52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks
Week 32 – August 5 -11, 2024
Free Space
The Apple Farm
The year was 1944, the United States was heavily involved in WW II, and Franklin D. Roosevelt was the president. Seemingly not a great time to buy a home, but then again, for some people, maybe it was. My grandfather worked as a machinist for a sizeable company that manufactured parts for the railroads and in 1944, he had a secure job, unlike in the 1930s when he suffered work layoffs during the Great Depression. The war production effort had brought immense changes to American life. As millions of men and women entered the service and production boomed, unemployment virtually disappeared.
"I need not repeat the figures. The facts speak for themselves.... These men could not have been armed and equipped as they are had it not been for the miracle of production here at home. The production which has flowed from the country to all the battlefronts of the world has been due to the efforts of American business, American labor, and American farmers, working together as a patriotic team."--President Franklin D. Roosevelt, Navy Day speech, October 27, 1944.
My maternal grandparents, Clarence and Elizabeth Lord bought their home in Dallas Township, Pennsylvania sometime after my mother graduated from high school in 1943. At the time of the purchase Clarence and Elizabeth were in their early to mid-forties. My mother lived there too, but my uncle, her only sibling, my Uncle Jim, stayed in Kingston, Pennsylvania living with my great-grandmother to finish his high school years at the school where he began his last years of public education. Eventually, my mother, Lorraine, met and married the proverbial “boy next door.”
My grandfather, Clarence named it “The Apple Farm.” It seems there were at one time a lot of apple trees on the property many years before 1944. In my recollection, I have never seen any evidence of apple trees on the property, and I spent many years of my life connected to that home and land. But then, the property was there for hundreds of years.
Clarence and Elizabeth lived in a semi-urban and suburban setting for most of their lives. The move to this mostly rural location must have seemed like a big step for them. Sitting on approximately two and a half acres, it also had a detached garage located on the property with historic-looking large, sliding barn doors.
It was of Dutch Colonial architecture, a distinct style of early Northeast American architecture originating in the 1600s. It was a medium size home for that area of Pennsylvania. Having a gambrel roof, giving it a barn-like appearance the house was built with the narrow side facing the road, most Dutch Colonials were built with the broad side facing the front of the property.
The lot on which the house stood was, at several times, considered part of Kingston Township and later in Dallas Township. The street address changed three times. Throughout the years that my grandparents owned the home, several extended family resided with them including two of my maternal great-mothers, my uncle, my parents, when they were first married, and a few foster children which my grandparents cared for.
The house was built nearer to the front of the lot, bordered on one side, farther down in the back of the property, by a fieldstone wall. My siblings and I, as well as our neighborhood friends, played on the wall as children. It must have been built over one hundred years ago as it was in a state of disrepair by the 1950s. In the back of the property also was an overgrown large field where we would pick blackberries every summer. My grandmother insisted I wear my grandfather’s too-big overalls over long-sleeved shirts, old rubber boots, and a wide-brimmed hat. I wish I had a photo of me in that outfit! She said we had to be careful of snakes. Why that didn’t bother me then I’ll never know. But I would be downright freaked out today! We always returned to the house with baskets of blackberries from which my grandmother and great-grandmother would make delicious blackberry cobblers.
Beyond the blackberry patch was “the woods!” It was exciting to hike along a path in the woods that led to another open field owned by someone other than my grandparents. It opened up to a big meadow with beautiful wildflowers. That was about as far as I ventured in my younger years but I’m sure my brothers on their adventurous journeys went much farther.
Upon some further research, I deduced that the land of my grandparents’ property was originally owned by a man named A.J. Shaver. Shaver was a common name in the area for hundreds of years, the family moving here from New Jersey in the late 1700s.
It became clear through my research, that A.J.’s full name was Andrew Jackson Shaver, b. 31 August 1830, d.21 July 1862. He was a young man to have owned so much real estate in the township of Dallas. The census enumerator recorded his occupation as “Debt Sheriff” in the 1860 U.S. Federal Census. He was also appointed a U.S. Postmaster for Dallas in January of 1858. Hmm…, not to infer anything nefarious here, but could he have had the inside track on impending sales of parcels of land in Dallas, Pennsylvania in the mid-1860s?
