In Search of Jacob

Most of Sunday was devoted to travel from the Corry area to the Onondaga Valley about five hours away near Syracuse. On our way out, however, we stopped back in Clymer to see if we could look at the interior of the Methodist Church where Leonard Amidon was a founding member in the early 1820s. Here it is, complete with Daniel in the lion’s den set up for Sunday School.

We took the more scenic route to Onondaga, riding along I-86 through Allegheny State Park and the Seneca Reservation, then along Keuka Lake where we stopped for a picnic lunch, and over to Geneva at the top of Seneca Lake before finding our B & B in Skaneateles. Locals pronounce it skinnyattles.

We are in the Onondaga area to try to connect with Jacob Amidon, who was the father of Leonard.  Jacob and Hannah Pool Amidon moved from Connecticut to Navarino in 1804, shortly after others from their home town of Ashford had negotiated an early salt  treaty with the Onondagas – different than the S.A.L.T. treaty with the Russians 250 years later. What we discovered was that Jacob’sister preceded him to Navarino. An historic marker for Navarino says the community was started by Shubal Hall from Connecticut. Sarah was Mrs. Hall.

So, we did not tarry long at the B & B before heading off to Pine Ridge Cemetery in search of Jacob and the burial plots of more than two dozen other Amidons. The cemetery is located on U.S. 20 between Navarino and South Onondaga.  A grave for Jacob Amidon lies close to the front of the cemetery. However, it was that of Leonard’s brother Jacob and not his father. Systematically, we worked our way back through the tombstones, finding other siblings – William, Lucinda, Ruth.

Finally, in the middle of the old section under a tall pine were the graves of Jacob  “Amadon” and his wife Hannah.  On Hannah’s marker, you can barely make out her name today, but Jacob’s remains clear. At the bottom, is the following inscription:

“He has gone to a mansion of rest
From a region of sorrow and pain
To the glorious land of the blest
Where he can never suffer again.”

It sounds as if his last years may not have been healthy, happy ones.

Mary: So what is it like wandering around graveyards? You get to think about America's history, of course, and the resilience of our ancestors, who faced so much adversity. It is hard not to think of the brevity of life, as well, and to wonder if any of us leave a lasting legacy. Before too long, you are thinking about your own demise, but in a philosophical way. In the David Curtis Cemetery in Columbus, I found the perfect message I'd like on my stone and relayed my request to Phil: Lucretia Curtis, wife of Seymour Curtis was so remembered: "To know her was to love her To name her was to praise" When I suggested Phil thus mark my tombstone he said "tombstone?" Maybe he'll just (wisely and understandably) push me off a cliff somewhere. On his stone, I would put: "Patient, Longsuffering Philip D. Dickinson He didn't kill her!"
After the cemetery, we had a wonderful seafood dinner by the lake in Skinnyattles and then walked along the lakeside and past the 19th century mansions on Genesee St.  Both the food quality and the prosperity differ markedly from the Corry area.