USA > New York > Kings County > Flatbush > The social history of Flatbush : and manners and customs of the Dutch settlers in Kings county > Part 19
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Pansies were abundant, but they were very small, and, under the common name of "jump-up Johnnies," crept out from the garden-bed to the grass-plot unno-
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ticed and almost uncared for. The huge velvet petals and exquisite shadings of their successors were develop- ments unthought of in connection with the simple pan- sies which hid themselves under the box bordering or crept under the shadow of taller plants.
There was a species of rose which was very hardy and bloomed early in the season, called a May rose ; in the Eastern States it bore the name of cinnamon rose : the leaf was small, and the rose itself, crimped and curly, did not unfold its leaves as fully as did the later and larger varieties. This opened the season to the suc- cession of beautiful roses which followed.
The pink monthly rose bloomed, as its name indi- cated, all the season through, although the flowers were most perfect in June and October. The color was ex- quisite, the petals being somewhat the tint of the pink in the sea-shell.
There was a bush of this species of "monthly rose " which held its place in a well-known garden in Flat- bush for fifty years, the young shoots renewing the bush from the same root as the old stalk was trimmed out.
June roses of all shades of pink, dark-red, velvet- leafed roses, great cabbage-roses, little yellow Scotch roses, and small white roses were very abundant through the summer.
There was a white climbing rose which was pe- culiarly fragrant, having somewhat the odor of new- mown hay ; it only bloomed in June.
All these were so far hardy that they only required some little protection to live out in the garden all win- ter ; they were generally thatched with straw or bent down and covered with earth or compost.
GARDENS, WILD FLOWERS, AND WOODS. 289
We had tulips, chiefly red and yellow ones ; they grew up without much care, often coming up year after year in the same bed, even if it had been sodded and no longer used as a garden. Crocuses and hyacinths came also with the May sunshine, and lilies of the val- ley strung their pale bells upon their slender stalks and gave notice of their presence by the sweet odor which rose up from their leaf-hidden flowers. Daffodils and jonquils came as harbingers of the long procession of the season, and the little pink roses of the flowering almond held a conspicuous place in the early blooming shrubbery. Pinks were abundant in June, and in that season also the honeysuckle filled the evening air with its luscious perfume.
In July the tall phlox-rocket, as it is sometimes called-sent up its bushy-headed spires of purple or white, favorite hiding-place for great humble-bees.
Ragged-robin made its appearance then, and sweet- william, bachelor's buttons, the red balm of Gilead, spiderwort, and yellow coreopsis made the beds gay with their bright colors.
Tall stalks of white lilies rose up from the bed of leaves at their feet, their stamens balancing the little puff of yellow pollen which was ever ready to play its innocent practical joke upon any unwary nose that ven- tured to steal the perfume from its chalice.
Morning-glories ran in riotous profusion over any tall object within their reach ; here poppies flaunted their red petals, there was the purplish foxglove with its uncanny flowers ; ice-plant, valerian, and bright- hued four-o'clocks grew abundantly. There were beds of lady's-slipper of many colors, larkspurs, prince's feather, and perhaps near these a few favorite sweet
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peas. Cockscombs held up their ugly stiff flowers, and none the less stiff were the tall spikes of Canterbury bells.
Hollyhoeks stood in groups, generally near the fence ; they were pink, lemon-color, and maroon, tall, coarse flowers, but they had an honest way of trying to do their best to make the garden look gay.
Marigolds of all shades, from the brightest orange to the darkest maroon, stood in great, bushy plants, and mourning-brides, hydrangea, and love-in-the-mist showed the contrast of more quiet colors.
Later in the season the stockgillies bloomed, and the fragrant wallflowers, and in the autumn a great vari- ety of chrysanthemums-artemisias, as they were then called-a plant that not all the spring sunshine nor summer heat could coax into bloom ; only when all beau- tiful things were on the wane, it came as if to throw a garland of flowers upon the graves of its kindred.
There were other plants which were transplanted to the garden after being sheltered during the winter, such as geraniums, the fragrant Cape jessamine, a glossy-leaved plant bearing a bright-red fruit known as "Jerusalem cherry," and wax-plant ; but, as we have been recounting the glories of the garden, we have only named the flowers which could stand the climate, and which grew freely in the open air. The addition to the summer glory which the house-plants might offer was quite insignificant then, and was lost in the abun- dant bloom of the hardy garden flowers.
