of yours.”
Originally the charters of Massachusetts and Connecticut provided that their boundaries would extend from the Atlantic seaboard to the Pacific Ocean and would include all lands not currently inhabited by Christians. During the American Revolution the states had agreed to relinquish title to the western lands, but a vast region of western New York was left in dispute. In 1786 a convention was held in Hartford, Connecticut. In return for some other concessions, New York granted Massachusetts rights of preemption over some six million acres running west from the Finger Lakes region to the Pennsylvania border. Fearing the agreement would not last, Massachusetts decided to dispose of this property immediately and sold it to two wealthy speculators for what amounted to about three cents an acre.
Surveyors moved in quickly to divide the region into six-mile square blocks called “townships.” When people began to build villages within the townships, these settlements would often take on the name of the township. Thus the Steeds had purchased property in “Palmyra Town,” or “Palmyra Township,” but now drove the mile or so south to “Palmyra Village.” And because the village lay right in the southwest corner of the township, it was the closest village for many of the people in the three surrounding townships.
So on this mid-April day of 1827, as the Steed family approached the main intersection of Palmyra Village, people from Macedon, Farmington, and Manchester townships joined them in a steady stream. Wagons, buggies, buckboards, even an oxcart or two, were all moving steadily toward the center of the village proper. Children called excitedly to one another, neighbors waved, strangers nodded pleasantly to those passing by. Occasionally a settler drove a few head of milk cows in for possible sale.
Here and there, some of the more enterprising residents of the village pushed small handcarts filled with sugar cakes, pies, molasses, maple sugar, root beer, or dried fruit. Others hawked such home-produced items as birch brooms, baskets made from black ash, or hand-painted oilcloths for the table.
Matthew and Becca’s eyes were filled with wonder, barely able to dart quickly enough from one thing to another, pointing and oohing and aahing. Melissa, more prim, was determined to act the young woman. Her mother had to smile, for she knew her daughter well enough to know that the hand constantly picking at unseen pieces of lint on her dress was a sure sign of her inner excitement. Melissa had waited long for a chance to come into town, and to do so for a picnic and barn raising was more than she had hoped for.
They moved up Main Street, past a two-story brick store, a clothier with women’s dresses in the window, Abner Cole’s law offices, another store. Down a side street they could see the barges pulled up at the docks along the Erie Canal. Men staggered under the weight of bags and bales being unloaded and taken into the warehouses.
As they came to the corner of Market Street, Benjamin Steed pulled up on the reins and the mules shuffled to a stop. To their right was the two-story frame building which housed the tavern of Stephen Phelps, probably the best-known tavern in the area. From the noise coming through the open door it was clear not all of the people coming to Palmyra Village were headed for the stable which would be the site of the barn raising. At least, not yet.
“Look,” Benjamin said, “there’s Martin Harris’s rig.” He turned back to his wife. “I think I’ll go in and say hello.” He handed the reins over to Joshua, who was sitting next to him.
Mary Ann frowned and gave him a sharp look, but he just smiled. “Ill only be a bit, then I’ll join you there.”
Inwardly she sighed, then felt a quick twinge of guilt. Benjamin had been working hard, with only an occasional trip to town. She had always found it hard to understand this need of men to stand around with other men and
Originally the charters of Massachusetts and Connecticut provided that their boundaries would extend from the Atlantic seaboard to the Pacific Ocean and would include all lands not currently inhabited by Christians. During the American Revolution the states had agreed to relinquish title to the western lands, but a vast region of western New York was left in dispute. In 1786 a convention was held in Hartford, Connecticut. In return for some other concessions, New York granted Massachusetts rights of preemption over some six million acres running west from the Finger Lakes region to the Pennsylvania border. Fearing the agreement would not last, Massachusetts decided to dispose of this property immediately and sold it to two wealthy speculators for what amounted to about three cents an acre.
Surveyors moved in quickly to divide the region into six-mile square blocks called “townships.” When people began to build villages within the townships, these settlements would often take on the name of the township. Thus the Steeds had purchased property in “Palmyra Town,” or “Palmyra Township,” but now drove the mile or so south to “Palmyra Village.” And because the village lay right in the southwest corner of the township, it was the closest village for many of the people in the three surrounding townships.
So on this mid-April day of 1827, as the Steed family approached the main intersection of Palmyra Village, people from Macedon, Farmington, and Manchester townships joined them in a steady stream. Wagons, buggies, buckboards, even an oxcart or two, were all moving steadily toward the center of the village proper. Children called excitedly to one another, neighbors waved, strangers nodded pleasantly to those passing by. Occasionally a settler drove a few head of milk cows in for possible sale.
Here and there, some of the more enterprising residents of the village pushed small handcarts filled with sugar cakes, pies, molasses, maple sugar, root beer, or dried fruit. Others hawked such home-produced items as birch brooms, baskets made from black ash, or hand-painted oilcloths for the table.
Matthew and Becca’s eyes were filled with wonder, barely able to dart quickly enough from one thing to another, pointing and oohing and aahing. Melissa, more prim, was determined to act the young woman. Her mother had to smile, for she knew her daughter well enough to know that the hand constantly picking at unseen pieces of lint on her dress was a sure sign of her inner excitement. Melissa had waited long for a chance to come into town, and to do so for a picnic and barn raising was more than she had hoped for.
They moved up Main Street, past a two-story brick store, a clothier with women’s dresses in the window, Abner Cole’s law offices, another store. Down a side street they could see the barges pulled up at the docks along the Erie Canal. Men staggered under the weight of bags and bales being unloaded and taken into the warehouses.
As they came to the corner of Market Street, Benjamin Steed pulled up on the reins and the mules shuffled to a stop. To their right was the two-story frame building which housed the tavern of Stephen Phelps, probably the best-known tavern in the area. From the noise coming through the open door it was clear not all of the people coming to Palmyra Village were headed for the stable which would be the site of the barn raising. At least, not yet.
“Look,” Benjamin said, “there’s Martin Harris’s rig.” He turned back to his wife. “I think I’ll go in and say hello.” He handed the reins over to Joshua, who was sitting next to him.
Mary Ann frowned and gave him a sharp look, but he just smiled. “Ill only be a bit, then I’ll join you there.”
Inwardly she sighed, then felt a quick twinge of guilt. Benjamin had been working hard, with only an occasional trip to town. She had always found it hard to understand this need of men to stand around with other men and
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