Alford Tales -- Mrs. Gwinn

At the end of the last tale, Margaret mentioned the time that Mrs. Gwinn brought some of the most beautiful indigo wool.  That was the last time they ever saw her.

Curious about Mrs. Gwinn? 

Well, here it is...

*******

My Mama could dye any wool, cotton, linen, either before it was spun fresh off the sheep or out of the field.  Or spun up into yarn or linen.  We had iron pots, copper pots, brass pots. She had the mordants. We did not have indigo, but Mama did have the young boys to help, but she never was much into dyeing with it.  It was too much work.  But you could get it.

Mama's work grew after she married John.  John's first wife had died and he had remarried my Mama just for reputation for her skills.  She could card, spin, dye and knit.  And many had knitted goods from her.

Mrs. Gwinn lived near town.  Harrisonburg.  Her husband, Mr. Gwinn, did carpentry.  He helped John when he needed a new treadle or help in fixing the barn.  Mrs. Gwinn was a young woman of 25 and had one child.  A son.  She had lost her others.  Her family was back in Baltimore and her husband had brought her to Rockingham County about 10 years ago.  About 1779 I think. I was born in 1773 and she was about 10 years older.  I doesn't matter.  She was a good mother.

Now, Mr. Gwinn had done some work in trade for some spun wool, dyed in indigo.  I remember it will. It was the brightest blue I'd even seen.  She wanted a shawl knitted up with it.  She visited one day bringing the wool with her.  Walked out.  It was summer and not too hot.  Very much a strong headed young lady.  When she arrived, Mama fixed some tea and I had baked a gingerbread.  My favorite.  Learnt it from my Aunt who lived nearby.  Better than Mrs. Glasse's receipt.  

Mama and Mrs. Gwinn talked about the farms.  Mrs. Gwinn admired one of John's rugs that he had just finished weaving and said she was going to talk Mr. Gwinn into making a trade.  They had more indigo yarn as well as red made with cochineal.  Didn't believe her at first.  Mama said she'd take.  Later told me she could knit up some tippets of red.  Mittens, scarves, and maybe a purse or two.  Mrs. Gwinn stayed for some time.  

Mrs. Gwinn left about mid-afternoon.  That night, Mr. Gwinn came looking for her.  Said that she hadn't come home.  The sheriff was summoned and many of the neighbors.  They began to search for her.  Over near Cook's Creek by old Daniel Harrison's house, they found her bonnet and basket.  And then some boys were down by North River, they found her shawl.  They searched around the Harrison house, the mill, the distillery, and the woods around the area.  All along North River .  They never found her.  Mrs. Boon said that she has seen her and it was her that had seen her last.  She remembered her not having her bonnet on.  Fred Black and his son had been out hunting and claimed hearing a woman scream but they could never figure out where she was.

But we all knew, she had gotten spirited away onto the island in North River.  But no one ever would say it.  The North River splits south of where we lived near Cross Keys and Mill's Creek.  And there's an island.  One time, Robert and Benjamin told me a story about a young boy who disappeared when he waded out to the island.  And he wasn't the only one.  I've heard of several people have disappeared near there.  There was talk of a witch living on that island.  I heard John say that Mrs. Gwinn had been taken by the witch's ghost.  I thought that it was just a story to scare us.  But there was that one time when I saw her.  The old witch or maybe it was her ghost.  It was also there that they found my Pa's old musket after he was murdered.

Alford Tales -- Preparing for Winter

Margaret has many stories to tell about the winter months.  I could not imagine living in a log cabin through the winter.

And now onto "Preparing for Winter"

*****

My Pa, Henry, was a young man, when he died, but I have fond memories of him.  Pa and Mama lived with my grandpa William when they first married. They had meet at a corn husking bee.  They were neighbors and just like now, they would get together to help each other on their farms. 

My Pa talked about the survey of his 46 acres just north of Cook's Creek.  Our neighbor was John McDonald.  I remember him talking about getting his land in February of 1771.  We lived south and west of Harrisburg. He and my mother worked hard to to start our farm.  He and my grandpa came out and started to clear land and by April, they had built a two room cabin with a loft.  We had to work on the farm.  

Pa had built a large stone fireplace and stone hearth.  He had built in a small oven in the shape of a beehive.  I spent much time near that hearth.  And putting wood into that oven.  So many times we snuggled up in the winter near the fire and he would tell us about building his cabin then the barn.  A shed to store corn.  He spoke of the beginnings and how hard it was.  But he kept his family fed and warm.  

