The Book of Me - Prompt 5: Your Childhood Home

[Editor's Note: The Book of Me is a series of writing prompts focusing on life streaming or preserving one's own memories rather than those of our ancestors and family members. Click here to read more.]

This week's prompt in The Book of Me - Your Childhood Home caught me by surprise. The items listed within the theme brought back many memories, and I guess that is how this is all supposed to work, right?

• My concept of home is bifurcated, meaning "split in two" since my family moved in 1976 from an apartment to a house. Up until I was 13, my mother and brother and I lived in a three bedroom apartment over a warehouse in Liberty, New York.

• In 1976, we received notice that the apartment building was going to be converted to offices or storage and that we needed to find another place to live. At this point in our immediate family's history, my mother was just starting to recover financially from her divorce in 1970. She worked for the telephone company and while we were far from "well off" we were no longer among the "working poor" as we had been.

• So the search was on for a new home and home was they key word. My mother had the foresight to realize the need to own a home and not just move to another apartment. What was available in our price range was almost unlivable. At the very least, a fixer-upper home was definitely in our future.

• Finally, on the outskirts of town we found a Lustron home for sale with two acres of land. Lustron homes were "pre fabricated" houses made of steel which were very "mid-century contemporary" in style but suited more for warmer climates. Let's just say that over the next ten years there would be quite a bit of work and retrofitting.

• The rooms were small. There were two bedrooms and I shared a room with my younger brother. There is also only one bathroom and a small kitchen. But it was home and it was where we thrived and memories were made.

I "left" home when I was just 17 back in 1980 as I went off to college.  I'm not sure whether it was the time period in which I grew up or the environment, but children were expected to leave home sooner rather than later. One thing I know for sure is that while you can review and relive those memories in your mind of home, you can never truly go home again and experience that exact time in your life. For now, I'm content with my memories and the lessons found in my experiences of home.

© 2013, copyright Thomas MacEntee

My Geneaspace

This week's as part of Randy Seaver's Saturday Night Genealogy Fun over at Genea-musings, he asks the following:

1) Take a digital picture of your Genealogy Space - whether it is a table, desk, bookcase, whatever. Take more than one if you want.

2) Show off your Genealogy Space to all of us in a blog post showing your digital pictures. If you aren't blogging or don't want to show us your pictures, go to 3) below without passing Go or collecting another ancestor.

3) Tell us something about your Genealogy Space. How long does it take you to find something? Are you thinking of reorganizing your space?

Now I don't want people to think I didn't take these photos last night because my office wasn't clean.  I think it is easier and looks better to take photos with a bit of daylight.  Besides if you look real close you can see some dirt on the floor!



So above is my office which is at the rear of the condo and has a patio door which goes out to the deck. (You can read more about the 1905 3-flat building I live in here.) This part of the building was "added on" to the original and in each unit it contains the furnace, the stackable washer/dryer and space to use as an office or a dining area.

The walls are a jade green, the desk and chair are espresso brown, and there are gold drapes in front of the sliding glass door. There is my microwaveable heating pad on the desk chair (for my osteo-arthritis), and the basket under the desk houses all the drooping cordage from the equipment. I do this so I don't need to see it all dusty and lurking like an octopus under my feet.



The view behind the desk shows my folding bookcases filled with office supplies as well as a painting by my friend Lisa Hartmann. Notice the large wicker basket - it is the only truly "disorganized" area - it is where all bills and genealogy papers go. They are later scanned and/or filed.



The red cardboard box contains items to be scanned including diaries, photos etc. I need to get another plastic sealable storage bin in order to keep out water, dust and critters. Below the box are two wooden filing boxes since I don't care for metallic filing cabinets. This contains all my papers filed away after they are scanned.



Up close, I have a very neat elevated monitor stand from Kennsington. It allows me more places to store items to be scanned (like the stack of old photos) and also makes it easier to dust. The big benefit is having the monitor at a better eye height to reduce eye strain.

I also have my DSL mode, the 250GB external hard drive and my cordless phone system for the house.



Finally, I have my CPU sitting on the side - I don't like it on the floor where it can get dusty. On top of that is my scanner/printer/copier. And my ever-present copy of Evidence Explained along with a copy of The Family History Research Toolkit by Michael Hait which I will review in a post over at Geneabloggers.  There is usually an iPod nano charging, my headset so I can listen to music or speak on Skype and a coaster (where is my coffee?).

In terms of operability and function, I like the fact that I can sit in the desk chair and look out the deck and have sunlight streaming in. As you can see I also am big on organization and scanning papers is a big part of that. If I really need a hard copy of an item, it is in file boxes behind me but they are heavy and most be moved around for access.

What I don't like about my office space is that proximity of the furnace amd washer/dryer (every time the buzzer goes off and someone on the phone asks, "What was that?" I usually say "Oh, fries are up."). There is too much noise for me to be able to do a series of podcasts or webcasts with my webcam.

The Bar

Photo: Mahogany Bar - "The Bar Is Closed". January 17, 2009. Digital photograph. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2009.

This post was composed for the 13th Edition of the Cabinet of Curiosities hosted at Walking The Berkshires

Faithful readers may remember a photo similar to the one above in a post over a year ago entitled "Women's China Painting in the 19th and Early 20th Centuries" where I discussed the Julius Brauer Studios porcelain bowl circa 1910. While I ventured into a thorough discussion of what I call my "china syndrome," I have never talked of what lurked beneath said item: The Bar.  While she may seem staid and reserved, nay a bit conservative, beware of what lurks inside.

