The following is a memoir which Helen (Watkins) Crane wrote about her childhood in Schoharie, NY. Schoharie is a small village about 40 miles west of Albany. Helen was born in 1829, so this memoir describes her experiences in the 1830s. I think that it paints an interesting picture of what life was like for a child almost 200 years ago. It was probably written late in Helen’s life.
Helen was the daughter of Isaac Watkins (1802 – 1880) and Eliza (McMillan) Watkins (1805 – 1837). The grandfather referred to in her memoir was probably John McMillan, her mother’s father. Helen married Dr. Job S. Crane of Elizabeth, New Jersey in 1854.
Childhood Portrait of Helen Watkins
When a little girl of about six or seven years old, I was taken in a sailing vessel for my health, to Nantucket. There was only one other passenger, an old woman. One sailor swam out and came back with flower in mouth for me. Cabin small and dark. Man in hotel took whole dish of lettuce. My aunt bought me coral necklace and white gloves (long), and shells to take home, and probably a bead bag. People went out to bathe in cars on wheels.
Miss Baxter (Grandfather’s niece) had portraits painted. [A set of 5 large oil paintings of Helen, 3 siblings, and her father have been passed down in the family. The photo above shows the portrait of Helen.] Kept house for him. Grandfather bought place at Schoharie – kept store – drygoods, etc.
Big stage blowing trumpet passed the door on its way from Albany. Cellar always full; barrels of vinegar, hams in smoke house – quantities of preserves, pickles, dried corn, apples, etc. Brick oven for cake and pies, heated with logs as long as fence rail. Big wood pile. Big iron pot in center of pig pen to cook food for hogs, horses, cows, and sheep.
When bed clothes were washed once a year, they were taken to a pond in the Yankee wagon. Here also sheep were washed and sheared.
Grandfather wore knee buckles. When we were good we were allowed a drink of water out of his white pitcher.
My mother had a table made for my birthday. Coming home from a drive it was cold. She took off her heavy silk cloak and wrapped it around me, then stopped at a cabinet makers and ordered table.
I only had one doll. My sister took it out and washed its face, of course ruining it forever. How I cried when I saw it. My father tried to console me by saying I was too big for dolls, that I would prefer a book. I had a doll’s bed and silk quilt, also several dresses for the doll.
While at Schoharie had a governess who taught me lessons and sewing – hemstitching. Read the Bible at four years.
Becky Driesbeck came to my sixth birthday and we had a “party” on the new table. My mother made me a crown of myrtle and pinned a bunch of flowers on my brother’s coat. I remember her sitting at the piano playing for us children.
We always had Spitzenburg apples, nuts, and cider. The nuts were kept in a loft over the kitchen, and we were allowed to climb the ladder and help ourselves.
In the parlor was a haircloth sofa with cushion ends. A big house with hall through the center. A high desk, the doors of the upper half with small panes of glass. Hot Sundays rice and milk at noon. We stood up to eat.
My mother had long black hair. Was rather stout. Had many beautiful clothes. Beautiful fine lawns [?] – pink with black flowers – black satin dress, another striped with purple and green. Tan silk, cream satin, black satin cloak lined with light blue; lots of laces – wore a long gold chain.
She was very delicate, not able to work or walk. She died very suddenly. They told us she has fainted and fallen on the floor.
From Schoharie we moved to New York.