Mama and Pa had a bed.  It was very plain and simple.  Tall corner posts.  Made by a local carpenter who my Pa had worked for.  My sister Sarah got that bed.  Each year after the harvest we would shuck corn after it had dried.  And then wash the bed ticks, air them out, and refill them.  They were always nice and full.  My brother and I would jump on.  Mama would get upset. She say I want those husks to last all winter.  We had three of them to fill.  We also stuff in some straw.  As part of our chores my brother and I had to tighten the ropes on the bed.  Pulling the rope one way, then another until they were tightened back up.  Mama and Pa weren't large so we never had to tighten them much.    

During the winter, we all slept together to keep warm.  Mama had gotten three quilts for her wedding.  We used those and got warm wool blankets from a weaver near Mills Creek.  His name was also Alford but no relation.  I learned to churn butter that Mama would store in old crocks.  I would help Mama put vegetables in a hole in the ground.  Layered in straw.  We dried pumpkins and apples and beans. We roasted the pumpkin seeds that weren't kept for next years crop. One year Pa managed to get a couple of oranges.  Dipped in wax to keep them.

My Mama kept a large garden.  Potatoes, carrots, onions, parsnips, pumpkins.  Mama was very proud of her herbs.  Parlsy, thyme, sage and others.  She laid it out near the cabin so she could easy get to it when she cooked.  We tied them up and hung them to dry above the fireplace.  My Pa raised corn, took care of our two cows, and sheep. Two horses as well. He butchered a pig every fall.  Mama would make sausage.  Pa would smoke ham over at Grandpa William's. He would also trade for whatever we needed.  Mama trade potatoes one time for baskets.

We kept warm during the winter.  Pa and the boys chopped enough wood to last for sometime.  Snow and ice eventually came and we'd be snug.  We would walk to school in the cold.  I would come home and practice my words on my slate. I learned how to write and read at school then come home and knit.  Mama taught me.  She would knit up socks, shawls, muffettes and trade them.  People would bring her their yarn and she'd knit up what they wanted.  One year she traded a scarf for a slate for me to use in school.

I remember the time that Mrs. Gwinn brought some of the most beautiful indigo wool.  That was the last time we ever saw her.

Alford Tales -- Silas Rogers, Carpenter

The next page, dear reader tells of a sad story.  It's about loss, building, and squirrels.

Wood was a primary resource for the settlers of various areas of the United States.  They used it to houses, cooking, making furniture, and even tools.  Carpenters and wagon makers made their livings off the forests, but also the animals that lived there.

So, enjoy another of Margaret's tales.

I've named it simply "Silas Rogers, Carpenter"

*****

When I was about 6, I remember my Pa telling me a story from when he was a young man so, it must have been sometime about the year of our Lord 1760 or so.  They lived near the sawmill of Silas Rogers.  My Pa never talked about where this was, but the mill produced much lumber for the area.  Probably somewhere in eastern Virginia.  My Pa remembered his uncle Robert's carpenter shop and he would get wood from Silas Rogers to make chest of drawers, chairs, and table or whatever some one wanted.

My Pa told of a barn raising on Silas Roger's farm.  As I recall, it was in the spring.  Many of the neighbors came around to help.  We had many bees and barn raising was one of them.  Everyone working together to help each other.  Silas Roger's had three sons.  One was 12, one 18, and the oldest 22.  His name was Paul.  He had married a young woman and they had built a cabin on the back of Silas' land.  And now they needed a barn for crops and their cow and horses.  My Pa told me that while they were loading a oak beam, the rope broke and fell.  It had fallen on Silas' youngest son, Willie.  Killed him.  Willie and my Pa had been good friends and attended school together.  The rope had been gnawed on by a squirrel and made it weak.  Squirrel stew was served for their supper, for many days.  My Pa got tears in his eyes when he told us the story.

That was the first of many sad stories for Silas Roger's family that my Pa told.  Latter that year, poor Silas' crops were destroyed.  Not by fire or draught or storms, but by squirrels  That year, there was a might squirrel migration.  I've never seen one myself but have heard about them. Thousands of squirrels moved like a might ocean wave over the land, heading to wherever they went.  I've heard further west out in Ohio and Indiana and Illinois that squirrels migrated so thick.   

Pa said that Silas moved his family to Kentucky and got land.  And started a new carpenter shop.  People would be needing furniture and barrel staves and whatnot.  But a few years later, one squirrel caused a fire, killing almost the entire family.  Pa had heard the news from Silas' sister, Rachel Davidson.  They lived not far from us.  She told my Pa that a squirrel had gotten into shop and knocked over a lantern into a pile of shavings. The carpenter shop went up in flames.  And a strong wind blew them right onto the house.  It was winter and the family got trapped outside in the cold. Several of them got the fever and died. Silas died a few years after that.

