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Preface Adaline Pates Potter, known to all as Pates (pate eze) came to Mount Holyoke College from western Pennsylvania with the firm, if romantic, intention of majoring in French and joining the US Consular Service on graduation.
She blamed her inability to discipline her love of telling tales on her Kentucky father and on her mother and four siblings, all of whom were passionate readers and indulgent listeners. So I shall start with a brief outline of the Mount Holyoke College community of which we were only a part. A returning alumna trying to find the Mount Holyoke she knew in the late a€?twenties, would see much to reassure her if she drove along College Street.
Yet, back of the faA§ade, the college has changed not only structurally but essentially, and one of those most essential changes is the student body. Most of us were Protestant: Congregationalist, Presbyterian, or Methodist, although there was a sprinkling of Episcopalians and Quakers. If all that lack of variety -- social, religious, and class -- made us parochial in outlook, it was also the basis for what I find the most distinguishing and influential characteristic of the college I knew: we were classless. It all happened between September 1928 and June 1929; that was a very far-off time -- sixty-seven or sixty-eight years ago, to be specific. If Sycamores has ghosts today, I think they are not of the students I knew there, but Margaret, Nellie, and Dunk, assuming still their roles as guardians of the house. Later came the daffodils, narcissus, and hyacinths in clumps at the bases of the big trees, filling the borders, escaping somehow into the wilderness beyond the grape arbor. Naturally, being girls still, we did not confine our reaction to the garden to aesthetic raptures.
Having chosen Sycamores for its eighteenth-century charm, we tried to furnish our rooms in the spirit of the house, at least in so far as our not very knowledgeable taste, our pocketbooks, and our comfort allowed. We had the southwest room at the top of the stairs on the second floor, the one with its own dogleg staircase leading to a locked door on the third floor. We tried to make the double desk, again college-issue, as inconspicuous as possibly by setting it to the left of the door; at least, it didna€™t strike the eye as one entered. In the fall of 1971 or a€?72, the Dean of Students office, faced with a shortage of rooms for an unexpectedly large freshman classand having on its hands an empty Sycamores -- if a really old house so full of memories can ever be called a€?emptya€? -- decided to move foreign students from Dickinson, where most of those on the graduate level had been housed for at least twenty years, to Sycamores; that is, from the extreme south end of campus to the even more extreme north. As foreign student adviserI was worried about the change, but since I had been presented with a fait accompli, I had no opportunity to raise the questions that troubled me. I must confess that it worked out fairly well, though the difficulties Ia€™d predicted did arise.
Despite their initial disappointment, they began to accept the situation, and gave in gracefully, or at least, not too plaintively, as they fell into the rhythms of their adopted life. Second semester had begun, everyone had returned, somewhat gratefully, to the safety of campus after the confusing scramble of Christmas vacation, and everyone had settled in nicely, I thought. So she went off with the key and it was so effective that Miss Lyon returned to wherever she had walked in my day, and never turned up at Sycamores again.
Our relationship with our Head of Hall was fairly close, but our meetings usually took place at meals, in the halls, or in our own rooms, though Evelyn Ladd, as House President, probably saw more of her than I was aware of.
We knew, of the room itself, that one whole wall was white-painted paneling with a fireplace, and that it was fitted up like a sitting room, with chairs and a cot, of the sort we students had, with a serviceable dark green couch-cover.
This juxtaposition of bathroom and Miss Dunklee was at the heart of one of our more dramatic experiences that winter. My memory may be wrong: it couldna€™t have been more than a healthy trickle, though a reprehensible one, after all. Still there were, there had to be, lapses; further disappointments for Miss Dunklee, though none so serious as the bath episode.
Whatever the reason for our unease, an evening came when we feared that the sheer numbers of our small infractions had accomplished what one serious carelessness had failed to do: discouraged Dunk irrevocably.
She smiled benignly, went into her room, and shut the door, leaving us to trail upstairs feeling, if truth must be told, a little flat. The name a€?Sycamoresa€? brings up memories of one of the happiest years of my College life. I wish I could recall when we first had Sycamoresa€™ Delight, and I wish I could say that it was something Escoffier would have risked his life for. Since ordinary dates were usually confined to weekends, a week day was chosen for this occasion, in order to highlight the glory. Meanwhile, the two young lady dates, having got themselves dressed for an evening out, were lurking on the second floor at the top of the stairs. About the other, I can be more sure and detailed, though the 1931 Llamarada, placing that wintera€™s Llamie Dance in late October, shakes my certainty about the background. There was much good-natured chaffing as each date boasted of his prowess as a trencherman and vowed to add his name to the list. Feminine modesty required observance of two conflicting dicta: one did not interfere with the innocent pleasures of onea€™s date, and one did not allow notoriety, especially if there was any danger that it might be accompanied by public ridicule. Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays differed somewhat from class days, and greatly and crucially from the present weekends. Within that routine, there were, naturally, variations, sometimes worthy to my nostalgic mind of treatment in some detail, sometimes very minor but insisting on a brief notice.
