On the 'Keag

If Annie Crie Graves could speak to us today....

Turn the years about and I am once more on the coast of Maine—standing at the edge of the sea, exploring a marshland, or running through the woods that surrounded our farm. Childhood, when you are in the thick of it, feels as though it will never end, yet it passes as quick as a sigh.

We were a sea-worn people, practical and watchful. You learned early to haul water, darn socks and hold your tongue at the table. I knew before I was ten that I would likely be a teacher. For a girl who loved her books, it was the surest path from the hearth to the wider world.

I was born July 21, 1856 to Mercy Kalloch Hathorn in a place locals still call “the ’Keag”—a smallish jut of land on the western edge of South Thomaston, where the tide pulls in like a breath and every prominence has a name. My father, Edward Small Graves was a shipbuilder then, still reeling at losing his considerable investments due to a stupendous fraud that wiped out the Shipbuilders bank in Rockand. I like to think that my birth cheered him up at least a little.

After my first birthday, a hurricane took down the SS Central America and with it, 435 people and 30,000 pounds of California gold meant for eastern banks. That single loss sparked a panic that crippled the national economy and the shipbuilding business of Central Maine—another blow to my father’s prospects.

Father moved us to the Graves homestead when I was a baby—a 150-acre farm just south of town. It became the center of our world—pasture, field and pine.

South Thomaston, was a working port in those days. The granite trade boomed. Rope makers, sailmakers, ironworkers, tinsmiths—every craft a ship needed to float and sail could be found along the coast.[1] And always the limestone dust in the air, the stink of fish and brine—both profitable exports. People from around the world frequented the wharves—sailors and rusticators[2] alike.

We raised everything we could eat and sold what we couldn’t—peas, potatoes, hay, butter by the hundredweight. Some of our potatoes made it as far as the goldfields of California. We had cows, pigs, chickens, oxen and horses we could hitch to a plow or a buggy for trips to Rockland, Appleton and Victory, where cousins grew like weeds. I had one set of living grandparents.[3]

Before I turned four, I started school in the same little schoolhouse my father, uncles and aunts had attended. I could barely see over the desks. My sisters Millie and Edna came after me, born in ’58 and ’61 just as war broke out.

We didn’t see battle in Maine, but we felt the war all the same.[4] My mother gave birth to our first brother, Harvey on August 14, 1862—but he died before the frost of fall. I remember the quiet after. Since then, most every woman I’ve known has buried a baby, but that was the first time I understood that joy and grief can arrive in the same cradle.

Leland was born on May 22nd, 1864, just as the Civil War was grinding toward its long awaited close. The war ended on April 9th, 1865, and a year later on July 12th, 1866, Alta Pease came into the world. Around that time, Miss Lottie, the schoolteacher, came to board in our busy home—another set of boots by the fire, hands to help Mother, another voice in the morning clatter.

The Civil War changed our town. So did the steamships. The age of great sailing ships was ending, but the routines of home stayed steady: planting crops, the harvest, birth and death, church picnics, family gatherings and community celebrations. My mother’s Kalloch kin held a reunion each year. We hosted at least one on the farm and never missed one.[5]

I was about eleven when my Aunt Sophia returned to Maine from Indiana. She had gone west not long after I was born, following her sister Louisa and brother-in-law Edwin Furness to Porter County, where she became the county’s first schoolteacher and helped turn a logging camp into a town. Her last name was Realf, but I didn’t know much about her husband.

I overheard Father say that his little sister was “heart-worn.” Mother told me she was recovering from brain fever, though she never looked sick to me. To my eyes she was fragile, yes, but not broken. She had a young face, soft and kind but her hair was turning white as snow. She divided her time between our home and the Butlers’ in Appleton, always welcomed, always a little adrift.

Sometimes I’d catch whispers among Mother and the aunts when Sophia wasn’t in the room. They spoke in careful tones, hoping I wouldn’t know who they meant—but I knew. I understood that Aunt Sophia’s husband had been a Union soldier in the war and I assumed he had died in battle. When I once asked her, she only gave me a pained smile and changed the subject.

