​ My absolutely Most Favorite Little Doors Of All Times - The dining room in my Great Grandmother's House...

I have recently taken to Facebook to post pictures of little doors.   Oooooo look at that little door… What do you think that little door is for…  Why is there a little door right there… I love a little door tucked under the eaves, just like the door to the attic in our house on Military… and so it goes – pointing out one little door after another.
 
Someone asked me “Why the fascination with little doors”?  Well to be honest – the fascination with little doors is just one of many old house fascinations I hold dear… I love lots of architectural elements and quirks contained in older homes. 
 
The first house my parents owned was a little two bedroom home over on Garfield Street.  It was teeny tiny and by the time my older brother Billy was starting school, my Mom was looking for something bigger. 

I was maybe only four at the time but I remember touring house after house and thinking what a waste of time – all these houses were about the same size as our then current home.  But Mom continued to drag my brother and I to one open house after another, looking for a better fit.

Then we toured a big house on Military Avenue and her search for a new home was over.  We soon moved to a wonderful Craftsman Bungalow built in the early 1920’s.  It had massive colonnade bookcases dividing the living room and dining room – those were fascinating.  It had a narrow cupboard in the kitchen which held an ironing board – that was even more fascinating.   Along the west wall of the dining room was a charming oak trimmed window seat… and yes it had little doors on the seats for storage – those were magnificently fascinating. 
 
There was a little half bath tucked under the stairway right behind the kitchen with a little window right above the toilet.   Back in the day, before fans, you had to have a window in the bathroom.  This little window didn’t open to the outside though.  That little window opened to the back staircase and back door – a window that opened to the inside of the house was extremely fascinating.   Standing in the bathroom and looking out the window, all you could see was upper part of the wall – when you looked down out of the window, you could see the back door and steps… freaky weird.
 
The upper floor had a large dormer bedroom with a big closet tucked under the eaves – that was my room and it was so cool.  The closet was my playroom as a little girl and when I grew older, I made it into my sewing room. 
 
My brother’s room was in the middle of the house and he had a similar closet.  One wall of his bedroom was normal and that was the closet side -  but the other wall sloped down a bit to match the slope of the roof.  The top half of that wall came down at an angel and the bottom half of the wall came down straight to the floor.  There was a little door in the smaller bottom half of the wall that led to the attic.  The attic was triangular shaped and was tucked under the eaves – running the full length of the back of the house.  
 
The little door and the attic were creepily fascinating.  I remember having to crouch down to enter the attic through that little door – turning on the single lightbulb that hung just inside that little door – and settling down to rummage through the trunk and boxes of diaries and photos that belonged to my Great Aunt Rose.  She stored them in our attic when she sailed around the world…  another fascinating story for another time.

I loved our house on Military.  It was a great family home.  It had a big basement with a family room.  We had lots of parties in that basement – it was perfect for all kinds of gatherings. 
 
My Mom and Dad were both fantastic cooks and our family and extended family enjoyed many meals gathered around my Great Grandmother’s old oak table in our spacious dining room on Military.  The old oak table and chairs were handed down to me.  I’m not the cook my parents were but we still enjoy family gatherings around that table.  Every time I add the leaves to the table, I’m reminded of my Grandpa Joe and his naughty siblings – remnants of the gum they placed under the table in the early 1900’s remains visible to this day.   I love old oak tables.
 
Living on Military Avenue,   we were only six blocks away from my mother’s (Alyce Green Smith) childhood home and seven blocks from her father’s (Joe Green) childhood home at Greens Greenhouse.  Mom’s sister and her family were living at the Greenhouse house, at 14th and Pebble, while we were living on Military.  Grandpa Joe and Grandma Lil were living in the house they built, when they first got married, in 1926.  That house was located at Linden and Pebble.  Our home was the second house from the corner of Military and Pebble – so our houses were close to each other – within blocks of each other.
 
I spent a lot of time at the Greenhouse house growing up.  Back in the really old days, the office for the greenhouse was originally located in the greenhouse house – just behind the parlor.  Mom and her sister Joey would work in the office and us kids would run around the house or play outside. 
 
One of my earliest memories of the greenhouse house was of hanging out with my Great Grandmother Katie Green.  She was in her 80’s at that time and  had broken her hip.  She was in a wheel chair.  Grandma Green showed me how to draw pictures of animals – she could draw a fantastic cat!  I would spend hours peering at unknown but totally fascinating images through her stereograph viewer.   She would patiently remove one image and add another for my viewing pleasure.   Grandma would remind me when it was time to look at the clock so I could be surprised all over again by the little cuckoo delights.
 
I really loved it when someone came to the parlor door and turned the magic turner thing… that turner thing made a fascinating ringing sound.  Soon the door would be opened for the guest or customer to enter the parlor and I would seize the opportunity to turn the magic turner thing… to everyone’s annoyance… but it was magical!  (I often visit the Facebook Page called “For the Love of Old Houses” hoping to find samples of these old-time doorbells…  When I spot one, I put a simple hashtag in the comment section, #ringydingydoorbellthingy, and remember my Great Grandma Green with fond affection).
 
From time to time, I would get the honor of pushing my Great Grandmother to the sink in the kitchen, where she would wash her hands before lunch.  It was a low old-fashioned cast iron sink and her wheel chair fit nicely under the sink.  Someone was always hovering over me and bigger hands would help guide the wheel chair in the correct direction – but still, I felt like a big helper.  And the sink was fascinating.
 
Back in those days, the family would take a break from their work in the greenhouse and come into the house for lunch.  A cook had prepared the meal and would serve the family.  I’m sure that the grownups talked business while we ate, but I stared at the little doors on the south wall of the dining room.  I wasn’t allowed to touch the doors.  The doors were made of glass.  You couldn’t see what was behind the glass doors.  It drove me nuts. 

I talked about the doors.  I asked about the doors.  Nobody ever gave me any information on what was contained on the other side of the doors.  It was nerve wracking.  I think it was my Aunt Peg that finally gave me an explanation of the mystery area beyond the little glass doors.  It was at a family dinner and she explained to me that it was a Fibber McGee Closet and Fibber McGee lived behind the doors.  It was important that I never open the doors because if I did, everything would come crashing out and I would be buried under the debris.   Everyone around the table laughed – I didn’t think it was funny and I wasn’t sure she was telling the truth.  Aunt Peg was always joking around.   My Dad looked at me and simply said, “Don’t ever open those doors.”  That was good enough for me – Fibber McGee was out of bounds!
 
