Sarah Griffith on the Poor Farmer/Preacher

God bless you, Good-women, for joining me today. My husband, Nathaniel Griffith, has encouraged me to share with you a bit of my life before we married. Aye, the memories are both painful and good.

My father and mother came to New England in 1635. They came hoping to worship God according to their good conscience. Though not wealthy, they brought with them six chickens, two goats, and two sheep. All were gifts from their families.

On a tract of twenty acres, my parents began their farm. Great cattle were known to trample crops so in 1642 an order was given in Massachusetts demanding all to build four and a half foot fences around the crops. By then my parents had already built fences to contain our own livestock.

The chickens my mother raised ran in the house and yards as though members of our family. A hen house was later built, though we soon discovered how difficult keeping a brood of chicks warm is, despite their mother's attention. At least once a week through late summer and fall we'd wring a chicken's neck, scalded the bird, then pluck and clean it before cooking.

Most of the work of carrying for animals and garden fell upon mother's shoulders, and later upon mine. As time progressed, Father spent more and more time debating with the other men at meetings. I was young and did not always understand why, but like all children, accepted it as a part of life. However, when mother and I would go into town, I began to notice a change in the way the others treated us.

Pardon me, dear friends. I cannot go on at this moment, for it was about this time my mother, gave birth to my brother and life took a road I wished never to have traveled.

I bid you, Godspeed.