Patch Blog: Country Gal/City Woman 'Winter Wonderland--East Coast Style!'

You can take "it to the bank" that after reading this Blog, some readers might question its veracity, some might think an overly-active imagination is at play while others might wish they could have been in my shoes for a couple of days in late October!  Indeed, it was dreamlike and almost too good to be true! 

Therefore, in my defense I will now quote a fellow humorist who shares my playful sense of humor, former columnist and author of some "funny stuff" himself, Dave Barry when he says:  "I am NOT making this up!" So help me Hannah!  Might it help convince these beloved readers if I added with a touch of whimsy:  "Over the bodies of my straight-laced Quaker ancestors!"?

Let's find out....

The long week-end of October 28-29-30-31 turned out to be like no other I have ever experienced.  And I want to do it again for it bordered on "magical," a word I use only for occasions that transport me into a "land of awe and wonderment."

For purposes of this Blog, that land (actually state) would be Connecticut, the object of daughter Mary's affection and determined prayers for a slight scattering of snow upon which to plant her dainty footprints during our short visit.

(What happened, besides the imprinting of her snow-boots, was termed "epic" by newscasters across the United States during the history-making snowstorm that caught cities in that tiny land of my straight-laced Quaker ancestors by surprise.  Across Connecticut millions of people were without power as were residences, hotels, schools, restaurants and businesses up and down the Main Streets which were still largely affected when we took our leave on the 31st of October. Life, as they knew it on October 28th, had come to a grinding halt...

(You should know, here and now, that it was Mary who "prayed" for a baby sister when she was 14 years of age and her Mother was 43, and I had to tell her on the way home from the doctor's office that God does not always answer prayers as we would like them.  "Prayed-for" baby sister Dana just turned that age the other day so, as they say in Iowa:  "What do I know?"  Thanks, Melinda Henneberger, for that Facebook reminder!)

You should also know that this will be a combined Weather Report (see above), Report Card and a History Lesson all rolled up into one Blog, all because of an Invitation issued by The Taft School in Watertown where youngest grandson, Cole, is enrolled for his Sophomore year, to attend their Annual Parents' Week-end festivities.  Mary and I tagged along with Dana to see how Taft was treating our boy, to meet his teachers and to sit in on some of his classes.  JetBlue got us there (and returned us home) in a timely and snack-filled manner via Burbank and JFK Airports, and we are grateful.

We truly got more than we expected, and deserved, that week-end.

From Day One, our anxieties (not Dana for she had none) were put to rest about Cole's decision to enter Taft School so far away from Arcadia.  From Headmaster William MacMullen who calls himself "Willy" to Head Chef "Jerry" who calls me "The Bomb" (I will not call into question his name-calling because I have not a clue except to say that I may have made an "impact" upon him as an ardent admirer of his tasty recipes) to the delightful faculty children playing in the hallways of the dorms, to the well-trained canine pets that roamed the school grounds on leash and freely, to the scrumptious cuisine meals designed by Chef Jerry and prepared by his huge staff of food employees...but, above all, to the teachers whom we met while on campus, ALL made the whole Taft Experience a family affair of the first order. 

The Taft School was founded by Horace Dutton Taft, the younger brother of President William Taft, some 125 years ago and has as its Motto:  "Non ut sibi ministretur sed ut ministret"   In English:  "Not to be served but to serve"  Perhaps with Quaker roots, perhaps not, but one that has invaded my heart and will not leave.  (The Taft School is worthy of Googling...)

The full meaning of that Motto came through, loud and clear, to Mary, Dana and myself the last night of our stay in Connecticut when we were advised by the Waterbury Police Department NOT to stay at the darkened Hampton Inn for safety reasons, to find shelter elsewhere.  As we were exiting the Hampton's parking lot, another car was also on its way out, inside a lone woman with two teenage children.  Lowering the car window, Dana called out to the anxious woman asking where they were going to stay for the evening since the Hampton Inn looked abandoned.  "Don't know!" was her worrisome answer.

My dutiful daughter suggested that she follow us to the emergency shelter the Police Department had recommended, and off we went down the snow-cleared highway to be rescued in the dark of night.  Ooops....

Neither of the two GPS systems in the cars could locate the emergency shelter...why not?  A better plan?  Twice having circled the somewhat "suspect" neighborhood, we stopped briefly for a quick conference of sorts to figure out our next move. 

It was then that Karen, the Mom, mentioned that they were in town to interview Benedict for Taft the following morning.  Karen, Emily and Benedict has just arrived from Germany, were as temporarily homeless as we were.  Taft, who had accommodated fourteen visiting people the previous night because of the heavy snowstorm, was about to be hit by six more "lostees."  Things were looking up!  We knew that Taft's Motto and their hospitality committee would be our refuge.

Taft's administrative personnel put us in six warm and cozy beds in the school's Infirmary with bathroom facilities and offers for breakfast the next morning.  Dana was determined that we sneak out at 6 a.m. as we had all slept in our clothes, none of us had fresh make-up to apply for a decent public appearance; no way were we going to show up for breakfast with the students and faculty looking less than "kempt."   Sneak we did, looking suspiciously like "Peeping Thomasinas" as we skirted the black ice and small hills of snow that still gladdened the heart of my almost-senior-citizen daughter with the faith of a child. 

