Over the decades, the folks up at The Farm went through several different growing phases. First there was cotton and when that collapsed they were growing various subsidized crops to try and replenish the soil. I remember the hog phase, the sheep phase, the cattle phase and especially the turkey phase. I still have the scars from that one.
During our visits to the farm, it was our chore to feed the chickens and gather eggs, so when the turkeys came along we first thought they were just big chickens. WRONG! Turkeys are mean! At that time we were close to turkey height – giving them the attack advantage. One pecked me in the face – just missing my eye – and leaving a scar that is finally beginning to recede into the wrinkles. We quickly learned to stay out of their way – and carry a stick at all times.
We did learn to appreciate those turkeys when, just before Thanksgiving, a 35-pound fresh turkey packed in dry ice arrived on the bus. This was before the days of UPS and FedEx. Many a package was shipped by bus or Railway Express. In our case, the bus worked faster than most of today’s ground shipping – if you were savvy to the schedules. In small town America of the 1950s and early 60s, the local Greyhound agent and railway agent could schedule a shipment from departure to destination – making each connection to keep the package moving and not stuck in the freight room. It wasn’t unusual that a package from the farm arrived in St. Augustine the next day.
A 35-pound turkey is a sight to behold. It’s also a lot of food for a family of five. It was delicious – the first five or six meals – but started getting monotonous real soon. So, when the 38-pound turkey arrived just before Christmas, we were a little less than overjoyed. We were still eating turkey well into February.
From then on, Mom would serve turkey either at Thanksgiving or at Christmas, but never again at both.
When Lois retired, she and her three single children returned to Georgia. The old home place on Kincaid Mountain was no longer habitable so the family bought another farm a few miles up the road. The new property bordered the little country church where the Barker family was buried. The house sat on a hill with Kincaid Mountain rising behind it. It looked out across the valley to another mountain – I don’t remember which one.
Each summer there would be at least one special excursion. One year we panned for gold at Dahlonega. We made several trips up Lookout Mountain to “see” Rock City, ride the incline and visit Ruby Falls. Of course we visited the Choo Choo in Chattanooga, but we also visited the Civil War battlefields in the area – Chickamauga and Lookout Mountain – and learned that our great-grandfather fought in both.
Several years after grandmother died, they sold the Holland farm and bought another in Chattoogaville – a few miles away. This farm backed up to the river and had a huge spring on the property. It was a beautiful place, but the house was right up on the highway. For years they worked on that house – transforming it from a four-room farm house into a split-level with suites for each of them and multiple parlours to hold all their collected treasures.
I’d always come home from these visits with my car full of both fresh and canned vegetables – and often some special dish or baked treat.
Of the three surviving children, two remained in Charleston. Claudia Butler Gervais married Robert J. Turnbull, the son of Dr. Andrew Turnbull who had built the New Symrna colony in Florida [see related articles below] and had moved to Charleston from St. Augustine. Paul Trapier Gervais married Martha Perry Jenkins and became an Episcopal minister in Charleston. Sinclair David Gervais married Katherine Olivia O’Keefe and moved the family – first to Mississippi and later to Texas. His descendants returned to Mississippi then on to Savannah, Georgia, and now down to St. Augustine.
In the summer of 1958 Mom wrote a short story titled “Kukawalla’s Spring”. The story is set in Chattooga County, Georgia, which was her birthplace. It was written not long after her mother and sisters moved back to Georgia to a farm not far from the spot where her fictional spring was located. Kincaid Mountain – shown here – is the location of our original Barker homestead. The Barker homestead remains in the family, but no one has lived on it since the late 1920s. This photo was taken in the early 60′s and appears to have been shot from somewhere in Holland, Georgia – possibly the Strawn farm.
Mom’s inspiration for this story may be the spring near cousin Marcus Strawn’s cabin. Although you don’t see it in this photo, the cabin looks out over a pool created from the spring. I’m the little girl at the top of the stairs so my recollections of this cabin are a bit fuzzy. I vaguely remember some discussion of Indian treasure, but it may well have been family members discussing Mom’s story.
This photo of Mary Barker sitting outside the gift shop at Marineland was taken sometime in the late 1940s. The view looks from the gift shop towards the main entrance.
