On a Cow at Locust Lawn

Facebook surprised me today with a display of these two old photos. Apparently I had shared these on this day in 2017, and FB asked if I wanted to share them again. No thanks, not on FB.  But I am happy to see these again, and post them here in my Danvers blog. 

Oh, such memories!   In the top photo I'm the one sitting on the cow.  My dear friend Janet Hoberg is standing in front, and my sister Jean is hugging the cow. 

In the lower photo, our dog Heidi is in view, and Janet is astride the cow. The background shows the slope of Locust Lawn and the border of trees along the "Back avenue" --- just as I remember.   All very familiar scenes in my childhood!

Juneteenth

Today I thank the Danvers Historical Society for sharing relevant information about Juneteenth, and the history of abolition efforts in Danvers. 

I'm quoting here from today's email:

 "Juneteenth, officially Juneteenth National Independence Day, commemorates the end of slavery in the United States. The name combines "June" and "nineteenth," marking June 19, 1865—the day Major General Gordon Granger enforced the Emancipation Proclamation in Texas following the Civil War."

"Danvers, Massachusetts, played a significant role in this movement. Although slavery was illegal in Massachusetts by 1783, abolitionist sentiment surged in the 1830s, turning Danvers and neighboring towns like Peabody, Lynn, and Salem into movement hubs. In 1838, Danvers hosted the Essex County Anti-Slavery Convention, which urged voters to recognize their duties toward enslaved people."

"Several enslaved people from Danvers and South Danvers enlisted in the Patriot cause during the Revolution: Peter Buxton, Prince Buxton, Scipio Shaw, Primus Trask, Prince Estabrook, and Primus Jacobs. "

"The community was deeply engaged through grassroots organizing:

 - Petitions: The Petition of Danvers Women Against Slavery (circa 1840–1845) highlighted the active role of women in the cause.

 - Public Discourse: Local leaders like Daniel Foster and national figures such as Frederick Douglass, Wendell Phillips, and Parker Pillsbury delivered influential addresses in town.

 - Leadership: Richard Hood, a local business owner and member of the “Seven Stars” group, helped establish the Danvers Anti-Slavery Society. He served the American Anti-Slavery Society and joined the Boston Vigilance Committee to aid freedom seekers via the Underground Railroad.

Through public education and tireless activism, Danvers contributed significantly to the movement that led to the Emancipation Proclamation and the eventual abolition of slavery in 1865."

1897 map

This morning I found online images of an 1897 folding map of Salem, Danvers and nearby towns.  I like this closeup view showing parts of Danvers where I grew up:   

    View of Danvers portion of 1897 folding map

 On it, I can clearly see Nichols Street running past "Dales Hill" and continuing straight across the north-south route labelled "Newbury" (Newburyport turnpike). In my earliest years, Nichols Street did continue that way, going straight beyond our house, which was at 120 Nichols Street, at the corner with Preston Street. My grandparents lived behind us, with their driveway and address on Preston. My father's business started up in their garage, adjacent to our backyard. And we played, climbed trees, sledded and skied on Dales Hill (though I didn't then know it by that name). 

Portions of these roads were re-named after the 1950 reconstruction and widening of the Newburyport turnpike (Route1) cut Preston Street into two segments. The segment near us was re-named Nichols Street, and the older northern portion of Nichols Street, still a dirt road, was given a new name (Speedwell Place) and abandoned. It no longer continued over the hill to the old ice pond at Ferncroft.

My grandparents joked about having to MOVE from 123 Preston Street to 124 Nichols Street, but in reality only their mailing address and house number needed updating.

Below is an image of the whole folding map, unfolded: 

     A Map of City of Salem and towns of Marblehead, Peabody and Danvers

That map shows the train routes and stations as of 1897.  

Update: in October 2026 my daughter sent me a link to a different 1897 map posted by Atlascope. I was able to focus in on the northern end of Danvers and take the screen shot. It includes some different details, especially some family names, and an outline of the property owned by Mrs. Leopold Morse. 

Look at the green-shaded area marked “Mrs Leopold Morse”. That’s exactly where I grew up, living for 14 years (1943-1957) at the corner where Preston St ended, connecting to Nichols St.  By 1951, because of the widening and fencing of Newberry St (Route 1), the “orphaned" segment of Preston St was re-named Nichols Street. 

DALES HILL (within Mrs Morse’s property - in an area we all called "Locust Lawn,") is where a big mansion and an 1856 barn existed. I loved playing in that barn!  The mansion was torn down in the 1940’s; I’ve seen a photo of a baby carriage (with me in it) in front of the old abandoned mansion just before it was demolished.  Later, the old ruins of that mansion provided a wonderful play place for us as kids (early 1950’s)! By 1958 my parents had a NEW house constructed there, leaving part of the old foundation as a sunken garden and a very small swimming pool. 

