The Old Williams Farm House

The picture of the Marvice and Zettie Emerson Williams’ home, (see below) is from the very early 1940’s, I believe. This old house survived two fires, many wind and rain storms, as well as, the rough and tough of the growing-up years of eleven children. Mom and Dad first moved here just after Clarice, their oldest child, was born in 1919. In its first few years, the house did not have the front porch nor the addition of a kitchen, a dining room, and a screened-in-back porch. My brother Donald told me that Dad himself had built the extra rooms. That space certainly would be needed because there were to be 10 more children to follow Clarice.

Through the years once in a while, Dad and Mom would talk about remodeling the house, but as it turned out it was not until 1957 that they decided to tear it down and build a new one on the same site. The present brick house is now owned by Donna and Matthew Archibald, the grand-daughter and grandson-in-law of my parents.

As I scan the photo, I feel surprised to see just how the dwelling used to be. I had not looked at this picture for years. It made me remember that life was tougher in those days. Still I realize that we grew up okay in this old house; we were safe and comfortable, for the most part, even without running water or central heat or much money.

I think the bleak appearance of the house and setting is not just because of the lack of color in the film. It is also because the photo was made in winter. A few weeks later a color picture would show a bright contrast. Daffodils would be a welcome sight at the end of the porch; the maple trees in front of the house and every field would be showing the green of spring. The corn, wheat, and tobacco would have been planted, and the cows would be grazing on fresh grass in the pastures. Wild flowers in the fence rows would be budding, and in the garden the morning glories would be showing their colors as they stretch across rows of peas and green onions. The blackberry bushes would be about to bloom in the ravine where the pond now stands. And there would be the wonderful fragrance of apple blossoms scenting the air, but, wait… I have to mention that this would also be the time when Dad and the boys would be cleaning out the barn and spreading manure on the fields.

Even so, I like remembering.

With a little effort I can hear the crows calling and the rattle of the horses’ harness as Dad finishes plowing the fields. I can even hear the soft cheeping of baby chicks, running after their mother near the hen house. In late afternoons, Mom would be telling me to listen for the distant tolling of the bells from Green River Church. It was a beautiful, faraway sound. In my mind I relive and cherish that moment, and I imagine it all again.

NOTE: This picture shows our farm house as I remembered it all the years I lived there. There were always the large maple trees in the yard and two front doors although it is hard to see the second door in this picture. To the right, barely visible, is the chicken house which was there for all the years I remember. The original house only had two rooms downstairs and two rooms upstairs. There was a fireplace (notice the chimney) in the center of the house. We had a sheet iron stove for heat in what we referred to as the front room, the largest room of the house. At times Mom would cook on the sheet iron stove during the winter to make a pot of soup or something simple. She would also roast potatoes in the ashes at times. When I was little, she seemed to do that more often because my older siblings were not at home during school days.

When Dad added the kitchen and the other rooms, he also added another flue so Mom could have a kitchen stove. My older sisters used to fuss about the walls of the house not being plumb when they were trying to put up wall paper in the spring. But I know all of our family agreed that considering their starting point, our parents almost made miracles.