Squirrels were a curse for the Rogers family.  My Pa said squirrel was on the table whenever possible. He did not like them.  Ma makes John squirrel ever so often.  Not really fond of it.  Probably why when your grandpa comes in with a squirrel, I throw it right out.  Tell him my Mrs. Glasse does not have a receipt for squirrel. Tell him to go right back out to get us a rabbit or he'll go hungry.  He likes a good roasted rabbit.  Some milk and butter to baste.  Some current jelly.  Potatoes, turnips, carrots, onions.  I always feel bad about making him go back out to hunt again, so I let him have cowslip wine.

That chair and your bedstead and Mr. Alford's chest of drawers were all made by Silas Rogers and his son Enoch.  When my Ma died, I got the bedstead and chair.  Always loved them.  Nice cherry wood in that bed.  Silas made furniture for many folks in Rockingham County.  John often traded for weaving up shirting and blankets for them.  Remind me when we talk again to tell you about the story about General Washington sitting in one of his chairs.

Alford Tales -- When I was 5

Welcome dear reader.  Once again I sit here, listening to Margaret's voice in my head as I transcribe her words.  I do want you to know that I do not know how this ends.  Like some readers who can't stand the suspense and read the last chapter before they start the first, I enjoy the ride and in no hurry to get to the final answer of the burning question that she left us with in the introduction.

Having been around weavers, spinners, and dyers, I have a great appreciation for this tale.

So, sit back and enjoy.

"When I was 5"

******

My Mama, may she rest peacefully, was named Nancy.  She was a small woman, hard-working just like everyone else, frugal but charitable, and read the Bible everyday.  Loved her children and looked out for us.  She may have been kind, but she expected each of us children to do our chores and could be meaner than a snake when stepped on.

One of my favorite memories of my Mama was when I was about 5. It would have been about 1778.  The war for our independence from the British often drew near to our farm.  I'll tell you other stories about those years.

At home, I remember Mama working with a pile of sheep's wool, that Pa and my brother Joseph had sheered. Made the sheep looked bare. I remember saying to Pa, Do those sheep feel cooler with all that wool gone?  He answered Do you feel cooler when you don't wear wool?  I said Yes 'um.  He said I suspect they feeler cooler too. Pa took the time to educate as much as he could in his own way.  Mama on the other hand said No time for play, got to get this wool washed and carded.

Joseph was sent off to fetch water.  Yolk on his shoulders and off the went. Cook's Creek wasn't far.  Lucky to be living near a creek.  Also had rainwater but used it for laundry and drinking.

We carded wool.  I learned to hold wood cards that Mama had made from teasels.  She had a fancy pair that she has gotten from her Mama as a wedding gift.  I never knew her.  She died when my Mama was a young woman, much like when my Pa died when I was young. Our hands were always soft from the wool. Mama said that there was something in it that would keep them that way.  Carding, carding, and carding.  I eventually taught Robert to do it whenever he wasn't working with Pa in the fields or barn.  We had a herd of sheep to tend to.  With Mama and John being weavers, we needed the wool. 

My Mama was a weaver like John, her second husband.  They had married because of that.  Mama worked wool, cotton, and flax into yarn and thread.  I learned from her and my older sister Eliza.  I was five when I first held knitting pins to learn to knit.  First to cast, then to knit and purl, and finally binding off.  I learned to garter stitch.  Mama said that garters would always be needed and would be easy for me to knit.  For several months I knitted brown garter after brown garter.  And after I complained for some time about brown,  Mama gave me green.  I like green as you can see from my green dress.  (She is wearing a beautiful green print cotton dress with a yellow posy pattern.)

I was old enough to learn to use the drop spindle.  I was constantly frustrated as the wool pulled apart before I could get a it spinning. And the spindle hit the floor. Robert wasn't much help. Younger brothers!  Robert was only two.  And Henry but a baby.  Eventually Sarah would join us.  Poor mother.  Having to welcome Sarah into the world as a widow.  Sarah only knew John as her father.

As I was saying, I learned to spin and knt wool when I was about 5.  It would take sometime but I soon learned to use the great wheel.  Spinning up to several skeins a day.  Mama eventually taught me to dye. Madder, woad, weld, and some indigo.  How my hands were blue.  Cochineal was too expensive for us at the time, but Mama would trade for some.   We would have red mittens for winter.  One time, Mama had enough to knit a red tippet.  She wore it only on special occasions. Eventually gave it to my sister Eliza as a wedding present when she married John Boon. 

Felix Gilbert had a store near Peale's Cross Roads.  John and Mama often went there with their woven coverlets and would trade for other goods.  Mama would get us cotton material for a new dress or two.  One time when I was older about 8, I went with them.  I remember fine linens, calicoes, prints, silks.  I remember my first piece of silk that I made into a handkerchief.  Kept it in my box on the chest of drawers. It was then that I first meet my friend Betsy. She was also 8 and her family had bought land bout two miles from us. But more about her later.