The Bar is a 1920s solid mahogany bar that I purchased on Ebay in June of 2007 and had shipped from the seller in New Hampshire. She was sitting in an antiques store looking very neglected and unwanted. Since I knew the shipping would be as much as, if not more than, the bar itself, I got on the phone with the seller and made sure everything was on the up and up. A deal was struck to have the seller drop her off at the nearby UPS Store where I had already paid for shipping. I simply called up the UPS Store owner, sent him the listing on Ebay and he came up with an estimate as to how long and how much.

When the bar arrived less than a week later, she defintely had seen better days - like a showgirl now relegated to the Burlesque circuit. She still had her original knobs which are in a marigold pattern in brass from the 1920s which have helped me to determine a 1920s date. I also knew that I needed to embark on a major refinishing project during the summer of 2007.

So each day I would make progress by first stripping off years of ugly yellowed varnish, staining the wood in a red mahogany color, then slowly adding coats of finish with alternate periods of sanding. It took about three weeks to complete which was good since the invites for a cocktail party had already gone out the door!

There are many features of The Bar that I love - let's peak inside, shall we?



Photo: Mahogany Bar - "The Bar Is Partially Open". January 17, 2009. Digital photograph. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2009.

Her top flips open to reveal two chrome surfaces.  I intend to replace these since they are bumpy and worn and a guest could never place a drink there without getting tipsy by just looking at how askew it sat on the surface!  But who doesn't need their top replaced every now and then?



Photo: Mahogany Bar - "The Bar Is Open for Business!". January 17, 2009. Digital photograph. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2009.

Next, we unlock the doors.  Yes there is a lock which allows entry into the lower portion of The Bar - a bit of a chastity belt, as it were - where the serious business takes place.  If you know my family you know that a lock is required on most all liquor cabinets and bars.

If you look at the top shelf you see various wine glasses, a vermouth sprayer (for martinis), a bottle of Angostora bitters (for Manhattans), a condiment caddy and a crystal bell.  A bell?  Yes, The Bar has wheels on it (which I replaced with more modern ones) and a guest can simply "ring" for his or her drink and get freshened up.  Yeah right.

Photo: Mahogany Bar - "The Bar - Anchor Hocking Golden Spires Glasses". January 17, 2009. Digital photograph. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2009.

Her doors swing open and provide a place for various glasses.  As I began to outfit The Bar, I was able to locate sets of glasses from the 1950s made by Anchor Hocking in the Golden Spire pattern.  They have a very "atomic" look and there are tumblers, rocks, double shot and shot glasses in The Bar.

Photo: Mahogany Bar - "The Bar - Libations". January 17, 2009. Digital photograph. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2009.

On the lower shelves is where the serious stuff is stored.  There is also a Kromex ice bucket from the 1950s, and a "recipe box" called the Bar Aid where you turn a dial and look up a recipe for close to 100 drinks.  I see I'm low on breakfast wine - I'll have to make a run to Johnson's Liquors later.  Perhaps they deliver.

Photo: Mahogany Bar - "The Bar - Condiment Caddy Closeup". January 17, 2009. Digital photograph. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2009.

Finally, here is a closeup shot of one the many gadgets with which I've "tricked out" The Bar: it is a 1950s condiment caddy.  The jars are labeled Lemon, Olives, Cherries and Onions and make it easy to put together martinis, lemon drops and other libations in a jiffy.  Guests have been know to mistake it for a "buffet" and if I'm not quick with a slap on the hand lots of the goodies just disappear.

So there you have it.  I've always wanted a place to store wine and liquor in one place but while I've always wanted a "bar cart" I didn't want to have to dust all those glass shelves and keep everything clean.  And I didn't have room for one of the larger bars some of which have a center that "pops-up."  I love the slim and unassuming look on the outside but once open, The Bar lets out her inner showgirl and shines.

If These Walls Could Talk

In yesterday's post entitled This Old House, I guess I prompted myself for further information about the various remodeling projects in my family. So here goes:

Growing up, did your family embark upon a major home improvement such as a kitchen, bathroom or building an addition for more space?

I remember growing up that we lived in an apartment until I was 15 when Mom bought her first house. Over the years, my mother practically performed a total rehab amounting to a "gutting" of the house. She put down tile, carpeting, resurfaced cabinets and drawers, installed ceiling fans, built a wall unit in the bedroom I shared with my brother, and more.

In addition, she replaced the old "shed" which covered the well and the bomb shelter (the house was built in 1949 after all) with a much larger shed which could have doubled as a garage. And she planted flowers, removed two huge willows trees that had tapped into the water supply.

Currently, I have rented the house to a great family that insists on making improvements and they do a great job. My next project is a bathroom replacement - the original bathtub from 1949 is still there!

Did anyone in your family history experience major damage to their home that required repair? What were the circumstances of the damage?

As I discussed in a recent post, the house that my great-grandparents retired to in Grahamsville, New York basically burned down in 1978. An investigation proved that it was arson and it was probably done to cover up a robbery of items. Grandma was living with us at the time, having returned from Florida for the winter. This was such a tragic loss for our family, especially since so many items of family history were lost.

