Entry #551242, added on 11-24-07 @ 4:59 am EST
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| The Bay Road Legacy Chapter 1 Home at Last | Entry #551242 |
THE BAY ROAD LEGACY
Chapter One
Home at last
I have been waiting for more than fifty years to tell this story. It is a fact of life that when a person reaches a certain age, they no longer feel that they will be held to ridicule or scorn for telling it the way it was! I am at that age now and just as my hair is turning white, I feel compelled to share with you a true story so vivid in my mind that it might just as well have happened yesterday. There are no heroes, no villains just plain ordinary everyday people, who under the most adverse circumstances learn of life and of love, and survival against unprecedented odds.
The story began in the early nineteen fifties when I had just entered into my teenage years. For me, those years were filled with many unexpected surprises, a few great joys, and some very deep sorrows and I doubt that I would want to relive any of them. My introduction to my teens was to say the least a very amusing, educational and difficult time.
We, my mother, my younger brother, and my older sisters were living with my aunt and grandmother, in my aunt’s house in a Boston suburb. My father was relatively unknown to us, due to a marital separation from my mother, of his choosing. He had taken leave of his family and his responsibilities on several occasions and when I was about 3 years old; he just disappeared.
Now some eleven or twelve years later he had negotiated his way back into my mother’s life, and ours, having mysteriously re-appeared one day. My mother, who thru her whole life believed in the sanctity of marriage, and was determined to reach a personal level of Sainthood, accepted his overtures at reconciliation. There were stipulations that he find a good job and provide a good home for her and her children. We, her children were not in a negotiation mode, and would have to accept her decision for whatever it would bring. We were not in the immediate need of a father figure, nor a change in life style, but then we were not into negotiations with “Father.” Reconciliation of a marriage, a fresh new start on life, a new school, new friends, new community, it was all made to sound so good, why we might even like it. That was the promise, and that was the beginning. It was awkward at first, to deal with a new father in our lives, awkward I suppose for each of us, although we never discussed it.
Having a Father would also mean having a whole new range of Uncles and Aunts and Great Uncles. As our lives progressed, we would meet and be well accepted by our new family. We would with time grow to be quite fond of our new found relatives.
Unlike Father, they seemed to be real great people and in all honesty I think each of us loved them dearly. Our lives would surely become entwined, right from the very first days. As for Father, well learning to like him, respect him, to trust him, and to forgive him would of course take time. There were, I am sure, some wounds in each of us that would take a lifetime to heal. Life was to be a whole new ball game! I would point out that at the best of times, we could not establish a personal relationship with this man, and each of us found the kindest address of respect that we could pay to him would be to call him “Father.”
We were given a few weeks to adjust to the fact that our lives were about to change. Father, went about meeting the demands placed upon him by my mother. In early June, we were informed that indeed, Father had found a good job, and a new house for us to live in and we would be moving as soon as the school year ended. Most unexpected, was the fact that the new job, new house, and all that we were about to deal with was not in town or even in the state. We were to move to upstate New York, to a very, very small town called Queensbury.
After the shock of that set in, we were given the details. The new job was at management level with a very good income. The new town was almost up to Lake George, and we were assured that it was the most beautiful place in the world. The house that he had found, well that was to be the best part of all. Father, on his own and without any consultation from mother, had leased a very old and very big farmhouse, right in the middle of a working farm. The farm house and farm were owned by an insurance company and they had elected to lease the farm portion of the property to a co-op farm management program. The house, after major renovations, and looking like new, would be ours. We would have free range of the entire property as long as we didn’t get in the way of farming operations. Well, it was overwhelming. We looked at maps, and could not find Queensbury. There were no pictures of the farm. What were we in for?
Mother received assurances that she could buy all new furniture. She of course would not have to do any farm work. She could have a flower garden or a vegetable garden if she chose to do so. We were promised that we could have a dog if we wanted one. As for school, a brand new state of the art school had just been built and we would be a part of its’ very first graduating class. Well that seemed okay with me as I was just about to start in high school. My brother on the other hand rebelled violently to the whole string of changes about to take place in our lives. He relented to go with the family, just to see this place, and was assured he could return to live at my aunt’s house in time for school in the fall if he still did not like it.
