My Grandmother's Grandmother

My grandmother died recently and her children are busy sorting through her possessions and dealing with her estate.  My aunt found some handwritten stories my grandmother wrote for a class on "How to Tell Your Life Story," and has transcribed a couple of them.  This one is the story of my grandmother's grandmother, and I thought it was interesting enough to share here.  It's amazing that there are just a few generations separating me from Indians, civil war prisons, and a life so much more difficult than the one I actually have. 

 

My Grandmother, the Folk Doctor

By Mary B. Afflerbach

 

When I first got to know my maternal grandmother, she was well into her eighties and blinded by cataracts.  She was a round little woman who sat in a rocking chair most of the day, usually with a half-knit sock in her lap or a pan of peas to shell.  She could tell fascinating stories, though, about the Indians who used to roam the surrounding mountains, and the adventures of her brothers, one of whom fought in the Civil War and was, for many months, held prisoner in the notorious Andersonville prison.  My cousins, with whom my grandmother lived, were bored by her stories which they had heard many times, but I never tired of them. 

My mother, however, gave me a different picture of my grandmother - one of a strong, pioneer woman who overcame personal tragedies and gave much aid and comfort to her neighbors.  She was of Scotch-Irish descent, but her roots in the Pennsylvania mountains where she lived ran deep.  One of her ancestors fought in the American Revolution and is buried in the local churchyard.  She married a Pennsylvania-Dutch farmer from "over the mountain," but she herself probably never traveled 50 miles from where she was born.  She gave birth to 12 children, only half of whom lived to grow to adulthood.  With no immunizations, childhood diseases took a heavy toll of infants, and despite my grandmother's considerable nursing skills, 6 of her babies died before they were 2 years old.

My grandmother had no formal medical training, but from her mother she had learned the folk remedies and some Indian medicine, and she seemed to have an instinct for diagnosis and treatment.  In her garden, she grew the herbs to brew her teas - calomel and pennyroyal, boneset and catnip to relive the fevers and soothe the stomach.  From the fields, she gathered plants to make poultices to reduce swellings and draw out infections.  Goose grease applied to the chest on a flannel clothe was good to break up congestion, and honey and cider vinegar soothed a cough.  She was widely known for her cures and when anyone in the neighborhood felt sick, they sent for "Aunt Jane," as my grandmother was universally known.  After all, the nearest medical doctor was 20 miles away, which is a long distance by horse and buggy.

My grandmother was also a midwife and delivered half of the babies born in the county.  She even delivered by sister and older brother, but not me as I was born far away in a distant state.

When my mother, who was the youngest, was 14, her father was killed by a horse and died from his injuries.  My grandmother continues to work the farm with her sons until all of the children married and left home.  She lived until she was 94 years old, and had she not fallen and broken her hip, she probably would have reached the century mark.

My grandmother had little education, never traveled more than a few miles from home, never had much money or other possessions, never wrote a book or held political office, but when I think of all of the lives she touched, I consider her quite a remarkable woman.