Every Sunday morning I wind an old mantle clock that came from my great grandfathers house. It is one of two. The other one sits in Florida at my sisters home. She went to be with my great grandfather and all the others two years ago this December. When I wind that clock I am reminded of years past. I think about Great Grandfather Lester and that big old house he lived in. It was built in 1895 and stands on that corner lot to this day. That ground was once a part of Ed Sherril's cow lot and when I was a child that cow lot was still next door and full of cows. There was so much history in that home that I was totally unaware of. It's usually that way with children. I just took it as Gramps house. It was filled with "old stuff" that was funny looking, dusty, and sometimes mysterious. There were things I wasn't allowed to touch, no reason given, just leave that alone! I remember that old clock being one of those things. It wasn't to be played with. But I never asked where it came from, how it came to be on his shelf, it was just another something old and funny.
There came a day when I was probably twelve that Gramp had to leave that house. I wasn't told anything about that at the time, being a kid and all, I didn't need to know. Years later I heard some of the story. You see Great Grandfather Lester did not own that house at all. It had belonged to his wife, Lucy, given to her by her father with a single stipulation, Grandfather Floyd was never to have his name on the deed. The reason for that is left to history and to speculation. But the deed to that house was transferred to his daughter Jesse after Grandmother Lucy passed away. There was some dispute about plumbing and repairs to the home that led to Grandfather Lesters' eviction from the home. I recall the Newspaper sending a photographer to his house to take pictures of all the old stuff that was being removed from that house. That funny old dusty stuff. There were spinning wheels, a rug loom, and lots of old time machine that had some purpose in the weaving of rugs and cloth. A great deal of his "treasures" were donated to the local museum, Clinton Academy. Some of his very old books went to the library. Grandmother Lucy's brothers and father had been 'round the world whalers and there was stuff related to that trade in the house. I remember the jaw bone of a whale and some rib bones. The rib bones were used as stays in women's dresses back in the day, or so I am told. All that history was loaded up and taken away.
When I was sixteen Grandfather Lester passed away and with him all the stories. I regret now not having asked more about his life and the things he had done. He tried to tell me stories but I wasn't listening. My memories of him are mostly being in that old house. He lived in the kitchen in those days. He had his big old bed in one corner. The bathroom was off the kitchen having been added on sometime in the twentieth century. The kitchen also had a big old cook stove that served as the heating system. It was burning coal, year round. In the summer Gramp did keep embers burning all the time, just a handful of coal at a time, but that fire was attended to. It wasn't allowed to go out. And now I will do my best to not allow that clock to stop.
I've had it running for a few years now, having had repairs made to it. It must have been running for quite a while because some of the bearings surfaces were worn out. I did have them replaced by a clockmaker and the entire works cleaned and oiled. As a kid I don't recall it ever running. It, along with the one my sister has, came to our house when Grandfather Floyd had to leave his home. They weren't running then. They sat on the shelf next to the fireplace. When my parents sold that home they downsized. My sister got one clock and I the other. I find something somehow comforting every time I wind that clock. It's a feeling I can't explain. It's like keeping a memory alive by winding it up. I don't know, there is just something about it. Most of the time I don't hear it ticking away or even hear the chimes on the half hour and hour. It is just there running in the background. But sometimes, when all is quiet, I do hear that and it's a comfort. I can't explain why, but it is.
There came a day when I was probably twelve that Gramp had to leave that house. I wasn't told anything about that at the time, being a kid and all, I didn't need to know. Years later I heard some of the story. You see Great Grandfather Lester did not own that house at all. It had belonged to his wife, Lucy, given to her by her father with a single stipulation, Grandfather Floyd was never to have his name on the deed. The reason for that is left to history and to speculation. But the deed to that house was transferred to his daughter Jesse after Grandmother Lucy passed away. There was some dispute about plumbing and repairs to the home that led to Grandfather Lesters' eviction from the home. I recall the Newspaper sending a photographer to his house to take pictures of all the old stuff that was being removed from that house. That funny old dusty stuff. There were spinning wheels, a rug loom, and lots of old time machine that had some purpose in the weaving of rugs and cloth. A great deal of his "treasures" were donated to the local museum, Clinton Academy. Some of his very old books went to the library. Grandmother Lucy's brothers and father had been 'round the world whalers and there was stuff related to that trade in the house. I remember the jaw bone of a whale and some rib bones. The rib bones were used as stays in women's dresses back in the day, or so I am told. All that history was loaded up and taken away.
When I was sixteen Grandfather Lester passed away and with him all the stories. I regret now not having asked more about his life and the things he had done. He tried to tell me stories but I wasn't listening. My memories of him are mostly being in that old house. He lived in the kitchen in those days. He had his big old bed in one corner. The bathroom was off the kitchen having been added on sometime in the twentieth century. The kitchen also had a big old cook stove that served as the heating system. It was burning coal, year round. In the summer Gramp did keep embers burning all the time, just a handful of coal at a time, but that fire was attended to. It wasn't allowed to go out. And now I will do my best to not allow that clock to stop.
I've had it running for a few years now, having had repairs made to it. It must have been running for quite a while because some of the bearings surfaces were worn out. I did have them replaced by a clockmaker and the entire works cleaned and oiled. As a kid I don't recall it ever running. It, along with the one my sister has, came to our house when Grandfather Floyd had to leave his home. They weren't running then. They sat on the shelf next to the fireplace. When my parents sold that home they downsized. My sister got one clock and I the other. I find something somehow comforting every time I wind that clock. It's a feeling I can't explain. It's like keeping a memory alive by winding it up. I don't know, there is just something about it. Most of the time I don't hear it ticking away or even hear the chimes on the half hour and hour. It is just there running in the background. But sometimes, when all is quiet, I do hear that and it's a comfort. I can't explain why, but it is.
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