Summer
days were long and sunny on the farm in Calverton in 1891. Winter
days seemed longer yet, but were cozy and snug in the old farm house. There
wasn't much excitement, except for goings on at Brown's Mill, the cranberry
marsh, the Railroad Station, and once in a while a family affair. A death
in the family was a new experience to me. Grandfather Edwards took sick
on a March day. He fell to the floor after eating a hearty dinner, and
they called home his son David Youngs Edwards, my father, who was out ploughing.
In the night Grandfather died. R. C. Brown was sent for, to Brown's Mill,
and he shaved him and laid him out. I was a thin little dark thing, six
years old and nobody took any notice of me, so I saw all that went on.
Grandfather
David Edwards was always good to us kids. He was a very strong but gentle
man, light and blue-eyed. He'd read to us from the Bible, and tell us stories
of long ago, when he shipped his own schooner, loaded with cordwood, to
Havestraw, and brought back a cargo of bricks. I was such a wriggler he'd
hold me between his knees and crack hickory nuts to keep me quiet. He'd
tell us of the wars, Emma (Tryphena) Carter Edwards, wearing her son John's
Coast Guard cap. and early days when our family settled in Baiting Hollow,
and I wish I could remember it all now.
Sometimes
he'd take us on the ox-wagon for the day. We'd go billberrying or to Rock
Smith Pond perch fishing, or up to the Manor or down to Riverhead-maybe
to order new leather boots for him. Most of the time he went barefoot-he'd
walk out of his boots, in the lot wherever he was, the first warm spring
day, and go look for them when snow flew the next winter!
Fan and
Carrie and Em, my sisters, and I would go thumping along on the loose planks
of the wagon, chattering like monkeys. Grandpop sat quiet up front, in
his red flannel shirt, dangling his bare feet. Yellow Pear he called one
ox, and John Bunyan the other, and once he rode around the race track at
the County Fair in Riverhead, with a crowd of fancydressed ladies on the
wagon. His was the last team of oxen used in these parts.
But now
he was going to be buried; I peeked into the living room to see what was
going on, and that was a mistake. Ma saw me, and she said, "Oh Liddy, you're
a sight, you stay to home - don't you come to the cemetery or your father
will lick you good." "Well," I said to myself, "nobody needs to think I'm
going to stay here all alone, licking or not."
I watched
Pop help carry the casket through our front door, and Ma and the baby and
the twins, Dave and John, and the girls go out, There were neighbors and
relatives who lined up behind the casket, and they started walking out
the yard and east down the road.
The twins
were born in September of '87. In the blizzard of '88 Leza Dayton took
canned m i 1 k off his own table and gave them, as Pop couldn't get to
the store. James was born in 1889 and George and Blanche and Marguerite
were born after Grandfather died. We were a big family, and we older ones
loved the old gray house; those were our happy young days. We roamed the
woods and cranberry marsh, haunted the mill every chance we got, and walked
up to Calverton to school. And best of all, Ma would be sitting in the
window waiting for us to come home across the marsh.
Now the
procession is out of sight. Around the lilacs, over the myrtle b a n k,
and down the road I go. The rest of them had just got in around the burying
ground, about three hundred feet out into the lot on the right. I often
played here with my sisters. Ma would always say "When my time comes, don't
bury me here where the cows can walk all over my grave." At least she had
her wish in that--she lies in Good Ground Cemetery in Hampton Bays. As
I pattered up to the little group, the first one I came to was Aunt Frances
Raynor, who was regular mid-wife for Ma. She scooped me under her big black
shawl and held me tight. She was a large woman, and I was safe and snug,
and peeked out from under knotted fringe at all that went on.
Everyone
1ooked awfully dressed up and acted so solemn. Even Ma was sad, and I couldn't
understand it; we were always laughing and up to some mischief. Aunt Harriet
Glover took on and I wondered who w o u 1 d ever have hurt Aunt Harriet.
I saw the hole dug for Grandfather, which scared me almost to death, and
next to it his father's stone "John Edwards Sr.". This stone was taken
away about 1930.