Years later, my Aunt Joey opened the little doors to retrieve something.  It was only for a moment, but there was no Fibber McGee – just lots of boxes and a storage area under the stairs… I was disappointed. 
 
My cousin Cindy and I had some fun times playing in the old greenhouse house.  One fascinating element of that old house was a furnace contraption that hung on the door trim in the parlor.  A chain ran from the contraption to the furnace in the basement.  You could turn the handle on the contraption and the chain would move another contraption on the coal burning furnace.  I wasn’t allowed to touch that either.  It didn’t have anything to do with Fibber McGee but Big Bill had told me not to touch it and I wasn’t going to cross him. 
 
But still we played with the furnace contraption thingy  – without touching it.  To us – it looked like an old-time elevator handle.  Cindy, Billy and I would take turns playing elevator attendant – shuffling customers to different floors in the department store.   The shoe department was in the parlor, the toy department was in the living room, household items were in the dining room.  Pretty sure our “play” was influenced by the old Schweser’s Department Store downtown.
 
The downstairs of my Great Grandmother’s house held real fascination for me as a young girl.  The upstairs was a little different.  I didn’t go up there very much until Aunt Joey and Uncle Mel moved into the house after my Great Grandmother passed.  
 
There was a big, formal, fancy, polished, wooden staircase that intimidated me… I would climb up a few steps and freeze.  This is when we still lived in the little house on Garfield and I wasn’t used to stairs.  Someone would have to come get me and help me down – it was scary. 
 
Eventually I could do the stairs without freaking out.  One of my favorite spots was at the landing – there was a small window.  You had to kneel to look out the window…  that little window and the little window in the back of the bathroom at the house on Military were so fun.  I am actually fascinated with oddly placed and pretty little windows. 
 
So anyway – back to the staircases… It took me a lot longer to get used to the back staircase at my Great Grandmother’s house.  This staircase was off the kitchen at the back of the house.  It was steep!  The individual steps were maybe five or six inches deep  but really tall – teeny, tiny, trippy, slippy crazy stairs and dark – totally dark – totally fascinating. 
 
Upstairs each bedroom door had a window placed above the door.  Later on, I would learn that they were called transoms – to a little kid those transoms were soooo fascinating.  I really wanted to open and close those little windows but they were out of reach! 
 
The back, upstairs bedroom in Great Grandma’s house, was the spookiest.  From the front staircase you walked down a narrow hallway to the rear of the house.  You had to step down two steps to a landing where you could turn left and go down the back staircase, turn right and go in the upstairs bathroom or continue straight and go into the spooky bedroom. 
 
The spooky bedroom was spooky because there was an open stairway to the attic – fascinating but way scary!  For years that room was used mostly for storage.   Later on, the stairway to the attic was closed off with a door and the room became a lot less spooky – at least to me! 
 
I did love one thing about that room… it had some fascinating little doors.  The style of the house is like an old barn which leaves some interesting space along the sides of the upper floor.  Tucked under the eaves of this sloping roof line is unique storage areas.  When Cindy and I were little, I would convince her to take me up to the back room and peek in those storage cupboards.  They held mostly luggage and infrequently used items but I just loved looking in the compartment.  
 
 Over the years the cupboard was converted into a sleeping area.  The cupboard doors were removed and newer folding cupboard doors were installed to make a charming little retreat.  This is exactly how I imagined that area could be one day – and it is absolutely adorably fascinating.
 
There was another room – almost a hidden room off the side of the bedroom – it was small.  There was a door on the side of the room with the same slope of the roof – it held a closet that was barely a closet – just inches deep… and inside was a banjo… that banjo was fascinating.   Eventually the banjo became off limits too.
 
My Grandpa Joe’s house, on Linden and Pebble, had a couple of hidden doors and when you opened the doors, you had storage rooms.  There were no little doors – just parts of the wall that would open to reveal the cupboard.  I loved those hidden doors and the hidden compartments.   My grandparent’s home had a breakfast nook – oh how I loved nooks!
 
 This breakfast nook had a cute little corner shelf with wooden booth seats and table.  The nook was defined by an archway opening – oh how I love little arch doorways in homes!  Inside the nook was a small cupboard with two little doors.  The cupboard was built into the wall – between the studs – so it was only four or five inches deep.  Just enough room for my grandmother to store a treasured set of delicate flowered teacups and saucers. 
 
Every Thanksgiving Billy, Lynny, Cindy and I would sit in the nook and eat our meal.  It was cozy, warm, protected and intimate.  We talked, joked and laughed while we enjoyed the feast that my grandmother Lil had prepared.  This didn’t happen every year, but on occasion one of us would be brave enough to peak in the cupboard and report on the condition of the teacups… 
 
My mother had painted a wooden tray in high school and my grandparents proudly displayed the tray on top of the cupboard in the breakfast nook.  There it stayed for years… and years…   One year we four were feeling particularly naughty and we turned the tray upside down.   We giggled about that and when questioned about why we were laughing, we all kept our secret.
 
 We four, felt certain that Grandma Lil or Grandpa Joe or even their cleaning lady, would find our little prank and turn the tray the right way.  The next Thanksgiving, one of us noticed the fish were still upside down from the year before.   The bubbles going the wrong way on the tray, made the four of us laugh hysterically in our little private, protected, dining nook.   Those little cupboard doors held up my mother’s fish tray art and that cozy nook provided some of my favorite Thanksgiving memories.
 
Luckily for me, after my divorce, I had the opportunity to live for a time in my Grandparents home.  It was comforting.  It was the place I needed to be – to heal.  The fish tray remained upside down in the breakfast nook. 
 
After I married Randy, we needed a bigger home for our growing family.  We found our home on Nye Avenue.   Not an older home - a house built in 1951.
 
When we moved into our house, it didn’t have any little doors.  But when we added a bedroom downstairs in the 1990’s, I asked my guy to add a little door and storage room under the steps – he told me no – it was a bad idea.  I listened to him.  I didn’t add a little door and cupboard.   I have regretted that decision ever since!
 
