By Joann M. Ringelstetter
Ten years ago, in late April, 2008, Ruth and I took a 9-day trip to Missouri and Arkansas to photograph in the Ozarks for the first time. On the 9th day, we had a lot of ground to cover and spent the morning making our way to what would be our last stop, Ste. Genevieve, Missouri, before hitting the highway home.
Ste. Genevieve is a city of about 4,400 located approximately 60 miles south of St. Louis. It was founded in 1735 by French Canadians and is the oldest permanent European settlement in Missouri, which became a state in 1821. Unfortunately, it was already around 1:00 p.m. when we arrived, and we knew it would take us about 8 hours to get home from there. So, we had to work quickly.
We stopped at the first brick building west of the Mississippi River (shown above), which was built circa 1785. Historical information from the Old Brick House Restaurant said, "The Old Brick House was erected by John Price, local merchant and ferry boat operator between Ste. Genevieve and Kaskaskia. Tradition has it that the bricks were brought from France in boats as ballast. The building was also the site of the first Territorial Court in the District."
Ste. Genevieve's Historic District is said to contain 29 types of architecture, with some buildings dating back to the late 1700's. The Bequette-Ribault House, built by Jean-Baptiste Bequette, Sr. in 1808, is noted for its “poteaux-en-terre” construction, or “posts-in-the-earth,” a reference to its vertical logs built directly into the ground. Five such “poteaux-en-terre” structures remain in the United States, and Ste. Genevieve is home to three such buildings.
We also visited the Louis Bolduc House, a French Colonial "poteaux sur solle" or "posts on sill" vertical log house that was built circa 1792 by Louis Bolduc. Bolduc was a prosperous French Canadian lead miner, merchant, and trader.
The Bolduc House, which is now a museum, is a National Historic Landmark. It is surrounded by a stockade fence, which would have been used to keep the animals away from the house. The steep hip roof covers an enclosed porch, which was called a “galerie.” The galerie was beautiful with rustic wooden shutters on the windows and antique barrels and tools displayed.
All of these structures from the 1700s were impressive, but my favorite place was the Church of Ste. Genevieve. Founded in 1759, Ste. Genevieve Parish is the oldest parish west of the Mississippi. The current church is the third one erected on this site, with the main body of the church being completed in 1880.
There was one more very special place we visited before leaving around 4:30 p.m. It was another "poteaux sur solle" home built circa 1790 by Francois Janis and known since 1804 as the Green Tree Tavern. The house is a National Historic Landmark and is one of the oldest surviving original structures in Ste. Genevieve. In November 1807, it was the site of the first meeting of Louisiana Lodge #109, the first Masonic Lodge west of the Mississippi River. Also known as the Janis-Ziegler House, it is thought to be the oldest residence in the state.
I didn’t realize just how special the Green Tree Tavern was until I watched an episode of the show “Who Do You Think You Are?” on the TLC Channel in April, 2015. It featured Grammy-winning musician and activist Melissa Etheridge, who was searching for the history of her mother’s French Canadian ancestors. The show starts with Melissa saying that her father grew up in a family of migrant farmers in a small town near St. Louis, Missouri.
She traces her five-times-great-grandfather, Nicholas Janis who left Quebec, Canada, traveled the Great Lakes and then down the Ohio River to Kaskaskia, which is now in Randolph County, Illinois, across the Mississippi River from Ste. Genevieve. At that time, Kaskaskia was a strategic trading hub in the French Territory. Nicholas was an experienced fur trader.
In 1787, after the French lost their territory east of the Mississippi in a battle with Great Britain, Nicholas, at age 67, decided to move his family across the Mississippi to the colony of Louisiana, which was then governed by Spain. He and his family moved only a few miles to Ste. Genevieve, but they crossed an international boundary, making them “immigrants from the United States.” In 1796, Nicholas gave his entire estate (the house, barn, stable, garden, and orchard) to his son Francois.
In the last few minutes of the show, as Melissa Etheridge speaks with a local historian about this, he tells her that the house from the estate that Nicholas turned over to his son is still there and arranges for her to go see it. As she drives up to the house, I realize that it’s the Green Tree Tavern! It’s only shown for a few seconds, but I know it immediately, especially because I remember the water pump that I had seen at the back corner of the house. If you look closely at the photo above, you will see it (shown close-up below).