One item which was thankfully recovered and refinished is Grandma's old wooden rocker. It probably is at least 100 years old now and in possession of my uncle. But items lost include a huge cedar chest which supposedly came over with a family member from Ireland. Photographs, a hat pin collection, paper ephemera, and more.

The house was never rebuilt.

Have you come across any family history related to when indoor plumbing was installed? An electric or gas stove instead of a wood stove? An ice box and then a refrigerator?

I remember Grandma's stories of the Grahamsville house as well as my mother's recollections. When they bought the house in the mid-1940s, there was no indoor plumbing, or if there was, it did not include toilets. My mother's greatest fear of using the outhouse (which was a two seater thanks to 12 grandchildren all summer long) was that a snake would be down below in that hole.

Grandma didn't have electricity until the late 1940s or early 1950s. Everything was done by kerosene lamp and cooking was done on a wood stove. Of course, growing up in the 1970s, she still had the original appliances from the early 1950s in the kitchen. And the old wooden ice box was down in the basement.

I believe telephones came to the backwoods of Grahamsville in the late 1950s and even then it was an 8-party line. I just can't image having to decipher the ring code to see if the call was for you. And I do remember, the 8-party line was there until the early 1970s. One time I overhead Grandma get into an argument with a woman who tended to sit and talk on the phone all day. I believe the words "selfish" and "common decency" were used.

This Old House

This post is more family history oriented and while it deals with a recent bathroom remodel in my Chicago home, it got me to thinking of what kind of home improvements my ancestors may have made. As you read below and view the before and after photos, ponder the following and how they apply to those in your family tree:

- growing up, did your family embark upon a major home improvement such as a kitchen, bathroom or building an addition for more space?

- did anyone in your family history experience major damage to their home that required repair? What were the circumstances of the damage?

- have you come across any family history related to when indoor plumbing was installed? An electric or gas stove instead of a wood stove? An ice box and then a refrigerator?

I'll post some of my responses later this week - I've already done some research on the Freer-Low House in New Paltz, New York which was built by one of my ancestors, Hugo Freer, and in a separate post I'll discuss the many additions made since the late 1600s.

Now, on to the remodel. Although my home is only two years old it really is 105 years old. How can that be? Well, I live in what is called a "condo rehab" which is quite popular in Chicago. A developer or builder purchases a two-flat or three-flat building (a flat means an apartment that runs the entire length of that floor which is different than a duplex or triplex which take up two or three floors). They usually gut the inside and replace everything with more modern amenities including different floorplans. Sometimes they will add a balcony or deck and a car port or garage. This arrangement allows you to own your own home many times with unique architectural touches such as exposed brick, oak staircases and floors, etc.

That being said, I never like the master bathroom and it had become a sticking point in negotiating a purchase price. The developer obviously had purchased the cheapest and smallest shower stall available at Home Depot or Lowes. Seriously small - as in cruise ship shower. I could not even raise my arms in that shower and felt like veal.

So about a month ago, the project started after we chose our tiles, fixtures, colors, etc. A relative was doing the contracting work and I couldn't be happier with the way in which it turned out. The goals were to:

- enlarge the shower even if it meant building a custom tray and ordering a custom shower enclosure and door

- add more storage space with a built-in linen cabinet behind the door

- add more surface space with a larger vanity and installation of a vessel bowl sink

Here are the results!

BEFORE






AFTER

The Summer Jar

This post was composed for the 3rd Edition of Smile For The Camera ~ A Carnival of Images

Author's note: this is a very long story that I've been working on for some time. The Summer Jar falls into the genre of autobiographical fantasy (in which I re-create the events of my youth) and tells of my summers spent as a child at the home of my great-grandparents, John Ralph Austin and Therese McGinnis Austin.

While I usually don't tell readers how to read my posts, this is one to savor and take slow, like a piece of blueberry pie out on the front porch on a hot summer night. Enjoy!

"Where did you spend most of your summers?" my niece Rosie asked one evening during a way too short visit here. She was the only pint-sized relation who seemed to connect with me on the concept of family history and preserving the past.

I had to think. Not that I couldn't remember or give an answer right away, but wanting to gather all the memories of summers spent with my great-grandparents in Grahamsville and forget not one. Then I remembered The Summer Jar.

"Probably the same types of things you do now during your summers," I said. "Want to see?"

"How can I see into the past? Are we going to use some sort of time-machine?" she said in disbelief. At age 10 she could be very vocal, have strong likes and dislikes and not be shy about picking apart one's statements. The trait of strong-willed independent women in the family endures.

"Let's go get the Summer Jar," I said as I stood up to go back inside the house. I was already 20 feet into a gallop before she could even ask what a summer jar was.

Both of us had spent the last half-hour watching and gathering fire flies, just as I had done at Grandma's house on still half-baked summer nights. My brother and cousins and I would run around the house trying to trap as many as we could, anxious to have enough to power a lantern so we could find our way in the dark. Up here, in "The Country" as the city people called it, there were no streetlights, no barriers to star gazing. It could get very dark and a firefly lantern was not only fun to make but useful too.

She tagged along behind me, as we left our lanterns on the weathered picnic table in the gathering dusk. On the front porch, tucked away behind some childhood books - the Hardy Boys series were my favorites - was a large mason jar, the kind with the old-fashioned lid with a metal cage, rubber seal and locking mechanism. Rosie's eyes grew wide as she looked at the contents crammed inside.

