Frank Nelson Gibbs was born in Blandford, Massachusetts, February 10, 1863. The house on Chester Road was his home for 76 years. There were six children in the family; he was the third child, and the oldest son. When he was nine years old, his father, Joseph Gibbs, died of pneumonia. Then it was his task to milk the cows and do other chores, before leaving for school in the morning. He walked one and one half miles to the Taggart School. There must have been days when he could not go to school as his mother was obliged to work as a practical nurse, and the responsibility of running the farm fell on his shoulders. His grandmother, Mercy Fish, also a widow, came to live with them to take care of the younger children.
It is fortunate Frank enjoyed farming for there was no chance for him to further his education in any other line. He was tall and thin, with brown hair, and sharp brownish gray eyes. He was known for his ability to talk and work fast, and was always willing to give a helping hand. Nothing but illness kept him from Church on Sunday or from anything put on at the North Blandford Church. He was a deacon of the Church as well as Sunday School superintendent. Every fall he attended Blandford Fair and exhibited both animals and farm produce.
When he was a young man there was a school about a mile away at the foot of Round Hill. The people in the nearby homes took turns boarding the "school- marm." One of the teachers was Olive Morey from Worthington. Frank became very fond of her, so much so, that during the summer he walked to Worthington to see her. He went the shortest way, up a steep hill from Chester to North Chester, and then to Worthington, but still the trip was close to twenty miles. Why he did not take the horse and buggy he never did say. Before long they talked of marriage, and one half of the house was fixed for their home.
His mother did not exactly approve his bringing home a wife who was exactly five feet tall. They planned a spring wedding, but Frank's sister Hattie who lived in North Blandford, was expecting her first child and wanted her mother to care for her. It was necessary for Frank to look after the farm, so they hurried up their wedding. They were married at the Morey home in Worthington by the Reverend Huntington on December 31, 1896, with just the immediate family attending. Evidently the only honeymoon they had, was a buggy ride back to North Blandford.
Olive found it was not easy being a farmer's wife. Many a meal grew cold while Frank cared for the animals. He sometimes spent half the night with a sick cow. It became necessary to keep a hired hand to help with the farm work. Frank was fond of all his creatures. When Fanny, his mare, had twin colts, his happiness knew no bounds. Although he did everything possible to care for her, the smaller colt did not survive.
Every Friday the business wagon was loaded with produce, fresh from the farm. The horses, Daisy and Dandy, were hitched to it and Frank drove to Chester to sell the load. He was a good salesman and enjoyed talking to the people. One woman said she knew the apples at the bottom of the basket would be just as good as those on top. One Friday he was driving up Prospect Hill beside the railroad tracks when a train came along. The horses were frightened and bolted, tipping over the wagon. He was not hurt but buttermilk, broken eggs, and vinegar went running down the street.
In 1888 their first child was expected. If Olive could have had proper care probably the child would have lived. As it was, the daughter they planned to name Pansy died at birth. Olive was not well for some time, but received little sympathy from her strong and over bearing mother-in-law. If it had not been for the kind grandmother, Mercy Fish, life would have been unbearable.
During the next fourteen years, Robert, Donald, Amy and I were born. Later another son, Ernest, was born dead, and mother developed tuberculosis. She spent a year alone in an upstairs bedroom. This must have been a hard time for father. He never swore when things went wrong, but was heard to exclaime, "Oh, shite." He did not believe in liquor but sometimes drank some of his home made sour cider mixed with a raw egg. Nearly every evening he sat before the kitchen stove with a pan of apples, and peeled and ate several. Many evenings he greased his work shoes with mutton tallow. Next to apples his favorite fruit was bananas. During haying season, he kept a bunch of them in the cellar and often ran down for one.
At least twice Frank was called for jury duty. This he enjoyed tremendously. The chores were done extra early those mornings. He shaved with great care and trimmed his mustache, put on his good dark gray suit, his white shirt with stiff collar and a bow tie, and polished his shoes. He drove his horse and buggy to Chester, put them under Ed Alvord's shed, and took the train to Springfield. That evening he spent telling us all about his day.
Although he had little chance for an education, people were astounded at his ability to get up and talk at town meetings. He was anxious to have his children have a good education.
When cars began to come around, he decided to buy a truck. First he had to go to Westfield to try for a license. The examiner told him if he could drive as well as he could talk he would give him a dozen licenses. Once he was heard to holler, "Whoa!" when trying to stop. Speed was very important to him; he bragged about how fast he could shave, milk a cow, or chop a cord of wood. This didn't work so well when driving. He backed into the house, took a few boards off the horse barn, and had several bad accidents from losing control of the car. The fact he was never seriously injured made us feel he lived a charmed life.
