My mom was born in a house in Smiths Grove, Kentucky on July 19, 1920. Her arrival increased the total population to 811. By the end of the year, four other births were recorded for a grand total of 815. That number marked the all time high for the town. Forty years later, the population bottomed out at 613. It’s back up to around 775 today.
Mom’s younger sister, Ruth, was born there two years later. The girl’s parents, my Grandma and Grandpa Barner, were know to the town folk as Margaret and Harrison. Although I’m not sure when they married, they both turned twenty-one the year that Mom was born.
The couple had dozens of relatives living in the area. Margaret was a “Walker” and Harrison’s mother was a “Brite”. If you’re a “Barner”, “Walker” or “Brite” with kin-folk from Kentucky, we’re probably related.
While Moms’ birthplace had been built in 1855 by her great- grandfather, Harrison Perry Barner, he built it for another family. It’s grand. It has five inch solid poplar floors, twelve inch baseboards, beautiful crown molding, several chandeliers with ceiling rosettes, nine foot – ten inch ceilings on both floors, and seven fireplaces. All of the walls, both interior and exterior, are eighteen inches thick. A well and outhouse were “out back” near the kitchen. It’s most fascinating perk was a small cave where the family stored milk, butter, eggs, and other perishables.
Some sixty years plus later, my grandparents moved into the house as renters. It’s condition was much the same as when it was first built. Grandpa farmed the land, grew some crops, had chickens, pigs, several cows and beef cattle, and started his family.
When Mom was four years old, the family fell on hard times. There was a drought and the crops failed. About the same time the cattle got hoof and mouth disease so the animals had to be put down. The Barners were broke. They packed up the two girls and headed to Detroit, hoping to take advantage of Henry Ford’s promise of five dollars a day and a forty hour work week. This picture was taken prior to their departure and includes “Old Granny Barner” who stayed behind. (Harrison 25, Ruth 2, Margaret 25, Katherine 4 and Minnie Burton Brite 50.)
I’ve visited Smiths Grove several times over the years. Most of my childhood trips to Kentucky were to Bowling Green, about twenty miles southwest of Smiths Grove. Old Granny Barner lived there. Mom and Dad packed us up for the drive, leveling the backseat with suitcases so we kids had a place to play and sleep. Dad always drove straight through. I remember the final miles were driven on 31-W
Shortly after Ruth and I married, we visited Smiths Grove and stopped to see the house where Mom and Aunt Ruth were born. The first time we went the house was abandoned and the home for “squatters”. There were old mattresses in a couple of the rooms and evidence that fires had recently burned in the fireplaces. Much of the molding, the chandeliers, and the banister leading to the second floor, had been stripped. All evidence of its original grandeur was gone. Mom and Grandpa Barner accompanied us and shared a brief history of their time there.
The house was located in the country and a short drive off the same 31-W that I had traveled as a child. We found the cave. I marveled at how primitive things must have been with no electricity, no running water, no indoor plumbing, and no central heat source.
We returned to the area for a family reunion in the late 1980’s. A shirt-tale cousin had purchased the house and restored it to its original grandeur. He researched the house, located most of the original trim and chandeliers, and the original banister. Most of the items had been stripped and sold to others. As people learned of his intentions, they helped him identify and reclaim his treasures.
Ruth, Mom, Aunt Ruth, Uncle Harry Barner, and I visited the homestead during the reunion. The cousin, and his partner, had done a wonderful job. The partner was a relative of Andrew Jackson and had a similar love for the old ways and antiques. While they had installed indoor plumbing and electricity, the remainder of the house, and its furnishings, dated back to the original standards of 1855. Civil War memorabilia was on display everywhere.
We stepped back in time and I’m happy that we took the journey.
Ruth and I made another visit to the house on our way to Florida last week-end. We googled our way to 240 Upper Dixie Highway. That’s the house’s current address. It’s located about 600 yards off 31-W. The road is paved now, but the dirt and gravel drive-way remain. If you’re ever in the area, it’s worth a look. It’s on the list of historic homes in Warren County.
As we neared our destination, we noted a brick school-house that was built in 1831. If Mom and Aunt Ruth had remained in the area, that’s where they would have gone to school. It’s funny what you find when you’re not looking. We passed six or seven other homes of similar vintage, and I wondered if my great-great grandfather had built them too.
We pulled into the driveway hoping to connect with the current owners. We may have been strangers, but we share a common bond that I hoped they would appreciate. I wanted to tell what I knew of the house’s history and wished for them to share some as well. They didn’t answer our knock, so we walked through the drizzling rain, to see if they may have been at the back of the house. We knocked at the second door, and received no response. Finally, we tried the side porch with the same results.
If they were home (The car in the drive indicated that they might be.), they didn’t want company. We walked around the house several times. Each of us took at least a dozen pictures. We yelled out hoping that someone would hear us and invite us in out of the rain.
I stopped for a moment to take it all in. The black walnuts on the ground were a part of the history that I hadn’t noticed before. I expect that Mom and Aunt Ruth may have helped gather nuts for baking some ninety-five years ago. I looked for the cave, but had forgotten where it was located. I suspect that its entrance is covered by vegetation on the far side of the house.
We didn’t connect this time, but I plan to pass that way again. We’ll pick a drier day for our visit, and if we have to, we’ll just sit and wait.
What a well written recap and remembrance of your childhood family their town and their eloquent house. Maybe the new residents would have been more receptive to your knocking if you had a fifth of fine Kentucky bourbon in hand!
Perhaps. I’ll remember that next time.