quiltersmuse.com Blog

Charlotte Croft sent the following note after having looked at a blog entry a few days ago about the gravestone of Rufus Leavitt, a 26 year old, Civil War soldier who was a member of Co. A. 6th NH. He died in 1865 as a result of “inhuman treatment” by his North Carolinian captors.

She writes:

Hi Pat,

After seeing the gravestone of Rufus Leavitt, I invited my friend Polly to check out your blog for that day. Several years ago there was a law student living in East Barnard (Vermont) who loved puns. One of my favorites that he came up with was … “East Barnard: Leavitt or leave it!” This is because there are so many people related to Leavitts in East Barnard.

When Bert and I and our older son Eric attended Dud and Jo Leavitt’s 40th anniversary party in Sept. 1965, we were part of the dozen folks who were not related, out of about 125 attending.

But then one summer Bert’s younger brother worked for him and met Mary Van Alstyne. They fell in love and got married in 1970. Mary is a granddaughter to Dud and Jo.

Then John Leavitt’s daughter, Tina, married Art Lewin. Art’s grandfather and Bert’s grandmother were brother and sister. So we are twice connected to the Leavitt family. And indeed, Rufus is an ancestor of Bud’s. Polly says history is interesting.

All the best,

Charlotte

Thanks for the charming story, Charlotte. Love it! We are all so interconnected in this world! Scroll back a few blogs to see the original post.

Pat

Based on genetics and world history, the potato is believed to have originated in southern Peru where it was cultivated by an advanced indigenous population called the Incas, a now extinct civilization. After the Spanish conquest, the potato was toted to northern Europe in 1536. It was welcomed by the poor, subsistence farmers in western Ireland and became a staple of Irish diet.

A PBS program about this crop states that a diet of cow’s milk and potatoes was enough to provide vitamins and health to the multitudes. All was well until one day when a ship pulled into port. Among its cargo was a fungus that was carried by the wind, turning all of the Potato plants black within several weeks. The Irish famine lasted three years, (1845-1848), killing one of every eight Irishmen, and taking the lives of one million people.

Scientists now analyze that the problem could have been lessened had there been more bio-diversity, that is, if more than one variety of plant had been cultivated. Ironically, potato farmers could face a similar problem today. To keep their “client” happy, they are forced to produce tons of Russet Burbank potatoes used to make French Fries for McDonald’s Corporation, a product that is distributed worldwide.

Unfortunately, a certain beetle is fond of the Russet Burbank variety. Although scientists have found a way to genetically-alter this type of potato plant so that if a beetle eats it, the beetle goes belly up, activists among the general population have resisted food from genetically-altered plants. So, farmers are back to square one: using pesticides on their fields.

We have seen that the potato originated in Peru, traveled to Europe and to Ireland, but did you realize that the first potatoes farmed on American soil were produced by a Scots-Irish immigrant on a farm in Derry, New Hampshire? Being a New Hampshire-ite, that is a quaint piece of information. Having been brought up in an Irish family, I do remember eating lots and lots of potatoes. They were a staple commodity.

As a child, I played with “Mr. Potato Head” and “Mrs. Potato Head.” At the time, I think I had to bug my mother for real potatoes into which I inserted various ears, arms, legs, noses, etc. Today, there is quite a variety of these types of toys on the market.

To read more about Potatoes, if you are so inclined, please visit this file: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Potato I was amazed to learn that today China and India grow 1/3 of the entire potato crop of the world. Potatoes have Vitamin G, found in no other living organism. The potato is believed to prevent and/or help relieve bouts of gout (arthritis of the joints). Potatoes are tasty, nutritious, and a versatile staple of the kitchen. Now, please pass the potatoes. Thank you!

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

Autumn Maple Leaves, collage by Patricia Cummings

A saying goes like this, “A good woman gives you shade in the summer and warmth in the winter.” A tree will do the same. The Maple tree is awesome! Not only does it provide shade, firewood, and wood for fine furniture, the Maple yields sap that is boiled off to make a wonderful pancake syrup. (”Ain’t nothin’ like the real thing, baby!”) As if that were not enough, the Maple tree yields leaves of many colors, some orange, some red, some dark red, and some yellow, and sometimes more than one color in the same leaf!

We have some ancient Maples in New England that are thick in diameter. A hardy tree, they appear to be disease-resistant. On the farm where I grew up, my Dad made a tree swing on one old Maple tree. Struck by lightening in later years, it is no longer there, just its memory. Near the porch on the front of the house, there were three very large Maple trees, home to birds, and tapped by neighbors who were collecting sap, in the spring. What beautiful, cool breezes those trees provided.