And as I opened the jar, and tilted the contents out, a feast for the eyes as well as the nose revealed itself. Despite being able to see clear through, there were little hidden gems inside, gems that I didn't remember until they tumbled forward like rain drops off the old rusty gutters of that summer house of my youth. The memories that started as a trickle soon became a torrent.

I decided to take an inventory and explain each item but at my own pace. Children of a certain age can become impatient, discarding a moment to move on to the next, unaware that some things require a longer gaze, a stronger focus. So before Rosie could chime in with a dozen "what's thats," I told her I would go over everything in the Summer Jar and explain what it was, where it came from and why I decided to keep it.

Luckily for me and my fading memory, years ago I wrote out a small inventory sheet, in my not-so-perfect Palmer method hand-writing despite the admonitions and incantations of Sister Mary Joseph.

Old photos
Berry Smears and Butternut
Crushed Penny
Pillow
Rocks
Pressed Flower
Piece of Wood
Cassette Tape
Stories

Old Photos

The jar contained several photos, all taken over the years at the Grahamsville house where generations had spent their summers. As Rosie pored over them, I gave a narration for each even though they all had been labeled with information on the rear of each picture.



Therese McGinnis Austin and John Ralph Austin. Photograph. Abt 1947. Digital image. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2008

My great-grandparents, whom I affectionately called Grandma and Grandpa, bought the house around 1944 and moved up from New York City sometime thereafter. The house is shown behind them, painted white all over.



Jacqueline Austin. Photograph. Abt 1952. Digital image. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2008

My mother at around age 11 with a coloring book out in front of the house. You can see the outline of where the front porch used to be (see Stories below for more info).



Great-grandparents' house in Grahamsville, NY. Photograph. Abt 1975. Digital image. Privately held by Thomas MacEntee, [ADDRESS FOR PRIVATE USE,] Chicago, Illinois. 2008

This photo was taken on May 30, 1975 just prior to my great-grandparents' 60th anniversary party. This is how I remember the house during my summers there.

Berry Smears and a Butternut

Many of my summer memories at the Grahamsville house involve berry picking. Most of my cousins saw this as a chore - they hated having to wander the 33 acres of land, walking on stone fences filled with snakes, and picking berries until the metal pot attached to your waist with a piece of rope was full. There were rules about berry picking: pick more than you eat, no green berries and no leaves or twigs.

Blueberries were the type of berry picked most often. We would start picking in July and Grandma would cook them down for jam, make pies, or my favorite, Blueberry Buckle. In later years, she had a chest freezer and would freeze the berries for use during the winter.

Besides blueberries we also could pick raspberries, blackberries, currants and gooseberries. A way for me to capture the memory of berry picking was to smear a few on heavy cardstock and let it dry.

The butternut tree was the main focus of the backyard of the house, before the hay fields started to fan out in every direction. I don't remember gathering the nuts or seeing Grandma use them for anything. I just know that I had never seen a real nut tree before in my life.

A Crushed Penny

I could see Rosie was playing with a very thin piece of copper that looked like a slug. And before I could hear the first "what's that," I said, "It's a penny that was crushed by one of the last steam locomotives to come through Sullivan County."

Now I wished I had written down the details of that day - I believe it was 1970 or 1971 which would have made me about 9 years old. I think my niece was just amazed that I had seen an actual locomotive, "like in old movies" as she kindly pointed out. The amazing part is that I had witnessed the passing of an era.

The event took place in Callicoon which is on the Delaware River right across from Pennsylvania. It was a Memorial Day weekend and the organizers of the event (which I am sure were railroad enthusiasts), in making sure that all the little tykes were safe, brought them to an area where they could place a penny to be crushed by the train as it went by. For me and my brother this was loads of fun.

We were able to look around the steam engine once it had stopped, and learn more about the ins and outs of its operations. Steam engine trains traveled in Sullivan County along the Erie railroad built in the mid-19th century. At the turn of the century the trains brought tuberculosis sufferers up to "the mountains" where many sanitariums had been built to provide fresh air, good food and rest. After the epidemic, these same places were turned into boarding house and then hotels to be used by New York City residents looking to escape the heat of summer.

By 1970, when the last steam locomotive ran, the heyday of the Borscht Belt with its all inclusive resorts like The Grossinger and The Concord had passed off into the distance as well.

Pillow

I picked up the small, dark red velvet pillow and gave it a squeeze. I knew what was inside and I also knew for certain that Rosie didn't. "Have you ever heard of milkweed?" I asked her. With a perplexed look, I knew what her response would be, and sure enough: "Why do they call it milkweed?"

I explained that at Grandma's there were plenty of milkweed plants littered across the many acres. The plants grew up to 6 feet tall and if you cut one of the "pods" before it opened, a milky substance, sort of like latex, came out. Besides most of the plant being toxic, the pods opened to reveal long fibers attached to seeds which the wind would carry away.

At the Grahamsville house the variety found was known as the Common Milkweed and since Colonial times it had been used for various medicinal and household purposes. Some people deem the plant edible if it is cooked properly, while others think the white sap can be used for a variety of ailments. But the most common use was as a stuffing for pillows and quilts.

