Archive 2008 - 2019

Keep A Good House Part 2

by Sarah Commerford
10/31/2016

Photograph by Sarah Commerford, All Rights Reserved 2016

Because he knew it was important to me, Austin built a white picket fence around our house. It made our home feel like something permanent - solid and clean. We had four bedrooms - the master bedroom was (and still is), in the front of the house, and faced southeast to the ocean and the sunrise. You can see from the chimneys that we had fireplaces in nearly every room. We heated with peat, and driftwood that our children collected from the beach - one of their favorite chores.  Candles and kerosene lamps lit our house, giving off a glow that could be seen from the fields when darkness fell, like an invitation to safety. Our sunny, yellow kitchen was a busy place, where under my supervision, meals and provisions were always being prepared. As soon as the children were old enough, each one had daily chores, and contributed greatly, day-in and day-out. My pride and joy was our brick bread oven, built off the side of the fire place that, although no longer in use, remains as a symbol of our self-sufficiency and ingenuity. When we had guests, we ate in our spacious dining room, warmed by a fire, grateful for our prosperity and good fortune.

Our children grew to be young adults in that house, and eventually, Freeman married his Deaf cousin, Deidama West, and started his own family, naming their daughter Lavinia, after me. Deidama was an Islander, but her name was from the Greek and meant, 'she who is patient in battle.' That was probably good, because out of my two boys, Freeman was a little more headstrong in personality. Like his father, he was a fisherman, and kept several fishing boats in the Menemsha Harbor, and built a lovely house not far from us, in Quitsa. Austin, his fair-haired younger brother, worked as both a fisherman and laborer, and lived with us until he married Clarrisa, a beautiful and kind girl. Our daughter, Althea, married Charles Allen, also a fisherman, and moved to West Tisbury with Charles' parents, who kindly welcomed them into their lovely and spacious home, as Charles' father was a master carpenter. But even with all this happiness, not a day went by that I didn't mourn the passing of my beautiful, dark-haired, hazel-eyed Mary. Until her death from pneumonia, she filled our lives with laughter and mischief, as only a youngest child can. I keep her picture, now faded with age, in a locket necklace that I wear close to my heart, hoping that in some way, she is warmed and consoled, as I am by her timeless memory.

We lived out our lives in Chilmark, and as we grew older and needed more help, we took on a young boarder, Joseph Fray, who had somehow gotten to the Vineyard from the Azores to fish. He brought his own Portuguese fishing, farming and building traditions with him, and taught us age-old artisanal skills unknown to typical Islanders, so new to this land. In return, we gave him room and board, and always a seat at our dinner table. 

 Original Stone Wall and Entrance to House - Orchards to Right

At one time my sister, Elizabeth also lived with us, until she took a job off-Island as a teacher at the first school for the Deaf in Connecticut.  Because of people like her, Deaf children got to have the same experiences and education everyone else had off-Island; I missed her companionship, but always admired her passion, and was glad for her ambition.

So, now you see why I could never leave our house. Although my body left this earth in 1885, and Austin's some fourteen years later,  there is too much history here to abandon my home. And, who would have taken care of things? I have always kept a good house - it's my pride and my vocation, even though so very many years have gone by. Since our passing, another family summered here, and guests have come and gone, yet in the winter, no one is here but me. Some would say that sounds lonely, but I like the quiet - after all, I spent most of my life with silent people who knew how to be heard with courage and vigor just the same.

Until tonight, I have never disclosed myself to any one. But I have been watching Sarah, Anna and Clayton, whose grandparents, John and Helen Gude, bought this property in 1937, and whose daughter, Elizabeth and her husband, Michael now make this land their home. All three of their children were married on this property, and my home graciously accepted their guests from parts of the country I have never seen. I am forever grateful that other than a few modern up-dates like plumbing and electricity, they left my house almost exactly as we built it. Even today, they keep sheep, gardens and fruit trees that bless their table. I think that family understands what it means to care for things that have a history worth preserving.

Photograph by Sarah Commerford, All Rights Reserved 2016

I have always been an observer. You have to be when you have children who cannot hear nor speak. From my bedroom window, I have gazed upon Sarah, Anna and Clayton's children digging up treasures of crockery and glass bottles from under the tool shed - remnants of our old lives, now rediscovered by eager, young hands. But of all the things I see, watching over their children as they sleep is what I cherish most.

Late at night, I wander silently through their rooms, making sure  they're properly tucked in. I will always blame myself for Mary's death. Perhaps if I had kept her warmer, pneumonia wouldn't have claimed her precious life. Children belong in this house.

It rained all day today, keeping their children inside to play. They built a fort out of sheets in the living room, moving things around to make more space. I know it's late, and I should probably rest, but the chairs are out of place and the lamp shades need straightening. I have never been able to settle until everything is in order, because I like things a certain way.  I think I may have woken Sarah and Anna. I hope they understand - that's the way I've always been.