Hutchinson - Part of a Story 

Peter Hutchinson Family, St. Helena Parishes, La.
Written by Edgar Merritt McNabb in 1996
Submitted by Edgar Merritt McNabb, Sept. 2006

**Part of a Story**

A story of one of the descendants of the Peter Hutchinson (1768-1852) family who migrated from Georgia in 1809 and settled on a Spanish Headright Grant in the Sixth Ward of St. Helena Parish, Louisiana.

I have now, a story to relate
of the old home place, before it's too late.
Here's where my forefathers were born,
so long ago, my memory is worn.
But I will try to tell it though.
I still remember things conveyed;
The days of yore which cannot fade;
Where childhood memories were made;
The virgin forest where they played,
All told to me so long ago.

This tale begins when shot and shell
fell like rain upon hill and dell,
in that long ago war with Spain,
where my forefather fought and gained
a land grant as a just reward.
With Old Peter as the overseer,
he and his sons began to clear
this virgin land they loved so dear.
The results of which you're seeing here.
And they worked together without discord.

The days and years swiftly flew,
They farmed the land, and crops they grew.
When Old Peter died, they planted a tree
to mark his grave for all to see,
our patriarch's burial place.
This sacred spot lies on the hill,
and around it, their crops they till.
The Magnolia grew fast to fulfill
the wishes of Old Peter's will.
A tree instead of a flower vase.

Then came the sounds of war again.
A civil strife in which our kin
marched bravely off to meet their fates,
in a dreadful war between the states.
And one of our kin was lost.
Merritt, at nineteen, was just a lad
who believed as his grandfather had,
he would fight if his country bade.
But his future was so short and sad.
His grave's in Georgia, unmarked by a cross.

The union soldiers under Sheridan swooped down
and vented their wrath on a Georgia town.
After the battle, young Merritt lay
mortally wounded by the fray.
A young lad so carefree.
Back on this hill at the old homestead,
all were filled with growing dread
as quickly news of the battle spread,
and soon came the words, Merritt's dead!
And then came the misery.

Great-Grandpa Peter, a horseman he,
joined the Louisiana Calvary.
Fought with valor under General Lee,
until this war ceased to be,
and returned to a farmer's life.
As the winds of time gently blow,
he fathered a son whom we all know
as Grandpa Merritt, the one I owe
the reason for being in this show.
His daughter became my father's wife.

Grandpa Merritt was named after
his father's brother, who met disaster
while fighting in the civil war,
and now the year is 'Seventy-four,
and on this hill, a new born son.
Grandpa Merritt was born on this place;
His memory you cannot erase.
As a young man he started to chase
a doctor's daughter, with a pretty face,
and then the courtin' begun.

Miss Arie Newman lived up the road
with her family in their abode.
She fell in love with this young man;
A stalwart member of the Hutchinson clan.
And then the courtin's done.
They loved each other and decided to marry;
Grandpa Merritt and Grandma Arie.
They searched to find a dignitary
to perform what was necessary,
and then they became as one.

Grandpa built them a house of pine.
He designed it himself, and built it real fine.
He built it big with plenty of room,
and then the family started to bloom.
First came Sitman, a big boy child;
Then came Grace down the aisle,
followed by Daisy, a lady with style.
Helen came next, wearing a smile.
Carrie came after a little while,
and then Lamar finished the file.

Grandpa Merritt raised corn and cows,
He followed his mule behind the plows.
Then he and Grandma started to explore
the possibility of a grocery store,
and opened one in front of the house.
They opened a store; This was their creed,
to help or give anyone in need,
food, or anything else the children to feed,
and in their business, they did succeed.
My grandfather and his spouse.

Times got hard, the depression had begun.
This was the year Nineteen Thirty-one.
Grandpa Merritt, a carpenter by trade,
did public work, he wasn't afraid.
Around these parts, he was well thought of.
On the Pine Ridge School, he climbed the stair,
to work on the roof, high in the air.
And then suddenly came despair,
he slipped and fell from the roof up there.
A terrible fall from the heights above.

He shattered his leg, the bone in view.
Everyone said of walking, he's through.
His leg was removed above the knee,
a man on crutches, he'd forever be.
And for Grandpa this was hard to take.
Grandma ran the store for another year,
and tried to bring Grandpa cheer.
But now for him life was drear,
and in 'Thirty-eight he was on his bier,
and in the family, more heartache.

All of you who takes the time
to read about this family line
knows for sure, there's more to say,
and we'll add more to this one day,
but until then we'll recite some more.
Their kids grew up as most kids do,
kissed Mama and Papa and waved adieu
and then from their coop they swiftly flew,
to start themselves a family, too.
As their parents had done before.

I mentioned before why I'm in this show.
My mother Helen sparked a glow
in the eye of a Scottish man,
a noble member of the McNabb Clan.
His first name was Ed.
This Scotsman liked what he saw,
she kept his heart filled with awe.
So he asked her Maw and Paw
if he could be their son-in-law,
and then they were wed.

The year was Nineteen Twenty-eight,
when Dad took Mom for his mate.
They made their home in Kentwood town.
Daddy worked for a man named Brown,
at the milk bottling plant.
In 'Twenty-nine, I was born,
Bobby came next, blowing his horn.
And in 'Thirty-eight on a December morn.
Little brother Don stepped on the platform.
Three brothers gallant.

Grandpa and Grandma have passed away.
'Neath the Magnolia, there they lay.
Some of their children whom we revere
by this old tree, are buried near.
Their markers here, their souls are free.
The old Magnolia tall and grand
overlooks this burying land.
Standing stately, close at hand,
as if obeying Old Peter's command
to keep it shady and oversee.

The sands of time are running fast
through the hole in the hourglass.
The Magnolia spoken of before
was struck by lightning and is no more.
But it still lives in memories.
My grandfather's house is standing, still
on this lovely tree-shaded hill.
He built it strong, with a carpenter's skill.
This old house is where I live,
remembering; with a heart at ease.

This is just one part from the story of
this old homestead I truly love.
If though the portals of time you might
catch a glimpse about what I write,
then maybe you will understand.
But now the light is growing dim;
The sun is setting below the rim.
This story covers part of the interim,
and is what I would call a prelim,
of the history of the Hutchinson clan.