Vernie Weaver's Story

By Loretta Feller

A few weeks ago I happened upon a 99-year-old woman having lunch at the restaurant across the street from her house. She had been a neighbor when I was a child. At that time, Vernie Weaver still lived on her farm, down the lane from my parents' house. Her farm had been located about a mile and a half from Wilmot, Ohio (a small town, somewhat past its heyday), where she now lives, independently, in a small, pleasant house.

Seeing her again after 20 years startled me and brought back a flood of memories, most of which were of her land. As a child, I guess I had been more interested in catching crayfish and frogs at Vernie's Creek (always pronounced "crick") than in conversing with adults. Even though I had not known her well, I could see that she still had the same surface. qualities that had distinguished her to me many years earlier—a quick smile; a high-pitched, gravelly voice; a tiny, bird-like body; and laughing, mischievous eyes that peered out over the top of her glasses.

I was impressed with the sheer achievement of living so many years, and became intensely curious to learn more about this woman. So last week my mother stopped to see Vernie and arranged a time for us to visit her. When we went, I took my tape recorder. This is Vernie Weaver's story, as she told it that day.

I was born July 21, 1881. I'm 99 years old. I was born and raised up there on the farm in Holmes County.

I remember some things when I was two years old (1883). They was something goin' on at Mt. Eaton. My mother went with Emmaline Harold up, and 1—— went along. You know, they had hitchin' posts at that time, and she stood me up on the hitchin' post so I could see. They had a greased pole; it had money up on top of it, and whoever could climb that pole'd get the money. Well, there wasn't very much entertain-

Vernie Weaver 1980/Photo by Loretta Feller

ment. Sometimes there'd be a medicine show here at Wilmot. They'd sell salve...medicine. They'd be strangers.

[My mother] was a good mother. She was an awfully strict mother. Her name was Catherine. We lived on the farm together until she died around 1925or so. I remember my grandmother on my mother's side. She smoked a pipe. She had two pockets, one on each side of her dress...one for her handkerchief and the other for her tobacco.

Preacher Bill married my parents. My daddy was Pennsylvania Dutch. He was from Pennsylvania, and my mother was from Dundee [Ohio]. [My daddy's

name was] Daniel. He bought that farm. My daddy. had that barn built when I was two years old. I was 13 when my daddy died. He was good. He was a little hard o' hearing, like me, and he walked with a cane, like me.

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I had one sister [born before me, but] she died when she was two days old.

I married Elmer Meiford when I was 22 [1903]. We were married for about three years, I believe. [It was]

not very good...he was no provider. My mother and his mother was pretty good friends and they kind of shoved us together. I never cared for him. [My mother] wouldn't leave me have people...anyone that I wanted. He got the divorce, I didn't. The lawyer come to me and he wanted to know if I wanted to get it, and I said, "No," I says, "if he wants a divorce, he'll get it and pay for it!" I took my maiden name back.

I had 4 or 5 pigs to butcher every winter, and cows to milk, chickens, and one horse. I had 12 head of cattle when I was alone. I had a dog and a good many cats on the farm...a dozen or more.

The farm was 60 acres. The fields were farmed in shares by the neighbors. They plowed the fields and planted them, and we got half and they'd take half. I guess there was about 20 acres in one cornfield, but as a rule [a share] was 5 or 6 acres.

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My garden was a pretty good size, I suppose, about a half an acre. We ate whatever come out of the garden-lettuce, onions, cabbage. We canned our own fruit. We had apples, plums, pears. Watercress grew in the spring run (a grassy area where the spring ran from its underground source]. It was always good. I ate wild gooseberries, raspberries, blackberries, and elderberries. I like elderberry pie, um-hmm! For tea I had horehound and wormwood. They'd use mullein leaves and vinegar for healing. I had a mullein stalk out here, but they mowed it off. There was a lot of comfrey between Massillon and Canton ¡ alongside of the road. They used to be a good bit of ginseng up in the woods, but it was all gathered out. I'd chew at it. I don't know as it made you feel better; it was just good, that's all.

[To make cottage cheese], you let the milk get sour, and then you scald it, and it goes to cheese. And then you mix cream with it, and a little salt. We made Swiss cheese sometimes. You had to have a ring and cheesecloth for that. That you had to have rennet for. It's a piece of [cow] stomach. You'd dry that, and then you'd soak that in a little warm water and

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put it in the milk, and, then that curds it. Then, you had to have a hoop to put it in. You'd let that for a * day and a night. Then, you'd take it out, and then every morning you'd have to wash it.in salt water. It'll form a crust.

My mother done a lot of quilting. She quilted so many quilts for other people. And sometimes Emmaline Harold would come down and help her to quilt, but that's all. I remember I was just little, and I was laying on the floor under the quilt. It was Emmaline's birthday and she was 30 years old. And I thought, "Oh, goodness, she's old!" 1 thought she was old. I wish I was only 30.

Do you remember Starners that lived down across

Weaver Farm outside Wilmot, circa 1905 the creek? They had a granddaughter that stayed with her. Messy was her name. And we was together a good bit. And then we went to school together at Beidler's school. I walked a mile and a half. I didn't ride like they do now. Liddy and Lizey Meese would come out to visit a lot. They'd walk out. Yes, people don't walk very far [nowadays]...ride to do their work.

There was a cousin with me [on the farm]. My mother got him when she was living yet. And she left and he just stayed. That was Charlie Borders. Frankie Borders was a brother to that one. Frank would come sometimes and he also liked to cut wood. He'd come up and he'd cut a great big pile of wood. He'd just come to cut,wood. He'd have a great big pile of wood. He'd fill the wood box full. Charlie stayed there and he farmed.

I never had electricity on the farm. I had oil lamps and a wood and coal stove. The last few years I had one of those "Warm Morning" stoves. That sure was a good stove. You built up in the evening, and in the morning you'd just open the damper a little bit. In the wintertime I'd generally shut the doors off and sleep in the living room where the stove was.

I went as far as Cleveland for a trip. We-saw Garfield's monument. And I was to McKinley's funeral [1901]. There were a lot of people there. They wasn't allowed in the cemetery. But I was in. But the way I got in...Dan Culver's nephew was sexton. And of course we got in, you know. We was there for dinner. And we was up pretty close.

There was more in Wilmot than there is now. Wilmot had two blacksmith shops, a drugstore and two druggists, a doctor, a tin snip, a flour mill, and a printing press. It had a paper. That was when I was in my teens yet. They was goin' to put the railroad through there then. They had started it, and then they changed it. I don't know why they did it. They had festivals, and then the band would be on.

(continued on page 13)

August, 1980/What She Wants/Page 9

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