My father and friends created a “Locust Lawn Club” and held many events in that 1856 old barn, including square dances, and very spooky Halloween parties. The most popular activity, however, was SKIING!  The eastern slope of Dales Hill (later called "Nichols Hill”) was excellent for family skiing.  A rope tow run by an old Ford (model T ?) carried us up hill. Skiing down was easy. Later a second tow (run by our old Buick) was added to serve a new longer section to trails that went further down (almost to that swamp). 

SO MANY MEMORIES!

Onye Kamanu

This week I will be attending a memorial service in honor of Onye Kamanu. The Kamanu family invited me and my sister Jean to attend and to share remembrances of Onye, our "African brother."  Jean isn't able to come, but I will represent our family. I've been reviewing old photos, to jog my memories. I've selected some to share here.

Onye arrived from Nigeria in August 1962 with a scholarship to attend Bowdoin College and lived with our family in Danvers for a month-long "homestay" before his college term began. Here's photo that came with his initial letter of introduction: 

Onye Kamanu, 1962

Onye by our front door,
121 Nichols Street, Danvers, MA

Onye dressed in Nigerian outfit
L to R: Sandy, Mommy, Onye, and Jean

Onye posing in our front yard, Thanksgiving 1962.
I had just finishing knitting this sweater for him. 

Sandy, Onye, friend Bob P., Jean

Onye at my wedding reception in June 1965.
Onye had just graduated from Bowdoin College, and I from Mt. Holyoke College. 

Onye and Lillie in Danvers

On September 3, 1966, Onye married Lillie White of Boston, and we attended the wedding  ceremony. My parents were honored to stand in as Parents of the Groom. (Onye's parents were no longer living.) Here is a photo of the bride and groom with both sets of parents:

Wedding photo, September 3, 1966

Onye and Jean, Spring 1976. We had all returned
 to Danvers for Mommy's memorial service. 
I flew in from California; Jean from New Mexico.  

Onye in August 2001 revisiting Star Island, where
he and I had worked in 1960's at the Oceanic Hotel

Aug 1, 2004. a brief visit in Dorchester, MA.

In August 2006, Jean and I flew to Holland for
the wedding of Nnemdi, Onye's eldest daughter 

Ken and I visited Onye & Lillie in Washington DC in January 2017

On February 19, 2020, Ken and I visited Lillie & Onye again in DC.

For more about my recollections Onye, see my Blog entry of August 17, 2019 titled, African Guest . It includes a copy of my article that had been published in the Danvers Herald that month. I titled it, "A guest from Africa becomes family." It is similar to what I've written this week to share at the upcoming Service of Remembrance  honoring the life of Dr. Onyeonoro Kamanu.

Eating grapefruit

As I ate a grapefruit today,  I recalled childhood experiences with grapefruits. I wondered if I had already written about those experiences.  Indeed I had.  I found a copy of an article I'd submitted to the Danvers Herald in 2014. It remained online via "Wicked Local" for years. 

Remembering Danvers: Eating grapefruit with a spoon

Staff Writer

Wicked Local

April 6, 2014, 10:40 a.m. ET

By Sandy Nichols Ward

Large family dinners at the Nichols homestead in Danvers often started with grapefruit. The long dining-room table (composed of a row of shorter tables covered with white tablecloths to resemble a banquet table) was set with silverware, glassware, and traditional blue and white china. At each place setting, centered on a small plate, was a golden half of grapefruit. We ate it with silver spoons that were about the size of teaspoons, but more pointy on the end. We called them "grapefruit spoons." Those spoons fit well into the triangular wedges of juicy fruit.

My earliest memories of grapefruit involve gift baskets of citrus fruit that arrived from Florida. My mother’s Aunt Catherine used to send us a basket each winter. I was confused about whether she lived in Florida; I thought she lived in New York. (I hadn’t yet learned about mail-order catalogs.) My mother was always delighted to receive this southern fruit, though it wasn’t exactly my idea of a Christmas present.

We ate the oranges and the grapefruit in the same manner: cut in half, and then each triangular section scooped out with a pointed spoon. My mother even had a set of spoons she called "orange spoons." Each spoon had her maiden initials, JNC, engraved on the handle, in various styles of lettering. She explained that as a child she had received one monogrammed spoon each year from an elderly relative; the style of the spoons matched, but sometimes the engravings didn’t match. No matter. We used her orange spoons for both the sweet oranges and the sour grapefruit.

I remember resisting the grapefruit one day, fearful that it would be too sour. My mother cheerfully encouraged me, saying, "Only the first three bites will taste sour." I immediately pushed my grapefruit towards her, asking her to eat those first three bites. I was very serious about this, taking her statement literally. She and my father laughed heartily, but I didn’t get the joke. I was upset that she wouldn’t help me by taking those first three bites!

