Oftentimes during my travels through the archives at the Danbury Museum, I turn to the ‘Oak Cottage’ diaries of James W. Nichols (1809-1875). Nichols lived in the Great Plain District of town with his wife Phebe Hawley Nichols. He was a well-known gentleman farmer, poet – and thankfully – a chronicler of Danbury events. His family‘s roots were well planted here. His journals present a clear and detailed account of the people, places and events of the mid 1800s and I’m always grateful for their existence.
James W. Nichols (1809-1875)
I recently came upon two entries dated December 7th & 8th, 1850 (161 years ago this week) that tell of a raging ice storm and its aftermath. Given our most recent stormy weather, its affects, continuing conversation and coverage, I felt a need to share it.
I was struck by Nichols’ vivid description and his apparently unflappable attitude as to its likely inconvenience. It was a time when candles and blazing hearths provided light & warmth and the simplicity of a slower paced existence. Just as today, Mother Nature’s unyielding force most certainly wreaked havoc but I admire this Danbury native of long ago, and his wife, Lady N., who chose to focus upon the beauty of the event.
Perhaps you’ll choose to reflect upon Mr. Nichols’ words in the midst of the next inevitable Nor’easter and decide to see the wonder for a while – I know I will.
Nichols Homestead - Great Plain District - Danbury
{An excerpt from the journal of James W. Nichols 1850-1851. Courtesy of the Danbury Museum & Historical Society. Please note that all spelling and punctuation are as written by Mr. Nichols.}
Saturday, 7, has been truly a remarkable day. Winter has before showed his teeth and grated them rather angrily at us through the chinks & loop holes of retiring Autumn, but to day he has shown his shaggy mane and shook it around us. The storm of hail & rain which I said began yesterday, was continued with little intermissions thro’ the night and the opening morning disclosed a scene which made us shudder. The rain & sleet was still falling, the trees were loaded in every limb with ice, and hung over like weeping willows, every blade of grass was a large icy tower on the ground, and fences, stones were veneered thickly with the same materials. The falling rain through the day continued to load still deeper the forest trees, they hung down their heads still more mournfully, while the wind waving their congealed branches slowly to and fro made one continued roar through the valley like the distant advance of the long railroad train. Occasionally a large limb loaded beyond all power of endurance would fall with a terrible crack to the ground, a sign grand to behold notwithstanding the gloom & severity of the storm. For myself I did but little except to look after my animals and work within doors, at things necessary to be done on a wet day.
Sunday 8. This morning the sun rose upon a scene which for beauty & brilliancy overreaches all description in words. The rain which fell yesterday had congealed in chrystal formations when every bough & twig of all front, shade & fruit trees, and each dry blade of grass, every humble weed and worthless bush became a skeleton for a drapery of burnished silver, more dazzling to behold than the most elaborate works of the Artist. In a word, the world around us had suddenly as by a stroke of enchanter’s wand, been changed into a world of silver & chrystal, glowing with pure light, variegated with the hues of a prism as the successive angles saluted the eye. As we stood in the front door of the cottage we saw from where the high hills stretched far away, away, in light to the horizons verge, a strong path of sunlight reaching up near and more near to our very feet indescribable and beautiful. Seldom if every have we beheld the landscape drest in such gorgeous drapery or gazed on a scene so nearly approaching to what the imagination would paint of that city whose streets are paved with gold. It was indeed a picture of rare and unearthly beauty, one upon which the eye of a lover of Nature could dwell long and rapturously on without tiring of its splendor and soft and majestic combinations.
P.M. Attended church and found every where on the way new beauties and glories after glories opening upon us in rapid succession at every turn. Town Mountain and Thomas Mountain wore their robes of silver fret work with admirable precision, and magnified the rich sunlight into a glitter almost too intense for the eye to behold. By the roadside too every grassblade and perish’d weed, had their dazzling veneerings of chrystal which reflected to our eye the prismatic colors lively and pure as the pendants of the Girandole. Lady N. was all admiration & remark & enjoyment in the scene, and thought the face of Nature was never so lovely before.
In the post office I deposited 3 letters. Returned home to a sweet supper of fried Pork and Pancakes.
Was looking for some history on Great Plain/Stadley Rough and came across your article. Very informative, thank you. Imagine living during those days without all the noises of motorized vehicles and a slower paced life. Was a kid over here in the 1970′s and 80′s and hiked alot of the open land with its indian history and stone foundations. I will definitely have to take a look some time at Nichols’ Oak Cottage Diaries.
it’s easy to see why you’re so in love with him.
when i was reading his diary for Still River mentions (which were really cool), i got distracted many times because of his wit, creativity and attention to daily life detail.
i also got to find out about extreme weather events that weren’t documented well anywhere else!!!