Grandma would remove the long fibers just before they had a chance to scatter in the breeze, and place them on trays inside the house to dry. Sometimes she would remove the dark seed ends but they involved quite a bit of work. Once dry, she fluffed up the fibers and placed them in a bag for future use. Almost all of the pillows that she made were stuffed with milkweed fibers as many of our ancestors in upstate New York and New England probably did over 300 years ago.

Rocks

These smooth rocks are from one of the local swimming holes - my favorite being the river and falls near Accord in Ulster County. I detested lake swimming - lakes were abundant where I grew up but the rocks were slimy, there were many fish and other creatures, and you always smelled like The Swamp Thing when you got home. It made no sense to me to have to take a bath after you went swimming in a lake!

My brother and I had a game of communicating using two rocks underneath water - it also kept the fish away. Of course, it annoyed anyone who was underwater at the time since they didn't know where the sound was coming from.

Pressed Flower

Grandma always had a garden, even late in life, despite the fact that there could be frost as late as Memorial Day, making for a rather short growing season. By the time I began spending my summers there, the large vegetable garden beside the house was long gone. During the 1940s and 1950s, it was used to feed the 12 grandchildren (my mother and her siblings) and other visitors for the summer.

Gardening was not a hobby - it was a necessity! I am sure that Grandma started out with a Victory Garden like so many other families. Being a "city girl" somehow she got the hang of it, often relying upon neighbors for advice. There were all sorts of vegetables, mostly the type that commonly grew best in upstate New York: green beans, wax beans, peppers, tomatoes, squashes, cucumbers, radishes, potatoes, cauliflower, cabbage, etc. Nothing too exotic.

And what wasn't consumed right away was canned - Grandma had a big canning operation, especially since she had a dozen pint-sized assistants available! I do remember one story that Grandma was up to her neck in canning green beans - perhaps there was an impending frost and she had to harvest what she could. Well, despite having the canning operation at full tilt, she did take time to run out and see High Noon one night since it starred Gary Cooper! Beans or no beans, she was not going to miss it!

The pressed flower is from the gardens in front of the house where Grandma grew roses, marigolds, zinnias and columbine which were my favorite. This particular flower is from something Grandma called a "Memorial Day plant" with white lemon-scented blossoms. I actually think it was lemon verbena - perhaps the name was one used by locals since the plant broke its dormancy right around Memorial Day.

Piece of Wood

Before I could get to it, my niece had found a small piece of weathered barn siding still with its red pigment.

"Is this a piece of wood from the barn on the property?"

"Sort of," I said. "It is actually from an outbuilding that my mother and her brothers and sisters called 'The Dollhouse.'"

The Dollhouse was rumored to be the original house built in the mid-1840s before the larger house was built at the turn of the century. It was two stories, had been stained a "barn red" color during the 20th century so as to match the chicken coop next to it and the barn up and across the road.

I remember Mom telling me how it got its name: basically it was used by her and her sisters so that they could play with their dolls. When I spent my summers, the Dollhouse was definitely not safe enough to play in. There were no stairs and part of the roof had fallen through. But I can only imagine the kind of fun that those girls must have had with their dolls and their refuge from their four brothers.

Cassette Tape

I had to laugh out loud when I saw the cassette tape. My brother and I had received a tape recorder as a Christmas gift one year and like many toys and gadgets, it became "uninteresting" by mid-January. But for some reason, we had it with us one summer at Grandma's. We would laugh and giggle as we recorded each other talking and then listen on the playback, thinking our voices sounded so funny. We'd also try to sneak into the living room at Grandma's and secretly tape record some "adult conversation" especially when someone was telling a risque joke. One night, right around this same time, we decided to set up the tape recorder on one of the stone fences at the house and see what wild animals we could record. Our imaginations ran wild as we thought for sure we'd hear snakes slithering among the rocks, or deer coming out to drink from the stream, or even the beavers chopping down trees near their dam on the propery. So we had everything set, made sure we had a good tape with 45 minutes available on one side, set it to record and ran back to the house.

The next morning, Grandma thought it was odd that we wanted to go outside even before getting dressed or having breakfast. But she didn't know the treasure that awaited us outside! Besides, at the Grahamsville house breakfast was the least interesting and the scariest meal of the day. It usually consisted of eggs, bacon or scrapple, toast, prunes stewed in tea and some 100% bran cereal that made Grandma sneeze half the day after she ate it. Oh the things she did for fiber!

So as not to embarass Grandma by running down the road in our pajamas lest the neighbors three miles away should see, Michael and I went through the mechanics of washing up, getting dressed and eating breakfast. With a quick, "May I please be excused?" to Grandpa, we took off on a tear.

We ran down the hill as fast as we could and veered towards the stone fence on the left. First we had to make sure that someone or better yet some thing hadn't run off with our recorder. It was still there! And luckily the machine shut off once it had reached the end of the first side (note to current youth: yes, you had to flip the tape over to record to the other side. These were the dark days before CDs and MP3 players). In anticipation we hit the large Play button and listened carefully. For the first five minutes there was nothing. Nothing at all.

"Maybe we hit Play instead of Play and Record?" I said.

My brother was insistent that we set the machine up perfectly. "Why don't we fast forward a little?" he said.

Good idea. So about half-way through, we started hearing weird noises like grunts and groans, and then the sound of crunching trees or brush. This went on for a few minutes and then you could hear whatever it was scatter away.

Amazing! We actually caught the sound of something! As I wondered what it might be, my brother suggested we set the recorder out again, but a little earlier than the night before. That way we could possibly observe and catch a peek at this creature if it came back again.

