMu8iVwb4iBEjZe499_IjgvJWUVRDRPmBHNO0hP4G3N5doXKyDzygavP4E2GkbOr-RYEcTiemXWKsqKPeISqOqJNLHGELrDWPsm2KinLqg6RmtUNpXy_lTEwS6Dc2BoXJtAVxezw/s320/IMG_3355.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">Note the name "Puttman" stitched on a piece near the left edge. I don't know of any Puttman in our family (Putnam yes, but not Puttman).</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />I have taken these photos to share on this blog, hoping that some family members or other viewers might recognize it or be able to tell us more about it. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>[Click on an image to enlarge it. See more close-ups below.]</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />I'm happy that it is still so colorful – much as I remembered it from years ago.<br /><br /></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjBTQoJif1gb7tUkOPLfqrtRo5_qKdxHvfVyh-hjJmVZYuBZ38aMZVg9n-8Hh8C2mstElOt8OrXxFLdKT5nTJEZO9ewp3RwfZwmd6oBGdc3_ION1xLrPJ8IA2WRtnEp0M3y0Muof88i--O96MOCzO1lJ5NPhQNg1_6UCyb2cU_HQMbPATJle7z93eNQ/s1280/IMG_3358.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIjBTQoJif1gb7tUkOPLfqrtRo5_qKdxHvfVyh-hjJmVZYuBZ38aMZVg9n-8Hh8C2mstElOt8OrXxFLdKT5nTJEZO9ewp3RwfZwmd6oBGdc3_ION1xLrPJ8IA2WRtnEp0M3y0Muof88i--O96MOCzO1lJ5NPhQNg1_6UCyb2cU_HQMbPATJle7z93eNQ/s320/IMG_3358.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />The back side is one solid color, with white ribbons. There is no thick inner filling, nor any typical quilting stitches connecting the top and bottom. It is a thin, light "quilt". </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />I've searched online for "crazy quilt" to see if that is a correct way to refer to such a quilt. I discovered a VERY helpful website hosted by the International Quilt Museum (University of Nebraska-Lincoln); they devote several pages to <a href="https://worldquilts.quiltstudy.org/crazyquiltstory/origins" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">The Crazy Quilt Story</a>. Here's their first paragraph about "What is a Crazy Quilt?" </div><p></p><blockquote><p><span face=""Open Sans", verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #4f4f4f; font-size: 15px;">The quintessential “high-style” Crazy quilt of the 1880s was a “parlor piece,” usually too small for use as a bedcover, and which included an array of irregularly-shaped patches cut from an astonishing range of luxurious fabrics, such as silks, satins, brocades, velvets, and ribbons. The patches were embroidered, embellished, or painted with various images from nature and popular culture, and their edges were covered with rows of decorative embroidery </span><span face=""Open Sans", verdana, arial, sans-serif" style="color: #4f4f4f; font-size: 15px;">stitches. In broad terms, these are the elements that define the Crazy style.</span></p></blockquote><p><br /></p><p style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxcnozItBpmGlRoc0fI7B5KP9N1CJZKVWVhbqy-GZ2dvq_DfKUHY5PJ29W41VRAgQXMgGKK-NLOvizptzte8OZ7Nn2fIOFz9FVS2Wtb2L49zSXAgontxme-DHI_LaGtVkvhfz1W8POaPQoforYlzgz6yef-qCj6_Tbs34NPGmMorXcHcYO-4YljbXkgQ/w150-h200/IMG_2891.