As a comical aside here, and not to be morbid, but as I researched the Shaver family, I came upon an entry in FindAGrave.com of a man named Fayette A. Shaver, a relative in the Shaver clan. His tombstone was large and fairly ornate for the small Shaver family cemetery close to my grandparents’ property which was the final resting place for many generations of Shaver ancestors. In addition to the picture of his tombstone, was a copy of his death certificate from 1 February 1914. As genealogists often do, I carefully perused the information recorded in the document so many years ago to ascertain what further facts I may glean or could lead me to more information about A.J. Shaver. I noticed that Fayette was a single man, aged 71 years, 3 months, and 27 days on his date of death. He was born on 4 October 1842 and died from bronchial pneumonia. His parents’ names were Joseph Shaver and Jane G. Allen. The informant’s name on the death certificate was Isaac N. Shaver. But when I came to the spaces where the decedent’s occupation was recorded, number 8(a), Trade, profession, or particular kind of work, written in the space was the word “none.” I then looked at the answer to number 8(b), General nature of industry business, or establishment in which employed (or employer), and it read: “Never done a day’s work.” It seems that Isaac N. Shaver did not have an extremely high opinion of Fayette! Interestingly, I have never seen a death certificate quite like that. It struck me as odd and funny at the same time. However, it did lead me to one of his cousins, A.J. Shaver. Bingo! I found the name for which I was searching.
Sadly, though, A.J. Shaver died as a young man of only 31 years in July of 1862. He was, however, the original owner of the property on which “The Apple Farm” was located.
But, back to the actual home and garage. The foundation of the house was made from field stone, the same stone used in the wall that had bordered part of the property and had probably been patched with mortar sometime during its many years of existence. I loved to go into the cellar!
The steps were wood and had probably been replaced at some time by my grandfather. He was a diligent and hard-working man. I only remember him as highly active, always working or repairing something in his home.
There was also an outdoor entrance into the cellar, a set of metal doors that opened to another set of stairs. The floor was a combination of an area of concrete, poured by my grandfather sometime after 1944, and a dirt floor. The dirt floor area included rudimentary shelving where my grandmother stored the canned goods she had preserved throughout the past year. I can still recall the smell of that earthen floor. My grandfather had also hung up a large, old carpet, looping it over some of the beams in the basement to separate the dirt floor from the concrete floor area. It was where the kittens were born to the many cats that lived around the house and sometimes in the basement. I was always looking for kittens!
Clarence, or Pop-Pop to me, my brothers, and cousins, also added a workbench, a sump pump, a new furnace, and a “hopper” where the coal was stored and distributed before it went into the coal furnace. The additional large amounts of coal that were delivered for fuel were stored in the “coal bin” that he constructed of concrete blocks in another area of the cellar, just as the hopper was. We were never allowed near or in the coal bin. Besides, it was exceedingly dirty in there from the coal dust.
When my grandparents moved into their house in 1944 the kitchen still had an old, large coal stove. It was there until sometime in the early 1950s. I have a picture of me as a small baby tucked and snuggled into the wicker clothes basket which was sometimes placed on the back section of the large stove to keep me warm. Yikes!
There was a partially enclosed front porch where we had many family picnic lunches and dinners when the rain began to fall during some of our celebrations. The front door opened to a hallway that had two white, wooden pillars on each side leading to two parlors on either side of the hallway. The wallpaper was of a big, bold floral pattern. Two sets of four stairs led from both sides of the left parlor up to a small landing and back down again into the dining room at the back of the house adjacent to the kitchen. Perpendicular to those sets of steps was a set of narrow stairs leading to the second floor. Just above and at the beginning of the stairs was a small balcony with a white spindle banister. On the second floor, the small balcony opened with a short door with an old exterior hinge that led into a closet in one of the bedrooms. I doubt if the closet was originally there when the home was built as most rooms did not have closets until the 20th century, the occupants using wardrobes or chifforobes to store their clothing.
