Big Old Family Hug

Hello all! Hope you are all enjoying this nice Spring we’re having. With COVID numbers moving down in our area, I’m starting to feel hopeful again.

My daughter’s school is opening back up again full-time starting next week and I’ll have my second shot this coming Thursday. Can you remember how this seemed unimaginable even in the Fall? Can I get a hallelujah?!

In this and the next few posts, I’ve decided to showcase some of the “friends and acquaintances” from the Dunning album. These are all within the 1914 time frame.

My picture today features a “Mrs. Wickham” who I have decided must be Mrs. Emma Hunt Wickham (1851-1918). Here’s my rationale on that:

1. The age checks out: She’d be about 63 in this picture, taken in 1914. Though she does look older, I’d argue that if I did my hair that way, wore that dress and sat in a rocker, there’s a good chance I’d look 63.
   
2. The photo says “at her home”. This squares with Emma Hunt Wickham who would have lost her husband (Reeves B., a farmer) in 1909.
   
3. That home (the farm) was located in Ridgebury, New York, which is a hamlet of the Town of Wawayanda. That would have been close to where the Dunning farm was and likely that they would have been visitors and…
   
4. She was an active member of the Ridgebury Presbyterian Church. As we have seen in prior posts, those Presbyterians did not hesitate to gather with each other!

Her obituary was published 4 years after this photo was taken, in the Middletown Times-Press dated March 23, 1918. It states that she was the daughter of William Desaix Hunt (also a farmer) and Sarah Young.

The obituary also states that “at the home of her parents, on the lower road, she was united in marriage with Reeves B. Wickham, November 15, 1871.” (How funny is that? The town of Wawayanda was so ‘intimate’ that her parents house could be described as “on the lower road”).

In fact, her late husband Reeves B. Wickham’s farm is mentioned in a document called “The History of Orange County”. In that document, it says that the population of the Town of Wawayanda was 1,906 inhabitants in 1865 and actually decreased to 1,574 inhabitants by 1905.

Anyone that grew up in or near Middletown knows that the Wickham family did not die out, however. Emma herself left three sons and one daughter: William H of Middletown, Clarence of Slate Hill, Howard R. and Mabel Wickham Quackenbush. And, of course, Wickham Avenue still runs right through the heart of the Town of Walkill, blessed by Chase Bank and Little Caesar’s and Shop Rite on its left and right.

And there. I’m late for Pre-K pickup. Tell me what you’re up to these days? Any new outings and adventures? Sending a big family hug. XXXX

This month, we had a contractor come visit our house to give us a “ball park” figure on adding an upstairs bathroom. Never having done this before, I didn’t quite know what to expect. I expected the worst.

I imagined that as soon as he came in, the contractor would take in our disordered living room at a glance. Stained rug in need of vacuuming, stained sofa with stuffing coming out the bottom, he would get the picture. I imagined him comparing it to the grander (and cleaner) houses he’s worked at, thinking “how are they going to cough up the money for this?!”

On the contrary, he barely looked around. We all spent the first bit staring down at his sneakers, which he had taken off and tried to place on our doorstep. “No, please! Just leave then inside!” we insisted and pointed out the pile we already keep in our entryway.

We thought his gesture was a sort of polite safety precaution for COVID. I later found out that leaving shoes outside your house is an Asian custom (so maybe he picked up that habit from his Asian clients?) Whatever the reason, he went straight upstairs after this shoe dance to share his vision for the work we were planning.

The contractor, (I’ll call him João so I can use that cool tilde over the “a”), speaks English as a second language. He came to the U.S. from Brazil as an adult the same way my husband did from Argentina. This provided instant camaraderie for the two of them.

I liked João too, though. He looked me in the eye when I asked a question and included me in eye contact when my husband asked a question. I really appreciate this. Even if I have no idea what the car repair guy or the electrician or some other technician is talking about, it’s important to me to feel like part of the conversation.