I don’t know if that explains my fascination with little doors. Like I said, I think I have a fascination with old houses.  Old houses are cool and old houses often have little doors.   I love little doors.  If I see a little door, I wonder what lies behind.  It rekindles all those early childhood memories.
 
A couple of years ago, I did however, get a built-in ironing board and I do love my little door.  It was just the fix I needed to feed my need for my own little door.  And of course, my little house – my Grandpa Joe had a little house.  And stain glass – I love the stain glass window in my Great Grandmother’s house…  Old houses – big porches – back stairs – oak woodwork – transoms – window seats – claw foot bathtubs – #ringydingydoorbellthingy – cast iron sinks – Fibber McGee – little windows – sloping ceilings – big closets – tiny closets –  hidden cupboards… old memories… it’s all just so fascinating.

SPECIAL NOTE ON THE PHOTOS BELOW:  I seriously can not figure out how to get pictures to line up in the text - I can get one to work and then that's it!  The rest of the pictures will NOT cooperate.  SOOOOO anyway, I just threw some pictures of my childhood home on Military Avenue, my Grandpa Joe's home on Linden, and my Great Grandma Green's house on 14th into a slide show...  then added some pictures of me and my cousins, mom and her sisters, Great Grandma and her naughty kids who put the gum on that table, a few photos of family and finally some photos that Cindy took for me of those very special little door memories.  Also had to include a picture of Grandpa Joe's shed and my shed in Spring!  So cool!    Sorry they aren't labeled - CAN NOT figure that out.  

      Several months ago, I completed one of those Ancestry DNA tests and found some older branches of the family tree that I had no idea even existed.  The connection to a pirate of long ago was fascinating as was the realization that two of my fourth great grandfathers on my mother’s side of the family were brothers.
     I had to keep going over that one.  It seemed that one should be a grandfather and his brother should be an uncle but they both turned out to be my fourth Great Grandfathers, as well as Great, Uncles.  Both men were long gone by the time the female Great Great Great Grandchild of my Grandfather married her distant cousin the male Great Great Great Grandchild of the other Grandfather…
     I wonder if they knew they were cousins… to tell the truth, it was hard for me to figure it out, so I don’t know if they knew the relationship.  I only determined the relationship when I saw it laid out in the “thru lines” on the Ancestry website.  A fairly close cousin and I listed different thru lines of the same lineage – ya I was confused too.
     Anyway - This ancestry stuff is fascinating.  Just going back a few generations, you start to understand the vast amount of people who brought you to this point in time.  It all seems pretty simple when you start out with two sets of grandparents but those grandparents double with each preceding generation. 
     By tracing your family tree back to your tenth Great Grandparents, that would involve finding 2,048 couples or nearly 5,000 people.  I’ve only been doing this research for the past eight months or so and obviously I haven’t found all of those couples.  However, as I haphazardly managed to trace one generation back after another, a few ancestors slowly revealed themselves to be from the time of the Salem Witch Trials.
     During this Fall and Halloween Season, it seems appropriate to share what I can only describe as a most surprising tapestry of family lines leading back to the horrific events of the 1690’s in Salem Massachusetts.   

"Witches In My Family Tree"
    In taking this journey back in time to research my ancestors, I was lucky to have several documented generations of Grandparents.  That information coupled with the DNA matches supplied through Ancestry DNA gave me a head start on the various pathways that I would follow. 
   One family branch that I wanted to explore was that of Mary Heath.  Mary Heath married Dr. Jabez Green – making her the Grandmother of my Grandfather Joe Green. The Heath family line goes back to Job Heath – a Lieutenant in the Revolutionary War and the ancestor that allowed for Mom and I to join the Daughters of the American Revolution.  All very well documented.
     Years ago, I had a conversation with my Aunt Peg (my mother’s sister) and she gave me some insights into the Heath family and their arrival to America.
    The hints that Ancestry offered matched the information that I had received from my Aunt.  I was able to go back further in my family tree using the documents and Ancestry “member” family trees provided in their website – it was fun!  You just never know what family name is going to pop up or where it will lead…
     When I found my way back to John Heath, I learned that he had married a Frances Hutchins.  That didn’t interest me at the time and I continued on with the Heath family line.  Later on, I came back and started following the Hutchins branch – which led me to learn that Frances Hutchins was the daughter of Joseph Hutchins.  Joseph was the son of John Enoch Hutchins and Frances Alcock Hutchins who were my 9th Great Grandparents.
    According to documents found on the Ancestry DNA website and researching other historical accounts of the day, I found that my Great Grandmother Frances Alcock Hutchins was born in 1612 in Newbury, Massachusetts and married a carpenter named John Hutchins.  They had eight children and at some point, moved to Haverhill.   In 1653 she was arrested for wearing a silk hood. 
     There was a law that prohibited the display of finery by persons of “meane” condition.  You had to have property worth a certain value to be allowed to wear such fine clothing.  The charges were dropped, when it was determined that my grandmother was not of “meane” condition.   I’m not sure why – but I was proud to learn that she was of a financial stature that allowed for her wearing finery.
     Unfortunately, years later she would be arrested again.  On August 19, 1692 she was arrested on the charge of witchcraft.  The complaint was filed by Timothy Swan of Andover, Ann Putnam, Jr. and Mary WalCott of Salem Village.  She was 80 years old when she was imprisoned.  She never went to trial and was bonded out on December 21, 1692. 
     From what I have read, being held in the local prison at that time was awful.  There are horror stories – although I have found nothing relating to my grandmother’s time in the prison.  My heart aches for my 80 year-old nine times Great Grandmother languishing in jail for several months.  She survived the ordeal and lived another year and a half.  She died in Haverhill on April 5, 1694
     Here is the family lineage leading back to my Grandmother and Accused Witch Frances Alcock Hutchins on my Mother’s side of the family.  You might find it boring, but you may want to refer back to this a few times because things are going to get a little weird…
Frances Elizabeth Hutchins Lineage
9th  Great Grandparents        Frances  (Alcock) Hutchins             John Enoch Hutchins
                                                     1612-1694                                            1604-1685
 