Frank was certainly a Jack-of-all-trades. He had a blacksmith's shop where he not only put the shoes on his own horses but often on his neighbors' horses as well. He had barber shop equipment and did a pretty neat job cutting hair. One day a neighbor, Mrs. Barnes, came in with a toothache. He immediately took out his forceps and pulled the sore tooth out. He also doctored many a sick horse or cow. Only recently, a Chester resident told me of the many kind things Mr. Gibbs did for him.
After Robert graduated from Agricultural College and became a forester, he and his father decided to plant an apple orchard, north of the barn, across from the Lorings. When the land was ready, Robert and his father arrived with the trees, and all hands helped plant them. Where they were planted was my favorite sliding place, but I was no longer allowed to use it for fear I might bruise one of the trees which had just started to grow. Robert showed his father how to trim and care for them. Each tree certainly received loving care. Later he learned how to graft a branch from one tree onto another and was so thrilled when one tree produced two different kinds of apples.
In 1911, his sister, Mari, who lived with their mother in the south part of the house, was taken very ill. Their brother, Joseph, who was a doctor in Suffield, brought up Dr. Alcorn and they operated
on her, removing a large tumor. She lived just a few days. The following year his mother, Hannah, died. Later he took in Charles Gibbs. He was not very closely related, but was an old man with no place to live. Frank and Olive cared for him until he died.
There was always plenty of dry wood and kindling on hand, much of it cut by Frank himself. During cold weather, before going out to milk the cows each morning, he built fires in three stoves. On April 2, 1923 after building the fires he forgot to shut the damper on the kitchen stove in Aunt Ella's part of the house. I happened to see the red hot pipe and called for help. Frank Healy put down his pails of milk as soon as he saw the smoke, grabbed an axe and ran the half mile to our house. One of the boys who worked at Mr. Loring's kept the pump handle going and the rest of us carried the pails of water to the fire. Tears ran down father's face as he saw flames roar up through the house as he pumped the fire extinguisher. He became overcome by the smoke and had a long hard sick spell. From then on he was bothered with bronchial trouble, especially in the winter, and at times became very despondent.
There were two hundred acres on the farm, with some standing timber. About 1930 Frank sold this to Mr. Besaw of Huntington. With the money he put in a water pump powered by a gasoline engine, a copper tank for hot water, and a bathroom. Before this, all of the water came from a small pump in the house and a large one out side.
Hired help was always a problem on the farm. Most of the time it was a boy from the state or from the reform school, or an older man who lived there. Once one of the boys was about to hit Frank with a shovel when luckily the agent who checked on the boys drove into the yard. The neighbors were always good to help, especially at butchering time, which came about twice a year. Pigs and chickens were all he dressed to sell. He cut up the pork on a large wash bench in the back or summer kitchen. Hams were smoked in barrels in the shed. The whole family joined in grinding meat for sausage. Large crocks of saltpork were put in the cellar, and large slabs of bacon were salted away. Mother was busy rendering lard and making head cheese. Father's favorite breakfast was salt pork, fried crisp and brown, and milk gravy made in the spider. Dressed chickens and cuts of pork were loaded into the wagon and he drove them to King's Market in Westfield. He often returned with a barrel of sugar, one of flour, and one of crackers. Little else had to be purchased in the food line, since we grew our own potatoes and vegetables and canned and preserved everything possible. At least twice a week there was the aroma of freshly baked bread, and the soured cream was churned into butter. We children wrapped it in pound packages after father stamped it out. Often we made cottage cheese as well. Once in a while father butchered a cow and made corned beef and hung up chunks for dried beef. His favorite pie was blackberry. Berry bushes, especially blackberries, always grew where the timber was cut and father watched for them. He would come home with a five quart pail brimming full of the largest berries I ever saw. Although I do not remember him doing much hunting, he kept upstairs an old trunk which contained gunpowder and everything necessary for him to make his own bullets. In a glass case in the living room stood a stuffed white Arctic Owl which Frank and his brother, Will, had shot.
In 1936 Frank and Olive Gibbs celebrated their golden wedding anniversary. The members of the North Blandford Church planned a reception for them, the summer before the actual date which would have been in December. About 80 people attended, including their four married children and cousins from as far away as Illinois.
At the time, father's health was really failing and he realized he could not continue to run the farm. This was a time of terrible heartbreak for him. In 1939 he sold the farm to Robert's brother-in-law, Ralph Packard, and in August he and mother moved to an apartment in Russell, Massachusetts. He soon found out there was a farm nearby, and one day, when the farmer was ill, he milked cows and did chores. This was too much for him and he was obliged to spend the most of the rest of his life in bed. His sister Ella spent winters there helping to care for him, and a very kind neighbor, Mrs. Janitus, lived just across the hall. They were in Russell two or three years when Robert took them to a nursing home in Pittsfield. There he could visit them nearly every evening after work and get them what they needed. Marian was good to visit them, too. On December 26, 1944 Marian and I had the sad duty of telling them that Robert was killed by a branch from a tree he had been working on in North Adams. They were brave about it, but I think father lost interest in living after that. His time came just about a year later, the 24th of December, 1945. He was buried in the cemetery of North Blandford, the town he loved so dearly.