When I was 5, was when I learned much of my skills to knit, spin, weave.  Nowadays, here in 1836, I can get just about anything for trade at the store.  But let's end this with this tale.

It was summer.  I was five.  I walked to the creek to wade. It was warm.  I could see my Pa and Joseph working on the fence that snaked along our land.  As I waded along the bank in the cool water, I could see fish.  One time I saw a snake.  Didn't like them.  Still don't.  I remember listening to flowing water and the sun reflecting off it.  I was playing with some sticks, floating them like boats on the water.  I didn't really notice that I was being watched until I looked up.  And there he was.  A boy no bigger than me.  Peering between the branches on a tree.  I almost didn't notice him until he moved.  He was dark skinned. Crouching down. Just watching. He was an Indian.  At the time, I knew that they lived near, but I had never seen one.  Only heard about them.  And there he was.  I was shy but I waved and he stood up and he came down to the bank on the other side of the creek.  I picked up my sticks floating and said Boats.  I remember I put them back in the water and push them around.  He grinned watching me.  He picked a few leaves and put them on the water to watch them float.  Pushing them further out to the middle of the creek, they sped along.  A race. We raced leaves and sticks.  He would be my friend by the creek for sometime.  Until one day he didn't come.

Alford Tales -- An Introduction

Welcome dear readers to 2023.  Not only a new year, but a return to one of my many talents.  That of telling a tale, spinning a yarn, weaving fact and fantasy into a coverlet. Its colors vibrant.  Its intricate pattern flowing.  A small aspect pulled from the story to come.

As I sit here at my loom, which by the way looks very much like a laptop, selecting the threads (also know as words) and pondering the pattern (also known as the story), I can't help but wonder where this will take me. For not only am I a weaver, but also a librarian, a curator, a researcher, and, the title I enjoy the most, a sleuth of history.  And all of those "hats" the I wear are difficult to separate. Often they all like to be worn at the same time.

The story is a narrative by and older woman, reflecting on her life. It was actually written for her for I suspect that she did not write well.   Oh, and to make life easier for us both (me the transcriber and you the reader), I have taken the liberty to tidy up the spelling and the grammar.  I hope you don't mind, but if you do, tough.  Oh, and one more thing, there are notes in the text written by one of her scribes.  You'll see what I mean when you get there.

So dear reader, sit back and let me share with you a tale that was found, presented, rejected, and put back into hiding.

I have named this introduction "My Name is Margaret."

******

I was schooled in a one-room school house.  An old log cabin built by one of the first families to arrive in the area.  Mr. Jarvis was the teacher. A young man.  Handsome or so some of the young ladies thought.  He was a nice man until you crossed him.  I don't think that one boy's breeches in that school ever avoided his switch at one time or another.  He eventually married as he promised since the child was supposedly his.  I learned some arithmetic, learned to read some, write a little.  To tell truth, I am having my granddaughter write these stories. She and I get along fine.  My brother Robert's son comes to visit as well and helps write these.  (She told me to put here that I am smarter than she is when it comes to writing.  And also that I spell a lot better.)

Not quite sure why I want to tell them, but feel the need to tell them.  And they both have taking an interest in our family's story which helps to make it worth while.

I was born in the spring in the year of our Lord 1773.  My mama named me Margaret.  Of course everyone called me Peggy.  We lived on land granted to my pa about 1769 in Augusta County, Virginia.  Like most families in the area, we worked the land.  My pa had planted crops and my brothers helped him.  We was one of the lucky families.  Our crops grew and we survived.  Ma and us children tended the garden.  She spun and wove fabric.  She was a weaver.  I remember combing wool.  Watching my mama spinning it.  Learning to spin when  I got older.  Hated flax.  It could cut you if you weren't minding what you were a doing. Now I can buy fabric it if I want.  My husband and I have done well.

My pa had moved to Augusta County, Virginia from some place else, but I never knew where.  My grandpa Alford lived down the road.  His name was William Alford.  I didn't know much about him.  My older brothers and sister knew him a bit, but never spoke of him. They had been told not to, but id didn't know that until later.  After that old Irish bastard was dead.  (I didn't want to write that word, but she made me. I had to look it up in the family Bible.) 

Now one of most important stories I know is the one about my pa.  It wasn't until later that I found out who had murdered him.  No one but me ever knew until later when I told what I knew, saw and heard.  Not sure even now how to tell it, but someone murdered him.  Killed him.  Is one of the worst memories I have.

And so my friends, that's what this here tale is all about.  I just can't tell you.  Got to tell the whole story from the beginning.  Just who and why my pa was murdered.  Who killed Henry Alford?