19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Sunday, September 6, 1914:   The whole family spent the day down at Aunt Lizzie’s. Ruth and I went down on the trolley. I took my camera along and had a shot at the crowd in the afternoon. Walked out from town this evening. Felt that I was benefited by my jaunt for I had eaten too many good things for dinner.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Grandma-

What a fun Sunday! It sounds like an almost perfect day.

—

Aunt Lizzie was a sister of Grandma’s father, Albert Muffly and a previous diary entry indicated that she lived at Montandon. I’m not sure who she married. Montandon is located about 8 miles southeast of the Muffly farm.

I’m amazed at all the transportation options that were available in a fairly rural area a hundred years ago. Back then there was a trolley that ran from Watsontown to Lewisburg with stops at several intermediate locations including Milton and Montandon.

Apparently Grandma and her sister Ruth walked a mile and a half or so from their farm near McEwensville to Watsontown, and then boarded the trolley. Probably the rest of the family traveled via horse and buggy.

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Friday, September 4, 1914: Nothing much for today.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Since Grandma didn’t write much a hundred years ago today, I’m going to finally post something I wrote in September, 2011, but never posted. The story is about quinces. At the time I planned to buy some quinces, make some quince jelly, and then include the following story in the post. But I couldn’t find any quinces that year, so I never used the story.

And, in 2012 and 2013, I again scoured farmers markets and farm stands looking for quinces—but never found any, so I again never used the story. This year, I once more haven’t found any quinces, but I decided that it’s a memory worth sharing even if I can’t tie it to a recipe. Here goes—

—

Grandma never learned how to drive—and after she became a widow when she was in her early 70s, family members took her shopping, to appointments, and to church. Each Sunday my uncle brought her to church in McEwensville, and my family took her home.

One Sunday that stands out in my memory is a crisp, sunny late summer or early fall day when we drove past a weathered house on the way home from church. A woman, whom I’ll call Flora, lived in the house.

Grandma noticed ripe quinces on some small trees in Flora’s overgrown yard, and said, “I wish I had some quinces. I’d like to make some jelly.”

Several days later my mother stopped at Flora’s and asked if she could buy some quinces. Flora never had much money,  and she happily sold Mom a grocery bag full of quinces for several dollars. Mom took the quinces over to Grandma’s and was astonished to see freshly filled jelly jars–jars filled with homemade quince jelly– on Grandma’s kitchen counter.

Surprised, Mom asked Grandma where she had gotten the quinces. Grandma said, “Oh, I walked over to Flora’s and bought them.”

We were amazed that our elderly grandmother had walked two miles or so to buy quinces, and then lugged a heavy bag of them home.

The next Sunday Grandma said, “It’s strange how everyone’s giving me quinces this year. Marjorie [her daughter] brought me some yesterday.”

A few days later we drove by Flora’s house. There were two  large hand-painted wooden signs in her yard that said Quinces for Sale. Three people seeking to buy quinces apparently led Flora to think that there was a market for them—and she probably never realized that they all were for the same person. I wonder if she sold any more after the signs went up.

—

After looking for quinces for four years now, I wish that Flora and her quinces were still around. I’d be her best customer.

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Wednesday, September 2, 1914: It need not be recorded for there is nothing important to write.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Grandma—

You sound a little down. Yesterday you wrote that you missed your sister Ruth now that school has begun, and she is teaching at Red Hill School. And, your little brother Jimmie probably also started school—so it’s just you and your parents on the farm.

Your oldest sister Besse also was a teacher before she got married. Did you ever want to be a teacher like your sisters?

You’ve never written anything about seeking a teaching position. . . so maybe I’m letting my imagination run wild. However, you graduated from high school, so it seems like you’d be qualified. What happened? Didn’t any schools offer you a job . . . or did you decide that you preferred to stay home and work on the family farm?

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Monday, August 31, 1914:  Went to Milton this afternoon to have my teeth filled. Took my filius (?)  along too.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

Grandma—

Ouch! How many teeth needed fillings? It doesn’t sound like much fun. Hopefully your teeth feel better now.

—

I can’t quite make out the third word in the second sentence of this diary entry. I think that it says something like “filius.” Any ideas?

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Sunday, August 30, 1914:  Went to Sunday School this morning. We made out to have our pictures taken this afternoon. Came home and got my dinner, and then started out. Met Carrie on the way. The pictures were taken at the home of our Sunday School teacher.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

In my imagination I see an itinerant professional photographer with a tripod and huge camera taking the picture, but it could have just been a church member with a Brownie camera.

It’s difficult to tell how far in advance the photo shoot was planned. Was a professional photographer engaged to take the pictures? . . . or did a Sunday School class member suggest on the fly during class that morning that she had a camera, and they really should take a class photo?

—

Carrie Stout was a friend of Grandma’s. She lived on a nearby farm that was situated midway between the Muffly farm and McEwensville.

19-year-old Helena Muffly wrote exactly 100 years ago today: 

Saturday, August 29, 1914:  Ruth and I painted the interior of the schoolhouse where she is going to teach this winter. We made sort of a picnic out of it. Ruth had a friend along. We were well-dabbed with paint by the time we got through.

Her middle-aged granddaughter’s comments 100 years later:

What a fun way to get the schoolhouse freshened up for the new school year! Teachers sure had to wear a lot of hats back then. Grandma’s sister Ruth apparently not only needed to prepare lessons and teach—she also needed to organize a work crew to renovate the school building.

The previous day Grandma wrote that she went to town with her sister to help carry some things, and that she tore her dress on a pane of glass. I’m now wondering if the glass was needed to repair a window in the school.

I’m not sure where Ruth taught in prior years, but according to the History of the McEwensville Schools by Thomas Kramm she was the teacher at Red Hill School during the 1914-15 school year. It was a one-room school house at the south end of McEwensville.