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Saturday morning, I waded–and I do mean waded–through a foot of snow down the driveway. I just can’t get over the snow this winter. I’ve never seen anything like it. This is my fifth winter in West Virginia. It has never snowed this much before. I was excited one time at the old farmhouse when there was like five inches of snow. And that was ONE TIME. Oh, it snowed regularly. But just several inches at a time. And NOT A FOOT. We’ve had a foot of snow here three times this winter. And just as soon as one foot melts away, here comes another one.
It’s March. Let’s hope there’s not yet another one on the way. I think I’m ready to move on. I’m still amazed by it, though. It’s magical, frustrating, sometimes terrifying (if I’m driving), and always….just plain bizarre to me. I didn’t grow up around snow.
I haven’t been out of the house much lately. I only go out between snows. We weren’t between snows on Saturday, but luckily I didn’t have to do the driving. I hopped in with my escort at the bottom of the driveway, but while being escorted has its benefits (like, not having to drive on the snowy road yourself), it also means you have to go where they want to go, too. Which is how I ended up at the county clerk’s office on Saturday when I had no business there whatsoever.
Slightly (or exceedingly) bored while some paperwork was being processed that had nothing to do with me, I chatted up the very nice Roane County clerk, Charlie White. There is nothing quite like small town courthouses and small town county clerks. They know everything and everybody. And they even remember you personally. Because they remember everything and everybody.
I’ve actually been in the county clerk’s office quite a few times, digging out old deed books and looking at old wills. My family goes back in this county over 200 years. I love looking at old documents. They wrote so pretty back then. Somehow, we got to talking about the deterioration in handwriting (seriously, when you have nothing to talk about, the conversation can end up anywhere) and making guesses about when handwriting went downhill in America. We decided, with absolutely no scientific studies to back us up, that handwriting deteriorated after the invention of the typewriter and was then completely destroyed by the computer, which prompted Charlie to tell me that he had a really old manual typewriter in the back.
Oh my! Now you’re talking. Something for me to inspect. I leaped out of my seat, whipped my camera out of my purse, and headed toward the back, which left Charlie with no real option but to come with me. (I don’t think he minded.)
I haven’t seen an old manual typewriter in a long time. This is the kind of typewriter my father had. I can remember typing up little stories on it. I had a dollhouse and tons of those little glass animals. They lived in the dollhouse instead of people. They had very complicated, soap opera-ish lives. I wrote stories and stories and stories about my little glass animals. The king was a little glass bear. The queen was a cat. The cat, by the way, was bigger than the bear. (I can’t explain that, don’t make me.) I had this bizarre urge to hug this typewriter. It brought back all sorts of warm, fuzzy memories.
And I really wanted to dust it.
And then I wondered–would kids today know what to do with this typewriter? They’ve never even heard of a carriage return.
This particular typewriter, by the way, had an extremely wide carriage, made for the big documents that would come through a courthouse.
And then I said, “I must see the pretty handwriting!” Not that I hadn’t seen it before, but I was inspired to gaze upon it again. To marvel at the elegant hand-scripting of our forebears, who would have been as confounded as teenagers today by that gorgeous old manual typewriter.
They didn’t need no stinkin’ typewriter. They knew how to write. Life was slower and people took their time. Charlie pulled out one of the oldest books in the courthouse for me.
He pointed out how they used every bit of the paper back then, right up to the edges.
The frugality of our ancestors, in every little way, is a constant wonder when looking back at them from today’s world.
Encouraged by my enthusiasm for the precious old books, Charlie showed me his favorite oddity. West Virginia–in case you don’t know–was originally part of the state of Virginia. In 1863, West Virginia seceded from Virginia and became its own state, joining the Union in the Civil War. (Bit of trivia: West Virginia is the only state that was formed because of the Civil War.) There were never very many slaves in this area (compared to other parts of the South). This isn’t really plantation country, and much of what became West Virginia was populated by poor farmers trying to scratch out a living in the mountains. There were individuals, however, who could afford slaves. This bill of sale, from 1857, documents the transfer of two slaves in what was then Roane County, Virginia.
One was a 22-year-old man.
His name was Ben. There was also a girl, “say nine months” as the bill of sale reads.
They were sold together for $1000. That was a lot of money in 1857.
There’s something quite surreal about touching the original, ink-drawn pages of a transaction in human beings.
Ben and that baby girl weren’t slaves for long. They soon found themselves living in a free state. I’d love to know what became of that little girl. But courthouse records never tell the whole story, only parts. Glimpses of lives that are difficult to imagine today.
And then we went across the street to the thrift store, where I bought nothing but enjoyed looking around at the cast-off excess of our not-so-frugal modern society, and on to my outing’s destination (the tax man). Eventually I waded my way back up our snowy driveway home. To my little farm. Where I belong.