I have my doubts that my great-grandparents’ general contractor included Eleanor too much in the conversation but I may be wrong! Take a look and judge for yourself. Below you’ll find Mr. Shafer (Peter) holding my grandmother, Marjorie. Doesn’t he look a bit like the walrus from “The Walrus and the Carpenter” in Disney’s version of Alice in Wonderland? Completely of another era.

Mr. Shafer is listed in the 1920 census as being born in New York and married to Minnie A. Shafer (also born in New York). They had a daughter Bertha (20) and Beatrice (9). Bertha later married a salesman named Harold Bonds and moved to New Jersey.

The strange thing is that the 1940 census lists Minnie and Beatrice as living with Bertha and Harold in Essex, New Jersey. Minnie is listed as a practice nurse and Beatrice as a stenographer.

I thought that maybe Mr. Shafer had died and that’s why they left but, in fact, I found a Middletown newspaper bit from July 1932 saying, “W.G. Tice has sold his modern home at 22 Oak Street to Peter Shafer, who will occupy it”. Did they split up? A mysterious mystery!

But there’s more! Below, you’ll find a shot of Mr. Crumley, painter. I had researched him as Harry F. Crumley, son of Charles and Eva F but I might be wrong about that.

There’s also Mr. Collins, seen here at work on the column. This was likely Otis Collins or Thomas D. Junior of 121 Linden Street. Thomas Senior was a lawyer and it seems like he made both sons work as painters in the summer. (Both sons were listed in the newspaper as making honor roll in June 1918).

The closing photo of the contractors for today shows how the children must have enjoyed the process of the home renovation. You can see Ferris up on one of the carpenter’s shoulders, Clara being held round the waist and Marjorie popping her head up from behind. I find this very telling, too, about how much of a small-town community Walkill must have felt like then.

There is a closeness between the workers and their employers that seems rare nowadays. I mean, he’s a nice guy, but the idea of João holding my baby or propping a kid on his shoulders for a picture is completely laughable.

I hope you had a good March and that you are on your way to vaccination and a semi-normal life again! I have not been able to get an appointment yet but am excited that the age bracket has finally opened up.

How are your gardens coming along? I planted some daffodil bulbs last year all over the yard and it has been so much fun to see where they’ve sprouted. Who said nothing good came out of 2020? Big hugs to you all.

“Is it true you were born in the eighteen-hundreds?” Sophia yelled through the window.

“What of it?” Grandma answered, very distinctly. “What do you know about the eighteen-hundreds?”

“Nothing, and I’m not interested, either,” Sophia shouted and ran away.

The Summer Book by Tove Jansson

I thought this was such a funny episode in the book I read last year. Grandma has a tendency to be private and defensive. Her prickly responses set off equally prickly ones from her granddaughter, who doesn’t like to be thought of as young and uninformed.

If you’re looking for a good book to escape the drudgery of this season, I highly recommend The Summer Book. The reason I picked that quote, though, is that the two visitors to the Dunning house in the below pictures were born right at the end of the eighteen-hundreds.

The woman in the white dress with the magnificent bow is Harriet Beyea Clark. She was born in 1894 to Samuel E. Clark and Lydia Carr. She’s posing here with a familiar cast of characters: Aunt Kate holding my grandma Marjorie, sister Clara squinting into the sun, and great-grandmother Eleanor deep in conversation with Ferris.

You’ll notice that pile of rocks and boards below the deck there. This is the period that the Dunnings rebuilt the house and I suspect this was part of the demolition .

Harriet’s beau, Frank Vincent Simpson, was also born in 1894, in Hurleyville (Sullivan County). He became a building contractor, located on 224 East Main Street in Middletown. I assume that he was involved somehow on the house renovation but I’m not sure they would have a 20-year-old heading the project!

Harriet and Frank married on New Year’s Eve 1914. He was drafted a few years later for WWI, some time between 1917 and 1918. On the draft registration his height (tall, medium or short) is listed as “short”. His build (slender, medium or stout) is listed as “slender”. “Brown” is noted down for hair color and “grey” for eye color (which is kind of amusing…grey?)

