JimFormation

In the winter of 1945-’46, 32-year-old Herbert R. Peterson returned home from the war. Home was the sleepy, central coast of New Jersey. Home was a small, whitewashed house on Clayton Avenue. Home was his wife, Ida Mae.

After the war, all was well with the world.

Soon Ida’s pregnant sister, Laura, and her five children were rescued from illness and poverty of the slums of Baltimore by the grace of Herbert. When George was born it was obvious that the house on Clayton Avenue was too small.

The Herflickers owned property in Toms River. Herbert’s sister, Hazel, married one of the Herflickers. Herbert (now Uncle Herb) entered into contract with the Herflickers. Herbert bought a 40-year-old farmhouse on a half-acre of land on Cedar Grove Road. Uncle Herb, Aunt Ida, Laura and the children moved into the old farmhouse.

Laura would tell the children, “I may be your mother, but you listen to Aunt Ida”. Everyone listened to Aunt Ida, or felt the love of a wooden spoon on the bare spot just below where your shorts ended. Or, if Aunt Ida was in a particularly perky mood, you’d get a headshot from the spoon.

That old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road became the hub of many worlds. If you were a teenage boy living in Toms River in the 1950s, Aunt Ida and Uncle Herb’s house was the place to be. Not only were there four boys to hang with and Charlie Tiffany next door and cars to race in the back (if Aunt Ida didn’t catch you), there were two beautiful sisters, Shirley and Helen. The neighborhood boys, I’m told, would shimmy up a tree on the northeast edge of the property and peak through Helen’s window. This was a popular event every afternoon when she came home from school and changed out of her good clothes. All that and Aunt Ida would feed you.

Aunt Ida’s family would come up from Baltimore and stay at the house on Cedar Grove Road while they vacationed on the Jersey Shore’s pristine white beaches. Uncle Herb’s family would tear the engines out of cars in the garage. The garage was the old barn. Uncle Herb and one of the boys (Eddie) converted it into a garage.

Brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, friends would all gravitate to the old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road. Who could ask for anything more?

Mickey met Helen at the old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road. I don’t know if Mickey was one of the tree-climbing boys. My guess is that he was. Mickey and Helen fell in love.

One dark evening, Helen quietly left that house and didn’t return. Mickey and Helen eloped. About a year later she gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. The boy apparently had a large head, which was difficult for Helen to — umm — pass. The trauma laid her up for weeks. Thank God that Helen and the boy had Shirley, Helen’s younger sister. Shirley fell madly in love with the boy. And the boy madly in love with Shirley. (I have it on good authority that they’re still madly in love and though Shirley has two boys of her own still calls Helen’s boy her first-born.)

Fast-forward seven years; Helen and Mickey have been divorced three years. Helen and the children were living in Union City when she didn’t come home one night. The boy was left on the street with his 4-year-old sister. After a couple of foster homes, the children moved in with Mickey. But that didn’t last long. Circumstances weren’t quite right and life got complicated.

Re-enter Uncle Herb, Aunt Ida and the old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road. The judge asked Aunt Ida, “What if the mother comes back and tries to take the children?” “I’ll break her fucking neck” is the answer that has survived legend.

Aunt Ida and Uncle Herb became the legal guardians to Helen and Mickey’s children. And there, in the old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road, Uncle Herb and Aunt Ida raised two more children. All the while, the old farmhouse maintained as the hub of a large extended family. So large, in fact, that Helen’s boy often couldn’t tell you how he was related to one visitor or another. Just that they are “part of my family”.

Fast-forward again. Uncle Herb gently died in his sleep a year and a half before Aunt Ida breathed her last in January 2002. Holding her hands were Shirley and the boy’s wife, Sandi.

Herbert Raymond Peterson and Ida Mae Peterson’s will directed Shirley’s husband, Jeff to sell the old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road. (Jeff, I have on good authority, had shimmied up that tree to see Helen in her undergarments). The proceeds of the sale would be distributed among the six original children

My mother is one of those children, Helen. Uncle Herb and Aunt Ida are my Nan and Pop.

And Sandi and I  bought the little old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road. Three more children are being raised there. And, in the wonderful spirit of Uncle Herb and Aunt Ida, the little old farmhouse on Cedar Grove Road is once again glowing with love, family and friends.

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If you haven’t realized already, Jeffrey in yesterday’s story is the Jeff (aka Uncle Jeff) in today’s story. Aunt Ida, of course, is my Nan.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. This has our family’s greatest holiday. Christmas was dwarfed by it. Everyone came to the little old farmhouse, and Nan fed them a Feast For the Ages.

Many of the original Thanksgiving gang has passed: Nan, Pop, Uncle Ray, my mom, Aunt Marie. Others in the family have moved away: Uncle Johnny, Tommy, Lisa, Suzanne, Amy, Uncle George (kinda), Christopher, Patrick. The late comers are all gone or drifted after Nan and Pop died: Aunt Marie, Dwayne, the Tiffnays, the Herflickers. Even my sister only shows up every other year — her husband’s family demanding the odd year.

So it was left to my wife and Aunt Shirley. They’ve kept the tradition alive. The Thanksgiving feast has gotten smaller and smaller over the years. This year I feared it might only be me, my wife, and our three children, and Aunt Shirley and Uncle Jeff at the Great Feast.

How wrong I was. The little old farmhouse will host 29 people this year. Perhaps its biggest Thanksgiving ever.

Not only is my family coming, my wife’s family is too. We will be wall-to-wall packed with family and love and stories. There will be four — count ‘em — four turkeys! Uncle Jeff will have a new audience for his stories.

Nan would love this. This is what she lived her life doing — making sure people, family had a place to get together and celebrate each other. Thanksgiving being the perfect occasion to do it.

Thank you, Nan. Thank you, Pop. Thank you, Little Old Farmhouse.