Permission to print manuscript Ruth Hill Doherty
It is fortunate Frank enjoyed farming for there was no chance for him to further his education in any other line. He was tall and thin, with brown hair, and sharp brownish gray eyes. He was known for his ability to talk and work fast, and was always willing to give a helping hand. Nothing but illness kept him from Church on Sunday or from anything put on at the North Blandford Church. He was a deacon of the Church as well as Sunday School superintendent. Every fall he attended Blandford Fair and exhibited both animals and farm produce.
When he was a young man there was a school about a mile away at the foot of Round Hill. The people in the nearby homes took turns boarding the "school- marm." One of the teachers was Olive Morey from Worthington. Frank became very fond of her, so much so, that during the summer he walked to Worthington to see her. He went the shortest way, up a steep hill from Chester to North Chester, and then to Worthington, but still the trip was close to twenty miles. Why he did not take the horse and buggy he never did say. Before long they talked of marriage, and one half of the house was fixed for their home.
His mother did not exactly approve his bringing home a wife who was exactly five feet tall. They planned a spring wedding, but Frank's sister Hattie who lived in North Blandford, was expecting her first child and wanted her mother to care for her. It was necessary for Frank to look after the farm, so they hurried up their wedding. They were married at the Morey home in Worthington by the Reverend Huntington on December 31, 1896, with just the immediate family attending. Evidently the only honeymoon they had, was a buggy ride back to North Blandford.
Olive found it was not easy being a farmer's wife. Many a meal grew cold while Frank cared for the animals. He sometimes spent half the night with a sick cow. It became necessary to keep a hired hand to help with the farm work. Frank was fond of all his creatures. When Fanny, his mare, had twin colts, his happiness knew no bounds. Although he did everything possible to care for her, the smaller colt did not survive.
Every Friday the business wagon was loaded with produce, fresh from the farm. The horses, Daisy and Dandy, were hitched to it and Frank drove to Chester to sell the load. He was a good salesman and enjoyed talking to the people. One woman said she knew the apples at the bottom of the basket would be just as good as those on top. One Friday he was driving up Prospect Hill beside the railroad tracks when a train came along. The horses were frightened and bolted, tipping over the wagon. He was not hurt but buttermilk, broken eggs, and vinegar went running down the street.
In 1888 their first child was expected. If Olive could have had proper care probably the child would have lived. As it was, the daughter they planned to name Pansy died at birth. Olive was not well for some time, but received little sympathy from her strong and over bearing mother-in-law. If it had not been for the kind grandmother, Mercy Fish, life would have been unbearable.
During the next fourteen years, Robert, Donald, Amy and I were born. Later another son, Ernest, was born dead, and mother developed tuberculosis. She spent a year alone in an upstairs bedroom. This must have been a hard time for father. He never swore when things went wrong, but was heard to exclaime, "Oh, shite." He did not believe in liquor but sometimes drank some of his home made sour cider mixed with a raw egg. Nearly every evening he sat before the kitchen stove with a pan of apples, and peeled and ate several. Many evenings he greased his work shoes with mutton tallow. Next to apples his favorite fruit was bananas. During haying season, he kept a bunch of them in the cellar and often ran down for one.
At least twice Frank was called for jury duty. This he enjoyed tremendously. The chores were done extra early those mornings. He shaved with great care and trimmed his mustache, put on his good dark gray suit, his white shirt with stiff collar and a bow tie, and polished his shoes. He drove his horse and buggy to Chester, put them under Ed Alvord's shed, and took the train to Springfield. That evening he spent telling us all about his day.
Although he had little chance for an education, people were astounded at his ability to get up and talk at town meetings. He was anxious to have his children have a good education.
When cars began to come around, he decided to buy a truck. First he had to go to Westfield to try for a license. The examiner told him if he could drive as well as he could talk he would give him a dozen licenses. Once he was heard to holler, "Whoa!" when trying to stop. Speed was very important to him; he bragged about how fast he could shave, milk a cow, or chop a cord of wood. This didn't work so well when driving. He backed into the house, took a few boards off the horse barn, and had several bad accidents from losing control of the car. The fact he was never seriously injured made us feel he lived a charmed life.
Frank was certainly a Jack-of-all-trades. He had a blacksmith's shop where he not only put the shoes on his own horses but often on his neighbors' horses as well. He had barber shop equipment and did a pretty neat job cutting hair. One day a neighbor, Mrs. Barnes, came in with a toothache. He immediately took out his forceps and pulled the sore tooth out. He also doctored many a sick horse or cow. Only recently, a Chester resident told me of the many kind things Mr. Gibbs did for him.