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="150" /></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></p><div>That is a good description of our quilt, which measures 54" x 54" overall - smaller than this double bed on which I spread it today. </div><div><br /></div><div>See below for more close-ups...</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikV6SsNN75p6MdXVvV9AthvpKpsZIZkkP8dBgqTnH8xyrdy7cwxJPkcMlY_wmk_b3YVoySdG-nf6rwPhlfbWVLvXPhAuHnjayxPKmodO8gOBbyYUsN1sSNUwbWpkEedCHTqyv-CQ2gemGgogSSoJrStxxswbkpyT-d3XMPy5OTyRck3pwn9Rakue3vKA/s1280/IMG_3352.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikV6SsNN75p6MdXVvV9AthvpKpsZIZkkP8dBgqTnH8xyrdy7cwxJPkcMlY_wmk_b3YVoySdG-nf6rwPhlfbWVLvXPhAuHnjayxPKmodO8gOBbyYUsN1sSNUwbWpkEedCHTqyv-CQ2gemGgogSSoJrStxxswbkpyT-d3XMPy5OTyRck3pwn9Rakue3vKA/s320/IMG_3352.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUhsFP50pkV5LJ2FihyLxFqF4KLMwpyf_a7Eir2kr8yuxxzZy9nsblb85Ntkq9eEn9vQkjEr8Fwv2Tsz75MEHSUtai8_n9RgIOeUzd0mOSMf8roRSU4wvWpabdU8FUJAAKpKB0wazW2GGIuDMSC_uE5F37rlY37MAT4v-YYl4KmPKI7f3IEm0eNt18g/s1280/IMG_3353.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjUhsFP50pkV5LJ2FihyLxFqF4KLMwpyf_a7Eir2kr8yuxxzZy9nsblb85Ntkq9eEn9vQkjEr8Fwv2Tsz75MEHSUtai8_n9RgIOeUzd0mOSMf8roRSU4wvWpabdU8FUJAAKpKB0wazW2GGIuDMSC_uE5F37rlY37MAT4v-YYl4KmPKI7f3IEm0eNt18g/s320/IMG_3353.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvccRSJUgezu7w-Kv0uj6u1tlFd9FaRaJ54VDGHtRJUWoMg-CEOjThv3SF28bFfC34TpB4yIhcnp1JRJIh8nJNRmT-CEDUfNJ6ZVM_GifmKXAlGL1cgy4mueKC-6UTuqC-vw_lrECrxNCao6J_htgE6M-y1f9QALDeceiu5aa0Py3r4M6KzU36uCCKg/s1280/IMG_3354.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjvccRSJUgezu7w-Kv0uj6u1tlFd9FaRaJ54VDGHtRJUWoMg-CEOjThv3SF28bFfC34TpB4yIhcnp1JRJIh8nJNRmT-CEDUfNJ6ZVM_GifmKXAlGL1cgy4mueKC-6UTuqC-vw_lrECrxNCao6J_htgE6M-y1f9QALDeceiu5aa0Py3r4M6KzU36uCCKg/s320/IMG_3354.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8buO4NvYqyz-c7dfXoSq7bRu96WEpbWVG5T6qOXd1PYFHgnRYda_Sa_lzgidqU4EmAAh6K3WBvWaULlIJAFv0apdx3LNsINmSD0-dL3oIaOW6Aqv4PSYWdC7kzC2ztUC0DF_qTqSk550JI9ZthiCyuXjzAhiWDTfXckzyt7Z6gtSKDwGzuC8YUn-FJA/s1280/IMG_3356.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8buO4NvYqyz-c7dfXoSq7bRu96WEpbWVG5T6qOXd1PYFHgnRYda_Sa_lzgidqU4EmAAh6K3WBvWaULlIJAFv0apdx3LNsINmSD0-dL3oIaOW6Aqv4PSYWdC7kzC2ztUC0DF_qTqSk550JI9ZthiCyuXjzAhiWDTfXckzyt7Z6gtSKDwGzuC8YUn-FJA/s320/IMG_3356.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Below are two more photos of the quilt, showing the 4 squares on the bottom left, and then the 4 squares on the bottom right. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6inoEUE5LY5avDrfAVGYACphwp-xppnN0GzOncxE7FtBCuF4XfkioByYYNOAH8a7u04ZqN9yaBhpeDyevjJ6qbZ_l8YZfbvY_0n58krSwJ0U39918DrlR_p5vokB6wAxfBB9s-ZKUi3Hx96pEEB_f7ZgKhgk8YX7nok4wCP425b6NwmbrgS0eENoqDg/s1280/IMG_3348.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6inoEUE5LY5avDrfAVGYACphwp-xppnN0GzOncxE7FtBCuF4XfkioByYYNOAH8a7u04ZqN9yaBhpeDyevjJ6qbZ_l8YZfbvY_0n58krSwJ0U39918DrlR_p5vokB6wAxfBB9s-ZKUi3Hx96pEEB_f7ZgKhgk8YX7nok4wCP425b6NwmbrgS0eENoqDg/s320/IMG_3348.