8th  Great Grandparents       Joanna Corliss                                     Joseph Hutchins
                                                   1650-1734                                              1640-1689
 
7th  Great Grandparents       Frances Hutchins Heath                     John Heath
                                                   1676-1761                                               1674-1720
 
6th  Great Grandparents        Mary Eaten                                           Nehemiah Heath
                                                     1727-1754                                               1718-1769
 
5th  Great Grandparents        Susanna Stevens Heath                      Job Heath
                                                     1751-1828                                               1747-1851
                                                  
4th Great Grandparents         Eliza Fish                                               Job Heath Jr.
                                                                                                                       1784-1860
 
3rd Great Grandparents         Esther Millet Heath                             Hial Heath
                                                     1811-1893                                                1813-1872
 
2nd  Great Grandparents     Mary Heath Green                               Dr. Jabez Green
                                                   1840-1888                                              1818-1875
 
1st Great Grandparents        Katherine Rogers Green                     Charles Hial Green
                                                   1874-1955                                               1870-1932
 
Grandparents                         Lillian Olson Green                              Joseph Nathaniel Green
                                                   1904-1983                                               1900-1985
 
Parents                                    Alyce Green Smith                                William Harry Smith
                                                   1928-2009                                               1928-2012
                                                 Sue Smith (Stoeber) Reyzlik
 
      During another late-night research session on Dad’s side of the family – days after I had found the pirate – (which was cool) – I started following a random branch from Mary Ellen Lefever. She was the wife of my 2nd Great Grandfather Alexander Smith Jr.  Rather than go through a bunch of names that mean nothing to you, I’m going to post the lineage so you can follow it back in time for yourself.
 
Honorable Thomas Danforth Lineage
 
10th  Great Grandparents     Mary Withington Danforth             Hon. Thomas Danforth
                                                   1623-1697                                               1623-1699
 
9th  Great Grandparents       Rebecca Parker Danforth                 Ens. Jonathan (John) Danforth
                                                   1661-1754                                               1659-1711
 
8th  Great Grandparents       Dorothy Shed                                     Samuel Danforth
                                                   1692-1749                                              1692-1749
 
7th  Great Grandparents       Rebecca Danforth                              Ephraim Daves (Davis)
                                                   1717-1771                                               1706-1778
 
6th Great Grandparents        Hannah Davis                                     Joseph Hall
                                                   1739-1807                                             1734-1804
 
5th Great Grandparents        Elizabeth (Hall) McPeek                   Daniel McPeek
                                                   1759-1839                                             1756-1835
 
4th Great Grandparents        Sophia Lavinia Price                         Ezekiel McPeek
                                                   1786-1861                                             1786-1856
 
3rd  Great Grandparents      Easter Price McPeek                          John LeFever
                                                   1822-1895                                            1818-1900
 
2nd  Great Grandparents      Mary Ellen LeFever                          Alexander Smith Jr
                                                   1851-1907                                            1852-1933
 
1st  Great Grandparents         Esther Swanson                                Harry Harris Smith
                                                   1883-1959                                            1879-1959
 
Grandparents                          Belle Powers                                      Clarence Smith
                                                   1907-1952                                            1905-1951
 
Parents                                       Alyce Green Smith                           William H. Smith
                                                   1928-2009                                           1928-2012
                                                                                                                Sue Smith (Stoeber) Reyzlik
 
    Sooooo... all the individuals involved in this journey back in time are super interesting to me but, in order to save a little time, we’re going to start at my 6th Great Grandmother listed on the chart above – Hannah Davis. 
       It turns out that Hannah Davis was the daughter of Rebecca Danforth – which you may want to remember because I will be circling back around to her again… I think… 
    Anyway – Rebecca Danforth was the daughter of Dorothy Shed and Samuel Danforth.  Here is where we take a hard-right turn in that tree branch called Danforth.  Samuel Danforth was the son of Ens. Jonathan Danforth who was the son of the Honorable Thomas Danforth.  Thomas Danforth is my 10th Great Grandfather and he served as a Judge in the Salem Witch Trials…

     Mind Blown and It’s Fall - Almost Halloween – WITCHES – Hysteria – Judges - Trials!            Oh my…

     Just to be clear… The year is 1692 and I have an accused witch from Salem on my mother’s side of the family and a Judge from the Salem Witch Trials on my father’s side of the family.  What are the odds of that?  No seriously – what are the odds of that?   It’s crazy – right? 
     When I found Thomas Danforth in my family tree, I had to learn more.  It turns out he was pretty cool.   Thomas Danforth came to America with his father Nicholas (a widower) and his siblings in 1634.  They were puritans and were escaping religious persecution.  Soon after his arrival, Nicholas began acquiring property.  He died in 1638, leaving his property and the care of his children to his eldest child, Thomas.
     Thomas become a “freeman” of the colony in 1643 - which gave him the right to vote and participate in the colony’s political affairs.  I was a bit impressed that he was appointed the Treasurer of Harvard College in its charter of 1650 and that he served as a steward of the College from 1669 to 1682… cool!
     Thomas Danforth was totally political – lots happened… too much to talk about here.  He was in and out of power – he lost by just a few votes here and there – he was deputy Governor,  he got married – had kids – bought more land – tried to protect the praying Indians. 
    Ya, I missed the praying Indian thing in history.  There was a war. Or maybe a couple of wars. Some of the Indians in the region were converted to Christianity and were known as the praying Indians.  There was a lot of hostility with the neighboring Indians and that created a great deal of mistrust toward the recently converted.   I read that Danforth had worked out a deal to move the praying Indians to Long Island and provide a buffer between the two parties.  The pilgrims were still nutty about the whole situation. 
      Little side story… Danforth and some of his colleagues were on a mission to check on the welfare of the praying Indians and set sail for Long Island.  At some point in the journey, their smaller vessel was rammed by a larger boat filled with disgruntled pilgrims.  I guess no one was injured but Danforth and his fellow travelers all got dunked in the icy waters…   I am getting off topic – sorry. (And Thomas was there during the time that the Quakers were being treated unfairly – four Quakers got hung - again off topic – but I have a bunch of Quakers in the family so I will go there eventually.)
     This last bit of information came from an article I found online.  The Article was written by John Goff and posted May 27, 2011 in the Salem Gazette.  In the article, Mr. Goff was explaining how Salem would never be completely removed from its Witch Trial past but suggested the focus should be on the tolerance that grew from that unfortunate time.  I liked the question he posed to the reader… “How different would or could Salem be today and in the near future, if a much stronger light was cast upon the history and contributions of the surprising 17th- century Danforths?”