On May 21, 1917 I found that Frank was one of 15 men to be “honorable discharge[d]…from the organization, because of dependent families.” He returned to Middletown and was employed by Ed Pitcher of Goshen as a carpenter/house carpenter. As of the 1930 census, he and Harriet were raising three children in the Town of Walkill: Norma (11), John C. (9) and Lawrence (3).

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Daughter Norma ended up marrying Allan Mitchell (an Otisville man) and went on to have three children as well (Pamela, Judy and Allan Jr.). Son John C. attended Northeastern college in September 1940. Son Lawrence showed up as 3 yrs. old on the 1930 census but I couldn’t turn up anything on him. Anyone know a Larry Simpson growing up?

I saved this picture for last because it’s so idyllic. Look at that countryside. Look at the affianced couple with their fancy pre-children clothing . Everyone looks like they had a good day. Remember all those older pictures where people didn’t even smile?

It’s been a difficult week in my personal 2021 world. Our local day care had to shut down my daughter’s pre-K class (again) due to a positive COVID case. My husband and I took turns playing Barbies and Zingo for 15 minutes every couple hours, and my older daughter tried to entertain her once school was over but…it was sad.

Whenever something like this happens my husband and I do try to count our blessings. None of us have gotten sick. We’ve still got our jobs. It’s similar to when it rains in New York and people say “could be worse, could be snow.” Thankfully, it seems like we’re turning a corner on both fronts (winter and COVID). Just have to be patient…

Hope everyone and their chickens are staying nice and toasty warm. Hugs to you all.

Snow, snow, snow. My husband just finished shoveling off what was left of yesterday’s storm. We got another 4 or 5 inches on top of the 3 to 6 we had the week before…on top of the 20+ inches from the beginning of February.

Then again, that’s part of the bargain when you live in the Northeast. And it provides the perfect opportunity to showcase this 1914 picture! Clara and Ferris are outside showing off what looks like some good packing snow.

I did my research to determine what date this picture was taken and came up with two possibilities. It looks like either February 14, 1914 (which was a historic snowfall day for Albany) or March 1st or 2nd, 1914 when even Central Park got over 14 inches.

One thing I don’t care for with snowstorms is the relentless grey and white of the landscape. It’s apt that the movie “Groundhog Day” takes place on that holiday. All February I’ve also felt like I’m living the same grey day over and over.

That’s why you will note that I’ve enhanced the picture above! Do you like it? What do you think? I found out that the MyHeritage site has free tools where you can upload black and white photos and enhance them. One tool makes blurry pictures a little less fuzzy. Another adds color to them and sort of brings them to life.

I’ve only used the color tool for this photo but am interested to try it out again with some of the other album pictures. So what are you all up to this weekend? Jack and Jill have gifted us their old sled so we’re going to try that out on a local hill. When we tried to order one online the delivery dates were in March so – once again – Jack and Jill to the rescue!

Sending you a big, warm hug.

“We are not makers of history; we are made by history.”

Martin Luther King Jr., in a sermon from the book Strength to Love

Happy rather belated Martin Luther King Jr. Day! I reference his quote partly to celebrate the anniversary of his birth and partly because it seemed to have relevance to the investigation of my great-great grandfather Horace W. Dunning.

In context, that quote from Dr. King’s sermon meant, ‘yes, right now history is making you, but it doesn’t have to be that way.’ He was exhorting people to stand up against injustices and to be active in supporting civil rights.

As in, “No, history! I’m not letting you run roughshod over me like a bunch of white conspiracy theorists through the halls of the Capitol building!” Hmph.

It brought to mind the story from 2015 where a mother from Houston called out a McGraw-Hill text book. One section of the history book stated that the slave trade “brought millions of workers from Africa to the southern United States to work on agricultural plantations.” She argued that the wording glossed over the ugliness of that history. McGraw-Hill ended up rewriting it.