I have lived among the Joshua trees of the high desert in California, and among the Saguaro cacti of Arizona. Vegetation has its beauty in other places, but New England is home for me. So today, I salute the mighty Maple trees of New Hampshire, and share some beautiful leaves with you.

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

Today, we did something that is always fun to do. We walked through a small country cemetery. I love to read epitaphs. Often, there is some endearing tribute or religious sentiment on very old stones. On several that we saw today, the words simply said, “Gone home.” It is amazing to see that only a rock marks some graves.

Walking through the cemetery, I paused to squint at one inscription when all of a sudden, the song of a chickadee in a nearby shrub, pierced the air, startling the silence. Some of the stones had been laid flat by the force of wind or weather. A couple of the fragile marble stones had broken into two pieces and had been hinged back together. Lichen growth was heavy on many granite stones, to the point that any writing, including names, was obscured.

Jim discovered this stone that is a tribute to a Civil War soldier.

Rufus L. Leavitt died …
in consequence of inhuman treatment during an imprisonment of 5 mo. in Salisbury, NC – 26 yrs, 1 mo.

Jim walked through one half of the cemetery and I walked through the other. I found exactly what we were seeking, to follow up on a most interesting story of humor shared recently by New Hampshire’s own humor writer, Rebecca Rule. I hope that it will be in her next book!

This particular 50 year old man may have earned the right to be called a “pillow” (of the community).

I was so pleased that Jim found the headstone of the town minister about whom I’d read so much. Likewise, I was elated that he located the headstone of the grandparents of an important woman (Ellen Emeline Hardy Webster) whose life I have chronicled. Their names are Ichabod Packard Hardy and Emeline Mary Webster.

This is the gravestone of Ellen Emeline Hardy Webster’s grandparents. Ellen’s middle name is the same as her grandmother’s first name. I wrote a 355 page biography of Ellen last year. Ellen’s married name was Webster, and it only coincidental that her grandmother’s maiden name was also “Webster.”

So much history to be found in New England, which is why I love it here. I can’t imagine going anywhere else to live. In being able to view the actual gravestones of once-living people, I realize how important (and nice) it is to have a final resting place. Somehow, it proves that you were “here.” For me, it makes the names of people I’ve read about in print seem like old friends. Yes, I do love old cemeteries!

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

The man with his “nose in a book” is Army Specialist 4th Class James Cummings, caught on camera reading at an Army barracks (early 1970s).

Reading is a wonderful escape! It transports us to the thoughts, critiques, and views of other people, as well as their whimsy, novelty, and sheer brilliance. A theory held by my late father (1911-1974) is that anyone can travel anywhere, without leaving his own armchair. That is even more true today than it was in his time, because now we have wonderful travel shows on television that bring us to the most remote regions of the world. He relied on “National Geographic.”

I can never understand how anyone can get through life without developing reading skills. Yet, in America, we have many who are illiterate, who disguised their non-ability to read, and who slipped through the educational cracks. One of my graduate courses in Education was to learn how to teach children to read. I found, via a hands-on field project, that it can be a daunting task!

This is a photo of me, studying at my home in Deerfield, NH. I don’t know for sure, but I believe this was taken when I was in high school because I recognize the pink sweater that I had made, at that time.

One common interest that my husband Jim and I both have is a love of the written word. He is an avid reader who visits the library at least once a week and actually finishes reading all the books he takes out. I enjoy reading but purchase books as I linger longer over the words and it takes me quite a while to finish reading any book, often because my mind is on other things, full of “fluff,” like Winnie-the-Pooh.

When one has five younger siblings, it is easy to see why one (meaning “Jim”) would like to escape the house, physically, or take a mental trip elsewhere, via a book. At one time or another, both of us were accused by our families of origin as always having our “noses in a book,” inferring that we should have been doing something else. However, with our scholastic achievements, I guess the practice actually paid off for both of us.

Jim amazes me with the encyclopedic knowledge he possesses about most any subject I can mention. However, no one but me probably knows this: he is humble, quiet, and never lords it over anyone else that he happens to know more than they know.

Yes, Jim and I are two peas in a pod in many ways. In a sense, we lead separate lives in the same house, until we choose to come together on common ground to compare notes, share new information, do photo shoots, plan little day trips, and things of that nature. This is a brief glimpse into the lives of two bookworms. The insensitive people who took so much joy in calling us names, in the past, are either dead or are no longer a part of our lives. So, life goes on. When one gets to a certain age, one tries to minimize the baloney.

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications