quiltersmuse.com Blog

When I heard about the lecture, “Big House, Little House, Back House, Barn,” I was reminded of the farm where I lived as a teen. Thomas Hubka, a University of Wisconsin professor, presented a talk in Boscawen, NH last week, and will again deliver his slide lecture at two separate NH locations this week, Temple and Chatham (pronounced “Chat-ham”). This is yet another event sponsored by the New Hampshire Humanities Council. Click on this link, for a list of places and times of meetings.

Aerial view of the Grace family farm in Deerfield, NH in 1964. There are about 40 acres of cleared land to the left of the house, divided partially by a line of trees. The property extends backwards, through woods, and a wetland swamp, all the way to the Candia, NH line: 89 acres, in all. I used to ride my horse on some of the trails through the woods, although the deer flies were brutally vicious, taking chunks out of the skin of the unwary.

Don’t you just love the coon skins hanging on the barn?

My parents did not necessarily buy this place for the quality of home that sat on the acreage. For $12,000.00, it was an investment. My father, John E. Grace, had hoped to work a lot more on improving the house, but got the news that he had kidney cancer, shortly after purchasing the property. Pronounced “cured,” he started a tree nursery, in addition to working at his “day job” in Manchester.

The layout of the Deerfield farm when my parents purchased it in 1963.

It would have been difficult to make a silk purse out of this sow’s ear, but before he could accomplish his dream of making this property a “show place,” my father died of a spinal tumor in 1974. My mother continued to live in the home until she was hauled off to a hospital with a heart attack, and never returned. The farm sold in 1999, if I remember correctly.

Previously a dairy farm, the property my parents purchased was a sprawling affair of outbuildings. The old farmhouse was attached to an unfinished “shed” under the same roof, featuring visible, hand-hewn beams.

What one’s eye could not miss was a huge meat freezer that no one dared to move, lest it disturb the upright supports in the cellar underneath it, thus causing the floor to collapse.

At the end of the “shed,” as we called it, there was a chicken coop with laying boxes for the hens, enclosed with chicken wire. This was a good way to be able to collect eggs in the dead of winter, without going outside.

There was a loft above the chicken coop where old items were stored, such as a broken rocking chair. To the right of the loft was a room with a roughly cut out entrance. This was situated above the kitchen and had been used as a room by hired help, at some point, before the mice romped freely, leaving their trail.

Downstairs again, to the left of the chicken coop was an area that went right into the barn, again, sheltering barn entrants from exposure to the weather. My father disassembled that connector, so that the cost of fire insurance would decrease.

Previously, when one passed through that corridor, overhead was a straw-covered wooden platform where “the old drunk who worked there” slept.

The barn seemed to have been built in sections, with the main part being built first, and then a long extension that featured stanchions for milking dairy cows, and closed in pens for heifers. At the back, my Dad assembled two pens for my horses.

“Lucky,” a half-Arabian gelding, and “Montana Red,” a retired Standardbred racehorse graze in three acre pasture to the left of the house in this May 1964 photo.

At the back and to the right side of the back barn was a milk-processing room. I remember its soapstone sink. Perhaps, the soapstone came from Francestown, NH, well-known for its soapstone manufacturing. Another free-standing room abutted the milk-processing room, but there was no point of entry between the two. The door opening was on the other side of the building. Someone had stored old paintings in there.

A separate barn with a cement floor was on site. Without enough upright beams, it collapsed during the weight of one winter’s snow. Next to that was a carriage shed, with yet another chicken coop at the end. So, as you can see, the place was a conglomeration of these many buildings. Today, only the house with the one connected shed remains. The new owner has torn down everything else.

This view of the farmhouse shows a roof dormer, which was removed, as well as the window awnings. The white door seen on the side of the front of the house actually led into a long mud closet for hanging coats, and then into a living room with two mismatched tin ceilings, making it appear as if the room had been two rooms at one time.

My father had a fireplace installed, as well as hardwood floors, a sheet rock ceiling and faux wooden beams. He added wood paneling, and a French glass door between the living room and large country kitchen. With a huge braided rug, the room was a cozy place where my Dad and I played music, quite frequently. He also fixed up the front porch and added screens and a door.

Me, Patricia Grace, with trophy for being named Princess of the Deerfield Bicentennial Celebration in 1966. Here, I am standing in the living room of the family home.

I have fond memories of the farm and growing up in a small town, especially being a member of 4-H. It was nice not to be able to “see” any neighbors, with open land on either side and across the street. The property consisted of 89 acres. The new owner has built a luxury home in the back field where I used to pick wild blueberries along the side of the field, and also, ride my horse. Of all the former buildings, only the main home with the attached shed remains and is rented out, as far as I know.

Times change and one can see how people tried to make do, in the past. The New Hampshire countryside is looking more prosperous these days, except for the remaining falling-down barns, previously used by dairy farmers. They simply did not have the time or money to do upkeep to the buildings.

