Letter to My Niece Lianne

With a few stories about the ancestors.

Clyde on the lines. Chauncey sitting at the back.

Whoever is reading this probably knows “the baby” is Clint and “Gumba” is Marjorie

February 19, 2008

Dear, dear Lianne,

    Sherry emailed and asked me to email you what I know about Rodney because you might be considering that for a middle name for the baby. How like you and Beau, to think to honor your families by naming your boy after them. Whether you decide to do that or not, I’m happy to share what I can about these people. I’m feeling very connected to them and interested in their lives now that I am living where they lived and doing a lot of the same things they did: cutting wood in the South Lot, going to the North Lot, cleaning out the spring, seeing their initials in the barn. Anyway, here’s a brief history of the Sudbury branch of the Barbers.

    As I’m sure you know, Gumba’s father, your great grandfather, was Chauncey Rumsey Barber. His father, your great great grandfather, was Levi Clyde Barber (who went by L.C. or Clyde) and his father, your great great great grandfather, was Rodney. We know very little about Rodney. He grew up in East Hubbardton, about five miles from here, in the early and mid 1800s, where the Barber family had already lived and multiplied since the 1700s, when David Barber brought his family there from Simsbury Connecticut.

    David was injured on the trip helping to get a wagon unstuck from the mud and never recovered. The little, old cemetery in East Hubbardton is heavily populated with Barbers.  Cindy Keyes, who was Hubbardton town secretary for many years, once told me that the Barber name appears on most of the old land deeds in town.

    East Hubbardton, by the way, is also the ancestral home of many St. Johns, including Gumba’s mother, Olive, your great grandmother, whom we do know quite a bit about partly through her mother Cora’s journal from 1896 to 1899. But I digress, which is very easy to do when you go back through the generations. Perhaps another time we can climb back up the St. John tree. Of these long gone relatives, I personally relate most to Uncle Guy, Olive’s brother. I do have some stories to share about him.

    But anyway, back to Rodney. He bought our farm from Artemus Keyes (1870 or so). There was a smallish house here where the dining room and kitchen are now. He moved that house down across the road and built the present house; we have material bills dated 1872. He also built the red barn. We have a picture of him. He has a full beard and is holding a chicken. The back of the picture is inscribed “Rodney with his pet chicken.” I believe some of the furniture in the house was built by Rodney. In particular, there are three or four small black walnut tables (occasional tables?) as well as a beautiful black walnut desk that was mom’s desk for many years, but which she always referred to as Rodney’s desk. It is at Mark and Sarah’s now. And that’s it. Of course, more of the bare bones could be found, birth and death dates, etc., but I don’t know of anyone living who can put any more flesh on those bones.

    I know a little more about his son, Levi Clyde, your great great grandfather. I am attaching a story I wrote for our draft horse club newsletter. The experience with Grant Crotto was incredibly touching. Grant had been deeply affected by this man helping them, almost anonymously, without being asked or thanked, in a time of great need.

    We have a letter to L.C. Barber from a man who raised ponies in Massachusetts. The letter is basically letting Clyde know that the pony had been delivered to the children in Sudbury, anonymously, as requested, with a letter letting the children know that a neighbor who wanted to remain anonymous had seen how well they had done with their calf and thought they should have a pony. Since we have, just by chance, these two examples of anonymous generosity, one wonders if Clyde may have done this a lot.

    He married Belle Crittenden, whose china Sarah rescued when Donnie Tupper auctioned off Aunt Helen’s belongings. It’s here now and we’ve been using it for big family dinners. We have a journal of his that covers the time when they were married. Unfortunately, like all of these journals, he says nothing about what he is feeling.

    They had a boy, your great grandfather Chauncey, and a girl, Alta, Aunt Helen Tupper’s mother. Alta was a beauty in her younger days. She married Horton Farnham who I remember as a very kindly old man and who I can tell some stories about. Olive came to live here as a housekeeper and cook after Belle died and eventually she and Chauncey married. She lost a baby and then had Gumba, whom she writes lots of dear stuff about in journals that we have here. Chauncey worked for Clyde until he died and then, without his father to tell him what to do, appears to have pretty much never done another thing. I think today Chauncey would have been diagnosed with clinical depression.

    From all appearances, especially Olive’s journals, Clyde worked hard his whole life, right up to his death at 80. Here is a typical period from Olive’s journal. “Father” is L.C. and he is drawing firewood from the South Lot. Sound familiar? Except he is in his late 70s and going up there alone from here with a pair of horses and a sleigh – between chores.

Jan 1, 1930; Father drew a load of wood.

Jan 2; Father drew a load of wood.

Jan 3; Snowed at night. Father drew a load of wood.

Jan 4; Cold and windy. Got a load of wood.

Sun. Jan 5; We all went to Alta’s for dinner.

    He must have worked pretty smart too, because he went from inherited debt (the house and barn) to enough savings that Chauncey was able to “retire.” When Clyde died, Olive and Gumba carried on for a while, doing all of the milking and feeding and care of the animals. Gumba still has her milking stool.

    Hester and Sally Phelps, our dear friends across the valley, knew Chauncey quite well and thought a lot of him. He was very kind to me as a child, stuffing me with candy bars and apple pies. He played the piano, but only if he thought no one was around.

    I could go on like this for days and I probably should. Maybe I will, but right now I’ve got to go feed the critters and trim Josie’s horse Kate’s feet.

        Love, Ted