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdLH1ajBjlvq7ZBLVRjtHeTns24GR1G98w2B4mLY94OFz3pEzdrj9AEr8cJq4kO4AdtsVDeFplVtFsUrlGO10606MtMo7uOsxr5q2CJ123J__QYmmvonEygyLMM4ao-szsaFGSj2F7X5ICDiS1i78WJvilEYs03qJdsRe6KPmAFfmh5loEE26nBGPKw/s1280/IMG_3349.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkdLH1ajBjlvq7ZBLVRjtHeTns24GR1G98w2B4mLY94OFz3pEzdrj9AEr8cJq4kO4AdtsVDeFplVtFsUrlGO10606MtMo7uOsxr5q2CJ123J__QYmmvonEygyLMM4ao-szsaFGSj2F7X5ICDiS1i78WJvilEYs03qJdsRe6KPmAFfmh5loEE26nBGPKw/s320/IMG_3349.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><p style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">After taking these photos, I folded the crazy quilt and returned it to a bureau drawer, its usual resting place.</span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ojJ_1CzXme1LdcLvTxZiu8IQ-Ksl3uub3pLPPxnR8xENHID1r-NY466LknFJkt5pk_9PFC0vw-5ZLnZnG7TYXFsl-3llSIaRc_5fp-1q_hNBvzVn7nRyigmnRq8JrLeoeBPjtHjNCymE5-zQxIVwY7fymzYMgBFXYN060YoyYtgWbx-yceIt1r6hNA/s1280/IMG_3360.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="1280" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9ojJ_1CzXme1LdcLvTxZiu8IQ-Ksl3uub3pLPPxnR8xENHID1r-NY466LknFJkt5pk_9PFC0vw-5ZLnZnG7TYXFsl-3llSIaRc_5fp-1q_hNBvzVn7nRyigmnRq8JrLeoeBPjtHjNCymE5-zQxIVwY7fymzYMgBFXYN060YoyYtgWbx-yceIt1r6hNA/s320/IMG_3360.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><p></p></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-35111329551147235152022-08-29T16:07:00.005-04:002022-08-29T16:16:32.151-04:00Sweet Corn<p>'Tis the season of sweet corn...</p><p>Yesterday in a local paper, I read a gardening column by Lee Reich titled, "The sweeter the corn, the better?" This triggered memories of corn in our garden in Danvers, and my mother's comments about how to capture the sweetness of the corn. </p><p>Mommy <b>insisted</b> that corn be cooked and eaten as soon as possible after picking. Her time limit was twenty (20) minutes. She said that any delay would spoil the taste of the corn because the sugar in the corn kernels would be changing to starch. Her habit was to starting heating a pot of water first, and then go out to her garden to pick ripe ears to plunge quickly in the boiling water. </p><p>That fresh corn was deliciously flavorful and sweet! </p><p>Unfortunately, my mother's lesson lingered with me for years, inhibiting me from buying any ears of corn in a supermarket, or even a roadside stand. How could such corn, hours or days away from picking, ever meet my mother's standard? Impossible. </p><p>Fortunately, newer varieties of sweet corn have been developed in the years (decades!) since my childhood. The newspaper article this weekend gave me many examples, with some details about specific genes involved in raising the sugar level in corn kernels. The author does confirm the wisdom of my mother's old-fashioned habit ("sugars in corn start changing to starch as soon as the ear is picked") but states that many of new varieties can retain considerable sweetness for many days, if refrigerated. They still tend to lose sweetness over time, but more slowly, and they have been bred to start with higher levels of sugar content.