Some of our elders, and some of the more conventional of us, must have thought there were other, more dangerous flames that year, for 1929 was an election year and, though the Republican Herbert Hoover became president that fall, despite my own staunch adherence to the Democratic party, radical criticism, even some talk of listening to the demands of a€?those unionsa€?, was in the air. For the most part, though, our interests and activities were confined to college and, more specifically, the dorm.
Such long walks were common for us in spite of the skirts we still wore everywhere, but they tended to be informal.
Some of our walking was less healthy that sophomore year than Outing Club hiking; the fall of 1928 saw the Administrationa€™s capitulation to the Campus cigarette lobby.
In those days, one of the entertainment glories of the Connecticut Valley was the Court Square Theater in Springfield. One incident that really had nothing to do with Sycamores but certainly lent flavor to our lives there, took place during the winter.


A function of Jeanette Marksa€™s Play Shop was to lend its expertise to the foreign language departments when they put on their annual plays.
More connected to Sycamores was one more of these passing events, small in itself but important to the participants; in this case, to me. Sophomore year, as Ia€™ve said, was the year a class began to define itself as a part of the college community. Each class inherited its color -- red or blue, green or yellow -- and its heraldic emblem -- lion or Pegasus, griffin or Sphinx -- but the song had to be original. End of an extraordinarily satisfying year for seventeen sophomores and for one -- yes, I really do believe it -- often distraught head-resident.
The only explanation I can advance for such an uncharacteristic omission is that this was a a€?middlea€? college year, merely the end of a dormitory, not the end of college. Nevertheless -- here the story-teller gives a shout of triumph -- I do remember most fondly and with a little hindsight embarrassment one event that might be described as a climax of sorts: Dunka€™s final attempt to give pleasure to a€?her housea€?. I cana€™t say whether I had an exam that morning, but I do recall the late May flowers and fragrance and our great pleasure when Dunk told us as we assembled for lunch that we were to have a picnic in the garden. The cup was not quite full, however: no food had appeared and Evelyn Ladd, the designated hostess, was missing. Miss Dunklee, mindful of the passing time and Miss Greena€™s inexorable schedule, reluctantly took care of the first problem, giving away the second part of her secret: the food was to be hunted for.
The food was laid out on the tables, our plates were piled very high; Miss Dunklee and Mr.
Someone else was sent, like Sister Anne in the Bluebeard story, to see whether a laggard Evelyn was even so belatedly wandering down the road from the college. At about five oa€™clock that afternoon Evelyn turned up, exhausted but jubilant that the questions on the exam she had just taken had called forth her best. I find it hard to accept that the sophomores I have been writing about and whom I can see so clearly are now in their mid-eighties, elderly women by anyonea€™s standards. PrefaceA  Adaline Pates Potter, known to all as Pates (pate eze) came to Mount Holyoke College from western Pennsylvania with the firm, if romantic, intention of majoring in French and joining the US Consular Service on graduation. A A A  She blamed her inability to discipline her love of telling tales on her Kentucky father and on her mother and four siblings, all of whom were passionate readers and indulgent listeners. We were an astonishingly homogenous group.A  Almost all of us were middle-class and Protestant and came from east of the Rockies, and most of those, from the Atlantic coastal states north of the Mason-Dixon line. Yet, back of the faA§ade, the college has changed not only structurally but essentially, and one of those most essential changes is the student body.A  As Ia€™ve said, the student body was almost ridiculously homogeneous. Lydia’s last year was very tough, her restrictive diet was something to get depressed over. I only recently came across your blog through Pinterest and am already spreading the word to friends and family. Lydia is 10 years old and has taken on care of her grandmother for several years now since her parents died. Please keep them in your prayers as we collaborate with some friends to raise funds to build them a new house in the coming months or so.
Essubi: Growing Up With Hope, Part 1 - About Child-Headed Families supported by URF - Documentary by students at College of St.
You can support URF to become sustainable by contributing to the chicken project or other income-generating project.
George Louis, Hereditary Prince of Brunswick-Luneburg (later King George I of Great Britain). Seems either no one is talking about louis daguerre at this moment on GOOGLE-PLUS or the GOOGLE-PLUS service is congested.
She hastily switched to an English major when she learned that Consuls are expected to have at least a rudimentary knowledge of economics, however, she did take as many courses in government and political science as the college then offered.
Dedicated smokers now snatched a fugitive drag in dormitory rooms, with all the consequent flurry of suddenly flung-open windows and frantic waving of towels if someone in authority approached.
Lovell freely, to take us to the Court Square, and to Springfield at the beginning of vacations. Woolley Hall, the Rockies, Skinner, the Mary Lyon gates, Mary Lyon itself, the libe, and Dwight have altered their front elevations so little, or so subtly, that she might even overlook the new link between the libe and what she knew as the a€?art buildinga€?.
If you are new here, you might want to subscribe to the RSS feed for updates on this topic.I am back, guys. I know she is not suffering anymore and that gives me comfort but I will never stop missing her.
Anything that tasted good or had any nutrition in it was off limits because her kidneys couldn’t handle it. The loss of my sister-in-law is still a difficult one to process and accept for us as a family.
