What were your grandparents like?

It was February, the air was brisk and the ground covered in snow. Arriving at the farm after a long icy drive was a welcome sight. My Grandpa had only seen the farm once before. This was his debut in presenting the farm to his new bride. The story goes that they walked into the house, to a floor covered in a sheet of ice. My Nana quietly looked around and then went outside. My Grandpa expected to find her sitting in the car waiting to go back to the city. Instead she came in with a load of firewood found in the shed and began to light all the fireplaces. And this is how they began their life together on the farm.

My Grandpa, Edward (Ned) Beatty, grew up in Ravenna, Ohio, in an elegant house with a large wrap around porch. Every year he and his four siblings would gather on this porch for family portraits. They were all dressed in their finest starch pressed clothes. White shirts with fancy collars, little wool suits and button boots for the boys and fancy, frilly dresses for the girls. My grandfather was often barefoot in these yearly photos, ready to climb trees when the photo shoot was over. This seems very fitting for what I know of him. His sense of adventure, bucking traditions and the status quo are what maybe led him to become a tree surgeon. He travelled from Ohio to the east coast scaling trees and setting up house for however long he was in one spot. He and his partner created Davey Tree Company. From time to time I peruse his tree books, reading his notes in the margins. He had a keen sense of observation. Noting what bugs the tree might host to discover the best form of treatment. He did this for a number of years going from hither and yon, until he met my Nana in St. Louis. I don’t know much about their romance or how they came together, but it was after this that Davey Tree Company put down roots in Long Island. My Grandpa knew that he needed to settle some where, as this is where they moved after they were married. It turns out it was not to be for long, as an apple orchard he tended was put on the market.

My Nana, Helen Root, grew up in St. Louis in a rather large family. Her father, who worked for the railway, passed away suddenly when she was ten years old. Because of the size of her family and the financial struggle they endured after his death, some of the children were sent to live with relatives. She was sent to live with an Aunt who could offer her education and opportunities for learning. Had she remained at home, it was believed she would need to work in order to earn her keep. As exciting as this prospect was, I know it was a hardship for her to leave her mother and dearly loved sisters. This experience perhaps gave her the strength and fortitude to meet the many challenges ahead. One such challenge confronting her at the end of high school, was getting accepted at (I believe) Smith College and not having the funds to attend. She returned to St. Louis to be with family and start the next chapter of her life. A part of this chapter was gaining employment and meeting Ned. While I know my Nana was not looking to be a farmer or an orchardist, I do know she was looking for some adventure.

I like to think my Nana and Grandpa came together in a meeting of the minds. They were both avid readers of Chaucer, Faulkner, all the classics, studied Latin and discussed politics at great lengths. The farm gave them endless opportunities for discovery, not only for making a living, but for making a life. It was a hundred acre apple orchard with neighbors far away. My grandpa raised at least twenty different kinds of apples. In the farm’s heyday, apples were shipped by train to New York City and beyond. My Nana grew all their food and raised a multitude of chickens. Once a week the chickens would be delivered to the Italian section of town. They wanted fresh chickens, which meant my Nana killed them on the spot. This is a lady that had grit. My mom liked to say that a “lady” should not have to work that hard. I don’t want to romanticize their life. I know it was non stop work. Constantly adapting to weather, failed crops and a shortage of help for the orchard. But what I do know is they were proud, self sufficient and challenged in ways no other lifestyle could give them. There is a concept of “Yankee Ingenuity” which is the definition of self reliance, inventiveness and making do with what you have. They often expressed using their Yankee Ingenuity, as they repaired tools with makeshift items and used scraps of whatever to craft what was needed. It was too far out to run to the hardware store or have a repair person come out. This way of life provided a sense of reliance and confidence in their own means.

Their curiosity also led them to pursue other interests. Snowy winters provided time not available in the growing months. My Grandpa became a justice of the Peace. He was involved in local politics and the farming community. He was known for his hard cider and apple champagne, which he spent the winters perfecting and testing. My Nana was part of a group called the “Wednesday Club”. At first glance, it sounds like a ladies group common in those times, to share recipes, home life, etc. This group was nothing like that. In thinking about it in today’s terms, this was a group of progressives. They met monthly to share ideas of philosophy, women’s issues, politics, etc. The previous month they decided on a topic and then shared essays they had written and researched. I discovered one of these tucked into an old book and delighted in the glimpse of my Nana’s intellect and thoughtfulness. The other side of my Nana presented a wonderful cook, known for her apple pie and preserves. Always interested in the arts, she tried her hand painting and drawing. I discovered a few of these gems my Mom had saved from the farm.

We were lucky enough to live with my grandparents and grow up on the farm. The values they imparted are deep in my bones. While there were plenty of hardships and difficulties, the appreciation of times gone well, of a shared vision and a creation of a dream, have guided my life in a resilience of spirit. The expression of Yankee Ingenuity has given me the courage to face hard times and know that there is always a way through. It takes a keen sense of observation, a strong sense of self and a willingness to change direction. It is a life long journey of an exploration into what makes a life. No matter what kind of life we choose, living by these values strengthens our sense of belonging wherever we may land.