Every careful matron valued the bed of herbs which she cultivated for medicinal purposes in a secluded cor- ner of her garden. As many a human being possessed of useful homely virtues, but not particularly attractive
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to the eye, gets pushed aside to make room for gayer creatures, so these plants with their healing and health- giving properties, useful as they might be, were not beautiful to look upon, and therefore were confined within the limits of the beds along the garden fence, or where the huge beds of feathery asparagus marked the boundary between the flower and the vegetable gar- den.
There were bunches of tansy, rue, motherwort, southernwood, catnip, boneset, wormwood, and penny- royal. These formed the domestic pharmacy which was the reliance of the family, and which was perhaps quite as effective as the contents of the vials which serve to run up the long bills of the apothecary.
In companionship with these medicinal herbs grew others for culinary purposes : thyme, sage, sweet mar- joram, mint, and summer savory. A corner of the gar- den was reserved for the cultivation of mustard. To prepare it for table use, the seed was thrown into a large wooden bowl, within which a cannon-ball was dexter- ously rolled round until the seed was pulverized.
The close-shaven lawns, such as now present a beau- tiful velvety appearance, would have been almost an impossibility for us before the invention of the lawn- mower.
The whetting of the scythe might occasionally have been heard during the season, though the grass was not often cut. Clover, both red and white, grew rich and abundant, as it would not be allowed to grow now. It was intermingled with buttercups and daisies. It swayed under the breeze like the undulations of the sea ; yellow-jackets and humble-bees rocked themselves to and fro upon the clover-heads, and little butter-
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flies raised and lowered their pretty canary - colored wings as they rested themselves upon the flowers in the grass.
At the time of mowing the air was sweet with the perfume of new-mown hay. Often in the second growth white elover came up abundantly, so that the grass looked as if sifted over with drifts of snow. This growth of white clover was even more fragrant than the red. A flower, called by its common name stariches (little stars), or known as star of Bethlehem, grew wild in many of the pasture-fields. Pretty as it was to look at when in bloom in the spring, it was persistently regarded by the gardener as his enemy, for where it once obtained hold upon the soil it was impossible to eradicate it.
The dandelion was abundant in all the fields-beau- tiful, whether in its tiny mimicry of the golden sun, or in its gossamer state when, like a flower-spirit, it is about to ascend and lose itself in the upper air.
Along the borders of the fields and in the woods there grew abundantly wild flowers of every kind.
Jack-in-the-pulpit preached from every southern slope in May ; the beautiful white bloodroot fluttered its tender leaves in the shivering spring wind ; anemo- nes were plentiful. Hepaticas looked up in little groups from between the mossy roots of old trees, and wild vio- lets, scentless but pretty, held up their heads amid the drifts of the dead leaves in the hollows.
Later in the season the purplish-pink flowers of the wild geranium appeared upon their slender stalks. The fragrant pyrola, called sometimes wild lily of the val- ley, threw up its single stem from the little green plate of leaves below, and mitchella or partridge-berry mat- ted the ground with dark-green leaves and coral beads.
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Specimens of the Indian pipe have been found in the woods, but the plant is very rare with us.
May-apple, or " Pinkster bloomitje," as the Dutch people called it, was abundant early in the season.
The trailing arbutus (mayflower) never grows at this end of Long Island, although it is to be found in the eastern counties.
In the autumn the gentian might be gathered in the woods, and in the swamps the brilliant lobelia cardi- nalis.
Celandine grew along the fences, and the running blackberry added its tangle of prickly vines to the thicket. These running blackberries were known as dewberries, and were much larger and sweeter than the " bush blackberry," as, for distinction, those were called.
The elder bloomed the first of July ; the flowers were beautiful-a close examination could only reveal how perfect the minute petals were-but the odor was not pleasant, and they withered quickly from the warmth of the hand in carrying them. The clusters of purple- stemmed berries ripened in the early autumn, and con- trasted with the brilliant yellow of the golden-rod which nodded from the same thicket. Its feather-like plumes were sometimes cultivated in the garden under the name of amaranth.
