Showing posts with label History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label History. Show all posts

Thursday, April 9, 2026

From The Apple Orchard

 

One

  My father, Samuel Townsend, moved to Oyster Bay in 1750 along with my mother, Sarah, and my older brothers, Solomon and Sam. Pappy was in his forties, and Mummy in her late twenties. He hadn’t only robbed the cradle, but he’d married an Episcopalian to boot. Pappy’s family were Quakers and came from England in the middle of the fifteenth-century. You might wonder how I know. John Townsend is sleeping in the family plot. They met at Mott’s meeting house that had been built for corn and pork, a well known fact amongst the Friends, as they called themselves. The house became too small being a one up two down, and within a couple of years Pappy had his slaves build a four room addition to accommodate my brother Billy, sister Audrey, and myself, Robert Townsend, born November 26, 1753, under the sign of Scorpio. This is my tale. 

  My first memory was of the apple orchard in spring; there were a hundred trees, planted from red apples, by John Townsend, himself. He didn’t live long after arriving here, so they were his legacy, and the beginning of our dynasty providing cider, honey, and apples which we traded. That was the beginning. Pappy inherited a ship, Glasgow, from my grandfather, a ship captain, who brought our sweet goods to Scotland.

  Pappy was industrious. He had a family of slaves that he treated as well as his own children. Mammy and Papa lived upstairs. We played with their many children, Hezekiah, Jeremiah, Henry, Francis, and Matt as if they were brothers. Of course this put Pappy off amongst the Friends who condemned slavery. Pappy was his own man. He thought for himself and raised us to do the same. He said, “Watch for your chances to do good.” He was an amazing man. 

  Mammy was midwife, nanny, and wet nurse. Mummy had lost a couple babies but had eight more to make up for it. We heeded Mammy as well as we did Pappy. “Git out of dat mud before I take a switch to you!” She was quite the character, but very loving and treated us as well as her own children. Both she and Papa were born in Oyster Bay, like Pappy who grew up with them. It was their home. The Friends did not get it and never would. We were a family. Pappy taught us not to worry what other people thought of us. 

  “Don’t concern yourself with things out of your control,” he said. “You cannot change what they think anymore than you can order a honeybee about. Focus on what is in your power; otherwise, forget about it.” He was very wise. 

  He captained his ship; Solomon and Sam were his apprentices while Hezekiah and Jeremiah were stewards, responsible for keeping everything ship shape, scrubbing, mopping, and polishing. Billy, Henry, and I came along, learning, while playing pirates and looking for mermaids. We had a wonderful time. 

  Meanwhile Mummy and little Audrey were not idle back at Raynham Hall which was now known as a stately mansion in Oyster Bay. Mammy could read and they taught Audrey to do the same, reading from The Bible, Shakespeare, Fielding, Pope, and Swedenborg. Audrey could spin by the time that she could walk. They helped Mammy with the baking and the laundry. It was a full house, full of laughter and love. There were a lot of us, and we kept coming. 

  David was born around Easter when I was six, and Sally came along a year after. By the time Phebe followed, three years later, Audrey was helping like a little mother. Papa carved little dolls for them, the Apple Darling family, from fallen branches, broken in storms. Audrey’s were Mr. Johnny Apple Darling and his wife, June. Sally treasured little Blossom, and Phebe kept May. They sewed and embroidered entire wardrobes for them from scraps. Those dolls were better dressed than we were. Quakers dress drably, gray and brown, but Pappy saw to it that our clothes were well made of wool, and even Papa had fancy gold buckles on his black leather shoes. He was proud of those buckles. 

  We were not proud. We all worked, but we played too, Pappy insisted upon it. We swung from the apple trees, built a treehouse, Solomon, Sam, Hezekiah, and Jeremiah helped with the sawing, and had our own peaceful kingdom amongst the apple trees along with the Little People, birds, squirrels, possums, and bees.

Friday, July 4, 2025

Valley Forge Tour Ebook

  Valley Forge

Available for kindle, soon to be released in paperback, Valley Forge is by far my biggest picture book yet. It encompasses the complete driving tour followed by a descriptive essay. Have a Happy Fourth of July!  



 

Friday, May 23, 2025

From DOC

 

    My father’s family, the Hollidays, on the other hand, were more of the hard scrabble sort living in a cabin in the mountains. Daddy was a soldier and fought in The Creek Indian Wars under Andrew Jackson against The Red Sticks who lost twenty million acres in the struggles. Then he was off to Mexico in The Mexican War. He found my older adopted brother, Francisco Hidalgo, an orphan, living in the streets, and brought him back to Georgia. He moved from Fayetteville twenty miles away to Griffin where he worked for a druggist in town, Mr. Monk, at Monk’s Drugs on Tinsley Street, which was just a dirt road. Francisco, later called Cisco, was just a boy but helped stock the shelves. That’s where he met Mama who had come in with her sisters looking for laudanum. 