Now as an adult I love the taste of grapefruit. Except for the danger of squirting juice onto my glasses or clothes, I enjoy digging out the grapefruit segments with a pointed spoon. My stainless steel serrated grapefruit spoons, however, are in sad condition. The plastic handles are mostly broken. The tip of one spoon was mauled years ago by falling in an automatic disposal unit in a sink. The handles of others were bent by a young guest who misused these spoons to dig hard-frozen ice cream from its container. Honestly, I ought to throw these worn-out spoons away and buy myself some better ones. That’s what I muttered to myself last month, between bites of succulent grapefruit.

Throwing anything away, however, is hard for an old New Englander, especially if you can continue to "make do" with the worn-out item. (I’ve been using these battered spoons for at least 40 years, so replacing them clearly isn’t high priority.)

Instead of shopping for new grapefruit spoons, I pursued other tasks on my "to do" list. I drove to a community where I used to live and stopped at the bank to investigate my safe deposit box. Since the fee for that box was about to increase, I wondered what was still in there and whether I’d need to renew the box rental. I hadn’t looked in years. To my surprise, I discovered a green cloth package enclosing various old silver spoons inherited by my father from that Danvers homestead. A scribbled note said "Pine Knoll items: save for Sandra and Tonya." Inside were six matching spoons with the monogram E.P.S. on the backside of the handles. Lovely pointed grapefruit spoons! I recognized the initials: Elizabeth Perkins Stanley, of Salem, known as "Lizzy" within her family. The spoons were made by "J.J. Rider" and stamped "Salem." It is likely that these were wedding gifts to Lizzy as she married Andrew Nichols of Danvers in 1861. He built their home at Pine Knoll (98 Preston St., Danvers) and they raised eight children there. I have now brought her spoons to my house and will think of my great grandmother Lizzy as I enjoy eating grapefruit with my "new" spoons.

Music Lessons Finally Took Hold

I wrote this article in 2010. It was published in the Danvers Herald on March 2010.  I'm re-posting it here to replace a broken link from my related March 2010 blog posting about childhood music influences.)

Music Lessons Finally Took Hold

By Sandy Nichols Ward

"F sharp!" my grandmother called loudly from upstairs above her living room, where I was practicing. "That F should be sharped."  How did she know?  She wasn't looking at the little book of piano exercises in front of me.  Nana's ability to call out corrections from a distant room astounded me.  I hated practicing piano.  I just wanted to go outside.   I figured that the faster I played through the notes in the assigned pieces, the sooner I'd be free to go.  What a disappointment I must have been to my musical grandmother, who supervised my daily practice, and cousin Annie Brewster, who taught me weekly on a piano in her home.  Both Nana and Annie loved music and had a life-long interest in attending good concerts.  For me, however, playing piano was a chore, a daily obligation.  

My father was sympathetic. He spoke of his own dislike for the piano lessons that had been imposed on him, too, at an early age.  I took some comfort in the fact that I was not alone, but why didn't he stick up for me and put an end to this?  I endured these lessons for about five years, until I grew bold enough to protest.  Nana and Annie gave up without a fight, no doubt realizing my lack of talent for piano.

In my teenage years I took up the recorder and taught myself to play simple tunes.  My sister objected to the "noise" I was making, so I walked outside to sit under the trees at Locust Lawn.   To my surprise, the black and white cows grazing there in the pasture stopped, looked up, walked towards me, and then stood in a semi-circle, staring straight at me while I played.  I enjoyed this appreciative audience!  My mother's horse stepped forward in his pasture, too, leaning his head over the fence and listening to the music.   This was MUCH more fun than practicing piano!    No one shouted "F sharp!"

Grandmother's piano, after her death and after we had moved into a larger house, came to us. It sat in the den, right by the heavily trafficked path to and from the stairs, the living-room, the front hall.  Both my father and I, at various stages, played it again.  I experimented with playing hymns from a church hymnal, figuring out how to make the chords with my left hand.  My father got better and eventually, in retirement, purchased an electric organ for the living room and took organ lessons. He really enjoyed playing for guests. 

Meanwhile, I moved to California, played one year in a Recorder Orchestra, and later discovered the joys of playing Balkan folk music.  At a summer workshop I took lessons in bagpipe, which I figured was just a recorder with a bag attached. Wrong!  My skills didn't transfer and I lacked lung power.  I tried an end-blown flute the next summer, but couldn't make a decent sound.  Next I tried tupan, a double-headed drum. Good choice!  As a dancer, I already knew the Balkan rhythms well. It's fun to express them on the drum.  I've been performing in folkdance bands ever since.  When I moved back to New England in the 1990's, I began performing at the New England Folk Festival each April with Panharmonium, a band that practices weekly and plays monthly in Amherst, MA.   I now understand, of course, why my grandmother fussed about each wrong note.   I too cringe at a missed F sharp or other error.  The music lessons, eventually, did sink in.  