As I grew older, I learned not to press her, for nothing unsettled me more than seeing sadness settle over her face. Yet Sophia was not one to stay in the doldrums. When she stayed at our house, she seemed most at ease with Father, who had a streak of silliness about him and Sophia matched it—laughing at his jokes and tossing back mischief of her own. That made her different from most women I knew, who kept their humor guarded. I liked that side of her: the way she could be playful and teasing one moment, then quiet and thoughtful the next. It made me want to follow her, just to see what she might say or do.

My cousin Cora Butler[6] went to Porterville, Indiana, to spend a year teaching school in Indiana. She lived with Aunt Louisa Furness and their family.[7]

Samuel Dean was born in 1869 about the same time we got news that when my cousin Cora Butler returned home from Indiana, she would be bringing my cousin, Winifred Furness. Her parents prepared her for a year-long visit to meet her Maine kin. Winnie and I were the same age and even though I knew she’d be spending most of her time with the Butlers in Appleton, we’d been promised that she could spend some time in our neck of the woods, and Father promised to take me to Appleton for extended visits.

While I had sisters, Winnie felt like something different—someone I could say anything to and know it wouldn’t get carried off by the wind. The day before her arrival I was excited all day—cleaning house, cooking special treats with Mama. I straightened the girls’ room, laid out the quilt with the fewest worn spots, even tucked my best pencil into the desk drawer like I meant to share it. I didn’t know how long she’d stay in South Thomaston, but I hoped it would be long enough to get acquainted face-to-face. A short first visit was better than none at all. I knew Cora was homesick, anxious to reach Appleton and soon, Winnie and I would have a days long visit.

Suddenly, just after midday, the house gave a strange shudder. The stovepipe clanged, the dishes rattled in the cupboard. Mama paused mid-stitch with her needle in the air, then lunged to grab the baby. It passed quickly, but the sound—it was like the earth clearing its throat. They said it was an earthquake, the worst Maine had felt in anyone’s memory.[8] I didn’t know the earth could move like that. And all I could think was: maybe it’s just making room for Winnie.

When Winnie made her first extended visit to the farm, thankfully, we were old enough to venture out alone. We wandered in the woods, visited town where we could take in the wonder of watching the Weskeag stream rush out of the inlet with the tide, cleansing the mill pond. Eloise Butler had schooled her in botany and Winnie joined the ranks of family botanizers. Our jaunts through the marshes and seaside had a sense of purpose.

Winnie’s parents told her to write everything down—and bless her for it, she did. What she captured wasn’t dramatic or profound. It was better than that: it was true. The thump of children’s feet on floorboards. The rasp of berry thorns, hikes through the forest, our adventures in the village and long buggy rides to visit all our relations. The warm pie, the cold stare from a minister, the moss gardens we planned but never made. We traded towns, cousins and afternoons like girls who hadn’t yet learned how fast a season disappears.

The following are excerpts of Winnie’s diary that recounts the time we shared, the year she came to Maine:

South Thomaston Saturday Oct. 23. 1869

Ollie[9] found the pinking iron this morning and I caried it down to Ebson’s Maria.[10] I learned my lessons then got ready to go to Aunt Mercy K.[11] We did not know wheather to go or not. It clouded up looked like rain but brightened up again so we started. Cora,[12] and Aunt Millie Dean,[13] Arthur[14] and I all rode in a one seated buggy so got squeesed up pretty well. We had not gone far before it grew foggy again. It rained quite hard when we got within two miles of Uncle Ed’s[15] but we were bundled up so we did not get our only waterproofs wet. Aunt Mercy K. was going out to help us out of the buggy all so fast and told the children to put the lamp in the window. They lifted it up suddenly and the top fell off and we had to get out in the dark. I could not see and started for home and Arthur took hold of my hand and led me to the door. I got on the door step and fell off. Arthur thought I was drunk. Uncle Ed was not at home when we arrived and when he came he said he should as soon thought of seeing the man in the moon as us. He was glad to see us.