The show ends with Melissa saying, “I have a strong belief that the influence of your ancestors, that influence of their journeys, of their adventures, of their thoughts, of their dreams, are handed down through traditions, through ways that we don’t even know.”
I agree with Melissa. Our ancestors worked hard, suffered greatly, had the courage to take chances, and lived their lives to the best of their abilities to establish a foundation for future generations. We owe them a debt of gratitude.
This episode of “Who Do You Think You Are?” was produced by Shed Media. All content is copyrighted by Wall to Wall Media Limited.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Photos in this blog post can be purchased as wall art, paper prints, downloads, phone cases, and keepsakes by clicking on the photo. You will be taken to the gallery website where you will see a big blue "BUY" button. Or to see all photos available, click on the "Browse Galleries" button on the menu at the top of this page. Thank you for your interest!
Shunpiking To Heaven Backroads Blog
Showing posts with label houses. Show all posts
Showing posts with label houses. Show all posts
Wednesday, May 2, 2018
Monday, June 25, 2012
Mary Worthington Macomb House
By Ruth A. Ringelstetter
On our trip to Ohio this spring, Joann and I stayed one night in Chillicothe, Ohio. I had several historic locations marked for us to investigate, and I thought these would make good first light photo opportunities. Little did I know that we would still be in town nearing lunch time!
One of these locations was the historic Mary Worthington Macomb house which was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1976. The house sits in an industrial area of town on the banks of Paint Creek.
Mary Tiffin Worthington was born in Virginia (present day West Virginia) in 1797. She was the first child of Thomas and Eleanor Worthington. The following year, her family moved to the Northwest Territory. (The Northwest Territory existed from July 13, 1787 until May 1, 1803, when the southeastern portion of the territory was admitted to the Union as the state of Ohio. It included all of the land west of Pennsylvania and northwest of the Ohio River.)
Being from an affluent family, Mary and her younger sister Sarah attended boarding schools in Kentucky and Maryland, and Mary attended one of Dolly Madison’s tea parties at the White House.
When Mary chose David Macomb for her husband, her father did not approve. Even though he was from a prominent family, he was considered lower in society.
The land where the house was built was originally owned by Nathaniel Massie. A later owner of the land began building the two story sandstone house in 1813, and the house was completed two years later. The year the house was finished, Mary’s father, the future Governor Thomas Worthington, bought the property.
By 1819, David’s poor management of their finances forced them into debt and their belongings were sold at public auction. For a time, Mary and her family lived in this house which was owned by her father.
In 1825, David moved the family to Tallahassee, Florida. In 1835, hearing of a promising life in Texas, David moved the family again. Mary became ill on the trip to Texas and never recovered. She died in Texas in 1836 at the age of 39. David also suffered from failing health and was despondent over Mary’s death. He committed suicide a year later. They were buried in the wild woods of Texas and their graves have never been found.
The property in Chillicothe, on which the house stood, was converted for commercial use. By 1845, there were multiple new buildings around the structure including a frame building and a slaughterhouse. Those buildings are now gone, but the house remains, standing silent as a testament to early Chillicothe settlement.
If only these were the sort of things we learned in history class. Memorizing dates didn’t mean as much to me as being in front of these old historic locations and then learning something about the lives of the people who lived there.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
On our trip to Ohio this spring, Joann and I stayed one night in Chillicothe, Ohio. I had several historic locations marked for us to investigate, and I thought these would make good first light photo opportunities. Little did I know that we would still be in town nearing lunch time!
One of these locations was the historic Mary Worthington Macomb house which was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1976. The house sits in an industrial area of town on the banks of Paint Creek.
Mary Tiffin Worthington was born in Virginia (present day West Virginia) in 1797. She was the first child of Thomas and Eleanor Worthington. The following year, her family moved to the Northwest Territory. (The Northwest Territory existed from July 13, 1787 until May 1, 1803, when the southeastern portion of the territory was admitted to the Union as the state of Ohio. It included all of the land west of Pennsylvania and northwest of the Ohio River.)
Being from an affluent family, Mary and her younger sister Sarah attended boarding schools in Kentucky and Maryland, and Mary attended one of Dolly Madison’s tea parties at the White House.