Letter about Battle of Bunker Hill

The Battle of Bunker Hill happened on June 17, 1775.

While reading some resources about family genealogy in winter 2023, I encountered a remarkable quote from a letter written by husband Edward to his wife Mary telling her of the happenings.  

* During the revolutionary war, Edward sent Mary and the children off to Nantucket, an island inhabited by peace-loving Quakers who, he presumed, were neutral in the conflict.

* Letter about Battle of Bunker Hill Edward sent to Mary:

Well, my dear, I am heartily glad you are not here just at this time; you would, I know, be most terribly alarmed. We had an appearance yesterday of a most prodigious smoke, which I found was exactly in the direction of Charlestown and as we knew our men were entrenching on Bunker Hill there, we supposed the Town was on fire, and so in fact it proved, for in the evening (that is last evening) we were told the Regulars had landed at Charlestown under cover of the smoke from ye buildings they had set fire to, and forced the Entrenchments on the Hill and had beat our men off with loss, & this morning our intelligence was that 400 of our men were killed & the Regulars had pursued our men as far as Winter Hill; (tho' we just now learned that the Regulars still keep possession of Bunkers Hill, & that our men are entrenched upon Winter Hill) & that there is a probability of further action soon, and that our loss amounts only to about 150 killed. … The commotion here was so considerable, though none of our men went to ye Battle (as the northwest part of the Province and not the sea coast were called upon the occasion) that we had but one meeting house open in ye morning. --and this afternoon while some were at meeting and others talking over ye action of yesterday, we were alarmed with an appearance of smoke at Marblehead, which broke up ye meeting. & the people with their engines & buckets went over to extinguish the fire, and I among the rest, tho' I should have been glad to have been excused on account of the prodigious heat of the weather, but as I thought that under Providence I owed the preservation of my House to the assistance from Marblehead, when we were in the utmost hazard, I could not dispense with going; but we were stopped when about half way there, with an account that ye smoke arose from a field of grass on fire, and that no building was hurt, so I returned home, and am now set down to rest and cool myself, and to give you this account.

[quoted from a website accessed on 2/21/2024: 
https://theholyokes.com/ps01/ps01_152.html ]

Who were Edward and Mary?  Edward was a doctor in Salem named Dr. Edward Augustus Holyoke (1728-1829). Mary was his second wife, Mary Vial Holyoke (1737-1802). They had married in 1759, after the death of his first wife. 

In February 2024 I had received an unexpected email from a great-great-great-great-great-grandson of Dr. Holyoke. He was contacting me because of an email correspondence his mother Susanne (a descendant of Dr. Holyoke and the first wife, Judith) had had with me in 2015!  I'd forgotten about that, but was glad to be reminded, and to re-read the family information we had then shared.  Susanne's son Peter wrote to inform me that his mother had died in summer 2023; he and his sister are now my link to that branch of the family tree. 

Locust Lawn memories

Here is a copy of what I wrote in a 2009 piece about some memories at Locust Lawn:   

 Remembering Danvers
5/4/09  

Locust Lawn - more memories

By Sandy Nichols Ward

The Locust Lawn property, as I knew it in my childhood, was 35 acres of woods and pastureland along the east side of Nichols Street. The highest point was on top of "Dale's Hill" or "Nichols' Hill" along a stonewall marking the northern boundary of this family property. My father liked to point out a tall tree there and tell stories of climbing up for a good view of Salem Harbor. I saw remains of weathered wooden slats nailed high onto the tree truck as a climbing aid, but the lower ones were missing.  I never climbed to experience that view.  I did climb many other trees, especially smaller ones and those knocked partly over by storms. My sister Jean and friends Janet, Ray, and Gordon often played there with me, bouncing up and down on the bushy branches of hurricane-felled trees, or exploring around the old buildings and foundations.

The huge barn, with the date 1856 visible above the main doors, remained intact for years and provided hours of fun.  Underneath the barn was a surrey with fringe on top, and an old carriage we could bounce in. On the first floor wonderful wooden horse stalls allowed us to play horse (inside the stalls) or horseback riders (sitting astride the high wooden walls, using leather reins we found nearby).  On Halloween my father transformed that barn into a maze of mysteries, with different horrors in each stall.  Upstairs was a huge space for parties; I recall dunking for apples and playing "Red light, green light" with friends. An antique hand-pulled fire wagon carried a long roll of heavy white hose -- too heavy for us to maneuver, though of course we tried.

The former Locust Lawn mansion had been torn down in 1944, but large granite blocks of its foundation stood tall throughout my childhood in the 1950's, providing a setting for games of hide-and-seek, cowboys-and-Indians, pirates, and so forth. We also liked to excavate "treasures" from the piles of old plaster and debris. Fragments of fancy china, an old watering can, and interesting bricks with decorative edges could be found as we climbed up and down the mounds of white plaster and building rubble.