     The Danforths?  He suggests that a stronger light be cast upon the surprising Danforths – cool.     
      The following is an excerpt from that article that includes references to the praying Indians and the Salem Witch Trials:

     In 1999, Danforth Gallery in Maine printed a 300th anniversary reflection upon the life of the eldest of the three Danforth boys: Thomas Danforth, our Salem witch judge. The 1999 study concluded “Perhaps the most intriguing characteristic of Thomas Danforth was his willingness to stand up for his convictions despite opposition.” A progressive advocate for colonists’ rights, Thomas also profoundly supported the rights of Christianized Native Americans during King Philip’s War in the 1670s. Like Gookin, he was persecuted for his decent treatment of Praying Indians during that war.
     During the 1690s, Thomas Danforth also worked quietly and efficiently to end the Salem Witch Trials hysteria — and to restore basic fairness, order and peace. A treasurer of Harvard College and a campaigner for human rights, Thomas’s sense of fairness for all — including oppressed minorities — was generations and centuries ahead of his time.

   From my reading thus far, I gather Thomas Danforth was a decent man.  I like that about my 10th Great Grandfather.
     I must say that I am amazed, that in following the branches and little off shoots of twigs here and there, that I was able to find my way back to two unrelated people, both a part of my family history and both entangled in the Salem Witch Trial Hysteria of 1692.    Frances as a witch through my mother’s line and Thomas as a judge through my father’s line. 
     Armed with this evidence, I started researching the Salem Witch Trials.  I began amassing the knowledge I would need to write a story about this particular aspect of my family ancestry.  I was deep into the process of pondering 1692 Salem… but I was simultaneously researching my family lineage on the Ancestry Website.
      One night I was back on the trail of  my Dad’s lineage.  One thing I have learned is that the women in my family are absolutely “spellbinding” so I naturally have a tendency to follow the green leaf hints attached to the women listed on the website family tree. 
     Now if you recall, I explained earlier that Rebecca Danforth married Ephraim Davis.  Rebecca was the branch that led back to the Honorable Thomas Danforth – the Judge.  Rebecca was the daughter of Samuel Danforth and Dorothy Shed. Dorothy is the woman where the lineage takes an even more interesting female turn.       Dorothy Shed Danforth was my 8th Great Grandmother and the daughter of Ens. John Shed and Sarah Chamberlain – my 9th Great Grandmother.  Sarah was the daughter of Rebecca Shelley Chamberlain – my 10th Great Grandmother, who just happened to be another woman accused of being a witch in Salem. 
     I examined this lineage closely because this seemed a little too weird even for me.  As far as I can tell from Ancestry DNA and various online searches, this appears to be a valid lineage.  I will post the lineage here for reference.

Rebecca Shelley Chamberlain Lineage
 
10th  Great Grandparents        Rebecca Shelley Chamberlain            William Chamberlain
                                                        1627-1692                                               1619-1706
 
9th  Great Grandparents          Sarah Chamberlain                               Ens. John Shedd
                                                       1655-1735                                               1655-1737
 
8th  Great Grandparents          Dorothy Shed                                         Samuel Danforth
                                                       1692-1749                                                 1692-1749
 
7th  Great Grandparents          Rebecca Danforth                                  Ephraim Daves (Davis)
                                                       1717-1771                                                    1706-1778
 
6th  Great Grandparents          Hannah Davis                                         Joseph Hall
                                                       1739-1807                                               1734-1804
 
5th  Great Grandparents          Elizabeth (Hall) McPeek                       Daniel McPeek
                                                       1759-1839                                                1756-1835
 
4th  Great Grandparents          Sophia Lavinia Price                            Ezekiel McPeek
                                                       1786-1861                                               1786-1856
 
3rd  Great Grandparents         Easter Price McPeek                              John LeFever
                                                      1822-1895                                               1818-1900
 
2nd  Great Grandparents      Mary Ellen LeFever                                Alexander Smith Jr
                                                    1851-1907                                                 1852-1933
 
1st Great Grandparents           Esther Swanson                                      Harry Harris Smith
                                                       1883-1959                                               1879-1959
 
Grandparents                             Belle Powers                                           Clarence Smith
                                                       1907-1952                                               1905-1951
 
Parents                                          Alyce Green Smith                                  William H. Smith
                                                        1928-2009                                               1928-2012
                                                                                                                     Sue Smith (Stoeber) Reyzlik
 
      So now I have two Great Grandmothers arrested, and languishing in the dungeon jail in Salem, Massachusetts in 1692.  Let me just ask the question again…

WHAT ARE THE ODDS? And – please note – it is the women who lead to the most interesting places – the women in my family are fascinating.
     I don’t know if my 10th Great Grandmother Rebecca Chamberlain knew my 9th Great Grandmother Frances Hutchins.  I sort of feel… that it is likely that they were in prison together.  Rebecca Chamberlain died at the age of 67 on September 26, 1692.  Frances Hutchins was sent to prison on August 19, 1692 at the age of 80.  In my mind, it makes sense that they would have been held together in Salem. 
     Since GG Rebecca died while in prison, I had to do a little further reading on the conditions of the jail – what I learned was disturbing – to say the least. 
    In one reporting, it stated that during the worst of the witch hysteria, so many people were arrested that they were held in area village jails – however, for those awaiting trial, they were held in the Salem Dungeon and Jail. 
     I mentioned earlier that the conditions in the jails were horrific, but in reading further I found a few more details… The jails were hot in summer and cold in winter.  They were infested with lice, rats and stank of dung.  In one article it stated that all the jails were bad, however, the Salem Jail was the worst.  Conditions for those accused of witchcraft were harsh – extremely harsh.
     The accused witches were held in irons in the dungeon of the jail.  The Salem jail was built near a river and during high tide, the water would seep into the dungeon.  There was no sanitation for the prisoners and they were forced to wallow in their waste.  Through the narrow openings to the outside, the villagers would gather and yell their vicious taunts to the prisoners below. 
     My, 80-year-old, Great Grandmother Frances Hutchins, lived from August through December of 1692 in what I imagine were those awful prison conditions.  She made it out alive.
     My, 67-year-old, Great Grandmother Rebecca Chamberlain didn’t make it out alive. Although years younger than GG Frances, Rebecca didn’t fare as well in the rat and lice infested hell hole in the bowels of Salem. My GG Rebecca was one of more than a dozen who died under the horrible dying conditions of Salem’s dungeon.