And I wondered if I really want the roads to dry up and spring to come, after all. The world–old and new–can be a very strange place.
P.S. I did not say that! SPRING, PLEASE COME!
Posted by Suzanne McMinn on March 2, 2010
2:22
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I have never seen a large format typewriter like the one in your photographs. Absolutely wonderful!
As for the old county books, your photographs tell such a wonderful story even if they only show little clips of the lives of whom ever wrote to the edge of the pages.
There is something I love about old handwriting. What I find interesting is the old farm registers I have collected from other antique stores have that VERY same handwriting in them. Same tilt, same loops on the letters and it seems like the same pen and ink was used.
It just seems like everything was done better back then.
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My mother and her sister and other contemporaries whose handwriting I know had beautiful handwriting, despite the two former having worked as secretaries where they used typewriters for years.
I grew up in the 1940s and had minimal penmanship training in school and my handwriting sucks.
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Remember carbon paper?!
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The most striking thing about this story is that you were in a thrift store and left empty handed! How can you do that?
7:34
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At a craft fair once a lady made bracelets out of the old keys from typewriters. I have letters my grandparents wrote each other from 1900 to 1910 when they eloped. Took me all summer to read them once I got them out of my grandmother’s attic. They were hard to read bec of the printing and language. they called eachother Mr and Miss for a long time. There is a lot of history in them too. some had wax seals on them and the paper was very thick and folded twice. One whole letter was an apology for using a pencil because my grandfather’s ink bottle was out of ink. Some of the letters were hand delivered.
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hugs from PA
connie
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Dede
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Suzanne, I love old typewriters, too. Thanks for sharing!
Susan
8:04
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I love old handwriting. I also think one of the things that changed the way we learned to write is how we make our letters. I learned cursive in the late 70′s. My r, t, f (that I can think of) are different than my parent’s. And we were allowed to have straight up and down letters, they didn’t have to slant.
Thank you, Suzanne, for a wonderful post and history lesson!
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Mim and wvhomecanner: My father was born in Roane County as well. As were my grandparents and some great-grandparents. I’d have to pull my genealogy to see where the ones before that were born. Most of my family was in the Gandeeville area.
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Euni
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Dede
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HOW I SLAVED OVER THAT….I HAVE BOOK ONE AND BOOK TWO- COPYRIGHTED IN 1936. A DICTIONARY (1958).
ALONG WITH FIVE ASSO OF GREGG BOOKS.
THEY PROBABLY BELONG IN A MUSEUM. ALONG WITH THEIR OWNER. HA HA
11:39
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I worked as a journalist nearly 20 years ago in Alabama, and I enjoyed going thru the old papers in our “archives”. Every place has an interesting history if only we go an search it out!!! Enjoyed this post!!
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Handwriting really is a lost art, spelling too, thanks to internet shortcuts!! But, since I was taught by nuns…the penmanship is still with me! (though I do still have nightmares about that Gregg shorthand class!)
And hey, I wrote my first book on an old Olympia manual! LOL…use what you have, I guess. My first computer, the best thing about it was that Backspace key!! No more white out!
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as for me – I actually learned on one of those manuals – was wayyy thrilled at my first job that had a selectric electric typewriter… hehehe – and now we’re tweeting and facebooking and I can NOT read my own freaking handwriting.
Just sayin.
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Sounds like a very interesting time spent with Charlie looking at the old typewriter and documents.
Hard to imagine people buying and selling people, isn’t it? How devoid of compassion would you have to be? Completely, I guess. That poor mother to have her baby taken away. And that young man looking at his future as a slave…unimaginable. Thank heavens that freedom came to them soon afterward and that people were willing to fight for their right to freedom.
The old handwriting is beautiful.
Thanks for sharing your visit.
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I make grungy tags with different words written on them…such as “rag doll” or “raggedy ann”or “sugar cookie mix”…I love to do this by hand and use the curly q’s.
I love the “older” ways.
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http://tashatudorandfamily.com/tea-story.html
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What I am really impressed with is that your Courthouse was open on a Saturday. My county here in Northeast Florida (Baker County) has about 30,000 people and I swaneee they would die if they had to work on Saturday. I however, in the small rural library, work on Saturdays ~ go figure.
My husband is from WV (West By God, according to him) and his family split during the Civil War because of the slavery issue. Unfortunately for him the money side of the family ended up in Virginia (Craddock family). Such is life.
I really enjoy your blog ~ thanks for sharing with us.
Diane
The Library Lady
“Take surprise and delight in the little things”
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I also love the beautiful old handwriting. Nowadays, schools don’t care about nice cursive writing as it’s becoming part of the past. Today it’s about keying and texting. What a shame, but time marches on….