After breakfast I went to see the school house with Cora, Arthur, Annie, Millie and Edna[16] that my mother[17] went to school in when she was a girl, Then we went in the lane back of the house and got up on quite a large rock. When we were coming home we got some white birch bark. After dinner Cora and Aunt Milly Dean went with Arthur and Edna as far as Mrs. Dean’s house and Anna[18] Millie Uncle Ed and I went out to ride. We went to the Keag and stopped at Mr. Watts Lucy's Uncle. Mrs. Watts gave me an invitation to come and see her. We did not stop there but a few minutes then got in to the buggy and rode up past Milly Dean's. When we were coming home I saw the house that Aunt Mary lived in. When we got home the school mistress was there. In the evening I read in the Young Folks.[19]

Monday Oct. 25, 1869

The teacher boards here so I went to school with her Annie Millie and Leeland.[20] It seemed funny to see so few at school. There were only eleven with my self and all younger than I. They have no recess but let out half an hour sooner. In the evening Annie parched some field corn.[21] We had a good time eating it.

Tuesday Oct. 26. 1869

Went to school again. There were six boys and five girls. One is only three years old and knows nearly all her letters. The school teacher's name is Miss Lottie. There is one in some classes and two in others. In the evening just before supper Susen Cummings a foolish girl came in. She walks around and whistles and acts just like a man. Aunt Mercy K. told her go in the sitting room where Miss Lottie was ironing and stay while we eat supper. She took the baby[22] and sung to him but she sang so funny it scared the baby and she was afraid to bring him out because Aunt Mercy K. told her to stay in there. Aunt Mercy K. said she came in one Monday morning and wanted to turn the wringer to see how it went. After she had been turning it awhile she asked how much it cost. Aunt Mercy K. said it cost eight dollars. Susen thought it was a terrible lot of mony but said if she was keeping house she would not care if she had one.

Wednesday Oct. 27. 1869

I staid at home and footed a stocking for Uncle Ed. This forenoon Aunt Elizabeth[23] called in. She was going to have to walk to Rockland. She asked a few questions about home. I showed her my locket. She said she would not have known who they were if I had not told her. She wanted me to go home with her but I could not. In the evening Annie Millie and I were knitting out needles when Israel Clark came in.[24]

We sait here talking about Pa teaching school here. He said he could remember how Pa looked that morning when he came in and found the stove pipe knocked down and the seats knocked around and said he kept him all one noon time trying to make him make a bow but all the way Pa could make Israel bow was to put his hand on his head and bob it up and down.[25]

Thursday Oct. 28. 1869

Annie had a pair of stockings that were all done but one foot so I staid at home and finished it for her. When she came home she was surprised enough to find it done. In the afternoon they had to stay at home. Aunt Elizabeth came back from Rockland this afternoon and intends to go home in the morning and wants me to go with her but Uncle Ed got a letter from Cora wanting him to bring me up to Rockland tomorrow so I can not go home with her.

In the evening Annie Millie and I played with the dolls. We had three. One was fifty years old and was dressed like an old lady. She had a wig and cap which made her look very funny. We dressed the other two up and called them her children.

Friday Oct. 29. 1869

It snowed all day today but it melted nearly as fast as it came down. Aunt Elizabeth was intending to go home today but it stormed so she could not go. In the evening we played with the dolls and had a very nice time.

Saturday Oct. 30. 1869

We got a letter from Cora the other night asking Uncle Ed to take me up to Mrs. Shearers a cousin of Uncle Oliver’s[26] and he would meet us there Saturday and take us home. It stormed this morning but Uncle Ed took me to Rockland. I did not have a very pleasant ride. It was so cold and stormy. Uncle Oliver did not come till night. Cora and I were very glad to see him because we had been homesick all day and he brought us some letters from home too. Mine was from Dwight and Cora from Clara and Dwight.[27]

We stayed at Mr. Shearers all day. They are very rich but untidy. Mrs. S's daughter showed us a moss cottage she made and some wax flowers. Aunt Elizabeth said she would like to see Mr. Furness but did not say anything about Mrs. F. She said he was a business man and could help her sell her farm. I had a very nice time at Uncle Ed's but not a very nice time at Mr. Shearers. It snowed all day but there is not much on the ground now.

