A clean blanket of snow brightened the landscape around the old homestead where Jesse and his family had lived for many years; the trees were bare and the icy glistening on the tree limbs was a faint echo of the Christmas lights that would be so commonplace in years to come. It was mid-December 1884, and Jesse was just a child, a young boy naïve to the ways of the world and content in the comfort and safety that only a child knows.
His mother Eliza was tending the fire in the kitchen, watching pots and keeping an eye on loaves of bread in their old wood burning stove It was hard work but provided a warm and comfortable environment on those cold winter days. Jesse’s father, also named Jesse but nicknamed Jess, but didn’t have it so lucky. Jess owned a general store inherited from his father and had a large farm and sawmill to manage as well.
Such an enterprise was a lot of work for ole Jess. There was always something to be done but he was fortunate enough to have three young boys who were always there to help, whether they wanted to or not. John was the oldest and nearly a teenager, then Jesse and a younger brother George. George was three years younger than Jesse and just old enough to be useful; this was a blessing to ole Jess, who at an age considered young by today’s standards, knew the aches and pains of a lifetime of hard work.
The boys were in the house, helping their mother with the daily chores – or at least that is what ole Jess thought was going on; in reality, they were taking in the beauty of the meager Christmas decorations that adorned their simple farmhouse on Tom’s Run in Gilmore Township, just outside of the little village of Pine Bank. This made Eliza incredibly happy; the boys would often get in her way and their enjoyment from the holiday season gave her a bit of joy herself.
Christmas was just a few weeks away, and undoubtedly, they were daydreaming about the gifts they would find come Christmas morning. Some new knitted socks, and maybe a new shirt; Ole Jess had a good selection of clothing in his general store and, if they were lucky, they might get a hand whittled toy – made by Santa in his workshop of course – that would entertain them in the few idle hours they had when they weren’t helping ole Jess and Eliza.
Ole Jess was outside splitting wood, one of his most important tasks. Firewood was needed both to keep their home warm and to provide the fuel for cooking. Ole Jess had been at it all morning; he didn’t even notice it was cold outside and he had been working so hard he’d built up a sweat. He glanced over towards the house and noticed young Jesse coming out of the door carrying a bucket. “Mama needs me to get some water,” Jesse declared.
Ole Jess watched his middle son trundle through the snow and head out back towards the well. They didn’t have a fancy hand pump, just a stone-lined well with a rope by which they’d drop the bucket down and haul up some fresh water. Jess knew it was quite a task for his young son to pull the heavy bucket up the well shaft, so, in want of a break from wood splitting, he went over to his son and told him he’d get the water, if young Jesse would take it back inside to his mother.
Jesse yielded the old wooden bucket over to his father, thankful that he would not have to lug the heavy pail clear out of the well. Ole Jess tossed the bucket down into the well, then very quickly lost his footing. As fell the bucket, so did ole Jess, right into the well. Young Jesse was frightened, and he yelled as loud as he could for his mother Eliza. He yelled loud enough that his Uncle Lawrence’s family heard him at their house nearby. Eliza, James and George came running, and so did Lawrence and his boys.
Jesse was nearly in tears, or so he would recollect years later; he thought he’d lost his father for doing a chore he should have done himself. Lawrence yelled for Jesse to run into his father’s store and grab a length of rope; ole Jess had gotten wedged down the well shaft about midway towards water level and was struggling to get himself free from this icy cold prison. Young Jesse watched as Lawrence tied the rope into a makeshift noose and lowered it while instructing ole Jess to try and put his feet together so he could get the rope around them and pull him up to safety. It took a few attempts, but Lawrence finally got him, and started pulling him to safety. As they got ole Jess out of the well, young Jesse finally breathed a sigh of relief. His father had been saved.
Ole Jess was in good spirits. His tumble down the well had left him uninjured other than a few bumps and scrapes and he was relived to be safe. Lawrence and Eliza took him back inside and sat him down by the fire to warm him up. Ole Jess was done for the day and the wood splitting could wait until tomorrow. Jess looked over at his middle son, who still looked sad. “Daddy,” Jesse said, “This was all my fault, I’m so sorry.” Ole Jess smiled and said, “Son, accidents happen. I wanted to help you get that bucket up from the well easily, and you got everyone here to help save me, you’re a hero!”
He called Jesse over and gave him a big hug. Ole Jess wanted to reassure his son that he still loved him very much. In light of the danger that ole Jess had experienced and young Jesse’s proximity to it, father and son strengthened the already solid bond they shared.
Back in those days, things like this in small little farming communities made for big news. This story was mentioned in the Waynesburg Republican paper in 1884, and Jesse would recall this event for the rest of his life. He’d often tell this story to his friends Hiram and James on many of their hunting adventures and recall it as the experience that taught him the true spirit of Christmas and the importance of family. On that day so very long ago, Jesse was dreaming about the material possessions he might receive on Christmas morning, but after his father fell down the well, he knew that having his daddy around for the holidays and the rest of his life was truly the most important gift he would ever receive.
Is the person named Hiram, …Hiram Wesley Kent? Just wondering if he was my great grandfather.