When Mary chose David Macomb for her husband, her father did not approve. Even though he was from a prominent family, he was considered lower in society.
The land where the house was built was originally owned by Nathaniel Massie. A later owner of the land began building the two story sandstone house in 1813, and the house was completed two years later. The year the house was finished, Mary’s father, the future Governor Thomas Worthington, bought the property.
By 1819, David’s poor management of their finances forced them into debt and their belongings were sold at public auction. For a time, Mary and her family lived in this house which was owned by her father.
In 1825, David moved the family to Tallahassee, Florida. In 1835, hearing of a promising life in Texas, David moved the family again. Mary became ill on the trip to Texas and never recovered. She died in Texas in 1836 at the age of 39. David also suffered from failing health and was despondent over Mary’s death. He committed suicide a year later. They were buried in the wild woods of Texas and their graves have never been found.
The property in Chillicothe, on which the house stood, was converted for commercial use. By 1845, there were multiple new buildings around the structure including a frame building and a slaughterhouse. Those buildings are now gone, but the house remains, standing silent as a testament to early Chillicothe settlement.
If only these were the sort of things we learned in history class. Memorizing dates didn’t mean as much to me as being in front of these old historic locations and then learning something about the lives of the people who lived there.
Happy Shunpiking!
Ruth
Sunday, June 3, 2012
Ahead of the Storm
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
At the end of April, Ruth and I were on our way to Ohio to spend a week photographing on the backroads. We spent the first day photographing our way across Illinois. The following morning, after spending first light at Fowler Park near Terre Haute, Indiana, we began heading east toward Ohio.
Our first stop after the pioneer village at Fowler Park was a red round barn in Vigo County. As I began to photograph this barn, the sky began to turn a deep blue. After leaving the round barn, we pulled up to a stop sign and I glanced back to see the ever darkening sky. And then I noticed how dramatic the sky looked behind an old red barn. So I got out and captured a few images.
As we continued down the road, a few raindrops began to hit the windshield. But as we drove, it seemed as if we were getting ahead of the storm and the rain stopped.
We turned onto a gravel road and soon passed what appeared to be an abandoned house, although the grass had been mowed. Again, I looked back and thought that the dark sky behind the weathered old house would make a striking image.
I knew, however, by the rumbling of thunder that we were barely staying ahead of the storm. And we had plans to capture an abandoned brick school that we didn’t want to miss, so I wasn’t sure I should take the time to photograph the old house.
What made us decide to stop was what we saw next – a big tree with a tire swing hanging from it and a ladder for climbing up into the tree. This brought back some great childhood memories of tree swings and tree climbing, so we just had to stop.
Our next stop was the old brick school, which was overrun by vines and beginning to collapse. It had a wonderful bell tower that started at ground level and rose above the school roof.
By the time I got out to photograph this tired old school, I could tell that the storm was nearly upon us and the wind had begun to blow quite strongly. This meant that it would do me no good to try to use an umbrella. So I headed away from the car with just my camera and tripod in hand.
I worked quickly, especially when I saw lightning flashing in the distance. The entrance to the school was originally covered with a small porch-like structure, which had begun to collapse. There was also a concrete plaque on the front of the bell tower, but I couldn’t make out the name of the school.
I had hoped to capture a few more angles of this once lovely building, but a sudden downpour sent me running to the car. By the time I reached the car, I was a bit soaked, but happy that I had managed to capture a few images before the storm finally caught up with us. It continued to rain for the next hour or so, but the remainder of the day was a gift of even, overcast lighting, for which we were truly grateful.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
At the end of April, Ruth and I were on our way to Ohio to spend a week photographing on the backroads. We spent the first day photographing our way across Illinois. The following morning, after spending first light at Fowler Park near Terre Haute, Indiana, we began heading east toward Ohio.
Our first stop after the pioneer village at Fowler Park was a red round barn in Vigo County. As I began to photograph this barn, the sky began to turn a deep blue. After leaving the round barn, we pulled up to a stop sign and I glanced back to see the ever darkening sky. And then I noticed how dramatic the sky looked behind an old red barn. So I got out and captured a few images.
As we continued down the road, a few raindrops began to hit the windshield. But as we drove, it seemed as if we were getting ahead of the storm and the rain stopped.
