The crazy holiday season has left me feeling like a lazy blogger. I have been distracted by a multitude of things including Facebook. My sisters and I have connected with some second cousins and have had some fun trading pictures and photographs. My grandma, who I am almost certain is the baby in the previous post, was one of eleven children. The family lived on a farm in southern NY. I'm sure the boys and men spent many hours toiling in the fields, planting, tending, and harvesting crops. Somewhere along the way several of the daughters learned to draw and paint. They have left behind a multitude of paintings. Many of Aunt Harriet's paintings depict her childhood memories of life on the farm.
This hay wagon reminds me of a story my father tells of when he was a boy visiting his uncle's farm. They were on a hayride up in the hills one day, my father sitting on the hay, his legs dangling down over the back of the wagon. "A thought went through my mind," he says, "Get your legs up on top of this wagon." Just after he pulled his legs up a vehicle came speeding up over the hill, crashing into the back of the wagon. Hay and people flew in all directions. One of the horses was killed, but miraculously, everyone else surived. "I wouldn't be here today," says Dad, "Had the Lord not told me to pull my legs up into the wagon. I would have been dragged underneath and killed." I guess Aunt Harriet painted pictures that bring back a multitude of memeories and likely tell a multitude of stories.
Wells Memorial Library.
7 hours ago