This woman – like all of us – was “made” by history but she also “made history” herself, in this case, by arguing her case with the publisher. I think it’s just what King was getting at in his sermon.

Speaking of national history, did you watch the inauguration ceremony on Wednesday? My daughter’s teachers turned it on for the children and it was the sound of her clapping from the sofa that clued me in to tuning in from my work laptop (shhh).

Not yet at an age that would make her embarrassed to do so, she sang Amazing Grace loud and strong along with Garth Brooks. I promise to stop harping on “made from history” but my daughter learned the song over many visits to church. Which we went to because I grew up going to our local Presbyterian church…

…because grandfather went and great-grandfather and great-great-grandfather before that. Do you know how many generations of us (and likely you and your ancestors, too) have sang Amazing Grace? Over so many years, isn’t it um...amazing...to think that all of us sang the same notes and the same tune?

American Girl Doll Rebecca Rubin’s classic outfit from 1914 New York City!

I’ve included a photo of the American Girl Doll known as Rebecca Rubin, too. When I saw my grandma’s plaid outfit in the first picture I said, “hmm…that reminds me of something”. The doll’s outfit is modeled on a 1914 pattern so now you can rest knowing that the American Girl Doll company does its research!

Well, it’s been a long post but then…it’s been a long January, friends. Sending you a big family hug on this snowy day.

Happy New Year 2021, everyone! Are you up to the challenge of a new year? Have you made any resolutions (besides “get through it”)? I’m suffering from a 2020 emotional hangover. They say there’s a shot you can get to help with that but I can’t seem to get my hands on it…

One nice thing about the prior year for our family was an exchange of niceties with our kind next-door neighbors…I’ll call them Jack and Jill. Jill stops by weekly with coloring books, chalk, bubble wands and seasonal craft projects for my daughters. I protest but she always says “I feel so sorry for them. I wanted to do this”. When Jack runs to the bakery, he’s sure to come over with cupcakes.

Right before Christmas, we found them on our doorstep laden (and I mean laden) with packages for all of us. As we sipped their delicious wine, and devoured their cheese and sausage, my husband and I agreed that there are some things that real estate can’t account for. Jack and Jill are priceless.

We’ve done our best to compensate, of course. My older daughter runs across our lawn with me to their house whenever we make a new batch of corn muffins or chocolate chip cookies. We’ve gotten into a habit where she rings the doorbell, sets the treat on their front step and then runs the 6+ feet back waiting for Jack or Jill to peek out. 

It’s a happy moment – waiting and knowing we get to treat them to a nice surprise.

Though, yes, there’s also a split second where I worry that we’ve interrupted their afternoon nap.

It has certainly made me think about my grandmother’s life on the farm. In a place where people lived further from each other and without Netflix, it’s likely that her family’s relationship with the neighboring farm families must have been strong too. They wouldn’t have needed to bother the neighbors for a cup of milk (hardy har har) but the children would have been school friends. 

Note to self: find out which farms neighbored the Dunning Farm!

Today’s pictures are from a page in the album entitled “Clara, Ferris and Katie with the Furs”. Like me over winter break, I assume that Eleanor and her sister-in-law may have been desperate to entertain the pre-K contingent. My grandmother (either 1 year old if this is early 1914 or almost 2 if late 1914) may have been inside throwing a tantrum. 

During the summer, Jill told us about a tradition she has of writing down nice memories on card stock and then storing them in a jar. On Christmas Day, she and Jack then take turns reaching in and reading each of the little notes out loud. It’s a way of remembering all the good and funny things that happened over the year.

She (of course) cut up some card stock for my daughter and I emptied a pickle jar so that we could do the same.

Well, friends, it was a grand success! I highly recommend it, especially in a year where the ‘big picture’ may not seem so bright. I saved a few of our funny ones so you could get a taste.

1. Child #1 (9 yrs. old) wanting mom to towel her off after a bath: “I got myself dry last time. I’m due for a towel off.”