  “My, Alice Jane, that dashing gallant looks as if he’d eat you up,” Aunt Wanetta whispered, squeezed my mother’s arm, and laughed. 


  Daddy was shy, but said that Mama looked like a satin doll and that he was smitten at first sight. He knew she was out of reach, but he was ambitious. He built a fine two storey stucco covered brick house and courted Mama for a year. Grandpap Bill was impressed, and they were married in Griffin's First Presbyterian Church in June of 1848. Aunt Fawnie said that she had never seen so many flowers, all white: roses, lilies, and baby’s breath. 


  Mama settled into married life. It was not what she was used to. She could not even bring Mammy along and mourned her loss. My sister, their first born, Martha Eleanora, came and left them a year later. Measles took her in the crib. Mama was inconsolable, and Daddy thought the only remedy could be me. I was born August 14th, 1851, under the sign of the lion and christened in March, 1852. Do you suppose that makes a difference? Will it help me to Heaven? 



Two


  Uncle John Stiles Holliday lived in Fayetteville along with the rest of Daddy’s family. 


Thursday, December 5, 2024

Wednesday, November 27, 2024

From BATTLEFIELD

 

  "Again, that reminder or remainder of humanity wafted on the air, and it startled me. I thought I might be going mad. 

  Having respect for the dead means that future generations don't pave over cemeteries for parking lots. Cemeteries are paved over, on occasion, but it is the exception rather than the rule. There is no law, however, that says cemeteries can't be tourist attractions. A headstone, plain or fancy, reminds onlookers that so-and-so existed within the confines of two dates. If the carved numerals are decipherable, a moment of mental arithmetic ensues, a calculation of how old so-and-so lived to be. 

  In Harrisonburg there are more than 250 Confederate graves in a quadrant of the oldest cemetery. Each small marble marker reads like a word in a chilling sentence, or a sentence in a numbing chapter. The regularity with which the markers are placed, row upon row like a marching battalion, suggests an orderliness, a solidarity of purpose. The Southern Cause is given shape and substance. I know it is an act of practicality, the organizing of corpses in a limited space, but still the geometry of the graves disturbs me. Death for any cause, lost or won, is not quite so cut and dried as a cemetery layout."

Peter Svenson

  We just got back from the casino. Frankie and I are about to make more pumpkin muffins from Shannen O'Lantern. I froze some. 

Happy Thanksgiving! 🍂

Sunday, November 17, 2024

Pottsgrove Manor and Saint Michael's Cemetery

  Available as an ebook, soon to be released in paperback, Pottsgrove Manor and Saint Michael's Cemetery is another Pennsylvania picture book. They are so much fun. For me they are memory albums that I can share around the world. This one has one-hundred-and-thirty full color pages. DARK SHADOWS fans ought to love Pottsgrove Manor as much as I do. I almost expected Angelique to pop out at me with a doll. 

Pottsgrove Manor and Saint Michael's Cemetery 

Visit Pottsgrove Manor



 

Saturday, November 16, 2024

Pottsgrove Manor & St. Michael's Cemetery

  Had a fun time at Saint Michael's Cemetery in Birdsboro; there are Revolutionary and Civil War soldiers there. Found Pottsgrove Manor completely by accident. Think Grandpap and Daddy led me there as the founder of Pottstown was also the first blast furnace manager in Pennsylvania. I'm not fond of tours, but the guide is so knowledgeable and engaging.The museum gift shop is wonderful, full of handmade candles, soap, tea, redware, cards, and lots more. Had supper at one of my favorite places, The Douglasville Hotel. They deepfry pretzels like Rachel's Roadhouse in Mercer. Slippery Rock alumni know what I'm talking about. A paperback picture and ebook ought to be available on Amazon soon. I'll keep you updated. 


 

Thursday, November 7, 2024

Doc Holliday | Full Western Movie


  Frankie is in his rocking Archie Bunker chair, and I've got some pear cider and Malbec. I like mixing them with some pomegranate seeds for fun. I'm sort of over the moon. Doc Holliday is a hero of mine. I wrote a paper on him in grad school. I was the only girl in the class. Of course I got an A. I still see my professor on The History Channel now and then. Doc deserves a novel. Maybe after Fanging with Claude? 

Druidic Cat Nap