Appleton, Tuesday April 5. 1870

Another stormy day. I commenced to bind my quilt. Uncle got home at about four o’clock and said it was such bad traveling we could not go to Uncle Ed’s and he fell off from the wagon.[28]

Sunday April 24. 1870

Ollie and I had just got our work done and commenced to bathe when we heard a team drive up to the door. Ollie peeked out and said Why the whole of St. George had come.[29] Uncle Ed had hired a coach and brought his whole family and Aunt Sophie up here. They went away at four and took Edna with them and left Annie. Annie and I took a walk over to the grave yard.

April 25. 1870

It looks very much like a storm. It is the first day of Cora’s school. Uncle went to Camden. Ollie and Aunt washed. Annie and I washed the dishes etc. Ollie fixed a little cot bed and put up in her bed room for Ralph.[30] Maria and Ella[31] called in the evening.

Tuesday April 26. 1870

It is pleasant but quite windy and cold. I with Annies help washed the dishes brought in the clothes made the beds and waterd the plants and helped Aunt make some turnovers for dinner. Ollie and Aunt put a new covering on the lounge. Had a letter from Epson[32] and Elo.[33] Esbon has hired out to Hovy and Meed. Elo graduates the nineteenth of May. I got the ruffle partly basted on my apron.

Wednesday April 27. 1870

It is very pleasant. Aunt varnished her oil cloth[34] and my peach basket. Annie and I did our work as usual. Annie picked over some apples washed the floor made a cornstarch pudin some apple sauce and helped me iron. I made a Pork cake ironed and made some biscuits. Arthur and Uncle went to Camden. Roweena Dunton and Annie Pease called in the evening. Receipt for Pork cake two cups molasses one sugars flour eggs all kinds of spice two teaspoons soda lb. Pork choped fine two cups boiling water on it and a pound and a half of raisins.

Thursday April 28. 1870

Aunt and I got up from the breakfast table got ready jumped up on the egg boxes and went as far as Mr. Smalleys[35] with Arthur on his way to Union. We stopped until after dinner. I had a nice time running around with Lilliean Smalley. We walked home and called on nearly every house on the road which was twelve. We just got inside the door when it commenced to rain very hard.

Friday April 29. 1870

Uncle went to Camden. Aunt Lizzy Keene came and stayed all day and all night. Simpson and Ed[36] planted some potatoes. Ollie went down to Maria’s took my apron and finished it. Annie and I went down after the mail and did not get any. In the evening Ed Annie and I went up to see Mr. Peases brush pile burn.

Saturday April 30. 1870

Aunt and Ollie cleaned the chambers. I wrote a letter to Leigh.[37] In the afternoon Annie and I went down the river with twenty two others to a picnic. We fished and tramped around. We did not have any thing but cake for supper. We did not have a very nice time because it was cold.

Sunday May 1. 1870

Millie Slater went home and Annie and I road up as far as Mr. Sullivans with her. The Sunday School was organized. I started to go to meeting but it rained so came back and wrote Cora a letter. Annie and I went to meeting in the evening.

Monday May 2. 1870

Annie went home and Simpson went to Lynn. They both went down to Camden with Uncle. Aunt went to Mr. Fuller’s funeral. I went to a May party but the boys acted so we could not play or do any thing else so we girls went down to see Mr. Dunstons and had a nice time all to our selves.

Yes, Winnie’s diary ended with a sigh,[38] and in some ways, so did that season of our lives. Childhood doesn’t vanish all at once—it thins out like the tide, quietly retreating.

Our coastal towns revived and grew, the harbors launched new ships to at least some fanfare. The Knox Lincoln Railroad reached Thomaston in 1871 and Mama had another baby—Clyde, born August 23, just as the salt wind felt a little cooler and the harvest was on.