  *UPDATE ON JAIL DEATH LOCATION - (October 26, 2020 - one day after publication of this entry) I was continuing my research on this family connection and I found an entry that stated that GG Rebecca died in the Cambridge Jail.  Well - poo.  I will keep looking for new info.  I will update as necessary - maybe even write a new entry... who knows what things will be revealed???  So anyway - GG Frances and GG Rebecca were not in the dungeon together - like I said - poo! 

     In researching the jail, I learned something else.  The prisoners were charged for every item they used during their imprisonment (like straw for bedding and food). Before anyone could be released, they had to pay their tab. 
     I found stories about women who had been arrested for witchcraft and later found innocent.   They had lost everything during their imprisonment and could not afford to pay what they owed. Those innocent women remained imprisoned.   
    In another instance, a four-year-old child was imprisoned with her pregnant mother – both accused of practicing witchcraft.  The young girl was by her mother’s side as she gave birth in the dark, damp dungeon.  She was by her mother’s side when the baby died.  She was by her mother’s side when her mother died.  The little girl survived her time in the dungeon but mentally she never healed.  It’s truly heart breaking to imagine the heartlessness of those who would place a child in a cage.
     Another profoundly soul-less practice of the time, was that if a prisoner died while being held in the local jail, the family was required to pay for the removal of the corpse.  If the body wasn’t paid for, the corpse was tossed into a ditch on the outskirts of town where it would remain.  The body rotting in the ditch, was a grisly reminder of what awaits you, if you dare perform the evils of the witchcraft on the innocent citizens of the community.  I sincerely hope that Rebecca’s family was able to claim her body for proper burial.

     Although I am many years (centuries) removed, I honestly sense a connection to the people in the far-reaching branches of my family tree.  The feeling I experienced upon learning that I had found a direct link to such a horrendous event was one of curiosity… I was certainly intrigued... upon further research, that feeling morphed into an overwhelming sense of sadness. Two Great Grandmothers – wrongly accused of witchcraft – both suffered the horrors of the 17th  Century Salem jail – one died in that jail. 
     In examining 1692, I learned that there were multiple personalities and belief systems at play in those darkest of days.  There had been a long history of persecution of witches that had been brought forward to the new world.  Various personal motives, religious beliefs, greed, fear, the desire for control and power – all contributed to create the mass hysteria that consumed Salem and the surrounding areas. 
     The situation was out of control and yet there were forces of light at play.  Good people working behind the scenes to calm the hysteria.   Truly righteous individuals doing their best to end the madness.   Thomas Danforth was such a man.  A man ahead of his time, a campaigner for human rights and a decent human being.   His efforts, on behalf of those wrongly accused, warms my heart.
One final thought and for that I would like to highlight a small segment of my family  tree:
 
Rebecca Shelley Chamberlain Lineage
 
10th  Great Grandparents     Rebecca Shelley Chamberlain          William Chamberlain
                                                   1627-1692                                               1619-1706
9th  Great Grandparents        Sarah Chamberlain                             Ens. John Shedd
                                                   1655-1735                                               1655-1737
8th  Great Grandparents       Dorothy Shed                                        Samuel Danforth
                                                   1692-1749                                                1692-1749
7th  Great Grandparents        Rebecca Danforth                                Ephraim Daves (Davis)
                                                     1717-1771                                               1706-1778
 
     Look at my 8th Great Grandparents Dorothy Shed and Samuel Danforth.  Dorothy is the Granddaughter of Rebecca Chamberlain – the accused witch who died in prison in 1692.  Although it isn’t shown in this chart - Samuel Danforth is the Grandson of the Honorable Thomas Danforth – the judge who sought to right that terrible wrong. 
     Dorothy and Samuel were both born in 1692.  I’m sure they grew up with the knowledge of what had happened in the year they were born.  The Chamberlain family and the Danforth family must have known each other.  Dorothy and Samuel were two kids growing up in Salem at the same time.  
     I wonder what their respective families thought of their marriage?  It must have all worked out. They raised four children together and the information I found, indicates that they both died in 1749.  Perhaps one could not live without the other - it's a romantic notion. 
     I choose to believe that Samuel and Dorothy were destined to be together - that they were extremely happy and truly in love.  I further choose to believe that they named their daughter Rebecca Danforth Davis (my 7th Great Grandmother) in honor of Rebecca Chamberlain (my 10th Great Grandmother) who died in the Salem Dungeon in the year 1692.  *UPDATE - Cambridge Jail... poo
     If you read this entry carefully and you are familiar with me personally – perhaps you picked up on some clues for an upcoming entry.  I am still in that pondering stage where I write my stream of consciousness.   I’ll just say, at this point the writing is all over the place.   Perhaps some time, in the shed this next week, will allow for much needed clarity and editing…
     Soooo… for now my friends, the first portion of the long winding Tale of the “Witches in my Family Tree!” is posted and the continuing saga is yet to be determined…
    Happy Fall – Happy Halloween!  And if I don’t post before Thanksgiving – My wish for you is one of plenty… family, love, food, gratitude, tolerance and caring for others.   
If you need me, I will be in the shed!