Donate online or Send a check to Uganda Rural Fund, 12829 River Road, Richmond, VA 23238 OR online Thank You. After graduation at the height of the a€?Great Depressiona€?, she spent four years in Northampton, Massachusetts, as a governess, finishing that period with an M.A. This wartime work led her to return to the Mount Holyoke English department, as a teacher of English as a foreign language and of composition. I am so sorry to hear of your diagnosis and do know that life on dialysis has many challenges, food being one of them.
In 1960 the position of foreign student advisor was added.A  She retired as Associate Professor of English and died in 2006.
Brad’s sister Lydia, my sister-in-law went into a multiple organ failure while being hooked to a dialysis machine. She loved avocados and often joked that she only wanted a new kidney so she could eat an avocado topped toast for breakfast one more time.
Add freshly squeezed lime juice, chopped tomatoes, chopped cilantro, minced garlic and season with salt and pepper.


I actually was present at my sister’s first meeting with a nutritionist when she was first put on dialysis, so I understand how limiting your choices are. In September of the year 1728, King George II issued a Royal Patent in Virginia Colony which gave James Jr. At Northfield she was given permission to marry Gordon Potter; her employment was terminated two years later, on the grounds that, as a married woman, she would be unlikely to stay in the school into an old age. Yet here it was, our home for some nine months, and a home we had chosen for ourselves when low room-choosing numbers allowed the choice. At Northfield she was given permission to marryA  Gordon Potter; her employment was terminated two years later, on the grounds that, as a married woman, she would be unlikely to stay in the school into an old age.
I’ve told my family that no one knows when they will be called home to be with our Lord. Unfortunately, I am not familiar with any blogs that share recipes for people with kidney failure. Many thanks to Julius, his family and friends in Germany and many others who have made sacrifices to give a gift of shelter to Lydia and granny. This horrendous thing happened to the girl who wasn’t even 30, who loved life and embraced it with a total abandon which included the good and the bad. I have just been given some kidney and heart information I’d rather not know but must deal with positively.
The bad part was her health but she fought a good fight, she inspired and encouraged  so many even in the midst of her own suffering. Since her kidney failure she was dependent on a dialysis machine to keep her alive until she got a kidney transplant. Jeremiah moved to Oxford, NC, in Granville County, and bought land there from Israel Eastwood on February 18, 1773. She tried to take in all experiences she could think of, even if they terrified her like skydiving!
Jeremiah was granted 118 acres of land from King George III in Brunswick County, Virginia along the Meherrin River, Stony Creek, and Great Creek. Henry seems to have been a man who was always ready to make a dime, and was quiet good at it. There was a famous Civil War battle fought at the home of Henry and Ruth and is written in books that can be found in the local Library's. The next morning a battle was fought between Cox's Army and the Flat Top Copperheads, captained by the famous Richard Foley. She had to be a very brave lady to stay and face the Union Troop's without Henry there to back her up. I am sure that they were more than happy to depart her home the next morning, and the fight with Richard Foley and his Copperheads had to be mild to what she had put them through.
I have also wondered where Henry was, that Ruth was in the home alone except for her small children? It is very likely that he did and was unable to get back, or he could have fought with the Copperheads. When the State of West Virginia tore down and burned the Clark home to make a new road, Josiah Carl Clark says there were balls still in bedded it the logs from the battle fought there in 1862. It would have been nice if the State could or would have saved the home as an Historical building.
Virginia, then sometime before 1860 they sold that to a William Clark ( don't know what relation, but am sure there is one) and bought the property in Camp Creek where they lived out their lives. Henry gave the property to their son John and lived there with him until he died sometime before 1890." 1~Mary A.
Isaac was a farmer in Estill Cty, adjoinng Estill Springs at Irvine, which he owned at one time.
Isaac Mize was one of the leading citizens of his community in Estill County, where he was engaged in farming and stock trading, and served in the State Legislature and Judge. It has been said that the first fighting in the Civil War, warbetween the States, was on his farm in Boone Cty, Missouri.
Walker, had The Virginia Pharmacy in Independence, MO (father of Henrietta Walker Childers of Independence). Nancy Walker's sister, Betsy married Thomas Gaddy in Estill Cty in 1815, They went to Illinois about 1833.
Eubank:  2~Simpson Grant Eubank lived in Howard Cty, Missouri, where he died in 1906, near Armstrong. Mize, married Luella Cockrell and was a merchant at Hazel Green, where he died, and enrolling clerk in the House of Representatives for several terms.
He was a fine Christian gentleman and passed away at the age of sixty-five years at Hazel Green, where his son, Carl, lived. Greene Mize, the eldest son in the large family of Isaac Mize, the younger, was a leading merchant of Vaughn's Mill, Powell County.
There was a famous Civil War battle fought at the home of Henry and Ruth and is written in books that can be found in the local Library's. The next morning a battle was fought between Cox's Army and the Flat Top Copperheads, captained by the famous Richard Foley.
She had to be a very brave lady to stay and face the Union Troop's without Henry there to back her up. Virginia, then sometime before 1860 they sold that to a William Clark ( don't know what relation, but am sure there is one) and bought the property in Camp Creek where they lived out their lives.



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