I remember holding baby Clyde, thinking he’d be growing up without his oldest sister around. By that time, I was already dreaming of Castine—book-filled days in a new place, a future shaped by something more than weather and wash. I loved the child, of course—but I knew what awaited: swaddling, teething, noise, diapers. Another childhood I’d help shape… but I’d be stepping away. This was my last year of high school in the village of Thomaston, and my sights were set on Castine. So were Aunt Sophia’s, even though she’d already been a teacher for over a decade. She said she had more to learn—and I believed her.

Notes

[1] See the History of Thomaston, Rockland, and South Thomaston, Maine, from their First Exploration, A. D. 1605; with Family Genealogies, for a detailed history of the region.

[2] Rusticators was an early name for tourists. During Annie’s youth, central Maine was a popular place to vacation in summer.

[3] Rosanna (Kalloch) and Ebenezer Crie resided in Victory, Maine, a small community in the interior of Waldo County. Ebenezer was connected to Matinicus Island through family inheritance, and although no record confirms Annie's presence there, family tradition and proximity suggest she likely spent time on the island during childhood summers.

[4] Maine contributed a higher proportion of its citizens to the Union armies than any other, as well as supplying money, equipment and stores

[5] Kalloch Family Reunion Association; http://kalloch.org

[6] Cora Butler, daughter of Oliver and Margareta (Graves) Butler was a school teacher in Appleton, Maine until she married Curtis Pease.

[7] Louisa Marie Graves, Annie’s father’s youngest sister became a school teacher and married Thomaston’s schoolteacher, Edwin Furness, in 1852. He had recently returned from Indiana, where he’d gone in search of opportunity and succeeded as a businessman. Soon after their marriage, Edwin took Louisa west—back to Indiana—where they helped establish a new community and raised their family. Family Biography

[8] The 1869 Passamaquoddy Bay earthquake, with an estimated magnitude of 5.7, was the strongest historic quake felt directly in Maine—rattling chimneys and plaster in South Thomaston on October 21, just a day before Winnie arrived.

[9] Ollie was Olive (Warland) Butler, the wife of Simpson Butler, son of Oliver and Margaretta (Graves) Butler. Simpson had a store in Camden but Olive was often a fixture at her in-law’s home in Appleton.

[10] Ebon’s Maria refers to Ebson Butler’s wife. Maria Louise (Stoddard) Butler. Ebson was born 1846, son of Annie’s Aunt Margarreta (Graves) and Uncle Oliver Butler of Appleton, Maine.

[11] Mercy Kalloch (Hathorn) Graves, Annie’s mother, married to Edward Small Graves.

[12] Annie and Winnie’s cousin Cora Butler, daughter of Oliver and Margaret (Graves) Butler.

[13] Melia (Butler) Dean born 1797, wife of Deacon Samuel Dean of South Thomaston, Maine. She would be the Aunt of Winnie Furness, but no relation to Annie Graves aside from being extended family. One of Annie’s younger brothers would carry the name of Samuel Dean Graves.

[14] Annie and Winnie’s cousin, Arthur Bulter born 1856, son of Margaret (Graves) and Oliver Butler of Appleton, Maine.

[15] Winnie’s Uncle Ed was Annie’s father, Edward Small Graves

[16] Millie and Edna are Annie’s younger sisters.

[17] Winnie’s mother was Louisa Graves, married to Edwin Furness.

[18] There is little doubt that Annie Graves was named after her grandmother Rosanna (Kalloch) Crie and called Anna and Annie. Interchangeably.

[19] Our Young Folks was an iIllustrated monthly magazine for girls and boys.

[20] Leland Graves, Annie’s brother.

[21] Parched corn was a common 19th-century snack made by roasting or toasting dried field corn (not sweet corn) over heat until it puffed and browned. It was portable, kept well, and was eaten plain or with a bit of salt or sugar. Both Indigenous and settler communities relied on it for travel or as a quick bite during work in the fields. For a visitor like Winnie, it likely tasted novel—crunchy, smoky, and sweeter than expected.