I have shared this story with a lot of people.  So to those who have heard this before, oh well.  If you have a curiosity surrounding near death episodes or out of body experiences, you may find it interesting.    Perhaps I will share more about this in the future.
                I’m not sure you can call my near-death experience an actual near-death experience.  I was told that I was quite seriously ill but I was not near death at any time during the most critical stage of my illness.  Near death or not, it was an experience that has remained with me in simplicity and clarity.
                My marriage to my first husband was not ideal.  I wanted children very badly but suffered an unusual miscarriage that required that I not get pregnant for a year.  After a year I became pregnant.  Our daughter was born a month late weighing in at 8 pounds 10 ½ ounces.   I was happy to have a healthy little girl but I very much wanted two children.  I became pregnant when Sara was two years old.
                The second pregnancy was fine until about the 5th month. At the 6th month I was confined to bed.  That was quite hard for me and for my husband.  He had never cared for the day to day needs of our child or taking care of the house.  I needed care as well and he was bitter at the turn of events.  It was unpleasant and I felt a tremendous amount of guilt for causing such problems.
                I had pre-eclampsia and my blood pressure was terribly high.  I was retaining fluids and my organs were experiencing great stress due to the pregnancy.   The bed rest was not working out as Dan could not or would not assist with the many duties of taking care of our daughter and the household.  My health worsened.  At just under 7 months I was hospitalized.
                Dan was functioning although with the aid of alcohol.  A problem that he refused to acknowledge and I had decided to ignore. 
                My condition did not improve in the hospital – it worsened over the course of a few days.  They transferred me from Columbus to Omaha in the early evening.  Dan remained at home with our daughter with the understanding that he would join me for what would probably be a C section in the morning.
                He went home.  I went to Omaha.  As we neared Fremont my blood pressure rose dangerously high.  My kidneys were failing.  My body and baby were in distress.  They called the Fremont hospital to see if they should stop there – Fremont told them to continue to Omaha as the specialists were better equipped to save my life.
                Once we arrived at Methodist, the staff determined that the baby and I could not survive together.  It was important that we be separated as soon as possible.  The doctor asked where my husband was – I told him he was at home.  He was irritated.  They phoned him and told him to get to the hospital as soon as possible – they would try to wait. 
                He said he would be there in two hours.  We waited.  They ran their tests.  Everyone was hovering over me with looks of grave concern.  Some would come in and be very reassuring while others were so stern and so business like. 
                The doctor ordered a test to see how long it took me to stop bleeding.  A technician pierced my ear.  It bled.  She placed a paper disc under the piercing and let it bleed freely turning the disc to measure the amount of blood.  It bled profusely, using multiple discs to catch the flow.  Finally, she decided she may have hit a capillary of some sort – I forget the term – and she should try the other ear.  First, she had to stop the bleeding – that took some time and steady pressure.
                The second piercing was the same.  The bleeding was extensive.  They ordered blood – they were concerned that I might bleed out during the C-section.  They were honest with me but explained what steps they were going to take to get me through the procedure.
                They also explained that both the baby and I would die if the pregnancy was allowed to remain as is.  I was 7 months pregnant.  They explained that the baby could survive.  The baby may not survive but it had no chance of surviving in my body.  My only chance of survival and the only chance of survival for my child was the C-section.  They also explained that the baby could be born alive but die shortly after birth or could be born dead – in effect making this a late term abortion as my life was in danger. 
                They asked what I wanted to do with the remains if the baby was born dead.  I was consumed in grief and overwhelming sadness.  I felt like a failure.  If I had only taken better care of myself.  If I had only succeeded at bed rest – I could have avoided all of this horror.  I was awful and now I was paying the price for my stupidity. 
                A nurse told me that they could dispose of the body for me.  I was stunned.  I asked how.  She said they could dispose of the body as other medical waste is disposed and they could use the remains for research.  I shuddered at the thought.  I said no – absolutely not.  If the baby is born dead, I want to see it, I want the body, I want to bury it.  This baby is real, it is a part of me and I will take care of it.  She acknowledged my request.
                The baby was still kicking.  I could feel the movement – I knew there was life and it was time for us to separate.  I wondered what was keeping Dan.  It had been two hours.  The staff called him again.  He answered.  He hadn’t left the house.  I would learn later that he had been drinking and passed out after the first call.  The second call had been long enough to make him aware of what he needed to do.  He took our daughter to my Mom’s house in Fremont and picked up Mom, both rushing to the hospital. 
                The second two hours of waiting for Dan to arrive were a time of prayer.  I cried softly and bargained with God.  I told him quite clearly what he needed to do.  First, I wanted to live.  Because Sara needed me.  Dan would never be able to raise Sara.  I also told him that I wanted the baby to live but if the baby died, I would understand, but I still needed to live for Sara.
             I finally explained that if I were to die, then it would be important that the baby die with me as Dan would surely kill it inadvertently – taking care of Sara would be much more than he could handle.  I kept going around and around – explaining to God what he needed to do in all the situations I was projecting of the future. 
                A nurse came in  – I sensed her concern as she hovered over me, checking vitals and performing important tests – keeping me alive until Dan could arrive.  They were frustrated and I was in pain.  They asked if I wanted a Chaplain.  I said I wanted a Priest – surprised – she asked if I was Catholic.  I had to think for a minute… I had been teaching at a Catholic School for the past few years – attending mass with the kids – getting to know the priests and the nuns – the first thing out of my mouth was “Priest”.  I’m sure I looked confused as I shook my head and said – no I’m a Presbyterian – a Chaplain would be fine…
                The Chaplain, a man, came in and we talked.  I told him what was going on – we discussed the delay.  He asked about the bruising on my neck – we determined that the ear piercing must have caused bleeding in the area – that was gross and frightening.  I began to understand why everyone looked so worried when they stepped into the room.
                He understood that I wanted the body of the baby and he would make sure that the baby was baptized if it was born alive.  He would remain with my husband and tell him of my wishes.  He prayed with me and he left me to my thoughts.  They dimmed the lights – all that was left was for Dan to get there – I was stable but I was being monitored – they would jump into action if warranted.
                They encouraged me to rest.  I closed my eyes and prayed – again going over my directions for God.  In case he hadn’t fully understood all the conditions of his support.  I was making myself crazy, I was feeling the pressure.  I couldn’t bargain anymore, I couldn’t review the options, I couldn’t make demands – I was tired, I was drained – I took a deep cleansing breath and simply said to my God.  I give up.  I can’t do this.  It’s up to you and you figure it out – it is beyond my capability and I want you to handle it. 