My oldest sister was divorced and had a new young son, and was seeking work so she had no concerns about living in New York. She would find work there and mother could take care of the baby. My second sister was already working and engaged to be married and would remain living with my aunt. Well, okay, it may not have been the best of plans, but it was a start. Life was to change for everyone. Life would not be dull. We would face it all as an adventure. The selling of it all went on for weeks.
June drew closer and soon it was time to go. It was the middle of June, and after driving for hours across Massachusetts and into Vermont, and finally into New York, we got our first glimpse of what was to be our home. We arrived at the house, on Bay Road, quite late in the afternoon, and the electricity had not yet been turned on. The house was indeed a big old farm house, a house bigger than any I had ever seen in my lifetime. The original house was built sometime in the early part of the 1800s. And in the mid 1850s became the home of the Spier family. Mr. William Spier was to be the man who would be most identified with the home and the man who would turn just another farm into one of the premier horse breeding farms in upstate New York. For years, the Spier farm would send prize winning horses to the Saratoga Raceway just 50 miles to the south.
Mr. Spier built on the property, a horse barn that was the largest in New York at the time. It was complete with all possible work rooms, for leather work, blacksmithing, carriage work, and all manner of trades. There were many other buildings all required to make the Spier farms all that Mr. Spier could envision them to be. History records that Mr. Wm. Spier was one of the more successful men of his generation, a man with a host of friends, and no enemies. His life was a classic nineteenth century, enterprising and established success story. Mr. Spier died at an early age of 52 in May of 1901. He had but one son. His son had little interest in horses or farming, and went on to be quite successful in the world of politics in Massachusetts, and eventually in Washington DC. His son left the farm at an early age and never returned to it.
The property was offered for sale and having remained empty for several years, was sold to a Mr. Fowler. Mr. Fowler had no intentions of breeding or racing horses. He was a much more practical man who converted the property into a huge dairy farm. He had a new, state of the art dairy barn built, with the latest in automatic milking machines. It was almost as large in size as the original horse barn of Mr. Spier. The barns and other buildings surrounded the farm house on three sides and a large circular driveway from the road passed completely around the house to leave it standing tall and proud in the forefront of the property.
With the horse farm operation, it became necessary to add onto the original house, doubling it in size, by the addition of a rear sleeping wing, made up of as many as 10 or 12 small bedrooms for the use of hired help. The hired hands would double and triple in number at certain times of the year, and would be sheltered within the structure of the main house, in the sleeping wing at the rear. Also added to the house at a later date on the north side was a room used for pasteurizing raw milk and several other smaller rooms for storage and other purposes.
Yes, when we first saw the house on Bay Road we were in awe of its’ size and proportion, for a small family such as ours. An adventure indeed, was awaiting us just inside of this house.
We were home, home at last, but we would have to wait until the following day before we could enter the house as we had no keys and would not be able to enter until the following day. There was also the problem of having arrived with no furniture, so we moved into the Queensbury Hotel in nearby Glens Falls for the night.
We arose early the next day and after a brief meal at a local diner, we were off to see in daylight our new home. The road out of Glens Falls was steeped in beauty, with several miles of pasture land and endless fields of ripening corn. The number of houses grew smaller and the distance between them grew greater as we approached our destination. It was apparent that our nearest neighbors would be about one half of a mile south of us, closer to town. There was one other house, located diagonally across from the farm house. It was a small neat and an apparently newer house that was set back a short distance from the road.
We were to meet with a gentleman from the insurance company who would turn over the house and keys to us, and answer any questions that may come up. The house across the street, he explained was built for Mrs. Fowler, after her husband had died, and she lived there alone. She did not want to live in the farm at all, not even for a day after her husband had passed on.