John
Edwards Sr. married first Mehetable Terry in 1778, and had children John
Jr., James, Roxanna, Bethia and Jerusha. When Mehetable died he married
Elizabeth (Bellows) Dayton, widow of Nathaniel, son of Tuttle Dayton. By
Nathaniel Dayton she had children Miriam, (later m. John Edwards Jr.) Nathaniel,
William, Ruth, Eleazer and Tuttle.
Now together
John Edwards Sr. and Elizabeth Bellows Dayton Edwards had only two children,
David Sr., of this story, born 1808 and Mary (Polly Ann) who married William
Russell. Elizabeth's stone is here too, reading "Elizabeth Edwards, wife
of John Edwards. Died Sept. 24, 1859. 77 yrs. 4 mo., 24 da."
Elizabeth
herself I never knew much about, but Leonard Bellows of Hampton Bays always
said she was a Bellows, marrying Dayton and then Edwards. He said a little
hide chest in our family once belonged to her, and she brought it to this
country. Many's the time I've seen this little chest, lined with paper
in which the s's were f's. It was under mother's bed when she died, and
it was then empty, but once Grandpop kept his papers, deeds and such, in
it. You're asking what happened to the papers? How would I know -that was
a long time ago!
Possibly
when he married Elizabeth, Ma said John Edwards sold out in Baiting Hollow
and moved onto some 400 acres south of the river, about half a mile west
of Brown's Mill here in Calverton. There were already fruit trees and cleared
land, she said. First he lived on the east boundary of the property, in
the old house, by the old pear tree, on the north side of the road. Then
he built two new houses, farther up the road on the south side. Spafford
Edwards lived in one in later years. Perhaps at this time a large barn
was built on the north side of the road. A forest fire later burned these
two houses, and only David rebuilt, this time on the north side.
There
was an ancient well out near the barn, so old noone knew who built it,
and when one of the y'ones was missing, Pop would run quick and look down
the well. This latest house, where I was born, was torn down about 1947,
long after we all moved to Good Ground in 1902. When I was eight, I was
given out to work for some of mother's people in Eastport, and never lived
to home again. When Pop would come by selling oysters, I'd hang on the
fence and cry to go home, but it would be just another mouth to feed, and
nobody cared.
My Grandfather
had married Fanny Young, and had children: Arletta, Joanna, Harriet, Arletta
2nd, and David Youngs Edwards my father. Fanny died early, in 1857, and
Elizabeth Dayton Edwards still lived with them and died later the same
year. And there was reason enough for Aunt Harriet to cry, for here are
not only her mother's stone, but those of Arletta 1st who died in infancy,
and Joanna who died aged sixteen, her sisters.
Buried
here too is my own brother Edgar, who died an infant in 1875 when he pulled
the kerosene lamp over on himself. Ma was out in the barn trying to quiet
fighting horses and a drunken hired man. She carried the burned baby in
her apron, running screaming all the way to the Mill to people named Payne,
but he was already dead, and Ma never really got over it. When Pop came
home-he had been off on a boat and left Ma there with her sister and Grandpop
- and found his son gone, he went off again for a year on another boat,
but finally came home to stay. My Mother did the best she could, and loved
us all, but it was a hard life for her, and would be harder with Grandfather
gone.
Ma was
born Tryphena Carter, daughter of David Carter of East Moriches, and took
the name Emma because she hated Tryphena, and who would blame her? She
was small and pretty and dignified, but her mother Chary Edwards Carter
was a big, stern woman, and we all respected Grandma Carter. She was from
the English Edwards Family of Southampton and Easthampton and Sayville;
whereas our father's Edwards Family was Welsh, according to Ma, and no
relation except by marriage.
Buried
here also, they say, were Sabriney Davis, and Phineas Raynor, although
there are no stones for them, and Franklin King too is buried here, with
a stone, but no-one remembers who he was. There are probably others, all
now forgotten. Now Uncle Nat Edwards, Grandpop's nephew by his half-brother
John, who was an undertaker from Moriches, said the burying service, and
everyone stood around talking quietly until the grave was filled, and then
we all walked back up the road to the house.
Aunt
Frances kept me right with her until all danger of the licking was past.
Folks visited awhile, and then shook hands all around, and the ladies kissed
all around, and then they went home. Life returned to its normal slow speed
on the farm, and the big day at the Family Burying Ground was over.
This article originally appeared in The Long Island Forum August1971 - no copyright data was posted