Sunday, June 16th: "Scared Places, Sacred Spaces - Bristol, Vermont"
Sacred Places, Sacred Spaces - Bristol, Vermont
By Jeannie Stuntz 6/16/2024
Matthew 1:1 is the first verse in the New Testament: “A record of the genealogy of Jesus Christ the son of David, the son of Abraham.” That is one quick genealogy! Between the Old Testament and the New Testament, the authors learned how to EDIT! OK, in chapter 1 of Matthew, they do list 14 generations between Abraham and David, but in 6 short verses; and 14 generations from David to Babylon in 5 short verses; and 14 generations from the exile to Jesus in another 5 short verses. Forty-two generations between Abraham and Jesus in less than one column. The Old Testament takes over two hundred pages and they don’t ever get to Jesus, except in the books of the prophets, like Isaiah. Not that I’m recommending you skip the genealogy stuff, I’m just saying, the summary in Matthew is a pretty good “Big Picture” substitute.
Today, I’m talking about a thread of my genealogy.
I was curious about the “Gaige” family, because my grandfather’s, my father’s and my brother’s middle names were all “Gaige.” Raymond Gaige Herzberger Sr, and Junior and the Third. When I was in grade school, I asked who was this “Gaige” honored in these three generations in my family - The Answer?: “We’re descended from him.” Not much info there. No one seemed to know anything more. I wanted to know more, but what could I do? No Google then or Ancestry.com. It wasn’t until I was a teenager, I found my first clue. This genealogy starts with Abraham too, Abraham Mark Gaige.
He was born in 1775, the year of the “Midnight Ride of Paul Revere” - the first battles of the revolutionary war followed in Lexington and Concord. I know his birthdate, because his daughter Mahala, who was born in 1806, “wrought” the “family record,” with her own hands when she was about ten years old. She used thread for the ornamental parts, and her own hair (really) to embroider the family information. After my grandfather died, this fragile, fascinating piece of cloth was passed down to my dad. He had it framed, and hung it in the dining room when I was a teenager. This “Family Record” has survived over 200 years - because one person in each of the 6 generations since has recognized it’s historical value. From it, I know that Abraham married Mary Higbee in 1795. They were my gr gr gr gr grandparents and had 11 children - 7 girls and 4 boys; some with odd names. “Preserved” is one example. Mahala was the middle child, as I am, though I have only two siblings. She is my gr gr gr grandmother. My dad promised this work of art and any other historical information would be passed to me. On my death, it will pass to my great-nephew: Gaige Raymond Herzberger. As the 9th generation to follow Abraham Gaige, he has agreed to care for the family record and pass it on to a caretaker in the 10th generation.
I was 40 when my mother died; dad sent me boxes of family photos, letters, keepsakes and Mahala’s work of art. Going through those boxes was like sifting through buried treasure. A photograph caught my eye. Written on the top was “Abram Mark Gaige,” on the bottom was written “He always sang in the fields.” Then I discovered the poem printed in the Bristol Herald when he was inducted into the Vermont Hall of Fame in 1929, 76 years after he died in 1853. The heading on the front page was “Old-time Bristol Singer” with a sub-heading: “Beneath his photo over the Bristol Inn fireplace are the words: He always sang in the fields.” Same photo!!! Hundreds must have seen that photo on the Inn’s fireplace before it came to my door. This is that poem written by the Rev. Leo Twinen, fittingly at the Bristol Inn:
Old Abram Gaige was a quaint old wag
As he sweated at daily toil;
For hummend and sang and chanted loud
While he grubbed in the stubborn soil.
If his hoe hit a stone or a shaggy root
Or his plow kicked up on a rock,
He’d never swear in a trooper’s curse
That would give saints’ ears a shock.
Some men will whistle to keep up spunk
When they pass through the shades of night,
And others blow trumpets or beat base drums
That their glory be forced to sight.
But good old Gaige sang out of his soul,
His heart was full of delight;
He burst into song. Tho all went wrong,
He rejoiced in the coming right.
Jack of all trades was his title of rank,
And Man about Town his degree.
But the virtue in which he excelled other men—
His tune sung in buoyant glee.
Whether hammering nails while building Gaige-Moor
Or laying hearth stones at the Inn,
His voice could be heard in rare melody
Above the racket and din.
So the Mark of the Man that set him apart
And distinguished forever his name
Was his song while at work, whatever it was.
Thus he enters Vermont’s Hall of Fame.
He was not a Washington senator
Nor a White House resident;
In his own humble way the gifts he possessed
To plain homely causes were lent.
The hymns that he sang in the village church
To folks set in ordered pews,
He practiced aloud to flowers and birds
In hours of lifting dews;
And when the sun hid its golden beams
Behind a crested peak
Still he would praise God’s wondrous world
For every day in the week.
If a baby was born or a couple was wed
His song was quite lissome and gay;
Or a house had been burned or a neighbor had died
His hymn was a comforting lay;
If floods poured down and harassed the towns
A mournful strain touched each word,
But if crops were a plenty and harvests rich
A tripping lilt would be heard.
When he toiled in the fields his loved ones knew
To find him without any call,
For his voice came clear as a ringing bell
O’er a murmuring waterfall.
One day a silence fell over the farm;
No tune was afloat on the lea,
But ‘tis said that far off an Invisible Choir
Increased its sweet symphony.
And now as a loiterer sits in the park
While concerts shake the grand-stand,
And horrible jazz splits the still night
From radio untuned to the band,
One thinks of Old Abram, tho humble his notes,
And knows, where his voice was wafted down,
We’d give him three cheers and a hearty applause,
And an opera star for his crown.
Then, I knew I had to make a journey into the past. I called the Vermont Historical society; a friendly female voice answered my call. “Would you know where I could find any records regarding Abraham Gaige or his descendants in Bristol?” She answered, “my gosh YES - I live in the house he built!”
Prudence Tomasi was so gracious when I arrived a few months later knocking on the door of the home of Abraham Gaige, that the farmer, carpenter and stone mason had built in the early 1800’s. She gaveme the tour of GaigeMoor, telling me stories along the way. Thirty-three years after my visit, it continues to stand. The Bristol Inn that he built next door in 1817, was torn down in 1960 for a parking lot. But it’s the poem that told me why he was remembered so fondly, 74 years after his death: in his soul he was a singer.
Call me quirky, but I love graveyards - they feel sacred to me. At Abram and Mary’s monument, I closed my eyes and could imagine him still singing right there - this man who “always sang in the fields.” His joy of singing was passed down, no doubt, to many of his descendants, maybe not as numerous as the stars in the sky, but never has one been more grateful for that legacy than me. As Jesus would say, when two or more are gathered together in His name, He is with us. That is a sacred moment we share.
Pastor Amy turned me on to St. Hildegard of Bingen, a 12th century German Benedictine abbess, who was what we would call a renaissance women, if she hadn’t preceded the renaissance by several centuries. She was a brilliant mathematician, was an active composer of sacred music, a philosopher/mystic/visionary and wrote about all these things. Her books and music are available in this 21st century. What Amy sent me, was a picture of Hildegard in her habit. (Sometimes, all you need is a picture to dig deeper.) The quote: “There is the Music of Heaven in all things and we have forgotten how to hear it until we sing.” Wisdom that certainly resonated with me. I’m certain it would have resonated with Abraham Gaige too. God bless the singers, and their joyful noises!!!
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