We turned onto a gravel road and soon passed what appeared to be an abandoned house, although the grass had been mowed. Again, I looked back and thought that the dark sky behind the weathered old house would make a striking image.
I knew, however, by the rumbling of thunder that we were barely staying ahead of the storm. And we had plans to capture an abandoned brick school that we didn’t want to miss, so I wasn’t sure I should take the time to photograph the old house.
What made us decide to stop was what we saw next – a big tree with a tire swing hanging from it and a ladder for climbing up into the tree. This brought back some great childhood memories of tree swings and tree climbing, so we just had to stop.
Our next stop was the old brick school, which was overrun by vines and beginning to collapse. It had a wonderful bell tower that started at ground level and rose above the school roof.
By the time I got out to photograph this tired old school, I could tell that the storm was nearly upon us and the wind had begun to blow quite strongly. This meant that it would do me no good to try to use an umbrella. So I headed away from the car with just my camera and tripod in hand.
I worked quickly, especially when I saw lightning flashing in the distance. The entrance to the school was originally covered with a small porch-like structure, which had begun to collapse. There was also a concrete plaque on the front of the bell tower, but I couldn’t make out the name of the school.
I had hoped to capture a few more angles of this once lovely building, but a sudden downpour sent me running to the car. By the time I reached the car, I was a bit soaked, but happy that I had managed to capture a few images before the storm finally caught up with us. It continued to rain for the next hour or so, but the remainder of the day was a gift of even, overcast lighting, for which we were truly grateful.
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Sunday, October 11, 2009
The House With Nobody In It
By Joann M. Ringelstetter
“Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.”
When I was young, I came across this poem by Joyce Kilmer and it touched my heart in a way I couldn’t explain at the time. A couple years later, our family moved to a small crossroads town and when we had a couple of hours between farm chores, we would walk to the river with our cane poles to fish.
On the way to the river, just past the crossroads, was an old ramshackle house that was the home of the village hermit. And there was no question about it, at least in our minds – the house was haunted – by the living AND the dead! We would always hurry past the house, as if the hermit would put a curse on us if we looked. And yet, we couldn’t help but look, if only for a second.
In our travels along the backroads in every state we wander, we come across abandoned houses, farms, businesses, schools, and churches. And we wonder what they were like when they were still lived in and used on a regular basis. We often get excited when we stumble upon a “haunted house”. We mean no disrespect by calling them haunted. It’s just that we’re sure the spirits of the folks who once inhabited them are still there – in the creaky wooden floors, the sagging doors and broken windows, and the architectural features and craftsmanship.
“So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can’t help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.”
(“The House With Nobody In It” by Joyce Kilmer)
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
“Whenever I walk to Suffern along the Erie track
I go by a poor old farmhouse with its shingles broken and black.
I suppose I’ve passed it a hundred times, but I always stop for a minute
And look at the house, the tragic house, the house with nobody in it.”
When I was young, I came across this poem by Joyce Kilmer and it touched my heart in a way I couldn’t explain at the time. A couple years later, our family moved to a small crossroads town and when we had a couple of hours between farm chores, we would walk to the river with our cane poles to fish.
On the way to the river, just past the crossroads, was an old ramshackle house that was the home of the village hermit. And there was no question about it, at least in our minds – the house was haunted – by the living AND the dead! We would always hurry past the house, as if the hermit would put a curse on us if we looked. And yet, we couldn’t help but look, if only for a second.
In our travels along the backroads in every state we wander, we come across abandoned houses, farms, businesses, schools, and churches. And we wonder what they were like when they were still lived in and used on a regular basis. We often get excited when we stumble upon a “haunted house”. We mean no disrespect by calling them haunted. It’s just that we’re sure the spirits of the folks who once inhabited them are still there – in the creaky wooden floors, the sagging doors and broken windows, and the architectural features and craftsmanship.
“So whenever I go to Suffern along the Erie track
I never go by the empty house without stopping and looking back,
Yet it hurts me to look at the crumbling roof and the shutters fallen apart,
For I can’t help thinking the poor old house is a house with a broken heart.”
(“The House With Nobody In It” by Joyce Kilmer)
Happy Shunpiking!
Joann
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)