[22] The baby was Samuel Graves.

[23] Elizabeth Graves, daughter of Nathaniel and Louisa (Emery) Graves; widow of Captain Benjamin Thompson, married 2nd to Peter Waltz.

[24] Israel Clark, born 1842, was a family friend and possibly a shirt-tail relative. He was the son of James and Sarah (Wilson) Clark and a student when Winnie’s father, Edwin Furness was a school teacher in South Thomaston.

[25] In 19th-century schoolrooms, teachers sometimes required unruly pupils to “bow” as a formal sign of submission or apology. Here, "Pa" tried to compel Israel to perform the gesture, but the boy resisted until "Pa" physically pressed his head forward to mimic the bow.

[26] Oliver Butler, Margaretta (Graves) Butler’s husband of Appleton, Maine.

[27] Dwight and Clara Furness, Winnie’s brother and sister.

[28] Out of the mouths of babes? It’s likely Winnie was echoing something she heard an adult say—perhaps in frustration—that Uncle Ed had “fallen off the wagon,” a phrase still used today to describe a lapse in sobriety. Family stories suggest that Ed struggled with drinking at times, and this may have been one such episode, quietly reshaping the girls’ plans for a visit that never happened.

[29] South Thomaston officially separated from St. George in 1849, but the Graves farm sat about four miles south of the village center, on the road to St. George. Given the geography—and the habit of holding onto familiar place names—it’s likely that folks still referred to the farm as being in St. George, even after the boundary changed.

[30] Ralph Butler, born 1867 son of Simpson and Olive (Warland) Butler. Grandson of Margarreta and Oliver Butler and 2nd cousin of Winnie and Annie.

[31] Maria (Epson Butler’s wife). Ella is Ella Harrington, and related to the Butlers of Appleton.

[32] Epson Furness who is Winnie’s brother who is at home in Furnessville, Indiana

[33] Eloise Butler (b. 1852), daughter of Oliver and Margaretta (Graves) Butler who is still living in Appleton, Maine in 1870. After graduating from the Eastern State Normal School in Castine in 1873, Eloise taught school and later made her home in Minneapolis, Minnesota. She never married, but left behind a remarkable legacy: the Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden and Bird Sanctuary, the oldest public wildflower garden in the United States, still thrives today. Her life and writings are detailed in The Wild Gardener: The Life and Selected Writings of Eloise Butler by Martha Hellander (now out of print, though used copies occasionally surface online). A selection of her writings and historical documents is also freely available through the Friends of Eloise Butler Garden website.

[34] An oil cloth was a decorative and durable floor covering made from hemmed canvas—often repurposed sailcloth—painted with detailed designs and sealed with a mixture of resin and linseed oil. These coverings added both insulation and color to wood floors, and were prized for their longevity in hardworking homes.

[35] This is likely Thomas Smalley, a sailor born in 1841 who lived in South Thomaston and married to Sarah Maria Fogarty. While Mr. Smalley wasn’t related to Winnie, he was Annie’s great-great uncle by marriage. The connection winds through Annie’s maternal grandmother, Rosanna (Kalloch) Libby Hathorn Crie, who was widowed once, divorced her second husband, Capt. James Hathorne, and later married Ebenezer Crie. Rosanna’s first husband, Henry Libby, fathered five children with her, though only one—Mary Jane Libby—survived to adulthood. Mary Jane married William Fogarty, and their daughter, Sarah Maria Fogarty, went on to marry Thomas Smalley. Sarah’s maiden surname may also explain why Annie’s sister Jennie was given “Fogerty” as her middle name.

[36] Ed is Edgar Oliver Butler, the youngest son of Margaretta and Oliver Butler

[37] Leigh Furness is another one of Winnie’s brothers.

[38] Winnie Furness’ journal stops May 10th and resumes five months later, on October 17th after she is home in Furnessville, Indiana. A collection of four years of Winnifred Furness' journals are held at the Minnesota State Historical Society, attached to the Eloise Butler papers and collections.