On the first floor of the house, a full bathroom was situated just off the kitchen, and then another full bathroom on the second floor. I suspect that my grandfather also added the first-floor bathroom when my grandmother had trouble climbing stairs due to her heart condition that she suffered from for many years.
The ancient back door with two long windows and countless coats of paint that I always wanted to strip off to reveal the original wood led to a stoop originally crafted from fieldstone, and later, mortar and concrete were added for stabilization. Upon stepping off the stoop, large flat fieldstones led a path to the back of the yard. Before reaching the back part of the yard there was a large square concrete area of which in the middle stood an old metal water pump, the kind that was used before the advent of indoor plumbing. It still operated well into the 1950s when my grandfather removed it. It was always fun, but unfortunately, it was no longer needed as the plumbing was indoors.
My grandparents’ had many picnics in that backyard, for family celebrations, friend get-togethers, and church group meetings, with several picnic tables strewn about the yard. I remember when I was a child, often ferrying the food from the kitchen to the backyard tables. In 1948, my parents, wedding reception was held there. Many years later, my wedding reception was held in that yard.
In the 1960s my grandfather built a concrete building, that we called “the shop” at the end of the yard. He had been a machinist for most of his life and used the building to house his various lathes and tools he utilized to make a side income constructing specialized orders for
customers. Later, it became a storage area for my youngest brother’s dirt bikes. Then once he cleared them out, we used it as an indoor picnic area when rain dampened our family celebrations.
The garage was a building constructed of fieldstone, with a wood roof and the old sliding barn doors used to enclose the cars and other tools for the family. The floor was dirt-covered with pea-size gravel to keep the dirt and mud down from the vehicles. It could have been a carriage house at one time. I always imagined the carriages and old vehicles stored there through the years. My grandfather and uncle partitioned off part of the back of the garage to house my uncle’s part-time and second-income television and radio repair business, a skill he probably learned while serving in the Korean War. We were never allowed in there! Sometimes we would sneak in though. It was filled with old TVs and old TV tubes. Remember them?
In the middle of the garage, on the floor was an old, heavy wooden door that opened to another small cellar area under the garage. My grandfather would never allow us in there, in fact, I’m not sure what it was used for or stored there. He was just being cautious and concerned for our safety. But it was always a mysterious place for us.
As the years progressed, my grandfather changed the second floor into an apartment for his mother, my Great-Grandma Lord, to reside after she could no longer live alone and care for her large home on Rutter Avenue in Kingston. He built a separate side entrance, closing off one of the short staircases from one of the front parlors. He also extended the second floor out over the front porch. Over time, my uncle and aunt resided there for a few years at the beginning of their marriage. My aunt's father also added to the upstairs apartment by constructing a dormer and window and then updating the kitchen as their wedding gift! My first cousin was also born when they lived there. After they moved out my grandfather leased the apartment to several renters. Finally, after my grandmother and great-grandmother died in 1965, just three weeks apart, Pop-Pop moved to the second-floor apartment and rented the first floor to other occupants. He died there in late December of 1967. It was one of the saddest days of my teenage life.
Time continued and my parents, my brothers, and I moved to “The Apple Farm,” our parents selling our home that was less than a mile away on the same road. By then I was a teenager and the intriguing history of the property, and the house were not as interesting to my precocious sixteen-year-old self. How foolish was that? If only I could return and uncover the secrets of the house!
And so, we grew up. My brothers and I left to attend college, among other life adventures, and my parents lived there for many years until they could no longer manage and maintain the house or property. My brothers and I had occupations, homes, and families to manage. We sold “The Apple Farm” in the late 1990s to a lovely woman who kept it as a two-family home. It still stands today.
Looking back I can name so many family members who resided at "The Apple Farm." It truly was a multi-generational home. My grandparents would be so proud of their legacy.
There is so much more that I could write about “The Apple Farm” but there are so many memories that it would become a small book! And so, friends, thanks for indulging me by reading this long blog post. Maybe it will prompt some of you to author your stories about your childhood residences and the memories they evoke. I assure you that it is worth the time and effort. Someday, someone, somewhere will appreciate the information that you made the effort to write about. It probably will be one of your descendants!
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