                There was a tremendous amount of relief and a calming sense of peace.  It was such a departure from my type A personality thing…  a simple prayer – thy will be done… and I truly meant it.  I could and would accept whatever came my way.   It was no longer my problem – I gave it to God and I rested.
                When Dan and my Mom arrived, I was calm - ready to take the next step.  I told them it was OK.  I looked like shit and you could see the fear in my mother’s eyes.  Dan looked fearful but you never knew how deep that feeling went – I had a sense of his distance…   
                When I awoke in recovery.  Dan and my mother were beside my bed – both smiling.  Dan said they baptized the baby boy and they needed a name so they named him Evan Kenneth – I remember asking them how they spelled it – even in that haze I worried about the spelling.  I also remember Dan telling me how relieved they were when they heard the nurses and doctors laughing during the C-Section… Evan had peed all over everyone and they were pleased that his plumbing was functioning correctly – they laughed from relief.
                I didn’t see Evan for 10 days – he was taken to Children’s hospital which was 40 blocks or so from Methodist.  He was placed in the premie intensive care unit at Children’s while I was placed in the intensive care unit at Methodist.  The near-death experience (or out of body event) happened sometime after I was placed in my room in intensive care.
                It didn’t happen immediately.  I recall the room.  The visit from Dan and my Mother.  The visit from my doctor.  I remember the nurses having trouble getting blood from my arm and a technician finally taking blood from my ankle.  I remember that I still had an IV in my arm and bags were attached to a pole.  I remember the nurses asking me to use a bed pan but only a vague memory of that exists.  
            At some point after all of the initial settling in procedures I had fallen asleep.  Or I assume it was a sleeping condition.  I was aware of my body lying in the bed but then I was also aware of being in a different area – new surroundings.  A darkened area – I was moving – traveling forward – moving without any effort on my part, I was without pain… I was exhilarated and relieved – this freedom – this place – it was perfect and I was happy - it wasn’t long and I saw a light in the distance.  I neared the light and it was pulsing.  The light would get larger and then recede in size – it was vibrating – almost electrical in nature but not extreme – a gentle pulsating expansion and recession of the light.  It appeared spherical in shape.  The presence of the light was soothing.  I wanted to get nearer to the light. 
          It was the light that halted my forward progress.  I struggled to go further, finally realizing I had no body – I was traveling by my essence – a mere being without form.  The light was firm – I was to wait.  I resisted – trying to move to the right – trying to move to the left… it was futile.  The light was the ultimate power but still I continued to try – the draw of the light had completely taken over my being.  The light wanted me right where I was – squarely in front… the light became more intense, it began to pulsate more and grow from a spherical shape into a cone like shape.  As the light was transforming from one shape to another it was transmitting information… the light wasn’t speaking but it was letting me know the secrets of the universe – I was amazed at the clarity and the ability I had to absorb all the information and how simple it all flowed together…  armed with such insights I wanted more than anything to enter the light – again I fought to go forward and the light resisted. 
                There was no talking – it was more of a telepathic conversation – I just knew.  I remember a humming sound – a background noise – nothing I could put my finger on but a sound…  Lacking words, there was still a message.  Lacking words, it is hard to translate or share that message, but if I had to say what the light said to me, it would be something like this, and truly I wish it were more profound but here it is…
“I never promised you a rose garden, I never said it was going to be easy, you have everything inside of you to get through anything.  Now you need to go back”.
                I was scared and angry, I didn’t want to return.  I was without pain.  I knew everything.  No more doubts.  The light was beautiful.  I wanted to go in.  The light had had enough – it grew taller – pulsating as it grew – the light moved a distance from me and I could see it from the front and from above… it was a strange vantage point…  The light was more intense and suddenly it fell inside itself and was gone – it consumed itself in a self-implosion and I was sent violently back to my body – waking instantly to excruciating pain and awareness of my surroundings.
                I remember glancing to my right and seeing a nurse replacing a bag of blood onto a pole and adjusting the monitors.  I exclaimed “Did you see that?” and she said “What?”  and I said “the light”.  She looked at me like I had lost my mind but I knew the secrets of the Universe – the joke was on her.  I told her “Never mind – I’m going back” I closed my eyes and tried to go back but I couldn’t.  The explosion or implosion of the light and the return of my pain was so violent - I felt that that was a part of the message… what I was supposed to have gained from the journey…
                The secrets to the Universe had given me such comfort and upon returning to my body were instantly lost.  The fact that I knew the answer to all the mysteries of life was nice but it would have been nicer to be able to state with some certainty what those answers actually are.  I had this feeling that the violence of my return meant that there would be violence in my future – an explosion – a massive force that would cause me pain and rock me to my core…  oh great, I would survive nuclear holocaust.  Surely that was what the light had meant.  I had everything inside of me to get through anything…
                During those days of recovery in the hospital, I had brief moments of recall – fleeting memories of something amazing but ultimately those secrets of the Universe that came bubbling to the surface would quickly disappear into the fog.  The leaving of my body, the darkness, the light, the hum, the telepathic message, the no nonsense - don’t talk back to me – return to my body… all of those details remain clear.  The violent return to my body – most painfully remains clear.
            My thought that I would survive nuclear holocaust wasn’t exactly comforting.  Since that time, I have experienced numerous destructive events in my life.  I have come to realize that your life can be blown apart, destroyed, altered in a lot of ways – some big – some small.   Nuclear holocaust isn’t the only challenging life option.   
            During those, difficult times I remember the message from the light – you have everything inside you to get through anything.  That message has served me well.   It was a tough love thing from the light.  I had surrendered to the light and the light was being honest.  The light would be there to help but it was up to me to live this life – I needed to trust in a higher power and trust that the higher power was within me.   There to guide me through whatever problem I was currently facing.
                I have a religious belief.  I consider myself a spiritual person.  The presence of the light is in keeping with my belief in a supreme being.  The light could mean something different to another person – that would be their story to tell.    I have a comfort with the light… I have a relationship with the light.   
                What I experienced, may not have been a total near death experience but it was an experience that I will never forget.  I had completely surrendered my will to God.  I received what I consider a special message.    I didn’t know it at the time but I received a message of hope in facing an uncertain, challenging and life altering future. 
                My out of body experience was a profoundly personal experience - it was unique to me.  Each person who experiences an out of body event or near-death episode will have a lesson suited to their need.  I firmly believe the event itself and the memory of the event is designed in such a way as to assist an individual with their immediate need and their future development and course of action.