So as the setup was done and we went off to the other side of Low Road, which saw all of three cars of through traffic a day, and waited. Within five minutes, one of the neighbor cats up the road sauntered its way down the hill and took a turn to the left, hopping up on the stone fence. And wouldn't you know that it went right for the tape recorder? It sat there for several minutes rubbing its head against it, and laying on top of it.

Disappointed that we didn't catch the sounds of any exotic creatures, we were kind of relieved that it was only a cat wanting some human attention.

Stories

Rosie was flabbergasted that I didn't watch television (or play video games for that matter) during my summers in Grahamsville.

"Didn't your great-grandparents have a tv?" she asked.

"Sure they did but the reception was horrible since there was no cable (and there still isn't). Plus who needed television when there was so much other stuff to do: play outside, read, and talk."

"Talk? That's not entertainment."

I explained to her that I didn't mean talk in terms of just every day conversation with another person. Evenings after supper were a time to retell old stories or discuss the events of the day and politics. My favorite part were the stories, especially stories about the house in Grahamsville.

There are so many stories, and for fear of not being able to retain them in my memory, one year I took to writing some of them down on 3 x 5" file cards. Here are a few:

- the time a stampede of cows came down from the Mateer dairy farm up the hill and took the entire front porch off the house. It never was rebuilt - there was just a small stoop to the front door which opened into the dining room. If you looked closely at the clapboard siding, you could see the outline of where the porch had been. I know that there was a photo of the stampede and I wish I could find it - that would be a great addition to the jar.

- the time Grandma went out berry picking in a fur coat since it was a very cold July morning. Unfortunately Grandpa thought it was a bear and went for his shotgun before he realized who or what it actually was.

Back On The Shelf

After what seemed like minutes but was actually over an hour, we both gathered up the items and placed them back in the jar. While the entire review of items and the ability to pass along the stories to another generation was thoroughly enjoyable and satisfying for my soul, there was still some sad news that I did not convey to Rosie. The Grahamsville house burned down in April 1979 while my great-grandmother was staying with us. She had spent her winter in Florida with her nieces and was waiting for warmer weather before opening up the house. Apparently, someone had broken into the house intent on finding great foturne and either they set the place on fire to cover their tracks or as revenge for not finding much of monetary value. The house and most of its conents were a total loss.

There were so many family artifacts that went up in smoke that day but no amount of tears or speculation can bring them back. But I am so glad I made that Summer Jar one year as the season came to an end. It has been a source of fascination for my niece, nephew and others who could not be there to spend summers so enchanting and adventurous that you thought that the next day could never beat the one that had just ended.

"Uncle Tom?" Rosie said as she interrupted my thoughts. "Do you think I should make a Summer Jar? Can you help me?"

"Sure thing kiddo. Why don't we start by making a list of all the things to put into it and then in the morning we'll start to gather them up."

Like capturing fire flies, I hoped she could catch as many momentos and memories as possible and fill that jar. And realize its value years from now.

Home to Lowville

[This post was written for the 47th Edition of the Carnival of Genealogy hosted by Jasia at Creative Gene]

Lowville in Lewis County, New York is considered the ancestral hometown in my family. Most of my cousins as well as their parents (my aunts and uncles) remember my great-grandfather John Ralph Austin who was born in Lowville in 1896(1). After the 1900 US Census, Ralph Austin's family would make the move down to The Bronx in New York City(2). Even so, there would continue to be a strong identification with him and Lowville, as well as all his descendants and Lowville.



Lowville is the county seat for Lewis County and was named after Nicholas Low who settled there with his family in 1778. Low, a land developer, was from Middlesex, New Jersey, and of Dutch ancestry, as were many of the residents of Northern New York State at that time. However, settlement of Lowville and the rest of Lewis county really did not commence until 1797(3).

Silas Austin (1753 - 1813)

My 6th great-grandfather, Silas Austin was born in West Greenwich, Rhode Island in 1753(4). He married Sarah Crandall (1754 - 1829) sometime before 1773 in Rhode Island(5). She was a descendant of Elder John Crandall who founded Westerly, Rhode Island in 1661(6).

It is assumed that Silas first arrived in New York near current Dutchess County in what was then called the Beekman Patent.(7)(8) He moved to Harrisburgh, near Lowville, in 1805(9).

Silas Austin, Jr. (1778 - 1852)

The third son of Silas Austin, also named Silas, was born in Westerly, Rhode Island in 1778(10) but may have arrived in Lewis County prior to that of his father in 1805. He married Susanna Albro (1777 - 1836) who was born in Denmark, Lewis County, New York and most likely the wedding was held in or around Denmark.(11) His first son, Ira Austin (see below) was born in Denmark in 1800.(12)

Ira H. Austin (1800 - 1872)

Ira was born in Denmark, Lewis County, and was a tailor by trade(13). Sometime before 1824, he married Pedda Everett (1798 - 1879), a descendant of Richard Everett of Dedham, Massachusetts.(14) Together Ira and Pedda had four children, including their oldest son, Ira H. Austin, Jr.(15)

Ira H. Austin, Jr. (1831 - 1907)

Born in Denmark, Lewis County, Ira Austin Jr. married Hannah Dence (1834 - 1907) in Lowville on July 4, 1862.(16) Ira Jr. was a saddle and harness maker and set up shop in Lowville:(17)(18)







