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 "Old
Lady Fern" hailed from our quaint Town of Carlisle.
Born in the 1870s and raised right near town center,
Fern lived life entirely on her terms. She was quite
the lady - though a bit outspoken for a woman of those
times. Being an independent Yankee, she felt it her
duty to speak her mind regardless of what others thought.
However, most people liked Fern good enough. Except
for the occasional few who got on her wrong side for
some reason or another. That's something you never,
ever wanted to do. It could take a couple of years to
get back in her good graces. But even though Fern was
strong-willed, she was kind to the core.
Fern was quite the looker in her day. Handsome and statuesque
with her long coppery hair drawn up in a regal bun (that
was often slightly mussed). When she walked into a room,
her air of determined confidence drew all eyes. She
pretended not to notice the appreciative glances of
the menfolk, but many think she secretly enjoyed the
stir she created at town gatherings and social events.
Yes indeed, Fern was something to see. And she broke
many a heart along the way.
Word has it she fell hard for a handsome, spirited man
that blew into town one day. No one knew where Lou Brimfield
hailed from but he kept everyone intrigued by his tales
of places he'd been and jobs he'd held (often told right
here at this very country store). The locals took to
him right away. He'd spent years up in the north woods
as a logger and guide and talked of how he'd be weeks
on end deep in the woods searching for trees that would
produce the highest quality lumber - the ones the mills
would pay top dollar for. Lou wasn't one for clear cutting.
No siree.
As the story goes, Fern saw him one day across the room
in the Old Country Store. He was sitting there next
to the pot-bellied stove with the town politicians,
laughing away. When he glanced her way and smiled, she
knew right away that this was the man her heart had
been waiting for. His brilliant blue eyes danced with
amusement. His face was deeply tanned from long days
out of doors and his neatly trimmed beard was tinged
with gray.
Their eyes held for a moment. Fern blushed, but she
smiled back of course. It was the neighborly thing to
do. And after that, Fern was seen a lot more often around
the Old Country Store. A coincidence? We think not.
And so it was that their long courtship began. Everyone
was happy for Fern because for the first time, she had
that special glow about her. Fern and Lou were always
together and could been seen taking leisurely strolls
about town arm in arm. Although there were rumors about
a pending marriage they never said either way. It was
pretty common knowledge that Lou had moved in with Fern,
which created lots of local gossip for sure. But most
everyone in Town reveled in their love and devotion.
However, every now and then Lou's other love - for the
backwoods - pulled him away. He'd take off for a few
months at a time and head north to take on a logging
gig. Folks up there were glad when he came around to
help out.
To wile the time away, Fern took on duties as Postmistress
at the Country Store. That way she figured she'd be
the first to receive Lou's letters from up north. He
had a way with words and the romantic pictures he painted
in his letters had her walking on clouds for days on
end.
One
crisp fall day, word came from up north that there had
been a tragic accident. Seems that there was an enormous
white pine being felled by a young lad. The tree twisted
under its mighty weight and started to fall back towards
him. He froze in fear. Lou happened to be nearby and
quick as a deer bolted over and shoved the lad clear
of danger. And Lou? He never had a chance. Fern was
never quite the same after that. She was still her graceful,
caring self. But her broken heart showed in her saddened
eyes. And what remained of her heart she never gave
to anyone else.
Lou's friends from up north stopped by one day and brought
her a large wooden bench with a slab top made from the
very tree that took Lou's life. Fern placed the bench
under the apple tree where they both used to sit, holding
hands and sipping lemonade, whiling the hours away.
(Indeed, that very bench is now the counter tops used
in our store's coffee corner today.)
Fern
never did marry, choosing to instead live her life quietly
on her own in her rambling old home. Many said she became
a bit of an eccentric. She enjoyed her afternoon tea
in the company of her four Siamese cats and seemed happiest
when fussing over her beautiful gardens that were doused
with color all season long. Along with her cats, the
abundant wildlife that visited her gardens seemed to
be her closest and most trusted friends.
An
old photo of Lou graced the table next to Fern's favorite
chair by the fireplace. Friends that visited in her
later years said she'd sometimes pause, glance at the
photo, sigh softly and dab the corner of her eye with
a crisp white hanky. Even after all those years, her
love for Lou never wavered.
Though
she never talked about him, her friends knew that the
pain of her loss grew with each passing year. One day
in the mid 30s when they hadn't heard from Fern for
a few days, a neighbor stopped by and found her body.
There she was sitting in her chair by the fireplace
with the old sepia-toned photo of Lou clutched in her
frail hands, her fingers gently touching the face of
the man she so loved. She wore a soft smile - as if
she knew that she'd finally be joining him.
While
renovating the store in 2003, we discovered some yellowed
letters and an old diary that Postmistress Fern had
apparently stashed away in a secret wall panel. We were
completely taken by this woman who lived life on her
own terms, who spoke up for what was right, who loved
gardening, wildlife and our town, and who remained devoted
throughout her life to her one and only love.
And
that's how it came to be that we decided to name our
country store after Fern*.
*Nah.
We made the whole story up. Truth is, it's just a nice
plant that's common in Carlisle.
©
2004 BearHan Creative
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