</p><p>My husband and I have been enjoying ears of fresh corn this month, bought from farmers' markets or farm stores. We have been pleasantly surprised by the good sweet taste of purchased corn, even after several days refrigeration. A few years ago we attempted growing corn in our own backyard, but squirrels or other animals stole the corn before it was mature enough for us. </p><p>In 2007 I wrote a column titled "Garden Memories" and described some childhood experiences with corn in my mother's garden. You can read it on this blog at <a href="https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2007/08/garden-memories.html">https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2007/08/garden-memories.html</a></p>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-43088410584806109532022-07-31T11:54:00.004-04:002022-07-31T18:07:38.339-04:00Needlepoint on chairs<p>These mahogany chairs have been in our family for several generations. I remember them in the living room of our house at 121 Nichols Street, Danvers. That was the new larger house we moved to 1959 (from our very small home at 120 Nichols Street). I imagine that these chairs were given to us by Granddaddy Nichols, from his house at 124 Nichols Street. I wonder if his wife Nellie ("Nana" to us) did the decorative needlework on these chairs. (See my previous post about Nana, and a hooked seat cover she had made.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxM10nho0CW9-gx-fUo0-uc5oJFjqeFRrJgcZAayJ9jitPBT1Rl80GYAXWJGmlfDI8TpVpwPGIYapyfE-EfEgGPUTg9HaSN-3MZGpiNOTEzkBSJ2JjG3uBX0kpXqjYMJIu812oXWh80SvBAI6PXQ5MeJJ7a5sUhckefc0_vsqcOFQqKNPm1mY-pj8gHw/s1280/IMG_2889.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxM10nho0CW9-gx-fUo0-uc5oJFjqeFRrJgcZAayJ9jitPBT1Rl80GYAXWJGmlfDI8TpVpwPGIYapyfE-EfEgGPUTg9HaSN-3MZGpiNOTEzkBSJ2JjG3uBX0kpXqjYMJIu812oXWh80SvBAI6PXQ5MeJJ7a5sUhckefc0_vsqcOFQqKNPm1mY-pj8gHw/s320/IMG_2889.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ldVtGGPg2oATtcCav1_1npoIFIvqbXoOySD1oos64GVYzqAI0N_3iAES8K5ur0bI7QatwIk2iQohoiahQ22jWpGDayTX4alum9xkvLxGIgk4l448O7F-D4QUWZyxcQJUqUI7ep3ExktMTb1MJMSv1ywS1Z6snF5QUd4trG7l0NjL6_StVEoRjBaMpQ/s1280/IMG_2888.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-ldVtGGPg2oATtcCav1_1npoIFIvqbXoOySD1oos64GVYzqAI0N_3iAES8K5ur0bI7QatwIk2iQohoiahQ22jWpGDayTX4alum9xkvLxGIgk4l448O7F-D4QUWZyxcQJUqUI7ep3ExktMTb1MJMSv1ywS1Z6snF5QUd4trG7l0NjL6_StVEoRjBaMpQ/s320/IMG_2888.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiprtWsVttIvEZTHw6bG5J55JepWRl38aeSjupwoqrkcUIxjDSdEEE3Kets_ji0y7UThtq7WNcTNW6RGR190vyvMMwkolhC6X3vaBAySfkQr0lCdf1gZxhT3gMtMCwZ_RaRK1W-pz6dUQL2GA3d5X42QzSswyDSpT73jblQ7UQpLWNaUmHGRNpc3C2CEg/s1280/IMG_2887.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiprtWsVttIvEZTHw6bG5J55JepWRl38aeSjupwoqrkcUIxjDSdEEE3Kets_ji0y7UThtq7WNcTNW6RGR190vyvMMwkolhC6X3vaBAySfkQr0lCdf1gZxhT3gMtMCwZ_RaRK1W-pz6dUQL2GA3d5X42QzSswyDSpT73jblQ7UQpLWNaUmHGRNpc3C2CEg/s320/IMG_2887.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLWDr5g0ZnzeTfZVdtLtUR1y6qRsGeKVX6V3dYqz9Pq8zdniqoun-6sO1gZ5ntD1GiCcG-Ue0quixhK02RpS47I-vjtCEBS29UQTFHyCeMULv5lDNMxRvfuaOOPuHMngCSzhn1l7m7uqfrJf1GouAG1iCzxhEqogL0U-sOJWdi3wcv4vBmxvtSLy5pA/s1280/IMG_2886.