UP FERGUSON WAY—
Louis Bromfield was just a child when he first met Zenobia Ferguson. She lived a reclusive life way up there past what we now know as the sugar shack at Malabar Farm.
The road to her place, then just a trail, led nowhere but there—up a steep hill through a tangled tunnel of huge trees. “The oaks and beeches and maples rose straight up like Greek columns to a height of a hundred feet or more and underneath them grew a jungle of dogwood and iron wood and wild grapes and ferns and snakeroot.”
Springs gushed from sandstone outcroppings among clusters of maidenhair fern until, finally, the trail ended at the top of the world where you could touch the sky and the distance faded into the blue mist of infinity, Bromfield mused.
Zenobia’s modest dwelling stood there behind a spring house near an old log house built by her grandfather in Indian times. Bromfield remembered the enchantment of the place where she lived in harmony with the land and the wild animals.
Once while Bromfield was watching a squirrel in the woods he felt the intense sensation of being watched himself and discovered Zenobia standing near the willows and smiling at him. “That squirrel is John,” she chuckled and called to him. The little critter scampered up her purple dress and perched on her shoulder, chattering away with his tail curled over his back.
Years later, Bromfield, having traveled the world, bought the farm we now know as Malabar including her place.
She was born in the cottage where Bromfield first saw her in his youth and was four years old when her mother died. From then on she lived with her father in that cottage on the high hill close to the sky.
She was 17 when her father died of cholera. Neighbors wanted her to move in with them but she would not leave her farm up there against Heaven.
She went on to find love...and endure tragedy and lived the rest of her life, not in this world “...but in a world of fancy, nearer to the trees and the water, the rain and the snow and the birds and beasts than to anyone on this earth.”
Today, up there against the sky, there is an old meadow now full of young sugar-maple trees. Nothing is left of her home site but the square hole of the foundation and a nearby waterfall now known as Ferguson Falls (pictured).
As we wandered through a stand of pine after a recent visit to the falls several whitetail deer moved gently away from our path only to stand near-by and watch our quiet passage.
I had soft eye contact with the nearest deer and felt blessed with the feeling Zenobia’s spirit was with their presence.
__________________________________________
“Up Ferguson Way” from The World We Live In by Louis Bromfield, copyright 1943, renewed 1971; available at the Mansfield-Richland County Public Library.
Louis Bromfield was just a child when he first met Zenobia Ferguson. She lived a reclusive life way up there past what we now know as the sugar shack at Malabar Farm.
The road to her place, then just a trail, led nowhere but there—up a steep hill through a tangled tunnel of huge trees. “The oaks and beeches and maples rose straight up like Greek columns to a height of a hundred feet or more and underneath them grew a jungle of dogwood and iron wood and wild grapes and ferns and snakeroot.”
Springs gushed from sandstone outcroppings among clusters of maidenhair fern until, finally, the trail ended at the top of the world where you could touch the sky and the distance faded into the blue mist of infinity, Bromfield mused.Zenobia’s modest dwelling stood there behind a spring house near an old log house built by her grandfather in Indian times. Bromfield remembered the enchantment of the place where she lived in harmony with the land and the wild animals.
Once while Bromfield was watching a squirrel in the woods he felt the intense sensation of being watched himself and discovered Zenobia standing near the willows and smiling at him. “That squirrel is John,” she chuckled and called to him. The little critter scampered up her purple dress and perched on her shoulder, chattering away with his tail curled over his back.
Years later, Bromfield, having traveled the world, bought the farm we now know as Malabar including her place.
She was born in the cottage where Bromfield first saw her in his youth and was four years old when her mother died. From then on she lived with her father in that cottage on the high hill close to the sky.
She was 17 when her father died of cholera. Neighbors wanted her to move in with them but she would not leave her farm up there against Heaven.
She went on to find love...and endure tragedy and lived the rest of her life, not in this world “...but in a world of fancy, nearer to the trees and the water, the rain and the snow and the birds and beasts than to anyone on this earth.”
Today, up there against the sky, there is an old meadow now full of young sugar-maple trees. Nothing is left of her home site but the square hole of the foundation and a nearby waterfall now known as Ferguson Falls (pictured).
As we wandered through a stand of pine after a recent visit to the falls several whitetail deer moved gently away from our path only to stand near-by and watch our quiet passage.
I had soft eye contact with the nearest deer and felt blessed with the feeling Zenobia’s spirit was with their presence.
__________________________________________
“Up Ferguson Way” from The World We Live In by Louis Bromfield, copyright 1943, renewed 1971; available at the Mansfield-Richland County Public Library.
2 comments:
Terry, when you get tired of photography - your memoirs would be an enchanting read. Awesome Post.
KOSI Jen
Ahhh, Jenni; what a sweet lady.
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