There were old relatives in my life when I was a child. My father visited them and took me and my sister along. I have no clear memories of these people. Only in later life, I have questions I would ask them, but now it is too late. Some of them had relatives that fought in the Civil War. What stories they could tell! I wish I could interview them. The muteness from their passing is my loss.
My impressions are more about their houses and the land around it. Dad and relatives were talking, letting me look around on my own.
It was a lot more quiet in those days. Those old people used manual grass mowers. In one incident, the old man used a scythe to cut down hay. The kitchen was simple. The food offered me was simple.. a glass of water or a home made donut, aka: fried dough . Aunt Jen once worked as a house keeper to a farmer. In memory I see the cow heading for the barn. I smell the farm, see chickens in an enclosed yard.
At the end of the day, they sat on the porch and rocked in the rocking chair, talking. Inside, was a wood chair by an open window. There was a full size screen on the window, hung from two outside hangers at the top. In the fall, the screen would come down and a wood storm window would replace it. The screen wasn't made of woven aluminum wire like screens today. It was made from steel mesh. The mesh had to be painted, or it would rust. Sometimes the mesh would be one color on the inside and another color on the outside. It takes patience to paint a screen. The little holes get clogged with paint. The painter would have to take a pin to clear the holes. Sometimes they didn't bother. Sometimes the screen mesh was patched with a small piece of mesh. Screens could become fascinating in their originality. ...patches, rust spots and clogged holes.
The house was quiet. Not even a radio turned on. You could hear the birds signing their territory with song. Crickets. No cars on the road. Linoleum on the floor. Tea towels turned into curtains at the kitchen window. Fruit grown on the property was canned in glass jars. In the basement, was a crock of sauerkraut, put up for use in the winter.
Dishes were washed by hand, dried and put away. Laundry was done by hand, or with a wringer washer and hung out to dry. If it was raining, the laundry was hung in the basement. There were no clothes dryers. They wore cotton, washed in real soap. Clothes smelled differently , smelled clean, smelled of fresh air. The women always wore dresses. I see them on the clothes line.
During the summer, they went to bed when the sun went down. I remember peas and beans picked from the side garden....an old dog that could shake paw with me. That was his trick. I wish I could talk to those people now, to learn about their lives. What is history to me, is a current event to them. I don't even know their names. My questions are unanswered. I miss them.
My impressions are more about their houses and the land around it. Dad and relatives were talking, letting me look around on my own.
It was a lot more quiet in those days. Those old people used manual grass mowers. In one incident, the old man used a scythe to cut down hay. The kitchen was simple. The food offered me was simple.. a glass of water or a home made donut, aka: fried dough . Aunt Jen once worked as a house keeper to a farmer. In memory I see the cow heading for the barn. I smell the farm, see chickens in an enclosed yard.
At the end of the day, they sat on the porch and rocked in the rocking chair, talking. Inside, was a wood chair by an open window. There was a full size screen on the window, hung from two outside hangers at the top. In the fall, the screen would come down and a wood storm window would replace it. The screen wasn't made of woven aluminum wire like screens today. It was made from steel mesh. The mesh had to be painted, or it would rust. Sometimes the mesh would be one color on the inside and another color on the outside. It takes patience to paint a screen. The little holes get clogged with paint. The painter would have to take a pin to clear the holes. Sometimes they didn't bother. Sometimes the screen mesh was patched with a small piece of mesh. Screens could become fascinating in their originality. ...patches, rust spots and clogged holes.
The house was quiet. Not even a radio turned on. You could hear the birds signing their territory with song. Crickets. No cars on the road. Linoleum on the floor. Tea towels turned into curtains at the kitchen window. Fruit grown on the property was canned in glass jars. In the basement, was a crock of sauerkraut, put up for use in the winter.
Dishes were washed by hand, dried and put away. Laundry was done by hand, or with a wringer washer and hung out to dry. If it was raining, the laundry was hung in the basement. There were no clothes dryers. They wore cotton, washed in real soap. Clothes smelled differently , smelled clean, smelled of fresh air. The women always wore dresses. I see them on the clothes line.
During the summer, they went to bed when the sun went down. I remember peas and beans picked from the side garden....an old dog that could shake paw with me. That was his trick. I wish I could talk to those people now, to learn about their lives. What is history to me, is a current event to them. I don't even know their names. My questions are unanswered. I miss them.
posted by gardenbug at Thursday, June 29, 2006
4 Comments:
In the back recesses of my mind, I remember visiting Aunt Jen when she was in a nursing home. I was frightened by the nursing home and of all of the old and infirm people around me. But I think it was good that I was taken there - imagine the generations gathered around her bed - 4!
I often feel shocked by how fast life is moving now and of how much stress we all suffer in the name of "progress." I'd rather be home canning peaches.
I wonder who you were visiting, as Howard Seyse's aunt, my great aunt Jen, died when I was a teenager. She lived 4 months with us, 4 months with a relative in Arcade New York, and 4 months in her own unheated home in Sandusky New York. She was my grandmother substitute. She taught me to write my name before I entered kindergarten. She lived with us from the time I was a pre-schooler until I was about 12.
Mom resented Jen's presence, but Dad welcomed her. As her health deteriorated from diabetes, she went into a home for paupers.
Dad and I visited Aunt Jen in Sandusky New York during the summer. Your middle name, Jane , was chosen to honor her. The musings are a compilation of trips to several relatives of Howard Seyse, some of them to Aunt Jen's house.
I don't believe in Senior living communities, as I believe all the generations should live within visiting distance. Each generation has something to teach the other generations. Having Aunt Jen live with us for a time, was a gift.
Oh - I know who I am thinking of. Her name was Ruth. Did Grandpa Seyse have a relative named Ruth? We called her Aunt Ruth, but maybe she was a cousin?
Yes. Howard Seyse had another aunt, named Ruth. I visited her in a nursing home, too. As I remember her, she was arrogant and demanding, but perhaps time has distorted my memory. I remember that Ruth had her feet so twisted, they seemed to be on backward...wonder if that was arthritis or some other medical condition. I remember that her room was tiny...hope I never have to endure a nursing home. I expect to be a very ornery and non-compliant resident...er..."inmate".
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