I begin this chapter of my life with deeply fulfilled memories untold before in my small existence. The big, dark house of Aunt Hattie’s time had become a cheerful, happy home filled with the old familiar furniture from Brookline and Mother’s little pots of geraniums smiling on the south window sills.

The old farm and the house “Maplehurst” had been built by Governor Chauncey Cleveland in the early 1800’s. It was a most ideal farm in many ways. The lovely white house sat just back of the then lower main road of the village. Behind the house was the big red barn with its cupola and the golden horse weather vane which never quite agreed with the church steeple vane across the green. The animal barn and the hay barn and connecting hen houses and tool house formed the two sides of the barnyard; the other two sides were a solid red fence with a generous gateway that was my joy to swing on. Inside the barnyard was a spring of water which bubbled up into a huge barrel where the animals took long thirsty drinks.

In the acre of land around about the house and barn were the pear trees (delicious Bartletts and Clapps, favorites), plum trees, a small peach orchard, and a sturdy cherry tree, which in July hung heavy with luscious pink checked cherries dripping with juice. The red currant bushes, the raspberry and black berry patch, and the great bed of rhubarb were at the north side of the barn, while just below before the land took too sharp a slant was the big vegetable garden. Below this our land ran down the hillside for about thirteen acres to Bigelow Pond in the valley. First came the mowing lot of tall timothy grass, so sweet when it was freshly cut; then the apple orchard of about fifty trees. I can remember almost every tree in the orchard, some so easy to climb and some so almost impossible. Many, many are the apples I have picked from those trees. My favorites were the Cheesebora russets, a huge russet apple, so full of sweet juice, but not good for storing. Then came the Gravensteins, ripe by the last of July, the Shepherd Sweeting, sweet but not flavorful. The Greenings and Pippins were good for pies and there were the Pearmains with the faint pear flavor, and the glossy deep red Baldwins, so delicious on a cold winter night before the open fire. Those are the apples that stand out most vividly in my memory, but there were many others.
Miriam Church Peabody

To be continued….

This month’s memoir comes courtesy of Gustavo Falla, current owner of “Maplehurst”. We’re seeking the remembrances of those who grew up here, or their parents, or grandparents, whatever the era, as well as written “attic treasures”.