So far, April has been fairly nondescript…except for the tree falling on the front porch, of course. And there’s no a whole lot going on after Easter, unless you’re into Earth Day–like the Portage County Park District, which will hold its annual Awards event on the twenty-second in Kent–or are interested in the new moon (which means that you can’t see it at all, go figure). However, this April’s new moon will be visible–sorta– because the moon passes between the sun and the Earth–Don’t look directly at the sun without eclipse glasses! And it’s a rare-ish sort of hybrid new moon/solar eclipse thing and we won’t even get to see it, unless you want to go to Australia for the viewing. Well, why not? It’s an experience, right? Hope you caught the full pink moon on the 6th; that’s your quota for thrills this month. We’ll try to do better in May.
The lead-off event, locally, anyway, will be the Local Oral History Event on May 21, to be held at the Village Hall on High St., sponsored by the James A. Garfield Historical Society. The last Oral History Event was well-received and this one moves the subject along to a new, often forgotten topic, Local Farmers, of which there still are a few.
Keep in mind that when John Garrett, III came out here to the wilds of the new state (1803) of Ohio, his mill was to serve settlers/farmers who needed to have their grains milled so that they could actually eat them. Mr Garrett also had the foresight to bring with him a blacksmith, namely, one Abraham Dyson, who was, back in the day, roughly the equivalent of having your local Ace Hardware, or Home Depot, since virtually everything had to be made by hand and/or repaired locally. You want nails? You want your plow sharpened? You want hinges for the gate or the door? See the blacksmith. Farmers came from miles around; merchants set up shop to trade with the farmers. Farmers came to sell their grains or other goods (Maple syrup in the springtime, wheat and corn in the fall. Wives brought in butter & cheese, eggs & produce.) Garrettsville was a commercial center for this neck of the woods.
Fast forward a couple of hundred years. Are things still the same? Well, not quite, but there are still farmers out and about; a select number of local agriculturists will be lined up to give us the skinny on what farming is about now-a-days and how they are carrying on a tradition (Some of them are just “carrying on”.) that has changed a whole lot but still is a keystone of much local history and culture. Get your questions ready. Bring the kids. Bring Grandpa. Prepare to get the lowdown on what’s happenin’ now. These guys are “outstanding in their fields.”
And another thing….
I got a notice from the organizers of a fiftieth-year class reunion of (Do the math Garfield graduates) the class of 1973. A whole cohort of classes got bummed out because of the Covid thing but this class is hoping to collect the funds to be able to offer a scholarship to a graduate in the Class of 2023. Nice thought. Much appreciated by scholarship recipients, that’s for sure.
Also, the effort is going through the treasurer’s office, not class officers or organizers, so that all donations are strictly confidential (and tax deductible). The whole operation is entirely voluntary. Monies given on the night of the reunion gathering, not through the treasurer’s office, will be gratefully accepted but not tax deductible–paperwork, you know, and confidentiality.
This is a great idea. For individuals heading off to higher education and/or career training, every little bit (and big bits too) helps to avoid the simply stunning costs of preparation for the next steps in life. And, besides that, getting to see a bunch of the people you thought would never change…after they have changed…is quite a hoot. I remember going to the last class reunion that I went to–Wellington Dukes–W, W, W,E,L,L, I, N G, T, T, T, O, N–Wellington Dukes are here again!!!–and spending much of the evening listening to Albert Pasadyn’s cardiac adventures. I did pretty well at discerning who all of those old people were–as I usually do at reunions around here, actually. I am, apparently, fairly recognizable myself. Of course, the changes wrought by time on a twelve, thirteen, whatever-year-old and those visited upon a more-than-mature (years-wise, anyway) pedagogue up in front of a class of those adolescents are way different. Hair…and pounds…come and go, height–same thing, colors come and go, experiences make their marks, memories fade and change. It’s an adventure, start to finish.
It’s been great.
