An Old-Fashioned Holiday at the Ferris Homestead

by Jeffrey Bingham Mead
Greenwich Time, Greenwich, Connecticut
December 24, 1986

*Note: This is a fictional story I wrote for publication in Greenwich Time. This historical setting is authentic, but this is not based on a story of an actual historical event.

It was mid-afternoon on Christmas Eve in 1893 when the snow began to fall. The wind had been especially cold and breezy that morning, and thin layers of ice had begun to form on the "Myanos" Mill Pond behind the dam.

At the Ferris homestead, near the east bank of the river, there was much jubilation, especially among the children. Travelers passing by the house could hear the sounds of singing and laughter as friends and family came by to extend holiday wishes to Sarah Peck Ferris, grandmother and owner of the historic old family homestead.

While others commented on the snowfall and the breezes that whipped by, Grandma Ferris seemed unfazed by all the fuss about the weather. After all, she had read about it in her Farmers Almanac days before.

As one approached the Ferris house, it could be seen with its pitched roof, clapboarded sides and whitewashed chimney under two very large poplar trees. Beyond the homestead lay an old apple orchard that gently sloped down toward the water's edge. 

Built in 1714, the house seemed to sit comfortably all year round at its location. It had splendid views of the nearby harbor as well. Sarah Ferris and other locals always spoke with pride to travelers that the homestead had been frequented on occasion by the great General Lafayette during the Revolutionary War and that George Washington himself had passed by.

Inside, Sarah sat quietly in her rocking chair beside the blazing warmth of the living room hearth. A fresh pine wreath hung majestically on the wall above the fireplace. The inviting glow of burning applewood logs contrasted with the plumes of smoke that billowed out of the chimney that rose from the center of the house. 

In the opposite corner of the low-ceilinged room stood the family Christmas tree, with the highest branches brushing one of the exposed beams. The tree was gailey festooned with candles, garland, cookie ornaments, red ribbons, popcorn strings and candy canes. The rich aroma of pies, roasted goose and other foods spread from the kitchen throughout the house. Trays of smoked oysters, gooseberry tarts and molded jellies dotted all the side tables, inviting all to feast and enjoy.

So, while the men and the older boys gathered firewood and tended other chores, and the women busied themselves with holiday preparations in the kitchen, the grandchildren gathered themselves around their grandmother and the warmth of the hearth as they did every year to hear her tell stories and sing Christmas songs.

"What is the meaning of Christmas?" asked six-year-old Nathaniel.

"I know," said his older sister and, smirking. "It's 'cause old Santa comes around every Christmas to give all the good children presents."

"Is that true?" Nathaniel asked his grandmother.

Sarah laughed loudly. "No, child," she said.

"Grandma, did Santa Claus bring good children presents before Jesus, or did Jesus get born in the manger first?" asked Nathaniel.

Sarah took the boy in her lap and said, "No sweetheart, the baby Jesus came first."

After dusk a group of handbell ringers and carolers gathered in front of the homestead and sang. One of them stood in the middle holding a lit oil lantern. The carolers sang one of Sarah's favorite songs, "Away in the Manger."

Away in a manger, no crib for a bed,
The little Lord Jesus lay down His sweet head.
The stars in the bright sky looked down where He lay,
The little lord Jesus asleep on the hay.


While they were still singing outside, young and old alike stopped what they were doing and listened to the harmonious carolers. Sarah emerged from her rocking chair and parted the living room window. Delight beamed joyfully from her bespeckled eyes. Above the lantern light, bare branches were enveloped in silvery ice that sparkled like constellations of stars in the night. The snow was falling quite heavily, rapidly covering the persevering carolers, who continued with unrelenting holiday cheer to sing merrily.

Snow! Everyone grinned at the thought of drifts of snow covering the ground on Christmas morning. Over by the sugar maple at the front gate would lay abundant folds of the white stuff. From here Sarah's grandchildren would build a snowman. With the carrot for a nose and charcoal for eyes and mouth, he would stand nobly greeting everyone venturing to the homestead. 

The snowman would receive an old pipe for his mouth and his head would be topped with a beat-up brown hat swiped by an anonymous grandchild from one of the upstairs closets. The snow indeed was a delight for all, although Sarah Ferris would be there to admonish young and old alike, noisily banging her cane at those who forgot to wipe off their snow-encrusted boots before entering the house.

After greetings and best wishes for holiday cheer were exchanged with the carolers, the family gathered in the living room with Sarah taking her usual spot next to the warmth of the heart. She took out her Bible from the nearby bookcase and read aloud the story of the birth of Christ. 

Later, her son, Jonathan Ferris, brought in his violin and played while the young children sang to their grandmother:

We three kings of Orient are;
Bearing gifts we traverse afar,
Field and fountain, moor and mountain,
Following yonder star.
O star of wonder, star of night,
Star with royal beauty bright,
Westward leading, still proceeding,
Guide us to thy perfect light.

After a hearty Christmas Eve dinner of roasted goose, pies and an endless assortment of foods, the young children were brought to the living room to hang their stockings above the hearth, and those that were staying at the homestead got ready to go upstairs to bed. 

But before everyone set off to depart until Christmas day, Sarah Ferris ended the evening by reading "A Visit from St. Nicholas."

As Grandma Ferris read on, Nathaniel came over and stood next to his grandmother. As she neared the end of the poem he climbed onto her lap. The dancing flames of the hearth made both their faces glow with holiday warmth, love and goodwill. 

And with that they read the end together: "Happy Christmas to all, and to all a Good-night."

Samuel Ferris House. 1 Cary Road, Riverside, Connecticut. 

Jeffrey Bingham Mead, who lives in Greenwich, is a direct descendent of one of the founding families of the town. He is a free-lance writer and a member of the Greenwich Historical Society.