We learned that the man, who was meeting with us and now about to show us around would also be a neighbor, and in fact his son, was the farm manager for the co-op now running the property. Their property on Haviland Road was about 1 mile to the east of the farm.
Well it was time and with keys in hand the door was opened and in we went. We entered through the side door to the kitchen which was the closest to the driveway. The smell of fresh paint wafted throughout the house. The woodwork glistened under new white enamel. The kitchen, like the rest of the house was immense. It had to be that way, we were told to feed the large number of persons who had lived and worked at the farm. The appliances were old and worn and mother immediately decided that along with new furniture she would need new appliances for the kitchen.
Father quickly agreed still being eager to show us the rest of the house. He led us through the first floor, from one large room into another. The scale of the rooms and the size of the house were overwhelming at first. Mother was obviously aware that she would have far more work to do in selecting furniture and draperies and carpeting than she had imagined. From the kitchen we moved toward the living room, with French doors that opened to the south, and a fireplace that had a mantel six feet above the floor, and a hearth that was easily eight feet wide. Father raved with excitement at what great fires we would have in that fireplace and claimed he could visualize a huge Christmas tree placed in one corner of the room.
Mother did not share in his enthusiasm. Opposite the living room was the dining room with a wall of built in china cabinets and picture windows to the north from which we could see the Adirondack Mountains of upstate New York. Moving down an equally oversized center hallway to the front of the house, we noticed several locked doors, one being under the stairway. They go to the cellar, no need to open them we were told. On now to the front of the house and its’ great center entry. To our left a room almost as large as the living room. A formal parlor in earlier times, and to the right another room of the same size, which had been used as a library and office. This mother claimed would be her room, hers and Fathers. She wanted to be downstairs, near the front of the house, because it faced east and sunlight would fill the room each morning.
The rest of the house to her seemed quite dark, and uninviting. Father with his boastful air of assumed optimism assured her she would get over it. She would just love this place, “you’ll see,” he said. The front door was opened for the first time in a long time. It stuck in the jamb and took both men to pull it free. A small bell at the top of the door rang out as it swung open. In times past, the front door had never been locked, and when guests or friends dropped by the bell would announce their arrival. Once opened, we stepped thru the doorway onto the front porch, which ran almost the full width of the house and was perhaps as wide as twenty feet or more. It was a very large addition probably added over fifty years before.
Continuing on with our exploration of the house, we were led up the stairway to the second floor. I recall seeing pictures of stairways in mansions that were this big, and I began I think, to tire out just from climbing up to the second floor. I counted out each step as we moved up, one, two, three and at the top announced there were thirteen, thirteen in all from bottom to top. The stairway creaked under foot, showing its age. Quickly the insurance company man told us that there was another stairway at the rear of the house which we would probably use more often. “I don’t think it creaks as badly,” he said. At the top of the stairs was a hallway that matched the one on the lower level. At the front of the hallway to the left was what would become my room. My brother could have the room opposite it. Toward the rear on the east side was a room painted and wallpapered to a girls liking and it would become my sister’s room.
Opposite it at the rear of the house was a very small room, reduced in size because of alterations that were made to it making it little more than an 8 foot by 10 foot space. It had windows in the corner that would easily give good ventilation but it appeared that they had never been opened. The window screens on the outside of these windows were torn and hung loose. This room we were told was used only for storage by the Fowlers. Perhaps we would use it in the same way. “Oh No, this will be my sons room” said my sister. We can paint it up and put his crib in here and it will be just perfect. Mother grimaced at the thought of more work. A locked door just outside this small room, led to the sleeping rooms that had been added.
The door was opened and we ventured in. There were six small rooms and a bathroom on the upper level; each room looking like it would accommodate a monk in a monastery. Small but adequate for their intended purpose. At the rear of the house was indeed another small narrow stairway leading down to the lower level. The lower level was much like the upper, with none of the intended grandeur as had been put into the original main house. From the lower level of the addition we re-entered the kitchen and were back to our starting point. This was a very big house. Father had made a deal to provide a house, and to his way of thinking, bigger always meant better. Mother I am sure would much rather have seen a small ranch style house or perhaps even a small cape with a fenced in yard. Both would have suited her just fine, but here we were, in the biggest house that Father could find, with a yard that went on forever.