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPLWDr5g0ZnzeTfZVdtLtUR1y6qRsGeKVX6V3dYqz9Pq8zdniqoun-6sO1gZ5ntD1GiCcG-Ue0quixhK02RpS47I-vjtCEBS29UQTFHyCeMULv5lDNMxRvfuaOOPuHMngCSzhn1l7m7uqfrJf1GouAG1iCzxhEqogL0U-sOJWdi3wcv4vBmxvtSLy5pA/s320/IMG_2886.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div>If Nana didn't do this needlework, who did? I wonder if anyone else in our family knows. Please let me know (in the Comments, or by email) if you know more about this. Thanks!</div><div><br /></div><div>P.S. I just reviewed an inventory of my father's furniture (a list made in 1990 at his home in Marblehead, MA, for insurance purposes). That list includes TWO pairs of mahogany side chairs with upholstered seats (one pair described as "Empire"; the other as "Federal"). The description for the Empire chairs mentions "<i>slip upholstery needlepoint seats</i>" and I see a penciled note ("by Nellie Nichols") in my handwriting in the margin. Aha! I wrote that note in 1992 when my sister and I were reviewing our father's list and he was downsizing prior to a move to California. Perhaps he told us that information? I don't recall. I now think those chairs went to my sister, and are NOT the chairs pictured here.</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's the other description, which seems a better match for these chairs in my house: "<i>Pair of Mahogany Federal Side Chairs with Carved Shield Backs above Upholstered Seats on Square Fontal Tapered Legs with Spade Feet.</i>" See my photo below for a better view of the whole chair:</div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DjmKF-gh3WEWH75b3EhJ0T1aznMs7kRTScWM2NLyNXcQIw9GJ_JFdK84p0pO4AVSWlIJ2JRA1hVZVTpXSONeuYRDxlkSR-XpEj7dJv9MPPO305HpzV7s942oCxEs_Gu0nSVFd72ORi4OmInjYZV79ameGnpVPaaxjTemL_3xCkEbfoOKwbjufQ6Baw/s1280/IMG_2890.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5DjmKF-gh3WEWH75b3EhJ0T1aznMs7kRTScWM2NLyNXcQIw9GJ_JFdK84p0pO4AVSWlIJ2JRA1hVZVTpXSONeuYRDxlkSR-XpEj7dJv9MPPO305HpzV7s942oCxEs_Gu0nSVFd72ORi4OmInjYZV79ameGnpVPaaxjTemL_3xCkEbfoOKwbjufQ6Baw/s320/IMG_2890.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><span style="text-align: center;">Note: the seat area is sunken; it is in need of repair underneath the needlework. </span><span style="text-align: center;">Our cat used to <b>love</b> to curl up in that hollow! (</span><span style="text-align: center;">We always kept a towel or blanket over the needlework, to protect it from cat claws and fur.) </span><span style="text-align: center;"> A friend long ago recommended that I enroll in a local upholstery class that she was enjoying; she was sure I could fix those seats. Maybe so, but I didn't want to disturb the needlework, nor did I have the time or interest to do re-upholstery. </span><span style="text-align: center;">In recent years, cat-less, we've kept a pile of folded blankets and quilts on top. These antique chairs are lovely, but not recommended for comfortable seating.