| My G-Grandfather's Attic |
| My Other Sites: Old New Orleans Whispers |
| Pages are cross-indexed under names and locations below. Click on the name for the main page concerning that line. |
| These pages are dedicated to the many family researchers whose kindness and generosity have helped me knock down so many brick walls. |
| My mother and father, Nancy Florelle Garrett Jackson and Archie Lee Jackson. My mom departed this life in 2003, my dad in 1991. They are still missed and always will be. |
| Aunt Flora & Aunt Lola |
| Many fellow researchers and family members have contributed and been involved in the search for information contained on these pages. The material on this website may not be copied, altered, converted or uploaded to any electronic system; or re-published in any form, without permission of the website owner. It may not be transferred, copied or donated to any pay-per-view site. It may not be linked in such a manner as to appear to be an internal part of another site, including, but not limited to, frame capturing. It may not be included in any software collection or print collection of any kind without written permission from the website owner. |
My great-aunts, Lola and Flora, passed away years ago, but when I see the
land now, I can almost smell the biscuits baking and the coffee brewing. I
could swear I hear Aunt Lola calling out a greeting from the front porch,
"Come on in and put your feet up for a spell, the dumplings are cooking and
Flora's about to make a blackberry pie." It's my imagination, of course. Or
maybe, it's the soft breeze, carrying long-ago voices through the tall pines
and over the tops of the magnolia trees...through the open doors of a house
that's no longer there.
But I can go back. And I do. Time after time. In my mind and in my heart...in
my memories of those lovely family get-togethers and those magical
afternoons spent in my g-grandfather's attic. -- Nancy Brister
land now, I can almost smell the biscuits baking and the coffee brewing. I
could swear I hear Aunt Lola calling out a greeting from the front porch,
"Come on in and put your feet up for a spell, the dumplings are cooking and
Flora's about to make a blackberry pie." It's my imagination, of course. Or
maybe, it's the soft breeze, carrying long-ago voices through the tall pines
and over the tops of the magnolia trees...through the open doors of a house
that's no longer there.
But I can go back. And I do. Time after time. In my mind and in my heart...in
my memories of those lovely family get-togethers and those magical
afternoons spent in my g-grandfather's attic. -- Nancy Brister
...
| My cousin, Ruth Hancock, who was, also, my Godmother, passed away July 8, 2010. She is dearly missed. |
When I was a child, there was no place more magical to me than the treasure-filled attic of my g-grandfather,
Josiah Garrett. The house was located between the villages of Perth and Union Church, in Jefferson County,
MS, about three hours north of New Orleans, Louisiana, where I grew up. Josiah was no longer living by then,
but his two daughters, Lola Gibson and Flora Dawkins, were in residence. Even as a child, I wouldn't have
traded a day in that wonderful old house for a week at Disney World.
It was built in 1847 by my 2-g-grandparents, Isaac and Abba Ann Warren Garrett, who raised their family and
lived out their lives there, as did Josiah and Flora Carmichael Garrett. The house had once been used as
a post office and stopping point for mail riders, who sometimes stayed overnight in the attic. It was called
Scotland Post Office, in honor of the many citizens of Scottish ancestry who'd settled in the area in the early
1800's.
The attic was still filled with remnants of the exciting days when the early Mississippi Territory was just
opening up. Trunks overflowed with 100-year-old clothing. My cousins and I would go through the trunks, try
on the clothes, look through the old books and newspapers. When we were finally persuaded to join the
family downstairs, everyone would gather and listen to Aunt Lola talk about times long past. She would show
us the small holes in the exterior walls, left open so that rifles could be inserted in case of attack. She would
tell us stories about her childhood, the all-day camp meetings and how young people courted by going on a
buggy ride, chaperoned by one of their parents. Her stories were as magical as the attic. Sadly, the old
home is no longer there, the treasures in the attic either scattered or discarded. The walls that reverberated
with the laughter of five generations of Garrett children have been torn down. The old floorboards, where
Abba Ann paced and prayed---for the children when they were ill, for strength when Isaac died and for a way
to feed her family when times grew hard---the floorboards are gone, they no longer echo with the long-ago
sounds of Abba Ann's steps.
Josiah Garrett. The house was located between the villages of Perth and Union Church, in Jefferson County,
MS, about three hours north of New Orleans, Louisiana, where I grew up. Josiah was no longer living by then,
but his two daughters, Lola Gibson and Flora Dawkins, were in residence. Even as a child, I wouldn't have
traded a day in that wonderful old house for a week at Disney World.
It was built in 1847 by my 2-g-grandparents, Isaac and Abba Ann Warren Garrett, who raised their family and
lived out their lives there, as did Josiah and Flora Carmichael Garrett. The house had once been used as
a post office and stopping point for mail riders, who sometimes stayed overnight in the attic. It was called
Scotland Post Office, in honor of the many citizens of Scottish ancestry who'd settled in the area in the early
1800's.
The attic was still filled with remnants of the exciting days when the early Mississippi Territory was just
opening up. Trunks overflowed with 100-year-old clothing. My cousins and I would go through the trunks, try
on the clothes, look through the old books and newspapers. When we were finally persuaded to join the
family downstairs, everyone would gather and listen to Aunt Lola talk about times long past. She would show
us the small holes in the exterior walls, left open so that rifles could be inserted in case of attack. She would
tell us stories about her childhood, the all-day camp meetings and how young people courted by going on a
buggy ride, chaperoned by one of their parents. Her stories were as magical as the attic. Sadly, the old
home is no longer there, the treasures in the attic either scattered or discarded. The walls that reverberated
with the laughter of five generations of Garrett children have been torn down. The old floorboards, where
Abba Ann paced and prayed---for the children when they were ill, for strength when Isaac died and for a way
to feed her family when times grew hard---the floorboards are gone, they no longer echo with the long-ago
sounds of Abba Ann's steps.
| The link to this site is: http://old-new-orleans.com |