Once more on the road heading for Hampton Inn, we settled for hot coffee, two loaded bagels and one glazed donut at a tiny cafe, the only place open in town, buoyed by the easy laughter and warm smiles on the faces of the displaced townspeople as they entered the cafe operated by the "town Mom" and her donut-maker son.  I was reminded of The Farmers' Kitchen in Atlantic, operated by that famous pie-maker Charlene Johnson and her son, Mark, where all the surrounding farmers will gather to exchange their favorite snow stories later on this winter!

The history-making snowstorm had finished its course; whimsical figures of snowmen/women mysteriously appeared in front yards and on campus.  Pristine and untouched by Mary's footprints were miles and miles of heaven-sent snow as we traveled towards the Hampton Inn to rescue our suitcases and Estee Lauder make-up to continue our way to JFK, homeward bound.

Sad to see was the downing of stately trees loaded with the heavy wet snow throughout the area we traveled.  The beautiful leaves just "turning" as nature had intended but now hidden from sight, played heavily into the trees being uprooted, leveling nearby power lines.

We do plan on going back another time to see the "turning of the leaves," nephews and nieces living in Boston and Warwick, R.I.  and...to see Cole and his new buddies, Max of Canada and Paul of Houston, forever bonded by Taft ties. (We were impressed by Max who felt at ease in our presence, quickly changing from street clothes into his sports uniform without fanfare or embarrassment, and Paul who never failed to add "Ma'am" when answering our thousand-and-one questions.) 

What are the odds, the chances, of two descendants of early prominent settlers of Connecticut (of this very vicinity yet) and New Jersey of the late 1600's-early 1700's period meeting face-to-face this particular week-end without ever knowing they were remotely related/connected less than a week ago?  I will leave that to the mathematicians in the family but here is what I do know... 

In reading some of my older genealogical papers (printed 60 years ago by a member of the Marsh Family) I picked up on the name of Mary Shotwell (No. 1) my Grandmother so designated because after her demise, Grandpa Samuel Marsh married another Mary Shotwell (No. 2).  Stay with me, okay?  My actual Grandmother birthed six children by Grandpa Marsh and the second Mary Shotwell delivered eight more in due time. Little is known of the parentage of Mary No. 1, and I may well have to give up bowling for a year or so to research this line.  Genealogy is not for sissies, either!

One week before our trip, Taft School sent to my home its school paper, The Taft Papyrus.  Spread across the front page was a picture of 22 teachers beginning their first year at Taft.  In the back row of the picture, third person from the left was the face of a nice-looking (of course!) man by the name of Will Shotwell...I am NOT making this up!

Ok, thinking ahead, it will be a busy time for everyone at Taft this Parents' Week-end and wouldn't it be prudent to write a letter of inquiry and information to Will Shotwell, leave it at the school office for it to be delivered to him sometime, and enjoy the rest of the Taft experience, bases covered?  And did...write the letter, I mean.

But would it hurt if I did a bit of sleuthing along the way, asking teachers and office personnel if they knew this Will Shotwell.  Of course, they did, but could they produce him?  No!  Hey, I have read enough of Janet Evanovich's Stephanie Plum's tricks to know that she is relentless in her pursuits, eventually gets her man and collects a handsome paycheck as a Bounty Hunter.  I could do no less....

Will Shotwell proved to be elusive as he met with students and parents and time was drawing near for our leavetaking; my futile attempts at praying for his appearance seemed to have gone unheard until...almost the very last minute of the very last day of our stay at Taft.  While we were enjoying the last bites of our very last meal with the students and Faculty who should walk in the dining area that Sunday evening but a nice-looking (of course!) man who looked enough like the man in the photograph to be his brother.  Better than that...it was Will Shotwell, in person!  You could have knocked me over with a peacock feather!  I remain a Believer!

Will had, by then, read my letter, knew of the ancestors I had named in it, and confirmed that we are, indeed, cousins, via the Marsh-Shotwell connections.  I can live with the fact that my newly-acquired cousin is an English major, a member of Phi Beta Kappa, has a Master's and Ph.D., specializing in English and French Literature of the 18th Century, now teaches English, coaches rowing and pulls dorm duty.  I trust he can live with the fact that I am a Blogger/Addict.  I shall send him notification when this Blog appears in arcadia.patch.com and ask for his comments.  It's the least he can do for all my detective work, you think?

Will has already e-mailed me additional information about the Shotwell Family and that will "keep me off the streets and out of jail" for awhile longer, unscrambling and researching Grandma Mary No. 1's parentage and past. 

In these few days since our return, the reality of Our Connecticut and Taft Experiences, lived out more than 325 years after Will's and my ancestors tilled the rich, gently rolling sod, built their homes, nurtured their kids, and even governed the State in the highest of political offices, has been gratefully and often replayed in our minds.

I am giving The Taft School an "A Plus" for molding 576 young men and women into future leaders of tomorrow, who carry with them a short Motto that will change the world..."Not to be served but to serve" 

CG/CW

CG/CW