Columns
In for the long haul ...
Jim Atwell
You know the truism: You
really can’t lay claim to your
own house till you’ve owned
it at least a half century.
That’s how it is in the country
— not just around here,
but in any rural area. If
you’ve only owned a place for
20 or thirty years, others will
still call it by the former owners’
name.
I do it myself. If I’m trying
to explain where Anne and I
live, I can joke and say we’re
at the dead end of Cemetery
Road. But if I want to clinch
the matter, I have only to
say, “We’re in Stanley Stucin’s
place.”
“Oh, sure,” people will
say. “Nice people, Stan and
Frances.”
I’m sure they were. Frances,
we’re told, was a warm,
energetic woman who raised
chickens and a big garden,
and pretty much kept up the
place herself.
Stan evidently lived life
at a more measured pace.
About my present age when I
met him, he was a lonely
widower anxious to get out
from under “Stone Mill
Acres” and carry on with the
rest of his years. These, it
turned out, were sadly few.
Anyway, if Anne and I
manage to hang on here for a
few more decades, the eventual
new owners will get
more than house, deed, and
Anne’s richly composted garden
plot. They’ll get the need
to explain that they’re living
in “the old Atwell place.” I
like that.
Meanwhile, we two are
making a move to establish a
permanent place in Fly
Creek. We’re planting our
flag, as it were, by buying a
plot in the graveyard that’s
in sight from our driveway.
That seems apt, too.
Judy Cook, superintendent
of The Fly Creek Valley
Cemetery, is searching the
maps for us, looking for a vacant
single plot up in the old
section, beneath the big evergreens
and hemlocks. (We
both plan to be cremated, so
a single plot will do just
fine.)
“I’ll turn up a nice one,”
said Judy, “dry, and without
a lot of roots.” For no rational
reason, I like the idea of
“dry,” but a root-free plot
seems more of an advantage
to the hole-digger. Maybe
that’s what Judy was thinking,
too.
I first explored that
sprawling old cemetery in
1977, just after my late first
wife Gwen and I struck a
deal with old Stanley for his
house. One autumn morning
I was wandering around far
back among the graves when,
emerging from the mists, appeared
a big granite stone
inscribed ATWELL. I looked
closer and saw similar inscriptions.
A whole passel of
Atwells lay resting there. I
went back to the house and
told Gwen we’d picked the
right place to buy. We were
expected.
I asked Judy Cook to look
for a plot at least a little distance
from those Atwells to
avoid confusing any future
genealogists.
A Maryland Atwell, I’m
separated from the local distant
kin by at least six generations.
I found that out
with Mabel Atwell, who
taught a couple of Cooperstown
generations herself,
drilling in the old subject
complements and subjunctive
clauses. (Mabel, bless
her, is part of that passel
herself now.) We researched
it together in census rosters.
It was the redoubtable
Mabel who made the definitive
judgment. She clapped
shut the book of rosters,
planted her fist on it, and declared
me a shirttail cousin
to her late husband. And
that was that.
If Judy can swing it, I
wouldn’t mind a plot near
one of Fly Creek’s Civil War
casualties, since a couple of
them actually died in my native
state.
A tall obilisque just above
the winter vault records a
young man killed at Sharpsburg.
Another has a Fly
Creeker dying right four
miles from my own home. In
an exchange of ill prisoners,
he’d been brought by steamboat
up the Chesapeake to
recover at Annapolis before
being shipped north to home.
But he worsened and died.
In my boyhood, that place
was still called “Camp Parole.”
The most moving Civil
War markers, though, are on
the graves of two brothers,
killed in battle within a year
of each other.
Side by side, the stones
can bring tears almost a century
and a half later, for their
carvings must have been
chosen by a desolate father.
On the earlier stone, a hand
extends down, holding the
handle of a hook. From the
hook dangles a single link,
for a second link had broken
free from the first and is falling
away.
On the later stone, the
second link has also broken
free; the hook hangs empty.
The second link has fallen to
the earth. It lies rejoined to
the first.
I hope our old house
stands for another 200 years.
I hope eight or nine more human
generations shelter under
its sturdy roof.
Lots more, I hope, will feel
pride of ownership, though,
like us, they’ll really only
have a short-term lease. But
meanwhile, Anne and I have
made plans to stay in Fly
Creek, just up the road, under
those handsome tall
trees.
This hamlet is home and
always will be.
Find out about Jim Atwell’s
book, “From Fly Creek
— Celebrating Life in Leatherstocking
Country” at www.
JimAtwell.com.
- Columns
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
(I owe the first part of this column to an informal writers’ workshop sponsored by the Smithy Pioneer Gallery. The small group, led by Gallery Director Danielle Newell, meets Sunday afternoons and is open to anyone interested in the writing craft. As a warmup exercise on that very rainy afternoon, we each wrote a few paragraphs on the weather and emotions. Here’s what that keen group prompted me to scribble down) The dour old Scotsman, the one featured in jokes without number about buying lottery tickets, pinching pennies, scorning worldly ways, etc., once silenced a friend who was praising the beautiful weather.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: We're back from Michigan ...
