Grave Discoveries

Cemeteries may not be every one's choice for a place to spend time in, but there's a small one in Eastern Ontario that I enjoy visiting every few years.

The cemetery lies to the east of the tiny hamlet of Mountain Grove, which is about 80 km north of Kingston, just south of Highway 7.  My family has lived in the region for 5 generations.

Mountain Grove was born when the government of Ontario pushed through the Frontenac Road, a project designed to open up the few remaining parcels of farmland left in the province, in the 1860s

Calling the Central Frontenac area farmland is generous, at best.  The land is rocky and rolling, as the Canadian Shield dips down to cross the St Lawrence and brush the northern United States.

By the mid 1800s, there was still plenty of more arable farmland available, but much of it was held by speculators.  This was one of the grievances that led to the Rebellion of 1837, but the situation had not improved all that much in the ensuing years.  For people like my great-great grandparents, Cephas and Hester Fox, about all they could afford was this new land the government had opened up.  It wasn't much, but it was theirs.

My Great-Great Grandparents;
One of the oldest plots in the graveyard; "Cephas M. Fox 1856 - 1942, His Beloved Wife Hester Grant 1861 - 1951"

There wasn't a great deal of money to be made in farming this marginal land.  Families like mine would work all summer to pay off the debt they had accumulated at the local General Store over the winter. 

Sometimes, they would look elsewhere for employment.  The arrival of the railway in the late 1800s provided income for some people in the community, while others found work as general labourers, carpenters and the like.  My grandfather, in fact, was born in New York State in the summer of 1908.  The family had moved there temporarily because my great grandfather had hired on at a lumber camp (there's a suggestion somewhere in the family tree that the Fox family had originated in that area, and there may have been relatives there - that's a post for another day).

Fading Fast - Mr Great-Grandparents' Grave
As a kid, I was fortunate to be able to spend a lot of time on my grandparents' farm.  Now, as farms go, it wasn't up to much.  The land was hilly and rocky, and much of the lower pastureland had turned into a marsh.  There was no cattle - just my grandma's huge garden and some chickens, if you go back to where my memories start.  My grandfather had turned to carpentry.  I can still point out some of the homes I remember him building.
With us on this trip was my oldest son, Taylor.  We were returning home after his track meet in Ottawa.  I had made the same trip with my youngest son, Liam, 18 months previously, but for a ski race.  The footing in the graveyard was decidedly less precarious on this most recent trip.  Taylor loved the peaceful setting of the cemetery - it's tucked away in a little valley at the end of a huge Canadian Shield outlier from which the village takes its name.  It looks out onto the rolling fields which the occupants of the cemetery called home.

Taylor liked the fact that he could tag an extra "Great" to the plots he was looking at.

My Grandparents.  I miss them a lot.

Taylor Exploring his Ancestry

I don't get to Mountain Grove very much now.  My grandparents are long gone, although there are still many relatives living in the region.  My dad was the first of his family to leave the farm (for Toronto, originally) and never return, at least on a permanent basis.  He has said that he would like his ashes spread on that graveyard when the time comes.
  My visits to my grandparent's farm was like a trip to pioneer times for me.  They didn't get electricity until the early 60s.  Party line in the 70s. No running water until the 80s.  One of my jobs when I stayed there was to go to the pump at the front of the house and fill the water buckets.  I can still hear the "plunk-de-dunk" sound it would make as I pumped the long wooden handle.  My grandmother got up at 5 every morning during the winter to stoke the wood stove, which provided heat for the farmhouse.  More often than not, the sweet smell of rolls would greet me upon awakening each morning.  And then there were the seemingly endless jars of preserves, including my all time favourite - wild strawberries.  I can't imagine how long it took her to pick them.

 Being able to explore my heritage in one small square of Eastern Ontario is a treasure to me.  I'm sure I'll be back to visit many more times.



My Grandmother's Parents - My Great Grandparents