A hundred years ago, the world was a very different place. Over seventy percent of the U.S. population was living in a rural area. Over 25% of the U.S. population worked in the agricultural industry. My ancestors were part of that population.
I had the opportunity to grow up overlooking the farm that my grandparents moved into in 1917. This was one of those farms that is part of the history of America. A farm, owned by two people, Howard & Cornelia Griffith, who had given birth to eight children. They had endured several hardships.
I lived in a house built on a corner of the original farm by my Uncle Dutch. A similar house was built next door for my grandparents, so they would have a place to live after they sold that farm at the bottom of the hill.
I don’t remember Mom Mom. She died when I was three. My Mom said she was one of the nicest & kindest people she ever met. I think Mom appreciated being taken in after she married Dad. I mean, Mom had a four year old when she and Dad were married. And Mom had endured a hard life. A mean stepmother, a foster home, getting pregnant when she was seventeen, and then divorced. Then getting married into a family that had never had a divorce.
And Mom always said how she remembered Dad driving her out to the farm for the first time. She said they went on a dirt road, then another dirt road, then another dirt road. And when she got there, she had never heard it so quiet before.
I think Mom decided then & there never to leave.
I remember Pop Pop. I don’t have those ‘fond’ memories, but no bad ones either. I think he was ‘tough’. Dad always talked about when Pop Pop got false teeth for the first, and last, time. Pop Pop said they bothered his mouth, so he took them out of his mouth while he was plowing and threw them over his shoulder. I suppose those teeth are still in the field somewhere.
I remember Pop Pop saying he just wanted to live to be 90. He turned 90 in 1967. That year, Aunt Alice, Mary Roland, Maxine Mellinger, and her new baby, Mark, came into Pop Pop’s house. A photographer came & took their picture. The ‘Five Generations’. Pop Pop died soon after. It was the only time in my life that I ever saw Mom cry. It was the night all the ‘kids’ came over to find Pop Pop’s will. I think Mom was upset because they tore up the house.
I remember the day that house was at auction to Same Whiteside. Now there’s a story. Maybe I’ll share it sometime.
I remember the old farm being occupied successively by the Robinsons, then by the Bonsalls, and now by an Amish Family, the Petersheims.
I remember the family reunions. Every August. At home (or a park) of one of the children of Mom Mom & Pop Pop. The last one was at our house in 1975. I was there. Keeping in touch with all the family was important to Mom and Dad.
I remember all of my Dad’s family coming to visit our house at various times. Uncle Jordan (Uncle Jerd) stopped by very Sunday morning for several years. He sat & talked to my Mom while he waited for my Dad to come home from the ‘Varsity’. Mom served lots of coffee.
Every other Saturday Uncle Everett & Aunt Ollie came by for Sunday dinner. He had to have a ‘china’ cup, a cloth napkin, and four spoons of sugar for his coffee. Uncle Everett didn’t have any of his original teeth.
From time to time Aunt Ruth & Uncle Ray, Aunt Esther & Uncle Warren, Uncle Jack & Aunt Lib would come to visit. My ‘other brother’ Tom Kepler was a regular visitor for Mom’s coffee and the occasional lunch.
In fact, not too many people ever made it past the kitchen. Any member of the family was always welcome at ‘Aunt Bea’s’. You got fed, you got coffee and you got to talk.
The Griffith family. The name is dying out. There are only two great grandkids who can carry on the name. And it’s getting later in each of their lives. But, Hopefully, the spirit of family, of Howard & Cornelia Griffith, will continue to live on.
I wanted to get out of Oxford in the worst way. I couldn’t wait to follow in the footsteps of my brothers. Out of Oxford right after high school. I don’t know why.
And now twenty five years after I left home, I have the privilege of remembering where I came from. I have been around the world; visited many countries and lived in several different cities.
Too bad I feel at home in only one place.
You can never go back home.
Too bad.
Sincerely,
Jerome Griffith