Unfortunately, we once again find ourselves stuck in a time warp. When we look at the calendar, we realize that Labor Day is fast approaching. Yet, we seem to be operating under the misconception that it is still early July due in large part to the fact that we spent the almost five weeks from July 15 to August 17 in Grand Rapids, Michigan. We feel the summer has sailed by and we, unfortunately, have not kept pace.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Censorship?
All those indebted to John Lawrence, Post-rider, and do not settle the same IMMEDIATELY may rely upon having to pay cost!! Otego, Aug. 24.
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: 1984 comes to a close ... finally
As we continue traipsing through 1984, we realize that even though we were supposed to be covering the comings and goings of Cooperstown, we actually were able, even then, to touch on a number of pressing community, as well as personal, issues. Of course, much to the relief of the powers that were at CCS, the school was not among them. The he-we ran for the school board in 1984 and was elected. Thus the school was deemed off limits by the powers that were at the paper. But we discovered there was still a wide range of issues upon which we could write.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: New school book
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, Aug. 18, 1810
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Books offer tennis insights
Professional tennis sometimes seems to be the ultimate life. Where else could you travel the world, earn gobs of money, get in great shape, and have groupies from the opposite sex chasing you all the time? And you get all your equipment free to boot (which may explain why players smash racquets without remorse). Quite a glamorous life, isn’t it?
Continued ... -
In These Otsego Hills: Continuing our 1984 musings
Now that we have undertaken the beginnings of this column, we fear we find ourselves unable to stop our review of the early writings. In fact, we seem to be completely addicted to the project. And thus, we will continue to explore the very foundations on which this column has been built.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Burnett's book recalls 'Golden Age'
It’s a shame that today’s young generation missed the golden age of television from the 1960s and 70s. The fact that Hollywood studios with their ``original’’ ideas of constantly remaking hit TV shows from that era into new movies and reunion specials is quite telling. Even Fox with its ``That 70’s Show’’ is a reminder of that whimsical time.
Continued ... -
Home Notes: A place to cherish
As we enter into the middle of summer, let us pause and relish in the fact that we have been blessed with such lovely weather.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: Hurray for Mother Bassett!
Just back from my annual week at Lake George’s Silver Bay, in company with about 600 other Quakers. As always, it was a great time: Friends shared silence in the early morning by the lake and during the day in the big brown-shingled tabernacle. (Silver Bay is an old YMCA camp.)
Continued ...
Plenty of fine stringed music and singing in the evenings; lots of daytime rocking-chair stints on the deep veranda, facing across rolling lawns and lake to green mountains and skies of startling blue. -
In These Otsego Hills: In the beginning
Our remembering Jerry in last week’s column has now lead us to muse about our early days of writing a weekly newspaper column.
Continued ... -
Book Notes: Prohibition should not be ignored
I was an American history major in college and one topic that my professors never discussed was prohibition.
Continued ... -
Otsego Herald: Elopement
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 21, 1810 Compiled, with comments BY HUGH C. MACDOUGALL
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Home Notes: Personal Care is a rewarding occupation
When I was a young girl in the early 50’s my family would often take rides through Cooperstown and the Cherry Valley area.
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In These Otsego Hills: Remembering Jerry ...
Difficult as it is to believe, we have been a widow for eleven years this week. And yet it seems as if our late husband Jerry just died yesterday. The memory of it remains most vivid in our mind. We suppose there is much that we don’t remember about July 20, 1999. But we do remember just how much that day changed our life forever. We lost not only our spouse of 28 years, but also our best friend.
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Otsego Herald: Celebrating the 4th
From the Otsego Herald for Saturday, July 14, 1810 Compiled, with comments by
Continued ... -
Our Opinion: What’s good for the goose...
The board of trustees has decided to hire an engineer to review the work of CLA Site, the firm hired to do the site assessment and design work for the Village Gateway Project _ now known as the Cooperstown Intermodal Transit Project. That review will cost up to $12,000.
Continued ... -
From Fly Creek: ‘Thump-thump, dum-lum’
Since I last wrote to you I’ve been several times embraced to Mother Bassett’s bosom.
Continued ...
(Oh dear, I hope that’s not a disrespectful metaphor. But if you’ve seen photos, you know she was a handsome, dignified woman with an ample superstructure.) This time, for variety, the hospital visits at first seemed to have little to do with Parkinsonism. But a new problem had turned up that had me tested in every part of the hospital except obstetrics. -
In These Otsego Hills: Travels with The Widge...
We have decided that the role of grandmother is quite to our liking. As we have been told any number of times, as a grandparent it is perfectly acceptable to hold, play with and fawn over the grandchild until such time as said grandchild becomes fussy. And then, and this is the best part, it is completely within the purview of the grandparent to return the fussy grandchild to the parents. We love it.
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Otsego Herald: Shocking accident, American arrested
On Wednesday last, as Joseph Faulkner, esq. of Middlefield, was returning home from Cherry-Valley, a gust of wind arose up suddenly, a large Elm was blown across the road, directly on Mr. Faulkner, who, together with his horse was instantly killed.
Continued ...
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From Fly Creek: Passing fronts and settled weather