I am posting this because I can certainly relate to the topic currently being presented by a NH Humanities Council speaker. We tried to attend the lecture last week, but alas, by the time we arrived, the crowd had already spilled into the hallway, and we couldn’t see or hear a thing, so will wait for a more propitious time.

Patricia L. (Grace) Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

This year has been dubbed “The Year of the Kitchen.” Historic New England, Inc. has planned many program events centered around this topic, including some programs in New Hampshire.

Oddly-shaped apron from the Lewis Collection from South Sutton, NH.

Kitchens have been the center of the home, with guests often entertained there. In the past, aprons were important commodities. Joyce Cheney who wrote Aprons: Icons of the American Home recently donated 200 of her aprons to the American Textile History Museum, a generous donation, indeed. I guess that my article about the Lewis Collection aprons, in a recent issue of The Quilter magazine was quite timely.

Kitchen utensils are many and varied, although that was not always true. There are two favorite historic spots in New England that feature hearths and ironware, and sometimes, cooking demonstrations. Those are found at Old Sturbridge Village in Massachusetts, and the President Franklin Pierce Homestead in Hillsborough, New Hampshire.

The Remick Museum in Tamworth features “live” cooking programs that are participatory: workshops on baking sourdough bread, and other foods; and a special Thanksgiving Dinner, as well as a special “tea” party. Virginia Taylor is their food interpreter, and she has been compiling a cookbook of old time recipes, that was promised to be ready “soon,” a while ago. We’ll have to check on that!

The Wright Museum in Wolfeboro, New Hampshire has a wonderful display of how a kitchen would have looked during World War II, as well as how a parlor might have been set up. I am sure there are similar historic set-ups that show how people lived and worked. I would love to hear of any other local, New England locations. Write to: pat@quiltersmuse.com Thanks!

See the latest article posted today about our antique home!

Happy Home and Hearth to You!

Patricia Cummings
Quilter’s Muse Publications

The topic of this post is cracks. I hope that word does not scare off the timid. Let me explain.

I live on a once quiet, now busy street. I have seen the pictures of the days of horse and buggy, on this thoroughfare, and I long to have lived in that era. We’ve come a long way, and that is not always a good thing. Age-wise, our 1821 house is out of place in this neighborhood. Across the street, there are two apartment complexes, one in a former Mill building. Other houses in the immediate area seem to have been built in the 1950s era. There are a few older houses close by, but none quite as old as ours.

That information as a backdrop, I will tell you that every day large trucks whiz past our house on our two lane street. These are mega semi-trailer trucks, delivering gasoline, food items, and other consumable goods to businesses just north of here, where deer used to graze in the (former) fields, and when there was a store that was called “Thirty Pines.” At that time, there actually were thirty pine trees on the lot. (The trees have all been cut down, the store expanded, and yet, the name has been retained!)

Every time one of the nine-wheelers roll past my door, it creates a wind tunnel, and my whole house shakes, rattles, and “cracks.” The walls are composed of old horsehair plaster covered with wallpaper. The intensity of vibration causes the wallpaper to split, too. Some of the boards, like the wainscoting in the living room, have cracked. Some of the kitchen cupboard doors have splits.

We have wide floorboards on the upper levels of the house, and it is there that the faux-Ladybugs “over-winter.” I did find some antique sewing pins in some of those cracks but have to constantly use a magnetic picker-upper to retrieve pins and needles I drop between those same cracks in my sewing room.

Now, personally, I sometimes like cracks. For instance, I am charmed beyond belief when I see violets, or daisies, or johnny jump-ups growing out of a crack in the sidewalk.

A smile comes to my lips remembering a cute Get Well card sent to me years ago. It was based on the old saying, “Step on a crack (on a sidewalk), break your mother’s back.” The card depicted “mothers” who were in a hospital because their kids had stepped on cracks. Ok, I know. The description loses a lot in the translation!

Speaking of other cracks, if I had a nickel for every wise crack, (er, remark), that had ever been sent in my direction, I’d be a wealthy woman. I’ve often threatened to write them all down, for future use in a novel! Is it really true that a wise crack a day will keep the doctor away?

Some cracks are just fine. The cracks in my wall are not in that category. I wish that I could move this house to a farm with a lot of acreage, in Vermont, and keep chickens, and pigs, and horses, a cow, and some goats. There would have to be a babbling brook or river across the street, or a swamp teaming with bird life and wildlife, in close proximity, for purposes of sketching and photography. Ah, I know I’m dreaming! One has to hold on to dreams. Remember the saying, “You can take the girl out of the country, but you can’t take the country out of the girl?”

Of course, the verb “to crack” has a number of meanings. “To crack open a case” means to have a breakthrough in solving a crime. “To sit and to crack,” as in the Scottish song I sing, means to “sit and chat.” If I thought more, I could probably think of other examples.