There was beauty, too, at this abandoned site. Snowdrops and other flowers bloomed each spring along the south wall of the foundation. It was lovely to sit there in the warm sun, leaning against a granite block and gazing out over the landscape to the south, the long sloping lawn with grand elm trees and bunches of locust trees.  Locust Lawn was a place of freedom and adventure.  We played on the "dinosaurs" or "dragons" (trunks of fallen trees bleached white in the sun). We pretended to be cows in the pasture, and when the real cows weren't looking, we licked their salt licks, those big blue or pink cubes the farmer set out in the field.  My mother was disgusted at this idea, but we claimed to always lick on the "other side" where cows hadn't licked!

One summer the foundation provided a "job" and spending money for me and friends. My parents planned to build a new house on the site, which they were buying from the great aunts, and my mother wanted to use old-style bricks for the new fireplace. She paid us "a penny a brick" to dig out old bricks.  My friend Ann O'Connor and I worked hard in the hot sun and stacked up an impressive pile of salvaged bricks.  I was paid $4.00 for  my neat stack of 400 bricks!  The new house built in 1957 was a large Colonial, but not large enough to cover all the old site.  My father preserved one end of the foundation with a nice granite stairway, hoping to create a swimming pool, if only he could figure out how to water-proof the walls and floor.  Instead, my mother created a lovely sunken garden, which she enjoyed for years. Even on a cold winter day she could sit down there out of the winds, reading her newspaper in the protected, sunny "rockery" or garden. Many happy memories!

Last summer [2008] I drove back to Danvers to examine what might be left of this house and rock garden. Gone!  Nothing left but a slight depression in the ground with a few old bricks sticking out among clumps of daisies and other wildflowers. What a rush of nostalgia!  Truth to tell, I'm more nostalgic for that old site (its bricks and flowers) than for the new house I'd live in as a teenager.

The Little Girls of Locust Lawn

 

Note: I'm reposting this now (April 2025 -- sixteen years after the original publication in the Danvers Herald/Wicked Local), since the link on Wicked Local (dated April 3, 2009) no longer works.

I'm posting an easier-to-read text version, below.

--------------

The little girls of Locust Lawn

By Sandy Nichols Ward

    April 3, 2009

A treasured children's book in my childhood opened with this dedication: TO ALL THE LITTLE GIRLS WHO PLAYED AT LOCUST LAWN. "That's us!" I would exclaim happily. My mother, who was reading the book aloud to us, would nod and smile. My sister and I often played on the property called Locust Lawn, which was right across Nichols Street from our home. 

The book, Going-On-Nine by Amy Wentworth Stone, was published in 1939, but described a much earlier period when ladies wore high-buttoned shoes and long flounced skirts with bustles.  Colorful illustrations by Eloise Wilkin gave us delightful glimpses of that earlier era and the big house that had once stood "on the slope of a hill, called Locust Lawn." Abby, the little girl in the center of the story, loved to run in the woods, climb trees, play in the fields and catch turtles in the pond.  She did NOT want to grow up and have to dress in the fashion of her older sisters. She was eight years old, going on nine.  In the book we followed Abby through that year of her life.

It was exciting to hear the adventures of a young girl who lived and played at Locust Lawn long before us. Was she real? Is this story true? Real or not, our family loved the story and passed the book from household to household so that each child who turned eight could experience the "going-on-nine" year along with Abby.  Not all of our cousins lived in Danvers, but if they had visited us, they certainly knew of Locust Lawn and the pond by our house. An informal map  or sketch printed inside the book cover showed the pond and other features we could recognize, such as the Barn and the Back Avenue.  

If you consult Charles S. Tapley's book, Country Estates of Old Danvers, you will find a description of Locust Lawn on page 43 and learn that the owner in the 1870's and 1880's  was "Philip H. Wentworth of Boston, who improved the grounds by laying out more avenues through the wooded places …"  My mother guessed that the book author Amy Wentworth Stone grew up at Locust Lawn and wrote Abby Wingate's story based on her own experiences. It is likely that Amy even knew my grandfather, William S. Nichols, and played with his sister Margaret. In the storybook Abby's best friend is "Little Peg", with brother "Little Will." Peg's house is shown on the map in the general area where my great-grandfather's family lived.  So this story seemed true to us -- a bit of local history, even though the location was disguised  as "Crandall" Massachusetts.