The house was empty and now the work began. The insurance company man left and we were alone as a family; in what would be our first home together. Where would we ever begin to make this house and indeed this new life work for all of us? That question did not wait for an answer. Mother was already measuring the rooms and writing up a list of the furniture that we would need, just to move in. This was obviously not going to happen on this day. My brother and I were sent out to explore while lists were made and ideas born. We were told only to not get in any trouble and keep out of the way of any workers who may be around. We were told to not go far, as we would all be going back into town shortly for a day of shopping.
Well it was apparent that we would need a lot more than a little while to explore all of the barns and other buildings. We ventured forth, with a great deal of curiosity and too I think some quiet fears of what lay ahead. We entered first the large dairy barn, pushing with all our strength to roll back the huge door to let light and air inside. It was obvious that this barn had not been used very often for many years. As soon as we entered we were startled at the sight of a very, very large well fed rat. As surprised to see us as we were to see him, he was the first of many well fed gray monsters that we would encounter in our explorations. Certainly by the count of rats seen, farm life was good for even the smallest of creatures. We found rats in each building that we entered. Some of them would sit up like squirrels and look at us with their own curiosity, showing no fear of us at all.
After the first hour had passed we could hear our names being called as it was time to return to the house and go to town. We could not wait to tell of the barns and the equipment and the horse stalls with names of horses on them and the dairy barn with its’ great machines, and of the rats that we had encountered. “All farms have rats” was fathers comment. ”I’m glad they are in the barns and not in the house” replied mother. “If I see one rat in my house, I don’t think it will be at all exciting” she said. “Rats are not a part of the deal.”
On the way into Glens Falls, to shop for furniture and other needed items, Father, announced that he had already made friends with the owner of the largest furniture store in town. Anything mother wanted could be found there at the right price. She was not impressed, as she had prior experience with some of Fathers friends. It was a “friend” of Fathers who had led him to rent the big old farm house in the first place. He was a man that had lived in town for his whole life and knew everything about everything. He certainly knew about the old house and its history. It would be months before we learned about it.
Well shopping for new furniture was about as boring for young boys as watching grass grow or rain falling, but it would be our lot for that day and several more to come. We were promised a good Italian meal at a local restaurant if we behaved, and we could order any thing we wanted. I guess father thought that the way to a boy’s heart was through his stomach. We were still trying very hard to figure him out! It was very late in the day before the shopping appeared to be at an end and we did eat well. It was obvious that we would not go back to the farm until the next day. I think that set just fine with mother.
Another night at the Queensbury hotel, followed by a Continental breakfast (my favorite sweet rolls) and we were back on the road to the farm. We became aware of the distances between the homes on Bay Rd., and noted again that we were probably as far out as anyone would ever want to be. This was a real problem for mother as she did not drive, never had reason to, living in a real city like we had. Now she showed some definite interest in getting driving lessons real fast. She was not going to live way out here without a way to get to a real store or to go anywhere on her own. She would learn to drive and that was that.
Life was certainly taking on a whole new aspect for each member of our family. We were a family, and as such we were going to enjoy life the way it was meant to be enjoyed. At the age when all this was happening, I don’t think the term “dysfunctional family” had yet been thought of. If it had, we certainly had not heard it. What we needed to tie us all together was a new start, a common goal, a fresh beginning, and in Fathers eyes that meant the biggest house on Bay Rd. A farm for boys to grow up on. A home for the wife to cook, and clean, and entertain in. The farm on Bay Road would be a place that would be the glue that would bond “his” family back together. How strange to hear him refer to “his” family. We always thought of it as our family, not his, he was just added in at a very late date. These were very strange and trying times for all of us, and they were about to get much stranger.
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© Copyright 2007 Peter Yule (UN: peteryule at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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