Like many beautiful old places, it is gone now, lost to progress. The river swelled to become part of Stonewall Jackson Lake in the state park developed when the Stonewall Jackson Dam was built and buried Roanoke under water. The park maintenance building replaced the farm house. The spring is inaccessible, overgrown by weeds. A marina sits where the old foot bridge crossed the river.
The farm produced all their food and most of their other needs. There was always enough to eat, but not much else. They had milk cows, occasionally a beef cow, pigs, chickens, a tomcat appropriately named "Tom," who worked to keep the barn free of vermin and caught squirts of milk directly from the cow's teat when John was milking. They had apple and nut trees, wild berries, corn and every type of melon Anna's dad found in the seed catalog. The description sounds idyllic. Their life was anything but. Everyone worked hard, every day, used everything they had, and if they needed something they didn't have, they did without.
Although she later worked in the fields, in childhood Anna Pearl did not carry many buckets of water. She suffered early from asthma attacks so severe that she was restricted to sitting for most of her waking hours. She had to sleep sitting up. Perched on a stool, she developed her cooking skills at the big, wood-fired stove in the kitchen. Those cooking skills were impressive. She never measured anything. In later days, she made old fashioned fudge and sea foam candy that her children loved, and the likes of which are no longer tasted in these modern days. Eventually the asthma subsided, only to return when Anna was in her early forties.
She married Ezra Brown. When he found work in Michigan they went north, having made the heartbreaking decision to leave their two oldest children at the farm until they could make a stable home for them. Eventually the family settled on a two-acre place in Flat Rock, Michigan, one acre of which was planted in garden and fruit trees. They grew and canned most of their food. There was always room for one more at their table. If they needed something they didn't have, well, they knew how to do without.
It took years but eventually, the family was reunited. They raised a total of eight children, seven of whom are still living. Their children are all literate, productive members of society. They include a Lady of the Golden Horseshoe who was her class valedictorian, a Knight of the Golden Horseshoe who served honorably in the U.S. Marine Corps, a career-guidance counselor and Bearded Collie breeder, a hair dresser and homemaker, a champion wrestler and football player who served honorably in the U.S. Army, a graphic artist and self-defense/firearms instructor, an Eagle Scout, and a U.S. postmaster.
Ezra succumbed to lung cancer in 1982 a few months after the birth of their sixth grandchild. Anna followed in 1990 having lost the battle with COPD and the resulting damage to her heart. They are buried in a beautiful setting, where their graves look to a small hill full of oak trees. I hope it reminds them of home.
Like many beautiful old places, it is gone now, lost to progress. The river swelled to become part of Stonewall Jackson Lake in the state park developed when the Stonewall Jackson Dam was built and buried Roanoke under water. The park maintenance building replaced the farm house. The spring is inaccessible, overgrown by weeds. A marina sits where the old foot bridge crossed the river.
The farm produced all their food and most of their other needs. There was always enough to eat, but not much else. They had milk cows, occasionally a beef cow, pigs, chickens, a tomcat appropriately named "Tom," who worked to keep the barn free of vermin and caught squirts of milk directly from the cow's teat when John was milking. They had apple and nut trees, wild berries, corn and every type of melon Anna's dad found in the seed catalog. The description sounds idyllic. Their life was anything but. Everyone worked hard, every day, used everything they had, and if they needed something they didn't have, they did without.
Although she later worked in the fields, in childhood Anna Pearl did not carry many buckets of water. She suffered early from asthma attacks so severe that she was restricted to sitting for most of her waking hours. She had to sleep sitting up. Perched on a stool, she developed her cooking skills at the big, wood-fired stove in the kitchen. Those cooking skills were impressive. She never measured anything. In later days, she made old fashioned fudge and sea foam candy that her children loved, and the likes of which are no longer tasted in these modern days. Eventually the asthma subsided, only to return when Anna was in her early forties.
She married Ezra Brown. When he found work in Michigan they went north, having made the heartbreaking decision to leave their two oldest children at the farm until they could make a stable home for them. Eventually the family settled on a two-acre place in Flat Rock, Michigan, one acre of which was planted in garden and fruit trees. They grew and canned most of their food. There was always room for one more at their table. If they needed something they didn't have, well, they knew how to do without.
It took years but eventually, the family was reunited. They raised a total of eight children, seven of whom are still living. Their children are all literate, productive members of society. They include a Lady of the Golden Horseshoe who was her class valedictorian, a Knight of the Golden Horseshoe who served honorably in the U.S. Marine Corps, a career-guidance counselor and Bearded Collie breeder, a hair dresser and homemaker, a champion wrestler and football player who served honorably in the U.S. Army, a graphic artist and self-defense/firearms instructor, an Eagle Scout, and a U.S. postmaster.
Ezra succumbed to lung cancer in 1982 a few months after the birth of their sixth grandchild. Anna followed in 1990 having lost the battle with COPD and the resulting damage to her heart. They are buried in a beautiful setting, where their graves look to a small hill full of oak trees. I hope it reminds them of home.