 For Unto Us a Child is Born We lived next door to the Christian Church parsonage. We didn’t go to church though my mother was a righteous person. There was no cursing, lying or drinking in our house. She never did laundry on Sunday and was careful not to offend our pastoral neighbors. However, in the forties and early fifties, all of the stores were closed on Sunday with the exception of a Jewish store in Circleville. It was a peaceful time. Sometimes my Dad took us for a ride (to be discussed later) or company came for Sunday dinner. We still got one newspaper on Sunday, which our whole family read. My Dad liked certain sections and the rest of us had our favorite parts which we sometimes argued over who got what and in what pecking order that we got them. Jean and I often argued over the comics. I liked the Word Scramble and the Tab section of the Columbus Dispatch. Our family always read the newspapers….every one of us. We got the Columbus Dispatch, The Citizen Journal, The Circleville Herald and the Williamsport News (once a week). We always had books. Every Christmas my mother bought at least one book for my sister Betty and me. When I was six or seven years old, she bought us a Bible story book for Christmas. As I read the Christmas story about the birth of Jesus for the first time, I knew there was a God and felt His presence. Though I didn’t become a Christian until I was fifteen, that year a Chlld was born in my heart. May you sense God’s presence and His Son Jesus be born in your heart this Christmas too! ©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2019 Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck
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 The Outhouse Since the backyard and garden were low lying and got muddy every time it rained, my Dad and brother poured a cement sidewalk to both wells and to the outhouse. They did a good job because the sidewalk was still in good shape when I sold the lot they were on in October 2018. I don’t know if the outhouse was there already or if my Dad purchased it. It was white but was natural wood on the inside. It looked new to me. I think it had one hole but may have had two. I didn’t like outhouses because I was always afraid of bees, spiders and snakes. Nevertheless, my family’s motto has always been, “You do what you have to do.” I told the following story to my grandchildren and they found it to be unbelievable, so I thought it was worth repeating here. What did you do when the accumulation of “stuff” in the outhouse became a mountain? Well, you hire someone to come and clean it out. He came wearing hip boots. He had a team of horses pulling a wagon with two black, metal barrels in it. He opened a bottom hinged door in the back of the outhouse and commenced to shovel. The “stuff” was deposited into the barrels and then carted it off. I don’t know where he carted the “stuff” to afterwards. I always watched everything that went on but I didn’t hang around too close to see that. If your kids or grandkids think they have hard lives, tell them this story. It was a terrible job but somebody had to do it. Oh, and my parents didn’t have a bathroom with a commode until I was in college (1956-1960). Today when I have plumbing problems, I panic. ©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2019
Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck  The Well When we moved to the house on Water Street it already had a well. Since Williamsport is noted for its Sulphur Spring down by Deer Creek and the bridge, it was obvious that our water would be tinged with yellow sulfur. I believe the well was lined with bricks. It was called a hard water well because the water seeped through the ground and absorbed the minerals that were contained in it. My mother wanted a soft water cistern to wash clothes and other things, so my Dad and brother Bob dug one behind the house. The reason the water is considered soft is because it is rainwater that comes off the roof into a gutter pipe and into the cistern without having gone through the minerals in the ground. My Dad said roots had grown into the hard water well and he needed to clean it out. He brought a large, gasoline pump home and pumped the water from the well into the garden area. Then he and his helpers put a ladder into the well and my Dad climbed down. I wasn’t very old, and it was traumatic for me to see him descend into the well. I went into the house and lay down on his side of the bed and cried. I hadn’t thought about that for years and didn’t want to think about it ever again. My mother lived with me around 1999 and one day, out of the blue, she asked, “Do you remember when Bert when down into the well and you cried?” Well yes……….. Anyway, one of our genealogist relatives, Cora Skaggs Fannin, speaking of a well at the home place in Martha, Kentucky, said in her writings, “We had a well with awful [sic] good cold water.” Now it’s my turn, “We had a well with awful [sic] good cold water.” ©Marilyn Francis Ferguson 2019
Photography/graphics by Michele Ferguson Schuck |
Marilyn Francis FergusonGrowing up in Williamsport, Ohio is a blog by Marilyn Francis Ferguson which describes small town life in the 1940s and 1950s. Blog Categories
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