The real Locust Lawn in Danvers was enjoyed by many generations of children, boys as well as girls.  We did many of the same activities described in this book. For instance, I remember riding a toboggan with friends on a crusty winter day down the front "lawn" --the long sloping pastureland with locust trees-- and scraping all the buckles off my galoshes as I dragged my feet to slow down. Here is a passage from Going on Nine:

"So Abby and Little Peg took their sleds to the brink of the lawn and lay down on them on their stomachs. Their rubber boots stuck out behind… They counted one-two-three; then each gave a push with a rubber boot, and away they went down over the crust, slipping and sliding. They whizzed by the big clump of locusts and under the elms…"

How easily I could relate to those girls of an earlier time!

Typewriter lullaby

This week I've been sorting through some folders of my past writings.  I discovered a scribbled draft titled, "My changing relationship to typed words."  In the first paragraph there's reference to my mother's typewriter and my reaction to it.

To me, the sound of typing was like a lullaby. 

My mother often typed letters on her old manual typewriter, and did so when she had quiet periods, such as my nap-time, or just after she had put me to bed in the evening. So typewriter sounds were both familiar and comforting to me from a very early age.

Her desk with the typewriter on it was close to my bedroom – just outside my door, in the entrance to the adjacent bedroom where my parents slept. The typing sound carried easily, and meant that "Mommy" was nearby. 

That happy memory served me well in later years, when I was a college student living in a large dormitory.  Other students tended to complain about typing noises coming from nearby rooms. But for me, it was not a problem -- just a familiar lullaby to help me sleep. 

Topsfield Fair foods

In my local newspaper today, in western Massachusetts, I was surprised to see an article about foods at the 2024 Topsfield Fair.  I remember that Fair!  I don't remember much about eating food at the fair, but I do remember some of the rides, events (mutt races!), and buildings full of agricultural animals and exhibits.  I recall my mother proudly bringing selections of her best tomatoes for display and competition. She did that every year, so going to the Fair with my parents was an annual habit during my childhood.

I recall one season when my father brought a "sailing kayak" that he had designed and was trying to promote. He and cousin Jed Derouin had tested the prototype at the Ferncroft pond in Danvers, sailing back and forth. They brought the kayak to the fair and displayed many photos of it in action (with sail, without sail; with, or without, an outrigger for stability, and so forth). They staffed that exhibit booth day after day, and enjoyed taking with visitors. They had fun with the idea, but never found sponsors to develop this product and bring it to market. 

What about the foods at the Fair? Why don't I recall what I ate there?  I'm guessing that my mother packed food for us and/or discouraged the buying of the sugary treats often sold at fairs.  (She was quite serious about preventing tooth decay, and strictly limited our intake of sweets.)

I've previously written of other memories of the Topfield Fair.  To find them, type "Topsfield Fair" in the Search field (at upper left).

Today's newspaper says the Topsfield Fair – "one of the oldest agricultural fairs in the United States" – is running through Monday Oct. 14.   If I lived closer, I'd be tempted to attend the fair and order the "Shepard's Pie Baked Potato" from the Stuffed Potato stand. 

Suprenand's

 

[Click to enlarge image]

I'm glad my mother typed a note to go with these old photos of us riding together. We often went to Mr. Suprenand's farm in the Ferncroft area and enjoyed their animals:

• goats
• ponies: "Mitzi" and "Peanuts"
• a horse for my mother to ride
• chickens 

I have many memories of our times there, but wouldn't have known how to spell the name of the owner. Don't recall ever seeing the name written (except on this label).

My mother, a horse-lover without a horse in those years, had some arrangement with Mr. Suprenand for frequent access to exercise a horse. Often she brought us along to ride his Shetland ponies. We'd go off into woods and fields of nearby properties, having various adventures as we learned to ride and to cope with the antics of the ponies.

I remember riding Mitzi in a large flat field somewhere, perhaps on Essex Aggie land. We were galloping along at a good clip. My braids were probably flying behind my head. Exciting fun! But when Mitzi shied sideways suddenly, I was left airborne without a pony! I recall flipping, head over heels, onto the ground, landing on my back with my braids in water. It all happened so very fast! I had not seen the wet patch ahead, but we think Mitzi was spooked by a flash of sun reflecting off that water. I was wearing a leather jacket, which made a resounding slap on the water surface as I landed. My sister laughed, especially when I stood up, dripping wet. My mother probably managed to catch Mitzi so I could climb on and finish the ride.

Mommy liked to make comments as we rode along, sometimes mentioning a bit of local history. One day she pointed to the remnants of an old foundation, barely visible in the woods. She said that's where someone in our Nichols family had lived. "Had HAD to live," she emphasized, "this far out from town because he had married a Quaker!"  (I was puzzled, thinking what's wrong with marrying a Quaker?  But I never really discussed this with my mother, nor do I know the names of those long-ago people or recall the location of their home.)

I wonder now about my mother's wording on the label: "Suprenand's (site of Nichols homestead, later Ferncroft Inn)." Did she think that the Suprenand property had once belonged to a Nichols relative?  Perhaps even the same one who had married the Quaker? (But maybe I'm confusing two different stories? As best I can recall, the old foundation fragments were somewhere else in the woods, not right near the Suprenand home.) 