Sumach, glossy-leaved and tough-stemmed, thrust itself wherever a stone wall or post-and-rail fence offered its protection from the farmer's axe, and held aloft stiffly its maroon fruitage. Bitter-sweet vines also grew in the tangle of unkempt hedges, and in the frosts of October and November opened their bunches of curious berries, which the housewife loved to mix with cedar twigs in her vases on the mantel-piece.
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TREES.
There were formerly many locusts planted in the gardens and along the village roadside. But these beau- tiful trees with their delicate, pale-green foliage in the spring-time contrasting with their furrowed, mossy trunks, have no power to resist the wind, and are unsafe by reason of the broken limbs and the lodgment of dead branches among the foliage. This brittleness of stem and branch is the result of the depredations of a worm which infests the tree, and by its continuous boring weak- ens the strength of the limbs so that they fall under the slightest pressure of winter snow or summer wind. It is feared that the locust will in time disappear entirely under the ravages of this worm. This is to be regretted, for the odor of the flower is almost equal to that of the orange-blossom.
There were formerly many sycamore (or button-ball) trees in Flatbush, but these have nearly all died. as also have the Lombardy poplars, of which Dr. Strong says there were many along the sidewalks when he first saw the town.
In May the horse-chestnut held up its pyramidal spires of pink and buff flowers ; but there were not many of these trees in the village. They are not among our trees of native growth, although we have no memory of the time when they were introduced.
In midsummer the tulip-tree hides its green and sal- mon-colored flowers among its abundant leaves.
The large and single althea-we used to call it the " rose of Sharon "-was to be found in every garden. It bloomed in August ; the flowers were large-some pink, others purple or white.
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Lindens and maples have always grown rapidly in Flatbush and have attained, a great size. Until re- cently there were few, if any, elms. This beautiful tree, however, grows freely in this soil, and well repays the care in planting.
Our woods were not without a full supply of nuts. Chestnut-blossoms spread their long green tassels upon their outer branches in June, the green balls slowly ripening until the frosts of October gave the watching and waiting children the coveted treasures.
Hickory-nuts might be gathered in the woods in al- most every direction. There was a nut-tree which grew on a line with, and directly north of, what is now the Almshouse. It bore nuts which were highly valued ; they were thin-shelled, and were a superior species of hickory-nut. They were called heart-nuts from their shape. The tree was on the farm then owned by Mr. J. Lefferts.
Butternut-trees also grew in Flatbush : one was on the property of the Martense family, and stood about where Mr. Wilbur's house now stands. From a nut taken from that tree and planted, another grew in the grounds of Mr. John Lefferts. There were one or two in the south end of the town.
Black-walnut trees were numerous. One, which is very old, still stands upon the property of General Crooke. A grove of them once stood upon the land of the late Mr. Willink, but were cut down when the property was sold.
The roots of this tree are said to poison the ground around them. Other trees die when their roots extend in the same direction, possibly because the walnut ex- hausts the fertility of the soil.
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Hazelnuts were to be gathered in some parts of Flat- bush, but there were not many of these bushes. There were a number of persimmon-trees in the outskirts of the village. This fruit was called "messerples " by the old people ; the fruit was ripened by the frost, and was only fit to be eaten when the leaves had fallen from the tree.
The woods which formerly encircled Flatbush con- sisted chiefly of hickory, gum, chestnut, and oak trees ; hickory-trees predominated as to numbers.
There was a long belt of woodland southward, the last remnant of which now lies just beyond the bound- ary line between Flatbush and Flatlands. To the west it extended from the line between Flatbush and New Utrecht, and took in the high ground in Greenwood, and the hill in Prospect Park, then known as Vander- bilt's Hill. It bounded the road for the distance be- tween Mr. Willink's house and the hill on the Polhemus farm upon the old road.
On the east side of the old turnpike, the woods, un- touched by the woodman's axe, extended from the point opposite Mr. Willink's house both northward and east- ward. The road known as the Clove road followed along the southerly side of the woods, parallel to where the Penitentiary now stands, to a point at which it was intersected by a road which led to Canarsie, and then continued in an unbroken line toward the north and east to the limit of the village.