</span></div><div><span style="text-align: center;"><br /></span></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-518612153065935242022-07-20T16:14:00.015-04:002022-07-22T16:11:54.475-04:00Nana<p>I'm remembering "Nana" today, and looking at an old framed image of her. Nana was my grandmother (my father's mother). She lived next door with Granddaddy Nichols during their retirement years in Danvers, when I was a child.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJpmutvUexKBh1DRrBSoL3lra0papJKkzw8G74TsUOFh3vbXvBfSGEwf3GmjNLD67mxzqZvU1bEomAMBobk_iAetTydpkTrbQZfh8fpvc0ILM8s02GrduA-dW3iMsPGn_cKKkTHGfXeCJKMPGQequOKLb3hYSOSTm9RuIp08jFWNx2p-agmd7VuGY5A/s1280/IMG_2884%20(1).jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1083" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpJpmutvUexKBh1DRrBSoL3lra0papJKkzw8G74TsUOFh3vbXvBfSGEwf3GmjNLD67mxzqZvU1bEomAMBobk_iAetTydpkTrbQZfh8fpvc0ILM8s02GrduA-dW3iMsPGn_cKKkTHGfXeCJKMPGQequOKLb3hYSOSTm9RuIp08jFWNx2p-agmd7VuGY5A/w271-h320/IMG_2884%20(1).jpeg" width="271" /></a></div><p>Her real name was Nellie, but my sister and I always called her "Nana." </p><p>Years later I learned that her full maiden name was Nellie Eusebia Johnson. She had been born in December 1874, and became Mrs. William S. Nichols on January 8, 1902. This image of her is dated 1926; thus she must have been 51 or 52, while her sons were teenagers (ages 14 and 19). They all lived then in Montpelier, Vermont, and she was probably active then in the church community that her husband served as minister. I really don't know much about her life in those years. That's all 'way before my time.</p><p>In my childhood in the 1940's and early 1950's, Nana was in Danvers, and as far as I knew, she and Granddaddy had probably ALWAYS lived in Danvers! We often heard stories of his past, growing up nearby at Pine Knoll (the old Nichols homestead), but I don't recall stories of Nana's earlier life.</p><p>What I do remember are times with Nana in her kitchen, when she was making donuts or cookies. I recall "helping out" by eating any cookies that were charred or broken. She willingly gave me those spoiled ones, which I enjoyed. I also remember her collections of sea shells. She really loved sea shells! Big ones were used as door stops around the house. Small ones and delicate ones were on display in glass-topped cases in the sunroom off the dining room. </p><p>I remember watching Nana work at hooking a rug. She had a big wooden frame set up in the dining room, and she stood (or sat on a stool?) in front of it with tools in her hands, working strips of wool or other fabric in and out of the little holes in the burlap that was stretched taut on the frame. She was filling in patterns that had been drawn on that burlap. Did she design those patterns herself? I assume so, but don't really know.</p><p>I do have one example of something Nana hooked: a small round seat cover with a gull flying on it. I examined it today and took these photos, including a close look at its back side:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGQH5i6G3IRoSk6-EVY1mvyx-DELzmY84kWp-6WeUrnR9CiRi2VrIrG_yna5fRhCl2-hALaxHFIJI4daR8HA-BDcSqZK9LLoq4o9tAxrJCsCrmGcvUcskKs0KY3vZcC3QlLzsPF56pnuT8ShxwA68fk25jDM6ZahalqzKbQeVNFBTjSduDjQDqSUgdw/s1280/IMG_2878.