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:

Wed. We all went to the Grange. It was children’s night. Aunt Jen was here and went with us. Margaret and Ruth had programs for the children and they served refreshments.    –Mary Etta Stiles   May 8, 1940.

The Grange was an important part of our family history. Generations of Masters and Stiles were members of the organization. This diary entry describes just one of many family outings. The 1965 photograph above shows my father (back row, center) and my uncles in their Junior Grange sashes. I myself rose to the rank of Junior Master in our local Grange chapter. That’s at least five consecutive generations. In fact, If you read The Tale of Jeremiah, I make reference to the “Granger Market Fairs.” While the Market Fairs are fictitious, I took the name from my experience in the Grange. What is the Grange you ask? Well, I took an oath when I was a Junior Master never to reveal any of the signs or secrets of the order, but I can tell you that the Grange (actually, its full name is The National Grange of the Order of Patrons of Husbandry) was a fraternal organization created after the Civil War by American Farmers who came together in support of the economic, political, and social well being of farmers and their communities. You may have noticed old buildings called “Grange Halls” in your town centers, but never knew what they were used for. They can be found throughout rural America and once served as meeting halls for the farmers. The Grange had hit it’s peak by the 1950s, but their membership continues reaching out to their communities even now.

I was a bit of an explorer in my youth and remember finding a ribbon celebrating Nana’s 50^th anniversary as a Grange member in the bottom of a cedar chest. Going to the Grange was a big deal… and when I got my license, Nana would sometimes ask me to take her. They would take care of Grange business, but there was always a lot of fantastic food too. Nana alone was a good cook… now imagine 20 nanas bringing dishes. They’d also sing songs around the old piano with lyrics like,

Bringing in the Sheaves,
Bringing in the Sheaves,
We will come rejoicing,
Bringing in the Sheaves.

And

God Bless America,
land that I love.
Stand beside her,
and guide her,
Thru the night
with a light from above.

These were people who loved their country, their God, their farms, and their community. The loyalty and support Grange members showed one another is not something you often see in today’s society, but it wasn’t until years after Nana passed away I realized the true significance of that ribbon I found as a child. I was visiting the Eastern States Exposition in Springfield, Massachusetts and decided to visit the Grange Building on the fairgrounds. Inside were members from each of the New England states. It was then the depth of devotion these people had for each other really hit me.

“Are you a member of the Grange,” asked a man, seemingly surprised someone in their twenties would visit the building.
“I was in the Junior Grange,” I said, “but my great-grandmother was a member for over fifty years in New Hampshire,” I replied, remembering the ribbon.
“Really? I know some folks up there. What was her name?”
“It was a long time ago, but her name was Marion Masters.”
To my surprise, another woman in the room looked up and said,
“Wasn’t that Jacob’s wife?”
“Yes. Yes she was!” I said. Then the man looked at me and said,
“Well then. You’re part of the family. You should come ride on the Grange float at this afternoon’s parade with us.”

I was overwhelmed. It was incredible; so many years later and they showed that kind of devotion to my family.
I had somewhere to go and so I declined their invitation.
I regret it now… greatly. I think Nana would have liked it.

I’m constantly amazed how family history intersect with our everyday lives. Some of us have terrible histories from which we escape and begin new chapters in our family story, others of us are blessed by the events of our past, but most of us have a mix of both in our lives. Nana was only thirty years old (six years younger than I am now) when my Great-great-grandmother wrote this entry in her diary, but the dedication to family and community they brought into our family directly led to the emotional experience I had at the fair. Never underestimate the reach family can have in our lives.