William Dence Austin (1863 - 1932)

The oldest son of Ira Austin, Jr., William Dence was born in Boonville, Oneida County on May 24, 1863(19) and died on March 26, 1932 in the Bronx, New York.(20) He married Catherine O'Keefe (1862 - 1946) of Lowville on May 16, 1888.(21)

Having been a butcher by trade(22), around 1904 he took his family consisting of his wife and five young sons down to live in New York City. But according to various stories in the Lowville Journal Republican, my great-grandfather Ralph and his brothers would make visits by train to see his grand-parents, David O'Keefe and Catherine Sullivan O'Keefe, each summer.(23)



More Information On Lowville

I have several posts here about Lowville, which I have visited several times to do research. To me, it is a step back in time, especially the downtown area along State Street where many of the original buildings from the 1880s still exist. Many of the large homes, as seen in the Souvenirs of Lowville have been converted to large bed and breakfast type guest houses - they are busy in the summer and in the winter host many snowmobile enthusiasts.



Notes:

(1) Putman, George W., Genealogy of David Putman and His Descendants, (Private publication, 1916), p. 49.

(2) 1910 US Census,(http://www.ancestry.com), accessed accessed March 22, 2008, citing Census Place: Manhattan Ward 12, New York, New York; Roll: T624_1018; Page: 3B; Enumeration District: 434; Image: 826.

(3) French, J.H., Gazetteer of the State of New York (1860), Reprinted with an Index of Names Compiled by Frank Place, (Baltimore, Maryland: Genealogical Publishing Co., 1998), p. 374.

(4) Moore, Edith Austin, A Genealogy of the Descendants of Robert Austin of Kingstown, R.I., (St. Petersburg, Florida: 1951), p. 234. "Silas removed to Little Hoosic, MA; thence to Dutchess, NY where he lived several years and reared a family. He moved to Harrisburg, Lewis, NY in 1805 and lived there until his death in 1813. He must have married in RI as the 1790 census gives him the same family there and in Dutchess, NY that year. His wife, Sarah Crandall, had a kind and benevolent disposition and was beloved by all who knew her."

(5) Id.

(6) Crandall, John C., Elder John Crandall of Rhode Island and His Descendants, (New Woodstock, New York: 1949), p. 25.

(7) A Genealogy of the Descendants of Robert Austin of Kingstown, R.I., pp. 246, 248.

(8) Doherty, Frank J., The Settlers of the Beekman Patent, Dutchess County, New York, (Pleasant Valley, New York: F.J. Doherty, 1990-2005), p. 246, 248.

(9) A Genealogy of the Descendants of Robert Austin of Kingstown, R.I., p. 248.

(10) Id., p. 234.

(11) Id. [Note: at the time of Susanna Albro's birth, Lewis County was yet to be formed and Denmark was part of Albany County.]

(12) Id., p. 250. [Note: at the time of Ira Austin's birth, Lewis County was yet to be formed and Denmark was then part of Oneida County.]

(13) 1870 US Census,(http://www.ancestry.com), accessed April 12, 2008, citing Census Place: Denmark, Lewis, New York; Roll: M593_964; Page: 350; Image: 87.

(14) Everett, Edward Franklin, Descendants of Richard Everett of Dedham, Massachusetts, (Boston, Massachusetts: 1902 (privately published)), p. 89. [Note: Pedda Everett was born in Massachusetts, and it is likely that Ira Austin met her in Lewis County, New York. Pedda's father, Daniel Everett, had moved from Wrentham, Massachusetts to Keene, New Hampshire in 1802 and then on to Lewis County, New York in 1804.]

(15) 1850 US Census,(http://www.ancestry.com), accessed March 22, 2008, citing Census Place: Denmark, Lewis, New York; Roll: M432_523; Page: 220; Image: 440.

(16) Genealogy of David Putman and His Descendants, p. 49. [Note: This was Ira Jr.'s second marriage, the first being Clarinda Parsons (Abt. 1833 - Bef. 1862), such union producing one daughter, Elizabeth Austin, born in 1854.]

(17) 1870 US Census,(http://www.ancestry.com), accessed March 22, 2008, citing Census Place: Lowville, Lewis, New York; Roll: M593_964; Page: 526; Image: 439.

(18) "The Lowville Journal and Republican," Lowville, New York, December 17, 1873, p. 1.

(19) A Genealogy of the Descendants of Robert Austin of Kingstown, R.I., p. 248.

(20) Id.

(21) Id.

(22) 1900 US Census, (http://www.ancestry.com), accessed March 22, 2008, citing Census Place: Lowville, Lewis, New York; Roll: T623 1070; Page: 22B; Enumeration District: 63.

An Improbable Home

Author's note: this story that I wrote recently ran in excerpted form in Angie's list® magazine. I've been a member of Angie's list® for over two years now and it is a great way to find reputable contractors and handypeople. They have chapters in most metropolitan areas. This was submitted as part of a contest entitled, "Homestead History," asking "what makes your home unique."

I was brought up to believe that a home can be two types: the family you build and pull together to be with you in good times and bad; and the house where that family lives. Growing up in upstate New York, I never had any doubts that Mom would succeed in building the first type of home - even though times were tough in the early 1970s for a newly-divorced mother with two young boys, no credit and no real job experience. It was the second type of home - the physical one - that Mom bought as our first home that was never really meant to exist. Not only was Mom determined to make it exist, she made certain it thrived, even to this day.