Thus Flatbush was pleasantly and picturesquely en- circled with woods ; its little group of houses surrounded by gardens and farms, its chimney-tops and roofs project- ing from among the trees, and the spire of its church forming the central object in the view, it presented a
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beautiful picture of rural life, of peace, quiet, and com- fort.
Looking down from the height of Vanderbilt Hill, or farther northward to what used to be Prospect Hill, but a few years ago it might still have been entitled to the first name given it by the old Dutch settlers-Midwood.
There were formerly beautiful walks about the vil- lage. The wood at the north had fine, large trees with a brook running through, and was without underbrush. The same might be said of the wood north of Mr. Wil- link's, now in the Park. There was no underbrush, and the grass was thick and soft. The most attractive walk was that upon the high hill, Vanderbilt's Hill, as it was called. The farm lane led round what is now the Plaza, near the restaurant, and gradually mounted the hill known now as Breeze Hill. From this spot an extent of country could be seen that could scarcely be excelled as a calm picture of pleasant farm-life. To the north ex- tended unbroken woods; eastward, at the foot of the spectator, was a stretch of level and beautifully culti- vated farms ; here were fields of waving grain ; there the red clover wafted its perfume from acres ripening for hay ; cattle were grazing in pasture-fields ; horses stood under the trees along the fences, switching away the flies, now stooping to eat, now raising their heads and pointing forward their ears as the farmer's dog chased up the birds from the hedges, or the farmer held out to them some oats to decoy them within reach of the bridle.
Perhaps the wagons, laden with hay, slowly wound along the narrow farm lanes ; or it might be that the plow was being guided up and down a field, making broad, straight furrows. From the orchards below, the
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robin's song arose ; the thrush whistled his sweet, wild note ; the oriole, the bobolink, and the wren came out to the field to add their snatch of song. From distant tree-tops the crow flapped his wings, and with a loud caw went to seek his mates.
A succession of highly cultivated fields stretched still farther eastward until the eye reached the faint sil- ver rim of the distant bays which, in irregular curves, bound the shores. Southward, the ocean glimmered under the sunlight, and the white sails of ships outward bound could be distinctly seen. Farther to the south- west the heights of Navesink loomed up faintly, and, after twilight, the twin revolving lights threw out a glimmering beacon from the lighthouse like the faint sparks from the opening and closing of a firefly's light. To the westward the woodland extended in an unbroken background of forest. Such was the view from this hilltop of the village, surrounded by woodlands inclos- ing with their green circlet the golden grain-fields of the farmers, like a ring of emerald upon embossed gold.
CHAPTER XXV.
VILLAGE ROADS.
SOME thirty years ago there were two or three miles of country road between Flatbush and Brooklyn, with farms, meadows, and woodland upon the roadside. Through all these years, however, Brooklyn has been throwing out vigorous branches in all directions, like the spreading boughs of trees that have rapid growth, and at last it has reached our very borders. Unlike the budding of tree and shrub, however, this mingling of urban and suburban presents an unsightly growth. The sunken city lot, with its encampment of shanties, its hummocks of refuse, its open, treeless commons, the resort of goats and geese, its rocks flaunting pla- cards for advertising quacks and speculators-all these are the ugly pioneers of the advancing city.
On one side of the village these have been held in abeyance by the intervening green slopes and shrubbery of Prospect Park and their protecting barrier of hick- ory, oak, and elm trees.
The distance between Flatbush and Brooklyn was rendered more noticeable by the limited means of in- tercourse in public conveyance between the two places.
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Most of the village residents kept their own carriages and horses. The old-fashioned gig, the red farm-wagon, the family barouche, and the time-honored stage-coach, each held undisturbed possession of the dusty turnpike. The old stage-coach, pleasantly associated with roads winding between green hills and shady woods, was the only means of public conveyance within the limits of Kings County. ₹
Until the year 1838 or '39 there were two regular stage-coach lines running between Flatbush and Brook- lyn. The oldest inhabitant well remembers Smith Birdsall, the proprietor of one line, leaving his house, which stood on what is now the corner of Flatbush and Vernon Avenues, at eight o'clock in the morning, and returning about four in the afternoon.
