This week, someone requested a birth record from 1877. I took the time to sit down in Town Hall and read through the handwritten records from that period. I guess I got a bit enchanted with the names, remembering people I had known, and continued enjoying the moment.

Eventually I travelled, page by page, into the early 1900’s and so on. The records also recorded where the people had originated from, their occupations, parents, and other details. It was readily clear almost everyone was a farmer, laborer, or housewife. This began to meld into employment related to industry as factories and businesses began to flourish in the early 20th Century.

My mind drifted back to stories told to me by my grandparents and other senior citizens of my youth. I saw the birth record of Lottie Tuttle who was born March 23, 1905. This name brought a smile to me. I guess it was 1997 or 1998, after my father had passed away in 1991. My son and daughter were chatting with my mother, when my son asked if anyone was alive who would be as old as his grandfather. Thinking for a moment, I told him we could do better than that.

We called Lottie and she invited us over. She had babysat my Dad when he was young. Dad was born in 1919, so she would have been 14. When we visited her, she was still driving a car and a gracious hostess even in her 90’s.

Lottie had grown up in the old stone home at the end of Weaver Lane. She thrilled my children with stories of how she would walk from her home up to the Leptondale Store and Post Office, which was on the corner of Quaker Street and what is now Route 300. This building is long gone. Her mother would send her up with a cloth sack to purchase sugar, or flour. No paper or plastic bags at that time! You brought your own. And think of this, most of the homes in the area now were not there then. No street lights at night, no paved road, and a child could walk safely without fear of being harmed.

Table oil lamps of Lottie’s mother were brought out and lit, then the lights clicked off to demonstrate to the kids how people back then read in the evening after their chores were done. No radio, television, or video games. She told of how they would spread linen on the metal roof of one of the sheds and cut up apples, spreading them on the cloth and let the sun dry them out. No fancy food dehydrators back then.

A story of how my grandfather, Bill Crawford (b. 1887. d. 1938), had stopped by one day to chat. Lottie’s small terrier came out and began barking at him. Lottie laughed when she remembered Bill jumping up on the buckboard to get away. The kids were puzzled and we had to explain what a buckboard was. If you’ve never ridden on one, it is a treat! It was magical for my children to take this journey back to the youth of their Grandfather and great grandfather.

Back then, people worked hard, and educated themselves to do a bit of everything. There were no Dollar Generals down the road where you could purchase whatever you wanted. You made what you needed with the tools you had on hand. This was life on a farm.

My grandmother, who grew up over on Huckleberry Turnpike, spoke of how her father would spend evenings, working by lamp light to make the things they needed. She spoke of how her and her sisters would sew, making their clothes and other cloth items necessary for their daily lives. Her father made her a sewing box which she treasured her entire life.

Her dad, Aurey Harris (b. 1865, d. 1932), recycled cigar box wood, using a pocket knife, crafted this sewing box. Each square was cut, notched, and either nailed or glued into place. The inside was divided into compartments, lined with a velvet type fabric. The lid was hinged and a lock and key installed. It appears the wood was shellacked and finished.

Every time I look at this piece of family history, I’m filled with a warm feeling of the love and closeness our families shared in those times.