After many years of apartment living and scrimping and saving, Mom decided it was time to buy a house. She really didn’t have a choice: the 3-bedroom apartment over a warehouse that cost $80 a month was being converted into a larger warehouse so we had to move. We looked at a few houses but they either were rife with problems or the price was way beyond our means. Then in early 1976, we got word that someone was selling a house on the outskirts of the village with 2 acres of land for an unbelievable price of $18,000. Still, that seemed like a lot of money to us back then.

On our first visit it became clear why the price was so low: the house was a Lustron Home. Lustron Homes were pre-fabricated houses manufactured between 1948 and 1950 to help solve the housing crisis confronting returning GIs right after WW II. The homes were made of “porcelain enameled steel” as they advertised - the concept was to sell a house that took 350 man hours to install and had no maintenance or redecorating issues: you could simply wipe down the panels with soap and water. There were lots of “new concepts” such as radiant panel heat from the ceiling, lots of “built-ins”, even a Thor washing machine that converted into a dishwasher! No bugs, no rot, no worries, no fuss, no muss. What more could an atomic age 1950s family want?

We knew the place needed work and thought most of it was cosmetic. But what we didn’t realize is what more could a 1970s family need? Upstate New York was no place for a Lustron Home - that we soon found out. The houses were intended more for the Sun-belt states with their mild climates and easy lifestyles. To us, Florida was warm winters, palm trees, ocean waves and relatives who only spent October thru April there, arriving like snow birds in their late model Cadillacs.

So, with a mortgage and a second mortgage that the seller was willing to provide, Mom signed on the dotted line and we moved in around the time of the Bicentennial celebration. Mom now had her security and her freedom and it was all wrapped up in a new home.

Our home was smack on the side of a small mountain, with 50 mph winter winds making sure that pipes would freeze, and hot steamy humid summers that would begin to corrode the areas of steel that weren’t so “porcelain enameled.” Summer appropriate windows that might as well be wire screens in the winter. And didn’t someone once say that “heat rises”? So how does radiant heat from ceiling panels work without some forced air system to make sure the lower extremities don’t freeze? No wonder that the previous owner only used it as a summer home when he came up from - guess where? Florida. I always thought it would be funny if he lived in a classic Northeast home like a New England salt box or a New York Dutch stone house down there and not a more suitable type, like a Lustron Home.

If anything, Mom was always resourceful: within five years and help from relatives along with learning how to use a hammer and how to cut wood, she was able to convert this “improbable home” into a great 1,000 sq ft living space. Before I left for college in 1980 she had insulated the entire house - walls and roof, paneled the outside with wood, replaced the roof, changed the rusty metal doors with bi-fold ones, and made so many other improvements that you couldn’t even recognize the place!

Mom was a genius to me in that she could take a house that just didn’t fit into its surroundings and seemed unlivable, at least on a year-round basis, and convert it into a home where all the relatives gathered at every holiday, where there were crazy graduation parties and summer cookouts, and where she would raise two boys before sending them off into the world. What better lessons could a son have than to know that anything was possible and to not allow anyone to tell you that you wouldn’t be able to accomplish something?

And Mom would spend the remainder of her days there, working many jobs, socializing with friends, entertaining her grandchildren - all before 2000 when Alzheimer’s Disease would come at the age of 58 and gradually remove all those memories - memories of making something out of almost nothing.

One way that I continue to honor all Mom’s efforts is to keep the house going even though I am over 800 miles away in Chicago. Now I have tenants who do as good a job at taking care of the house as my mother did and help with improvements such as a wood stove, new gutters, patches and repairs. And I see Mom every few weeks at the nursing home when I fly in. She doesn’t ask about the house any more and probably doesn’t remember what she accomplished with that crazy house and those two boys.

Weekly Planner: Five Questions about Home

In honor of Family History Month, the 24/7 Family History Circle site has listed a set of "challenges" to assist people in writing their own personal history.

The third topic is Home.

What was your room like when you were growing up? Did you share it or did you have your own room? What did it look like?
We lived in a large three-bedroom apartment in the village of Liberty, New York until I was 12 years old. This place was over a warehouse and the rent was only $80 a month. In 1976, my mother scraped everything together that she had and purchased her first and only home with two acres of land about three miles outside the village. The place was interesting because it was a Lustron Home.

Did you have a backyard? A garden? Did you grow fruits and/or vegetables?
We had two acres of land, one of which was fenced off for horses that our neighbor would bring over each day. He was happy to have some extra room for them to roam and we were happy with their lawn mowing capabilities.

Did you have a secret hiding place? Not physically. I hid in my books and in my schoolwork. What household chores were your responsibilities?
Wow. Well, I began cooking for the family at the age of nine. I was also helped out with house cleaning and some lawn duties.

In what room did your family gather most? Was it in the living room or around the kitchen table? What did you do there? Sing? Talk about the day? Watch T.V.? Tell stories?
The dining room table was the focal point, mostly when company came over, and it seems we always had company. There was always lots of food, or perhaps a pinochle or canasta game going on. Crazy aunts and uncles, lots of cousins to play with.

Photo: The house belonging to my great-grandparents John Ralph Austin and Therese McGinnes Austin in Grahamsville, New York. Circa 1944.