Sometimes Mommy needed to discipline us (or teach us lessons to improve our riding) and sometime she disciplined a misbehaving pony. I definitely remember the day Mitzi needed discipline. We were returning from a ride in the woods and I was riding Mitzi, as usual. Suddenly Mitzi began running, and ran very fast all the way back to the barn. I couldn't stop her or even slow her down. I was terrified when she ran directly towards the barn doorway because I could see the metal chain across that opening. Would that stop her? No! She lowered her head under the chain and kept going. The chain hit me in the belly and scraped me right off onto the ground!  I wasn't really hurt, but my mother knew that Mitzi needed a lesson. She brought Mitzi out from the barn, climbed on her back, and rode Mitzi around and around in yard near the barn. My mother's adult legs almost reached the ground as that short pony labored under her load. Mitzi's head was held low, as if ashamed of her bad behavior.  We never again had trouble with Mitzi misbehaving.

Around the barn yard we enjoyed watching other animals, especially very cute baby goats! 

The chickens I remember less fondly. That's probably because of my reckless running and sudden fall from a slippery ramp of a chicken hutch. Oops. That foolishness brought me, with injured nose, to a big hospital, where a nice nurse offered her hand, saying I could squeeze if the pain became too much. I didn't need to squeeze; my nose was quickly repaired.  I have a flat spot on my nose as a small souvenir.

One summer a different arrangement was made with Mr. Suprenand regarding Mitzi and Peanuts. My mother invited those ponies to come to our place (actually, to the large fenced pasture at Locust Lawn, across the street from our home).  I think it was because Mitzi was pregnant, so we weren't allowed to ride her, and the LL pasture could provide plenty of good grass for grazing. (The Suprenand farm was on a rather bare ridge, lacking topsoil.)  We enjoyed having the ponies nearby. Later I became very fond of the young foal, named Champion, and sometimes lay next to him in the grass. His hair was SO soft, and very warm in the sunshine.  Fond memories.

Young Sandy

 

I thank my cousin Stuart Brewster for sharing this early image of me.  He took the photo at Pine Knoll, perhaps at one of the summer picnics there.  He doesn't recall the date.  

This might have been taken on or about my 2nd birthday. That's my guess.  I was born in July 1943. 

Today I looked in a photo album of my father's photos of me from babyhood on.  I found 3 photos in which I look similar. The date was June 1945, just weeks before my 2nd birthday.  

[Click to enlarge]

You might wonder why this page of photos skips from June 1945 to a November snow scene of our home, without any photos of my 2nd birthday. It could be because my father usually took slides, not photographs. It is also possible that any photos taken might have been lost in the jumble of photo packages in the drawer where my parents tossed all processed photos.  Or maybe some photos never got into that drawer? My parents NEVER created albums, and rarely wrote dates or annotations on the photos.

The album page that you see above was created by me, years later, when I was pregnant and curious to see my own baby pictures. So, on my next visit to Danvers, I dug into that old drawer and spent hours trying to sort photos and determine dates. There were lots of baby photos, but which ones were of me and which of my sister?  Ultimately I turned the photos over and used the film processing numbers to group photos from each roll of film together. THAT really helped!  Usually in each roll of film there was enough context to help date the sequence.  After all that sorting, I selected some photos I liked and put them into a real album. My mother was tickled that I had created my own "baby album!"

More from MWN's diaries re 4th-of-July

My July 4th blog entry titled "Glorious Fourth" drew thank-you comments from family members who had also experienced July picnics in the grove at "Pine Knoll," the family home at 98 Preston Street, Danvers.  

I was delighted by email responses from cousin C. Stuart Brewster in California and cousin Janet Nichols Derouin in Maine. They are older than I am, and thus had participated in more of those traditional Fourth-of-July family picnics. None of us, however, were there in the years chronicled in the diaries of our great-great-aunt Mary Ward Nichols (MWN). 

I've decided to follow up with additional quotes from MWN's diaries.  My plan was simple: to open each small diary to the first week of July and see what, if anything, she had written about that annual family gathering, and to share her descriptions here.  I decided to start with 1900.

1900: "Passed a quiet fourth. Children enjoyed fire crackers. The older ones [? attending] a golf t...[?]. John and his Aunt Margaret drove from Tewksbury this afternoon. John looks better for his trip."

Click image to enlarge
 [Note: I am providing images of diary entries that were hard to read;
I hope my cousins will be able to decipher the words that stumped me.]

1901: "We had a very quiet restful fourth.  Enjoyed seeing the fireworks from all points this eve."

1902: "Cool. Passed a quiet Fourth at home. Went up on the hill to see the fireworks."

