The Making of a Grandmother - Part I

Once upon a time, at the turn of the 20th Century, there was a pleasant farm at the end of a narrow, winding lane near the edge of the deep woods in Northern Maine. It was a place where spring came late, fall came early, and winter lasted for a long, long time. In the warm months, children ran

The Nason Farmhouse ~ Monticello, Maine

barefoot through the fields and pastures, gathering daisies in their grubby hands and taking them to their dear and gentle mother. Father was a hard-working woodsman and farmer, toiling daily to make a living for his growing family.                                                

The house sat atop a hill and the view was spectacular year-round. On the farm there were cattle, chickens, and everything necessary for a self-sufficient lifestyle. It was a wonderful life for children and parents alike, but the work never stopped. Survival depended upon every member of the family -- even the little children -- doing their part in planting on time, keeping the crows away from the seedlings, and harvesting their crops before the killing frost and the wind-driven snows descended. It also depended upon feeding and tending the flocks and the herd. And it depended upon gathering the eggs, feeding the pigs, and milking the cow on schedule -- day in and day out, year after year.

Trees had to be chopped down and the wood cut, split, dried, and stacked for warming the house in the winters. Everyone helped. And once winter arrived, children kept the wood boxes full and carried water from the well into the house for drinking, bathing, and laundry. Oil lamps had to be kept clean and filled. There was always something to be done.

Saturdays were for cleaning house, baking beans, churning butter, and making cottage cheese. And they were a time fo children and mother to get out the galvanized wash tub and fill it with water heated on the iron cook stove. One by one, the children would be subjected to their weekly bath and shampoo so they would be squeaky clean when they mounted the wagon on Sunday morning to travel the mile or so to Church. 

The family had built the little *Church with wood cut and milled on their homestead. There at the Church they were sometimes blessed with a sermon by the circuit rider and sometimes Father would give the Bible lesson. After worship Sunday afternoon was a day of rest. They termed it the Sabbath and expected that all work but necessary care of children and animals ceased. On those afternoons people took naps or shared delightful stories and memories together. 

One of those children was my dear maternal Grandmother. She was born in 1902 as the second of ten babies born to her mother, Jessie Murphy Nason and her father, George Wilmont (Bill) Nason. It was in those days of growing and toiling at her mother's side that Muriel Nason began to develop into the woman that I knew and dearly loved as my "Grammie". 

*The Lake Road Church still stands. It is where we were married and where some of our family members still worship to this day (2-22-15)

--To be continued