As a child Christmas at the Manor was a wonderful time.
All the old relatives came, the Great Aunts and Uncles, and there was food, and fun. And there were chores. The cows still needed milking and dogs still needed fresh water and the pens cleaned.
Much of the farm slowly grew to become dog kennels. The old horse barn was completely converted to kennels. There were runs on the outside, and small cubbys on the inside with a sliding drop trap door to each.
Everyday, they need to be let out in the morning, some kibble put into the inside dish and fresh water in the water dish. Everyday someone had to go in to each pen and use a pooper scooper to remove the droppings. Sometimes we were paid for this and sometimes not.
The handful of cows still had to be milked, by this time it was done by hand. The machinery having long been disused. But during Christmas the chores seemed less burdensome.
The kerosene heaters needed filling, someone had to go stand outside to fill the little cans form the big 55 gallon cans.
But after the chores, that was the time for sun. Everyone was in a good mood, the tables were set, and the Holiday dishes brought out, and it was usually allowed to have the TV on. The TV was never on during daytime, so that was a special occasion.
In the afternoon the old folks would start arriving, loaded with gifts to be put under the tree. Early in the morning we kids opened some gifts, but the real gifts were saved until after dinner was eaten, dished put away, and everyone was ready in the living room. Names were read, and gifts passed out. What a time.
When I was really young, our grandfather would even hitch up the horses, dress as Santa, and arrive at the Church to hand out gifts to the kids. I do have some old 8mm films from one of those occasions. We suspected it was our grandfather but weren't completely sure.
So many fond memories from the Manor over the holidays. But there are some dark ones as well. Our father was an alcoholic, and that always meant when he hit the tipping point, from being light hearted to ugly. The trouble was you didn't know where that tipping point was. You had no way to know when it would switch and you become the wrath of his anger. But it always came.
As the years moved along, the older folks slowly passed along as well. Each year there were less relatives arriving with armloads of gifts. Eventually they were all gone, and Christmas at the Manor was not the same. We moved away, and it become less practical to get there as well.
There is no way to recapture those days, they are gone, time has changed. Today each of us holds our own Christmas separately. Each year I drive past the old Manor on Christmas day just so I can grab those memories and hold them a bit longer. Our Uncle lives there now, and he is a grump, and wont let anyone in or near the house. No one visits him due to his unsocial behavior. This I struggle with deeply. He was a fun Uncle when we were small, at least he seemed so. We called him Uncle Al, kiddies Pal. Today, not so much. He says his goal is to let the Manor crumble around him, then bulldoze it down!
Seems his memories weren't nearly as fond as ours. His goal is close to being met, all of the barns have fallen down, and the house is barely standing now. Each time I drive past, it brings tears to my eyes to see it that way. Each time I think I could find a way to force him out of the house and bring it back. But I always just drive past and realize I will have to rely on my memories.
Thursday, December 24, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
That Dutch Heritage
Blockhead, that was a word we heard often.
No, not directed at us, but perhaps in conversation, reminiscing, or towards the cattle. He always told us that was a favorite term of his father towards him. He being our grandfather of Dutch ancestry.
We didn't know much about his dad, our great grandfather, but what little we did know was that he was a hard working farmer, just like our grandfather. As far as I recall I never met him. He was gone by the time I came around.
There is a copy of the family tree around, and it details the family back to a guy coming from Amsterdam in 1651. So the family is firmly grounded in it's roots and the Dutch heritage. Some interesting characters in there as well. The Dutch tended to follow a very specific naming convention when naming children, so there are many Adams and Abrams in there.
Knowing all this is reassuring, and explains some of the family dynamics. Being able to trace the family back that far is pretty cool as well. This year I have hopes to perhaps extend that knowledge if possible, by going to Amsterdam and exploring the family a little deeper. I understand that task was done twice already and nothing but dead ends there. So I don't have any delusions about finding a "smoking gun" so to speak. But i do look forward in walking around and exploring those regions in the Netherlands.
There was some turmoil in the Netherlands back in the 1600's and that led to folks heading to the New World, New Netherlands as NYC was know. And that there was little land to be had unless you were of the upper crust. New opportunities were available if you could get yourself to the new world.
Our ancestor not to be deterred, hitched a ride by agreeing to be a farm laborer for a wealthy family here in the new world for 3 years, and the end of that 3 years he would be free to pursue his own opportunities. Somewhere along the way he married into a family of means and ended up with a large tract of land. From there the family thrived.
However, today not one parcel of that land remains with the family. They have scattered and set up residence elsewhere. In my grandfathers case, he bought a new farm a few miles away and that farm was the Dutch Manor. It was not on any of the original lands.
Built somewhere around 1800, it had many barns and out buildings. There was also a family cemetery on the grounds. It is said that a Senator built it for his family and are all buried in the cemetery. A large Greek Revival style home.
