A Tree Grew in Oakland

I am not sure why my mother decided to save this little table that was always in her parents’ attic (at least during my lifetime). Possibly, because the upstairs room was shared by her and her sister and the table was in use during the time they lived in the house?

Now, when my mother rescued this little table from the sale at my grandparents’ home during the clean out as my grandmother was moving to an apartment after selling the 1929 purchased home. she asked my cousin to refinish it. The table is now in the finished state, with both leaves extended and held up by the wooden supports that are hinged and fold out of the way when the drop leaves are in their down position.

The manufacturer’s label on the inside of the bottom drawer [thank you, Bruce, for preserving it during your refinishing] says “Conrey-Davis, Shelbyville, Indiana” In looking up the manufacturer, I found that Shelbyville claimed to be “Little Grand Rapids” and as the Furniture City of the “Middle West”. The claim was based on the quality of the product and the world wild demand for the furniture produced.

Many families were drawn to Shelbyville by the need for workers and craftsmen.  Indiana had an abundance of white oak and walnut trees.  The railroad, well established by now, brought the lumber in and took finished products to their destination.

The table now resides in the room with my great grandmother’s side chair (see earlier post on the flower carved back chair that my mother recreated the seat cover with needle point flowers]

#heirlooms

This Roseville piece of pottery was always on top of the living room bookcase at my grandparents’ house. Grandma Florence had a habit of keeping items visible for whoever gifted her with something (see earlier page on the chair from Emma Myrtie) if they might come into the house and look to see if she still had the item. But it was always there and it was actually a quality piece of pottery, so maybe she liked it and it was a safe place to put it. When she decided to redo the living room furniture (also see earlier page on the chair) she chose colors that really went with this piece of pottery. I really like the branches of the pine tree and the pine cones that seem to grow out of the piece.

I was surprised to see it in the “stuff” that was at my parents’ home when I was preparing the items for an estate sale prior to selling the house itself. I tagged as not part of the sale. The people handling the sale wanted me to keep a number of other pieces that they thought were of value — a Red Wing vase plus some other items. But, when you are already living in a fully furnished home, there is only so many things you can justify keeping. So, the vases: gone; the Roseville Pottery: save.

#heirlooms

This is a very unusual piece from Grandma Florence’s collection of “pitchers” . The full text of what runs around the item appears under the picture. Written on the bottom of it, in a child’s print was the title of this article. I have no idea who wrote this — both my aunt and my mother were born 5 to 9 years after Grandpa Koontz (Grandma Florence’s father) died.

For the uninformed the “pitcher” is a miniature chamber pot (for the truly uninformed this was used as a inside toilet before there was indoor plumbing and it was too dark or too cold or too urgent to make the run to the outhouse.) Now, doesn’t the text that runs around the item make a lot more sense?

I guess keeping it with the rest of her collection in the china cabinet showed Grandma had a sense of whimsy.

So why would I choose to add this to my blog? Because it triggered some memories.

First, my mother’s parents used to use the cottage of Reg and Hazel Adams on Mullet Lake during the summer and Mom would take us up there (I think the trips coincided with my father’s 2 weeks of Army Reserve camp). Anyway, the cottage was very rustic — the only indoor plumbing was a water pump in the kitchen. There was a second pump in the front of the cottage and we used to want to be the one charged with priming the pump and getting it going. Since the only water was a pump in the kitchen, there were no bathroom facilities in the cottage. The outhouse was back behind the cottage near the woods and train tracks. God bless Grandpa, he took the job of emptying the outhouse collection bucket in stride and never complained. I will admit to holding it until we were near a restaurant or gas station.

Second, I accompanied my other set of grandparents on a trip up to Mesick, Michigan, were they visited older friends (yes, even older than my grandparents!). We started out in a quaint cabin in Mesick with pretty much modern facilities. But, Grandma was not happy with the way the kitchen was outfitted. Sometime during the week, we moved to another property that Grandma pronounced “Much better”. I looked to find the bathroom and was told it was out back. That night, Grandma insisted that I go to the bathroom before hitting the sack. My introduction to the chamber pot. Grandma grew up in lumber camps near Rogers City and Newberry and was very familiar with the process. Grandpa grew up in Detroit, so I do not think he was as enchanted. We moved back to the not so nice kitchen unit that had indoor plumbing the next night.

#hierloom

My Grandfather Lee [Weaver], born in 1893, had a child sized rocking chair; my grandmother also had a child sized rocking chair (with that much in common, no wonder they married). As a child, my brother, my two cousins, and I all had time in the rockers. Since Grandpa and Grandma each had a chair, and their two daughters each had two sons, the squabbles were limited to when the 4 of us were together.

At the time my grandmother decided to sell the family home in Detroit and move into an apartment near my aunt, the chairs that had been kept from each of their childhoods were not going to make the cut to go to the apartment. Each of her daughters got a chair – my aunt got Grandma’s and my mother got Grandpa’s.

My daughter rocked in it at her grandparents and each of my four grandchildren have discovered the joy of a rocking chair either at my parents’ home or here at my house after my father’s passing and my inheriting this family heirloom.

#heirloom

This picture was always hanging in my grandparents’ bedroom. I never really understood why or what was the significance. Grandpa was a devoted dog person, had very little use for a cat as a pet. My mother and aunt were the same. Grandma never gave an indication, but apparently went with the flow. Another of those lost opportunities to just ask “What is it?” and “Why do you have it on your wall?” Even with no intelligence about its provenance, I decided to keep it.

Then I “crowd sourced” the origins of the work. A colleague was kind enough to research, find, and send me the following:

So, now I know what it is. Still have no idea when Grandma and Grandpa had it hanging in their bedroom. Based on the age of the item, it may have come from either one of their parents or possibly grandparents.

In any event, I have the memory of it whenever we went to stay at my grandparents’ house for the evening or for the rare night sleep over. In the summer, were were allowed to bed down in Grandpa’s room (where this picture resided) if we were just being put to bed until we were picked up. Grandpa had a number of allergies and his room had the window air conditioner.