A loud blast from a horn announced the coming of the coach. We can readily recall the picture, which now we only see in the most secluded country towns, of the stop- ping of the stage-coach, the door held open by friends to "speed the parting guest." The last words are spoken as the passenger leans over the half door ; the driver shouts " All ready !" and mounts his high seat ; there is the waving of handkerchiefs, and the journey is begun ; the children are frolicking in the gateway to enjoy the excitement of the prancing horses, the cracking of the long whip-lash, and the prolonged blast of the driver's horn.
Soon after this stage had gone its way toward the distant city, but scarcely before the whirl of dust had altogether subsided, another opportunity was afforded the traveler to reach town that morning.
The mail-stage came in at nine o'clock from Fort Hamilton. This was more pretentious, if not more
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comfortable, than the first. It was drawn by four horses, and owned by Colonel Church, of New Utrecht. With a still louder blast upon a bugle, its arrival was announced as it turned the corner by the church from the post road to New Utrecht, and drew up before the little inn of the Widow Schoonmaker, opposite Eras- mus Hall.
The mail-bag, not a very bulky one in those days, was taken over to the post-office, nearly opposite the Dutch church, and assorted by Mr. Michael Schoon- maker, and then it was flung back to the driver, and deposited under the boot at the foot of the driver's high seat.
There was a prolonged snapping of the long whip- lash over the heads of the leaders, the stage rocked to and fro as the horses pranced hither and thither in the long, loose traces, and finally started off gayly under the inspiring flourish of a fresh blast and a final snap of the driver's whip.
Then the village sunk into quiet, and the lookers-on proceeded to their ordinary work for the day. If any one through drowsiness, or for any other cause, missed this last nine-o'clock stage, the unfortunate individual must wait over until the next day, for there was no other opportunity to reach Brooklyn by public convey- ance for the next twenty-four hours.
At four o'clock in the afternoon the first stage re- turned, and at five the mail-coach. Then the same bustle was repeated ; the friends who were expected from the city to visit in the country were looked for by these returning coaches, and the members of the family who had been to New York or Brooklyn for the day returned home, tired and hungry, and were met at the gate by
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the children who had been stationed there to await and announce the approach of the stage-coach. Father had brought, perhaps, the weekly paper at least ; he had the latest news ; and mother had been shopping in Maiden Lane or William Street.
Until the year 1842 or '43 these stages were the only modes of public conveyance. They then gave place to an omnibus line.
These omnibuses ran every hour, and as to conve- nience, in this respect they were certainly an improve- ment upon the stage-coaches.
Flatbush Avenue was opened from Fulton Avenue, Brooklyn, to the entrance of the village in 1856. At first the cars ran to the city limits, and were there met by the omnibus, but when the whole line of rail- road was completed, the old omnibus line passed into disuse.
It was a strange sight for us to see the cars from the city, associated as they then were with shops and city life, passing to and fro upon the country turnpike, to catch a glimpse of them through the shrubbery, and to hear the unmusical tinkling of the bells upon the car-horses amid suburban sounds.
VILLAGE ROADS.
Before the railway tracks somewhat incumbered the country turnpike, the old road to Flatbush was a favor- ite summer drive for the citizens of Brooklyn and New York. As there were then no city parks for carriage- driving, and the country had not been so widely opened up for extended travel, the pleasant rural aspect of the village made it an attraction toward which the large majority of the people who lived down town in New
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York turned for an excursion on a summer afternoon. The shore road along the Narrows could be included, making a long and pleasant drive in the country suburbs.
The roads and sidewalks in this town have always been kept in order. Dr. Strong speaks of a time when there were low stone fences along the main street " sur- mounted by primrose hedges." These have all passed out of the memory of even the oldest inhabitant. About 1840 the sidewalks were separated from the carriage road by a slight fence made of posts joined either by chains or by a top rail.
At this time every farmer owned several cows, which were sometimes allowed to graze on the roadside, or loitered there on their way home from their pasture- fields. The cow-bell, tinkling on the neck of the leader, was a rural sound which was always heard at sunset in summer. These railings between the sidewalk and the carriage road served to keep the cows from annoying pedestrians, and were really a safeguard for children. They also gave a finished appearance to the sidewalk, as they were neatly painted and generally kept in good repair.
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