The 1965 Junior Grange Members
I recently wrote a post about Nana’s diary. Within its pages I find a portal to a world I once knew. So many of her memories (and the memories penned in her mother’s diary) reflect a familiar place I once played… a familiar place, but not a familiar time. My childhood on the family farm seems like a shadow of their youth. Our early lives, though separated by time, evolved in the same house, on the same property near the same fields. They remember a new barn while my memory finds it in disrepair. They recall the planting of trees while I remember climbing in them. It is my greatest regret that any children I may have will never fall under that same shadow of family familiarity. They will never play on the roof of the chicken coop my great-great-grandfather built (The one the woodchuck lived under) and they will never relate to the farm discussed in these pages with the same echoed memories I have.
The diaries have a mild musty smell now and the penciled scrawling have begun to ware, but I sometimes enjoy opening the yellowed pages and reading what Nana (my great-grandmother) and her mother recorded on that day decades ago. Today I reflect on an entry by my great-great-grandmother, Mary Etta Stiles written on this day in 1940: (more…)