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfGQH5i6G3IRoSk6-EVY1mvyx-DELzmY84kWp-6WeUrnR9CiRi2VrIrG_yna5fRhCl2-hALaxHFIJI4daR8HA-BDcSqZK9LLoq4o9tAxrJCsCrmGcvUcskKs0KY3vZcC3QlLzsPF56pnuT8ShxwA68fk25jDM6ZahalqzKbQeVNFBTjSduDjQDqSUgdw/w300-h400/IMG_2878.jpeg" width="300" /></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUnisbAwyaR-rwT2fQnMNfBt7U2uItpMRQ-P8CGxxwqR9-X4dW0hrgEWv7AVr_Z8Qg1RzV78zO8gCvC0JTAEEcujx57-8e6KRqOcghRox72r-xuB7_iiGI7R0fH95ILiV2M1TLqoF-pM6RHvliynQebaFGaGS6cCPBL75QN94YXKvDz80ubi3Oyrabg/s1280/IMG_2881.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="1230" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvUnisbAwyaR-rwT2fQnMNfBt7U2uItpMRQ-P8CGxxwqR9-X4dW0hrgEWv7AVr_Z8Qg1RzV78zO8gCvC0JTAEEcujx57-8e6KRqOcghRox72r-xuB7_iiGI7R0fH95ILiV2M1TLqoF-pM6RHvliynQebaFGaGS6cCPBL75QN94YXKvDz80ubi3Oyrabg/s320/IMG_2881.jpeg" width="308" /></a></div></div><p>Note how the colors are stronger on the back side, which hasn't faded as much as the front. All in all, this seat cover has lasted well in the 70 or so years since Nana made it. She died in July 1953 at age 78, when I was just 10. </p><p>Here's a closer photo of Nana's 1926 portrait, with fewer reflections: </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8yqAO8CiWbMJkSR1zOqLDQsxJ1XRATHEeEXV_Rvs9eMI2j_z3sgNSxiEPjNk0r8MzzxwLXQcV_WyEIxeQnmoJyRFZAesUXkNrsny7dTAY4ybmxAMeHmw0lrB957DRKTxJ08LIu-tvvB0bL0VeEvAvcO1Tc4yY0nZvTSBO4uLGbOpbjC04sgF2GAuqw/s1280/IMG_2885.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY8yqAO8CiWbMJkSR1zOqLDQsxJ1XRATHEeEXV_Rvs9eMI2j_z3sgNSxiEPjNk0r8MzzxwLXQcV_WyEIxeQnmoJyRFZAesUXkNrsny7dTAY4ybmxAMeHmw0lrB957DRKTxJ08LIu-tvvB0bL0VeEvAvcO1Tc4yY0nZvTSBO4uLGbOpbjC04sgF2GAuqw/s320/IMG_2885.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Below is a photo from my era, showing Nana with us at a family dinner at Pine Knoll. The date is probably 1952. My sister Jean is beside Nana; I am at right, beside Granddaddy. <br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4sdg9ENDeI_Edx4Kuzi7rHtArtVlI1ofAgNrsxqNs-y0KXEPUSc4XmjBB06ZLTH1x8YiK4uZ33ybBwzmCisCiJ-Cr5AZbb4gj3VSD2iru5HoLSG1VqvqWT5DnRZUhJgzQRJ3G1c_uzZ0toDMckMnGd2gB14HCmazAeZ_gOtNJRjdmwOzgZHufeRm4g/s1280/Version%202.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="836" data-original-width="1280" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgr4sdg9ENDeI_Edx4Kuzi7rHtArtVlI1ofAgNrsxqNs-y0KXEPUSc4XmjBB06ZLTH1x8YiK4uZ33ybBwzmCisCiJ-Cr5AZbb4gj3VSD2iru5HoLSG1VqvqWT5DnRZUhJgzQRJ3G1c_uzZ0toDMckMnGd2gB14HCmazAeZ_gOtNJRjdmwOzgZHufeRm4g/s320/Version%202.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>See also the photos in my blog post about our grandparents' Golden Wedding anniversary, January 8, 1952:<div><div style="text-align: center;">https://rememberingdanvers.blogspot.com/2014/01/january-8.html</div><div><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p><br /></p></div></div></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2962521050695257749.post-72173874696943943442022-05-05T10:41:00.004-04:002022-05-05T11:12:25.752-04:00Chopping nuts<p>This week as I prepared a quick meal, I decided to add some walnuts. To chop the shelled walnut 'meat' into small pieces, I used an old familiar tool, pictured here.