After Robert graduated from Agricultural College and became a forester, he and his father decided to plant an apple orchard, north of the barn, across from the Lorings. When the land was ready, Robert and his father arrived with the trees, and all hands helped plant them. Where they were planted was my favorite sliding place, but I was no longer allowed to use it for fear I might bruise one of the trees which had just started to grow. Robert showed his father how to trim and care for them. Each tree certainly received loving care. Later he learned how to graft a branch from one tree onto another and was so thrilled when one tree produced two different kinds of apples.
In 1911, his sister, Mari, who lived with their mother in the south part of the house, was taken very ill. Their brother, Joseph, who was a doctor in Suffield, brought up Dr. Alcorn and they operated
on her, removing a large tumor. She lived just a few days. The following year his mother, Hannah, died. Later he took in Charles Gibbs. He was not very closely related, but was an old man with no place to live. Frank and Olive cared for him until he died.
There was always plenty of dry wood and kindling on hand, much of it cut by Frank himself. During cold weather, before going out to milk the cows each morning, he built fires in three stoves. On April 2, 1923 after building the fires he forgot to shut the damper on the kitchen stove in Aunt Ella's part of the house. I happened to see the red hot pipe and called for help. Frank Healy put down his pails of milk as soon as he saw the smoke, grabbed an axe and ran the half mile to our house. One of the boys who worked at Mr. Loring's kept the pump handle going and the rest of us carried the pails of water to the fire. Tears ran down father's face as he saw flames roar up through the house as he pumped the fire extinguisher. He became overcome by the smoke and had a long hard sick spell. From then on he was bothered with bronchial trouble, especially in the winter, and at times became very despondent.
There were two hundred acres on the farm, with some standing timber. About 1930 Frank sold this to Mr. Besaw of Huntington. With the money he put in a water pump powered by a gasoline engine, a copper tank for hot water, and a bathroom. Before this, all of the water came from a small pump in the house and a large one out side.
Hired help was always a problem on the farm. Most of the time it was a boy from the state or from the reform school, or an older man who lived there. Once one of the boys was about to hit Frank with a shovel when luckily the agent who checked on the boys drove into the yard. The neighbors were always good to help, especially at butchering time, which came about twice a year. Pigs and chickens were all he dressed to sell. He cut up the pork on a large wash bench in the back or summer kitchen. Hams were smoked in barrels in the shed. The whole family joined in grinding meat for sausage. Large crocks of saltpork were put in the cellar, and large slabs of bacon were salted away. Mother was busy rendering lard and making head cheese. Father's favorite breakfast was salt pork, fried crisp and brown, and milk gravy made in the spider. Dressed chickens and cuts of pork were loaded into the wagon and he drove them to King's Market in Westfield. He often returned with a barrel of sugar, one of flour, and one of crackers. Little else had to be purchased in the food line, since we grew our own potatoes and vegetables and canned and preserved everything possible. At least twice a week there was the aroma of freshly baked bread, and the soured cream was churned into butter. We children wrapped it in pound packages after father stamped it out. Often we made cottage cheese as well. Once in a while father butchered a cow and made corned beef and hung up chunks for dried beef. His favorite pie was blackberry. Berry bushes, especially blackberries, always grew where the timber was cut and father watched for them. He would come home with a five quart pail brimming full of the largest berries I ever saw. Although I do not remember him doing much hunting, he kept upstairs an old trunk which contained gunpowder and everything necessary for him to make his own bullets. In a glass case in the living room stood a stuffed white Arctic Owl which Frank and his brother, Will, had shot.
In 1936 Frank and Olive Gibbs celebrated their golden wedding anniversary. The members of the North Blandford Church planned a reception for them, the summer before the actual date which would have been in December. About 80 people attended, including their four married children and cousins from as far away as Illinois.
At the time, father's health was really failing and he realized he could not continue to run the farm. This was a time of terrible heartbreak for him. In 1939 he sold the farm to Robert's brother-in-law, Ralph Packard, and in August he and mother moved to an apartment in Russell, Massachusetts. He soon found out there was a farm nearby, and one day, when the farmer was ill, he milked cows and did chores. This was too much for him and he was obliged to spend the most of the rest of his life in bed. His sister Ella spent winters there helping to care for him, and a very kind neighbor, Mrs. Janitus, lived just across the hall. They were in Russell two or three years when Robert took them to a nursing home in Pittsfield. There he could visit them nearly every evening after work and get them what they needed. Marian was good to visit them, too. On December 26, 1944 Marian and I had the sad duty of telling them that Robert was killed by a branch from a tree he had been working on in North Adams. They were brave about it, but I think father lost interest in living after that. His time came just about a year later, the 24th of December, 1945. He was buried in the cemetery of North Blandford, the town he loved so dearly.
Permission to print manuscript Ruth Hill Doherty