1903: "Fourth of July!    Girls went on a picnic."

1904: [no entry]

1905: "Girls went to Salem to see bonfire. Passed a quiet, pleasant fourth. Andrew and I walked up on the hill to see the fireworks."

1906: [no mention of Fourth, but entries about packing July 3 and traveling on July 7 to the Isles of Shoals for a week-long church conference.] 

1907: "Passed a quiet fourth at home.  Andrew and Charley Osgood had a few simple fireworks."

1908: [Trip to Nantucket started July 2 via S. Station, Boston..."a hot dirty car ride to Wood's Hole; a delightful boat ride to Nantucket." July 3 "Hot weather here..." ] July 4: "Busy eve. Stores are open so we went shopping. This afternoon was too hot to be out. Fire works and Fire hollering kept up until after 10 o'clock. We went up in Belfry of Unitarian Church and had fine view of {...} Island."

July 2-4, 1908.  Click image to enlarge

1909: July 4: "Cool. Had a quiet restful day. At home all day." July 5: "Warmer. All my brother's family here but Oda; also Mr. & Mrs. Simonds, a Mr. & Mrs. Wetherbee, Chas. Johnson & Maud Kimball had a picnic dinner in grove. Salads, Sandwiches, Green peas, Ice Cream Cake & Watermelon. Will's family fr. N. Andover.  In grove all day; fireworks evening. All enjoyed it greatly. 30 in all."

1910: July 4: "Warm. Came home at noon as they had a family picnic here and also the Simonds' family. Will & Nell came."

1911: July 4. "Intensely hot. 105.  All the family but Oda were gathered here for a picnic in the grove it was unusually hot here. A classmate of A.3rd was here also. Mr & Mrs. Symonds & Mr. & Mrs. Wetherbee. All enjoyed it not withstanding the heat; had some fireworks in the eve. Had 28 in all."

1912: "Hot but not so hot as last year. Every one of the family were here & [fi..?] of the Symond's family beside Oda Cole & a friend of A.3d   Will & his family drove down & are to pass night. The fireworks were at the Symonds. 31 in all. "    

July 4, 1912

1913:  [See my previous post, "Glorious Fourth" with text and images.]

1914: [no entry]

1915: Sunday July 4th. "Did not go to church as I did not feel very well. T. Kendall came.  Will dined here after preaching in N. Andover on his way back to Marblehead; reported Edward as getting along finely." 

1915  [Edward is Will's son, born 1907.]

July 5, 1915: "Rainy. Our picnic dinner had to be in doors. 37 took dinner here. John brought from Tewksbury Oda & his Aunts N. & M,  A. [?] & Leonis [sp?] his chaffeur & Charles Preston, wife & 3 ch.; Josh, wife & 2 ch, Howard Ballou, a  {niece?}. Mr. Nat. Symonds & wife, G. Wetherbee, wife & son, Mr. Sanderson, wife & 2 ch. Edith Wilson & Marion Malbury [?sp], t. Kendall, Margaret [Sloane? Home?] .  (took his mother back alone. John, his wife & A.3d went [...?]   also Esther late [?].

1915, July 5-6  The family picnic often was on the 5th, instead of 4th.

[I do not have MWN's diaries for 1916 or 1917.] 

1918:   

July 3-4, 1918

1919:  

July 3-4, 1919

July 4:  "A very hot day! 95* Went up to my brothers's as the family gathering is to be in the grove. My brother & wife and daughters, May and Margaret, Nellie & her husband [...?] Ruth, & sons Charles & Stanley, Josh & wife, son John & dau. Florence. Will & his wife, and two sons. John & wife. Annie B. & Marion, their brother Andrew 3d., only absent one of the family. N. Stanley, M. Beckerman & myself. Mr & Mrs. N. T. Simonds, and their dau. Clara Wetherbee, her husband, son & daughter. I stayed over night."

1920:  

July 4-5, 1920

[1921: no diary found.] 

1922: 

July 3-4, 2022

July 4, 1922: "Rainy night and morn... About 10 o'clock Mr. Wetherbee & his two children with his father-in-law Mr. Simonds & Will's two boys came in a large auto [le?]. to take me to N.H. [?noon?]. There was all of Lizzie's children & grandch. except Annie & her family & Will's wife, the 2 Stanleys & myself, also Mr. Simonds, his daughter & her family of 3, & Dorothy Cutter [Culter?], Marion's friend. In was indoor affair except a base ball game & continuous fire works. I came back [of ...?]train."

1923: July 4 "Spent a quiet day in Salem with Robert.   No callers.   Very quiet today, after the bonfire last night when it was very rainy."

Mary Ward Nichols died later in 1923 at age 81.  Her last diary entry was on Aug 5, but I do not know the exact date of her death.  Coincidently, I just turned 81 on July 10. No idea of my death date, either!