Thirty Posts Hath November
Gee, what will I do with all this free time? Perhaps take more pictures of the sunrise?
Ruminations on reading, writing, rural living, retirement, aging—and sometimes cats.
And maybe a border collie or other critters.
© 2006-2017 All rights reserved
I'm an elderly retired teacher who writes. Among my books are Ferradiddledumday (Appalachian version of the Rumpelstiltskin story), Stuck (middle grade paranormal novel), Patches on the Same Quilt (novel set in Franklin County, VA), Them That Go (an Appalachian novel), and several Kindle ebooks.
Mr. John C. Nace, a resident of Lithia, of this county, came to Buchanan on horseback this week. He will be 88 years old in November, but he rides his horse with the appearance of a man many years younger and he says it does not tire him at all to ride here and back home. Lithia is about six miles south of Buchanan by the county road and he rides to town frequently.
I asked him if he could recall the first president for whom he voted. He replies that he could not do so, but that he had shaken hands with President Andrew Jackson and in reply to my further inquiry recited this bit of history.
It was during the first administration of Mr. Jackson (1829–33) as Mr. Nace recalled, that as a child he attended to the fording of the old Mount Joy Mill on Looney’s Creek and met president Jackson who was proceeding in his carriage to Washington.
The father of Mr. Nace, who had been the overseer of the Mount Joy estate for its owner, Col. Mathew Harvey and his widow, and lived near the mill where Mr. Jackson was to pass. Mrs. Magdalene Harvey, the widow of Col. Harvey, attended by her daughter, Virginia Harvey, came down from the Mount Joy residence on the eminence not far distant and at the house of Mrs. Nace, the mother, and her little boy joined them and the four proceeded to the fording at the mill when they met the president who was in a carriage drawn by two gray horses.
The mind of Mr. Nace is as clear as that of many at forty and he recites these things in a way that gives them interest, but he does not positively say that the time was in Mr. Jackson’s first term or second.
Mrs. Magdalene Harvey, who took Mrs. Nace and her little boy to meet the President, was the half sister and also the aunt of Colonel Lewis Harvey, of Roanoke, recently mentioned in the World-News. Robert Harvey, of Catawba, Martha Furnace, married for his first wife Martha Hawkins, who was the daughter of Ben Burden, Lewis Harvey was his first child.
Mathew Harvey, younger brother of Robert Harvey, married Magdalene Hawkins, the daughter of Martha Hawkins.
The daughter, Virginia Harvey, who went with her mother to greet Mr. Jackson became Mrs. Mitchell, the mother of Mrs. Charlotte Harvey, of Salem, and aunt of Charles Denby, minister to China; Henry Clay McDowell of Kentucky, father of Judge McDowell, and a number of other noted people.
The inquiry as to how Mrs. Harvey knew Mr. Jackson was to pass that particular time leads one to the truth of the relations existing between Mathew Harvey and his family, and Mr. Jackson here, in Washington and at the Hermitage where William, “Big Billy,” Harvey was the president’s neighbor, and at death closed his eyes. Then there was the letter to Colonel Harvey introducing William Denby, who is passing the same way to the capital had been attracted by the charms of an auburn haired girl riding one of the farm horses to water at the ford of the creek. He ascertained she was Jane, the daughter of Colonel Harvey, and on reaching Washington, obtained a letter of introduction from Mr. Jackson.
Charles Denby, appointed by Cleveland, to China, was her son. He was born in Paris while his father was minister to France and grew up so accomplished in manners and deportment that the Chinese wished him to remain as minister to China after the Republican administration succeeded that of Mr. Cleveland.
I did not mean to extend to such length when I began to write of this remarkable man who is today going in the full enjoyment of his physical and mental powers, although he was born at the time when there was still living many of the men who had fought for the formation of this great government.
Mr. John C. Nace died February 17, 1928, aged 99 years, 2 months, 21 days.
Lithia, Feb. 17 (Special) John C Nace, 99, last Confederate Veteran in this part of the county, died this morning at 8 o'clock at the home of his daughter, Mrs. Will DeLong, here. Death was attributed to heart failure. He had been confined to his bed only a few days.
Mr Nace who served throughout the four years of the Civil War, is survived by a son William R Nace of Lithia, in addition to his daughter, Mrs DeLong.
He is also survived by thirteen grandchildren and three great grandchildren. He was a member of the Lithia Baptist Church.
Funeral services will be held at his daughters residence Sunday morning at 11 o'clock. The service will be conducted by the Rev. G. H. Broyles.The Roanoke Times
The rain is raining all around,
It falls on field and tree,
It rains on the umbrellas here,
And on the ships at sea.—From A Child’s Garden of Verses, by Robert Louis Stevenson
The permissions are rolling in. My publisher suggests a new title, perhaps the one I should have used for the second book, "It Was a Dark and Stormy Night II." Roman numerals would have been a more intelligent marketing choice. That way, owners of volumes I and II could have inquired about the appearance of III. And someone who purchased V would know that there were earlier volumes. Why didn't one of you think of this? By the way, feel free to make any suggestions that occur to you.
Scott Rice, Grand Panjandrum
Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest
On November 14, 1732 the Library Company of Philadelphia signed a contract with its first librarian. Founded by Benjamin Franklin and friends in November 1731, the library enrolled members for a fee of 40 shillings but had to wait for its books to arrive from England before beginning full operation.
Dear Becky,I figured that my redneck humor would be a hard sell in Noo Yawk. Looks like I'll go back to my original plan to do More Peevish Advice as a POD book. It might be a hard sell in Noo Yawk, but it'll sell to the former Noo Yawkers, Noo Jerseyites, and other yankees who now live at Smith Mountain Lake.
Thanks for the opportunity to read the opening pages of More Peevish Advice. I appreciate your advice while I've considered it.
The writing here is really fun, but I don't think I'm the right agent for this. I can't see it having broad appeal, and I'm just not sure how to sell it. I'm going to pass on More Peevish Advice, but thanks for sharing it!
Please accept my best wishes for your project's success.
Date: November 10, 2006 3:28:27 PM EST
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My Sorrow, when she's here with me,This poem first appeared in A Boy’s Will in 1913. A poem written almost a century ago reaches across the decades to still have meaning today.
Thinks these dark days of autumn rain
Are beautiful as days can be;
She loves the bare, the withered tree;
She walks the sodden pasture lane.
Her pleasure will not let me stay.
She talks and I am fain to list:
She's glad the birds are gone away,
She's glad her simple worsted grey
Is silver now with clinging mist.
The desolate, deserted trees,
The faded earth, the heavy sky,
The beauties she so truly sees,
She thinks I have no eye for these,
And vexes me for reason why.
Not yesterday I learned to know
The love of bare November days
Before the coming of the snow,
But it were vain to tell her so,
And they are better for her praise.
The Road Not TakenDespite a few inconveniences and some health problems, I’ve enjoyed my journey on the road that I took. Where I am now is so different from how I—as a child more than a half-century ago—envisioned what direction my life would take. I did wish then that I would grow up to have a horse and a houseful of cats and dogs. (Got ’em!) I never saw myself having kids, so I didn’t. I’ve always loved nature and now I own 500 acres filled with it, including the Union Hall farm where this picture was taken. I’ve been married for nearly 39 years to a man I only knew for 5 months before we married, and we live a house I coveted for 10 years before it came up for sale. We have no debts and few, if any, regrets.
by Robert Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.