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmg2pZtbYNGa7g3-3kTzAIPIduzlIS3cdNBGq9aNa1feWT_PO5AHJfTMq6FubBMYj9V6o4UmD9iPlTufDilrZCY0VUWIvX3IGmqtsz0oVzjdGv35T_q7cVNu49hmXdTRYIuZx1zJbUiOJHxEnp4kzYxIssTab56judMSOaS3xO9luXp2nvp4W-WUi_A/s2016/IMG_1543.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmg2pZtbYNGa7g3-3kTzAIPIduzlIS3cdNBGq9aNa1feWT_PO5AHJfTMq6FubBMYj9V6o4UmD9iPlTufDilrZCY0VUWIvX3IGmqtsz0oVzjdGv35T_q7cVNu49hmXdTRYIuZx1zJbUiOJHxEnp4kzYxIssTab56judMSOaS3xO9luXp2nvp4W-WUi_A/w300-h400/IMG_1543.JPG" width="300" /></a></div><p>Ah, the memories! My mother used this same wooden bowl and chopper. I think of her especially during this week that includes her birthday (May 5) and Mother's Day. </p><p>I paused to appreciate this simple tool. The handle is sturdy and comfortable in my hand. The wooden bowl is smooth and well-oiled inside, no doubt polished with oils from nuts chopped there over the years. </p><p>Previously I'd taken this tool for granted. Today I examined it carefully, and documented it in photos. It is a treasure from my past that is still useful in my kitchen. I bet it will continue to serve future generations. A simple, practical tool -- appreciated too as a reminder of my mother, who was practical and efficient.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dqj0bal-yZ1ODt9ZAWJ2ozziJANHWTy9MBardmLw7FLbP0hANVJ-5sfp2oMWO2D2iLdJNW0KD6HesV5ta72Ob9h0zr45eppO2C5nm8uK3J7OoE8fNVoyyuNr6nQVF0Kwl-6XdDenvi1ytXvcp89OSD0dnrpaSCq3nwCUShBvvyQPGh0t9Ud9E2wx1Q/s2016/IMG_1549.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7dqj0bal-yZ1ODt9ZAWJ2ozziJANHWTy9MBardmLw7FLbP0hANVJ-5sfp2oMWO2D2iLdJNW0KD6HesV5ta72Ob9h0zr45eppO2C5nm8uK3J7OoE8fNVoyyuNr6nQVF0Kwl-6XdDenvi1ytXvcp89OSD0dnrpaSCq3nwCUShBvvyQPGh0t9Ud9E2wx1Q/s320/IMG_1549.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjVUzlINkkHnEnBvZWG0eV9k1tr9qqMtImbcVE7ChflkERZ-rlQMdYb3bXWcGK-MQ9DGa7FjizOJOGuRvM3uSYsEf6Lk7EdhnWuLGoFOjJiMP0hMFFuowWtR6BakCOJnyEFzgdbguoFOQtk5lMRiFaEPJ6UyDCKeuEPOgj9vGwdw8sOi3J4foN2I1Og/s2016/IMG_1550.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwjVUzlINkkHnEnBvZWG0eV9k1tr9qqMtImbcVE7ChflkERZ-rlQMdYb3bXWcGK-MQ9DGa7FjizOJOGuRvM3uSYsEf6Lk7EdhnWuLGoFOjJiMP0hMFFuowWtR6BakCOJnyEFzgdbguoFOQtk5lMRiFaEPJ6UyDCKeuEPOgj9vGwdw8sOi3J4foN2I1Og/s320/IMG_1550.JPG" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDDfVJoYE6fd9JVlEEdiqdaXrs2KrbBRsgSgp-1Sa4cahxbPGfYy53T9ZbC0i9HwLH7nujNTVS48v-jb2O9P2_LRKq5OC2gBYBLQNy7rIu4psBiwmA9bGwelBZGqAk52EuF-yn62ocH5IT_nDPrIvSJZhpYTv8Q8TjLoYFzJwG68AmWmoHJMZLTjlcg/s2016/IMG_1545.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2016" data-original-width="1512" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiDDfVJoYE6fd9JVlEEdiqdaXrs2KrbBRsgSgp-1Sa4cahxbPGfYy53T9ZbC0i9HwLH7nujNTVS48v-jb2O9P2_LRKq5OC2gBYBLQNy7rIu4psBiwmA9bGwelBZGqAk52EuF-yn62ocH5IT_nDPrIvSJZhpYTv8Q8TjLoYFzJwG68AmWmoHJMZLTjlcg/s320/IMG_1545.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ACME <br />MGM Co<br /> Made in USA</td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>Sandyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/02195941080661798861noreply@blogger.com0