“Smilin’ Thru,” at the “crack” of dawn.

Patricia

Not having running water, or even a sink in the bathroom for several weeks, made me appreciate what life was like in this house when it was first built in 1821. At that time, the “facilities” consisted of an outhouse that overhung the “gully,” teetering on the edge of it. Right beside the structure were two hen houses. When I first lived here, there were chickens and yes, a rooster – a very loud rooster whose job it was to be an alarm clock, the minute the sun started rising in the east.

Our bathroom downstairs is the smallest room in the house. I always imagined it to have been used as a birthing room, although I have no knowledge of children having been born here to previous owners of the house. All I know is that we are the fourth couple to have lived here, in almost two centuries. The bathroom used to have a door that led outside. The area is now a window. The well is located on that side of the house, so it must have been handy to exit from that room.

One day, in recent memory, Jim took one look at the bathroom and decided to make some changes. He went to the lumber store and bought whatever boards he needed to build a new cabinet for the sink. He recycled a cabinet door that was in the cellar and cleaned up a closing mechanism that says “1871,” on the underside. Then, we went to a pottery place and purchased a sink with Chickadees on pine boughs painted inside it.

In the meantime, there were many trips to buy plumbing parts, the kind of special stain he wanted for the wood, plumber’s “goop,” etc. Home Depot is to him as Keepsake Quilting is to me. Fun to browse, think, and plan!

Hand painted pottery – bathroom sink by Sharon Oliver of Granite Lake Stoneware, 544 Granite Lake Rd., Munsonville, NH 03457  (603) 847-9908.

Of course, the potter also had a Chickadee liquid soap dispenser, and a Chickadee bar soap holder. Both were irresistible. I remembered that I had stitched Chickadees on a bird feeder, and Pansies, in Crewel Embroidery, on a hand-painted background, so I retrieved that framed piece from a closet where it had been staying ever since we “made over the bedroom,” about a year ago. That piece is enough to convince anyone that we really, really like birds!

There is more work to be done! Jim wants to add new hardware to the cast iron bathtub, including a spray nozzle. He also plans to replace some of the hardwood floor boards. In the meantime, there is yard raking to do, and more work, as spring and summer chores kick into place. He is so hopeful that we shall have no more snow, he moved the snowblower from the summer porch to the cellar.

Running water in a sink…such a little thing. A more aesthetic rest room…so much work to create, yet pleasing when done. This old house is one that gives us so much to do, but at the same time, provides so much enjoyment.

For now, I’m smiling, ear to ear, admiring the results of Jim’s “Yankee Ingenuity” and know-how. If we had to pay someone to take care of all of the details that this ark requires, we could never afford to live here. We have both made up our minds to work hard. We are happy!

Best wishes,

Patricia

In the dead of winter, my husband looked at the downstairs bathroom and said, “I should do something about this!” Funny, how things creep up on a person. First, he was annoyed that he’d used plywood to replace the rotted wood under the commode, instead of trying to find some Southern Pine wood pieces to match the existing floor.

Then, he realized that the pre-made, wood-surround for the sink, that he’d replaced not that long ago, had deteriorated because it was pressed sawdust or something. Don’t ask me. I’m not the builder!

We had been inspired when a friend told us how she had gone to an antique store and purchased a small wooden piece into which her husband had been able to insert a sink. It looks antique-y and she likes it…she even showed us a picture.

We trekked off to antique stores. Some tables were too high, some too low, some too wide, and some too ugly, or just not suitable. So, we did the next best thing, and went to Lowe’s and Home Depot. The wooden units that would serve a similar purpose were far too wide for the space available.

It is then that Jim went to the cellar to think, ponder, and see what he could “find.” Like a true Yankee, he saves everything! To his own amazement, I think, he found an old door that could serve as a cabinet door, and it still had the old hardware attached, dated 1871. So, he set to stripping off the old layers of paint with that pretty nifty citrus oil paint stripper that is less toxic than other methods of paint removal.

That “find” made him decide to build his own cabinet. Today, he is “off” to purchase lumber. He is nothing, if not innovative and adaptable.

Yesterday, we took a trip, across the state, to Granite State Pottery in Munsonville, New Hampshire, a lovely shop! There, we found just the perfect sink to suit our artistic tastes. It is painted pottery that features painted  chickadees, sitting on pine boughs. I could almost hear them singing! We purchased a matching clock, soap holder, and liquid soap dispenser in the same design, and felt that we’d scored, as they were on sale. Of course, we still need to buy faucets, etc.

We’ve also decided to retro-fit the old, clawfoot bathtub with a new faucet that has a spray unit (to simulate a shower). With a little bit of hard work, and more expense than we’d initially anticipated, by spring we will feel like we are living in a different house!

Call us dull. It’s the most simple things in life that please us. However, I know that I will smile, every time I view the chickadees, and that, my friend, is worth a lot!

Patricia