2. Child #1 picking up mom’s free weights: “Well, at least someone around here cares about upper body strength!”

3. Child # 1 playing mom to Child # 2 (4 yrs. old) who proceeds to do something dangerous.

Child # 2: “Can I do it again, mom?”

Child # 1: “What kind of a fake mom would I be if I didn’t let you take risks?”

Nothing that will be written in the history books but just…the little things that made us laugh or that we were grateful for throughout the year. In the end, that’s what makes up a year, right? Trying on mom’s furs on a dull winter day.

It’s a pleasure to “speak” to you again. Please take a second to tell me about some of your 2020 moments! Or your 2021 goals (More puzzles? Books? Ooh..travel – remember that?) 

“Grow up!” It’s a schoolyard phrase meant to put attackers on defense.

Taunter: “First came love, then came marriage…”
Responder: (Eye roll) “Oh, grow up already!”

Taunter: “I see London, I see France…”
Responder: (deadpan) “Grow up, Joe.”

Lately, though, it’s what I think when I post pictures of my grandmother to this blog. Will I ever get to 1940? (Or even 1914?) When will baby Marjorie get to grow up…

…for the second time? Hahaha

I’ll blame my impatience on both nature and nurture, if I may. New Yorkers aren’t known for the peaceful way they wait on lines. Or wait for anything, really. I vividly recall buying flowers in Buenos Aires after spending years in New York City.

“How much are these?” I asked the vendor, after having eyed the bouquet I wanted. 

“Good afternoon”, he responded in a friendly way.

It stuck with me because, of course, I should have started the encounter with my own “good afternoon”. It’s just that for so many years, the routine was to cut to the chase. Next! Next! Next!

Which brings me back to growing tired of going so slowly through my grandmother’s album. I want to move faster and post more interesting pictures but that’s just a form of wishing my life away. And my mother has been very clear that I must not do this!

In fact, that may be sage advice as we count the months until it gets warm again or until the days begin to get longer again. Don’t wish your life away. Something to think about as we check and recheck the progress on COVID vaccines.

“Just 4 more months until…”, “just 2 more years until…” How seductive it is to draw imaginary lines in the future beyond which things will be better, more exciting or easier. In fact, I just read an article in the NYT with a quote that encapsulated that idea: “Happiness always looms ahead”.

The problem is that when you constantly look ahead, you tend to miss the beauty of what’s happening right now. 

I think the last time I heard “don’t wish your life away” from my mother was when I had to cut a conversation short because of a diaper change. But even that! The hefting of a little one up onto the changing table, the way they turn their head to look at you as you rip and lift, unwrap and tape. There now. “All done!”

One day it will be ‘all done’ and since we don’t know when, well, it makes sense to unwrap today like the present it was meant to be, right? Even if the day is colder and darker and rainier than the day before? (I’m looking at you Thanksgiving 2020).

The truth is that I’m grateful for so many things this year. My husband and I have been lucky to be able to work from home since March. We’ve been duly impressed by the efforts that teachers have put into this school season.

I may complain (another thing New Yorkers are good at!) but I am very thankful for the chance to blog here, too. It has certainly helped to keep a historical perspective on what has been a **crazy year**.

Wishing a very happy Thanksgiving to you and your families!

In my family, one of the most tangible benefits of the 2020 pandemic has been our weekend hikes. One of us is only four years old (with a changeable temperament) so the trails have not been very long or arduous. Regardless, we’ve found some great paths and all within 15 minutes of our house.

The Hudson Valley has so many beautiful spots for hiking. Perhaps one of the standout areas is Ulster County, with Minnewaska, Mohonk, Sam’s Point and the Shawangunk Ridge providing millions of trails with breathtaking views. I grew up enjoying weekend outings to these places.

A couple generations before me, my ancestors were enjoying them, too! My pictures from today feature a hike that great aunt Kate took with her friend Lou Hart up in Ulster County. I’m so glad they took the old Kodak along.

It took me a little while to identify the bridge in this photo. It no longer exists but I found a picture postcard from 1908 that shows it to be Canal Street Bridge, on Canal Street in downtown Ellenville. (You can google it and – if you feel so inclined – buy the postcard from Amazon).

From Ellenville, Kate and Lou headed south to Cragsmoor, NY where (maybe) they hiked around Sam’s Point. Below you can see they made themselves comfortable with some yoga paints and hiking boots.

I’ve already talked about Lou Hart and her family here but I saved an interesting story about her son for you. A Middletown native, Thomas Riego Hart graduated from Columbia Law School in 1893. Ten years later he was instrumental in a plan to turn 30 acres of land in Northern Harlem (now Inwood) into a gigantic amusement park called Wonderland Park.

In 1904, he signed a 10-year lease for $40,000 for the first two years ($40,000 = $1.05 million today) to take the property over from Mr. Cobe and build the park. Clearly, it never got built but the story is fascinating. You can see further details on the history (with pictures) at this site: http://myinwood.net/wonderland/

I hope you can all get out for some walks in the woods this weekend. Around here we are expecting some 70-degree weather which is such a treat in November. Who knows, maybe a trip to Ulster County may even be in order?

As I considered the picture for today’s post, I got caught up in the idea of clinging. I think the pandemic forces clinging on us, really. Quarantining means we have to linger with each other the way odor ‘clings’ to a room. And you can’t very well get away from COVID news, like the way a wet shirt might ‘cling’ to your body.

More than that, though, I think we’re clinging in the “holding on tight” sense. I’ve certainly been clinging to my family, to my friends (some of them old friends whom I haven’t talked to in years). And I’d ventured to say that all of us continue to cling to the hope that “this too shall pass”.

In the above picture, my grandmother’s brother and sister (Clara and Ferris) have hopped onto their companion in a way that shows him to be an agreeable sort. In fact, what I found is that he – Bob Ketcham – was actually a cousin! He’s 28 in this picture and a year away from being a dad himself, to Robert Ketcham Jr.

He’s a Dunning cousin through his wife Blanche (same age) whose maiden name was Gardner. I can’t figure out an easy way to explain the relationship but maybe one of these will work for you:

1. Robert Ketcham’s wife (Blanche) was the daughter of Grandma (Clara) Dunning’s brother (Emmet Van Rensselear Gardner).
   
2. Merritt and Robert Ketcham are 1st cousins by way of Merritt’s mom (Clara) and Robert’s wife (Blanche)’s father…Emmet Van Rensselar.

At any rate, Bob Ketcham lived at 40 Washington Street at the time. He worked as a tool setter (a toother, according to the 1920 census) at a saw factory. The building where he worked – Clemson Brothers – has since been restored into a brewery in Middletown.

In the 1930 census, Bob’s wife Blanche was listed a registered nurse at a private practice. In 1936 became the Treasurer of Graduate Nurses’ Club of Middletown State Hospital. I also found that she taught Sunday School at 1st Presbyterian Church (the church I grew up attending).

By that time, Bob Jr. had graduated from Middletown High School (class of 1931) and also Purdue University, from the School of Mechanical Engineering. Daughter Janice (born December, 18 1919) also graduated from Middletown High School and graduated from Syracuse University with a degree in Art Education. You can read more about Janice’s life here.

Look at how Bob has grabbed on to Ferris’ feet (maybe to protect that beautiful suit). Note how pleased Ferris is to have clambered up there and how hard Clara’s working on the other side. One thing I can say about children during this pandemic is that – for all the trouble they may give – no one’s better for making an occasion lively and fun.

Hope you all enjoy this first day of Autumn 2020. The noise of the season in my neighborhood, to date, is the off-again, on-again chainsaw sound (probably taking care of Hurricane Isaias leftovers). Occasionally the neighbors’ hens will get ruffled and squawk squawk squawk squawk SQUAWK at something.

Here’s to hoping that if you’re clinging with someone during this time that it’s of the ‘cozy ball of yarn’ variety and not the bad odor one.