Those barns gave us kids many adventures. Running through them, building forts in the hay lofts, and creating our own imaginary armies.
A small parcel of the old farm was used primarily to get fire wood and do a little hunting on. We would hunt deer and small game there, and sometimes cut up loads of fire wood. There were a few buildings left at the time, a large barn, and a smaller shed, that to this day houses a few old farm implements.
As things go, that land too was eventually moved out of the hands of the family. It was donated as part of a larger nature conservatory that has been growing around it. Sometimes a drive down there and wander around a bit. The shed is still there with a few old implements in it, and the old foundation where the house was is still easily found. A very large and ancient Maple tree sits in the open area, and it is easy to walk around and visualize how things might have been.
Farming life is a hard life, there are no fairy tales there. You worked for everything you had and if you didn't work you didn't have anything. There are no hand outs on a farm, and you confront the brutality of daily living.
I come from a long line of farmers, but my grandfather did not push us to pursue it. If anything he pushed us away from it, always telling us how hard it was and that no one in their right mind would choose it as a living. I don't think he liked being a farmer, but it was all he knew.
He was born quite a bit later than his brother and sister, and did not grow up with them. His older brother was not a farmer, he lived quite long to 98. I may have met him when I was very young and do not have memories of him at all. Same with his sister, she passed long before I could recall her.
These things become important as my son ages. I want to pass this heritage on to him. He can know firmly where he came from and who his people were. Even though they have all passed on now, he should still have a firm understanding of who they were.
No, not directed at us, but perhaps in conversation, reminiscing, or towards the cattle. He always told us that was a favorite term of his father towards him. He being our grandfather of Dutch ancestry.
We didn't know much about his dad, our great grandfather, but what little we did know was that he was a hard working farmer, just like our grandfather. As far as I recall I never met him. He was gone by the time I came around.
There is a copy of the family tree around, and it details the family back to a guy coming from Amsterdam in 1651. So the family is firmly grounded in it's roots and the Dutch heritage. Some interesting characters in there as well. The Dutch tended to follow a very specific naming convention when naming children, so there are many Adams and Abrams in there.
Knowing all this is reassuring, and explains some of the family dynamics. Being able to trace the family back that far is pretty cool as well. This year I have hopes to perhaps extend that knowledge if possible, by going to Amsterdam and exploring the family a little deeper. I understand that task was done twice already and nothing but dead ends there. So I don't have any delusions about finding a "smoking gun" so to speak. But i do look forward in walking around and exploring those regions in the Netherlands.
There was some turmoil in the Netherlands back in the 1600's and that led to folks heading to the New World, New Netherlands as NYC was know. And that there was little land to be had unless you were of the upper crust. New opportunities were available if you could get yourself to the new world.
Our ancestor not to be deterred, hitched a ride by agreeing to be a farm laborer for a wealthy family here in the new world for 3 years, and the end of that 3 years he would be free to pursue his own opportunities. Somewhere along the way he married into a family of means and ended up with a large tract of land. From there the family thrived.
However, today not one parcel of that land remains with the family. They have scattered and set up residence elsewhere. In my grandfathers case, he bought a new farm a few miles away and that farm was the Dutch Manor. It was not on any of the original lands.
Built somewhere around 1800, it had many barns and out buildings. There was also a family cemetery on the grounds. It is said that a Senator built it for his family and are all buried in the cemetery. A large Greek Revival style home.
Those barns gave us kids many adventures. Running through them, building forts in the hay lofts, and creating our own imaginary armies.
A small parcel of the old farm was used primarily to get fire wood and do a little hunting on. We would hunt deer and small game there, and sometimes cut up loads of fire wood. There were a few buildings left at the time, a large barn, and a smaller shed, that to this day houses a few old farm implements.
As things go, that land too was eventually moved out of the hands of the family. It was donated as part of a larger nature conservatory that has been growing around it. Sometimes a drive down there and wander around a bit. The shed is still there with a few old implements in it, and the old foundation where the house was is still easily found. A very large and ancient Maple tree sits in the open area, and it is easy to walk around and visualize how things might have been.
Farming life is a hard life, there are no fairy tales there. You worked for everything you had and if you didn't work you didn't have anything. There are no hand outs on a farm, and you confront the brutality of daily living.
I come from a long line of farmers, but my grandfather did not push us to pursue it. If anything he pushed us away from it, always telling us how hard it was and that no one in their right mind would choose it as a living. I don't think he liked being a farmer, but it was all he knew.
He was born quite a bit later than his brother and sister, and did not grow up with them. His older brother was not a farmer, he lived quite long to 98. I may have met him when I was very young and do not have memories of him at all. Same with his sister, she passed long before I could recall her.
These things become important as my son ages. I want to pass this heritage on to him. He can know firmly where he came from and who his people were. Even though they have all passed on now, he should still have a firm understanding of who they were.
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