For most of my life, I’ve been a little short on cousins,
partly because we are so scattered. Maybe that’s why I love it so much when my
grandkids, from four different families, have such a blast when they get
together. They hang out on Facebook in between times, they talk about and make
fun of each other. They get it that
they’re related and it makes for a happy bond.
That’s an experience I missed. A few years ago one of my
cousins, the younger son of my Uncle Sam (Yep. I had a real Uncle Sam.) got in
touch to explain that he was about to return “Fort Frey” to the Frey family by
purchasing an old, old house in Palatine Bridge, New York. Built in 1739, it
had housed members of the Frey family until 1950 when it was sold. Cousin Jon
Frey and his wife, Gail, have renovated this wonderful place close to the banks
of the Mohawk River and spend most of their weekends there.
It couldn’t be more historic. A roadside sign commemorates
Major John Frey who fought in the Revolution. There’s a family cemetery up the
hill where some of the gravestones are so old they are no longer legible. The
ones that are indicate the remains of a series of John and Henry Freys. They
believed in naming themselves after each other. As Jon and I approached the
cemetery he said to me, “Can you believe it? We’re walking in the footsteps of
our ancestors.” Not everyone gets to do that.
Jon Frey bought the place because he fell in love with it
and because he saw it as a place that just might bring the scattered, errant
Freys back “home” one day for a reunion. He even sent house keys to several of
us, letting us know that we are always welcome there.
I’ve been lucky enough to visit several times and with each
encounter with the place, it becomes more meaningful. This time Jon and I took
an early morning walk on a misty, drizzly Sunday through the little burg of
Palatine Bridge, into adjacent Canajoharie, across the river and up the hill on
a street with lovely old homes. Canajoharie,
once the home of Beechnut foods, feels a bit abandoned. The huge factory now
stands vacant. There are a few signs of life at the local café, and a couple of
antique shops, but early on a Sunday morning, all was quiet and still.
Our walk gave Jon and I a chance to get to know each other
better. We laughed when we realized that both of us are pretty good at getting
lost—definitely a family trait. By the time we got back to the fort, I was
sensing that cousin feeling that I notice when my grandkids get together and no
matter how long it has been, they fall into their friendships. There’s
something about knowing you are related that is hard to describe but nevertheless
quite real.
Jon Frey is coming to Colorado in a couple of weeks and I’m
rounding up as many relatives as I can to spend an evening with him. One of
them is my brother, John Frey, the author of
Freys Along the Mohawk, The
History of an American Pioneer Family in Palatine Bridge, New York, 1680 to
2014. Perhaps, if your name is John or Jon and you are a Frey, you are doomed to a love
of history and a passion for genealogy. I must say, the family tree would be
much easier to follow if each of the members had a different first name. The
difference of a middle initial just isn’t enough to keep them all straight.
I couldn’t be happier to know this cousin of mine. There are
more of them lurking around and one of these days maybe they will have a chance
to hike up to the cemetery and try to puzzle out just where they came from.
No comments:
Post a Comment