"OUR WOMEN OF SANDWICH"
Highlights from our Collection
PAINTED TREE FUNGUS
~ Annie C. and Me ~
My grandmother was larger than life, but when her husband, Rev. Chester Howe passed away in 1952, Annie C. Howe lost her partner and the companionship in which she thrived. Of course, the Lynn Baptist Church community, to which she belonged for more than twenty years, was there for her in her grief. Her duties as the pastor’s wife gave her purpose and responsibilities but they ended with his death. In an interesting, and some would say fortuitous turn of events, I entered her world in January, 1953, only a few months after Chester’s death.
At that time, my family lived on Atlantic Terrace in Lynn, Massachusetts. Our house sat directly across from Lynn Beach and our front windows opened to an ocean breeze and an unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean. Annie lived on the third floor. She became my caregiver, relieving my mother of some of the responsibilities as she dealt with three older children. I was her purpose and responsibility and, in many ways, her partner in life.
Within months of my birth we were in Sandwich for the summer, up on Howe Hill in the cottage my grandparents built. It was a different kind of world than the sandy Lynn beach, the constant beating of ocean waves, and the sea-life, busily getting on with life. Nestled within the majestic Pines and the endearing Birches on Diamond Ledge with grand views of the White Mountains, my grandmother was, once again, the master of her universe and she re-acquainted herself with her life’s work: the wispy watercolors on paper and the heavy oils painted on anything to which it would adhere.
At that time, my family lived on Atlantic Terrace in Lynn, Massachusetts. Our house sat directly across from Lynn Beach and our front windows opened to an ocean breeze and an unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean. Annie lived on the third floor. She became my caregiver, relieving my mother of some of the responsibilities as she dealt with three older children. I was her purpose and responsibility and, in many ways, her partner in life.
Within months of my birth we were in Sandwich for the summer, up on Howe Hill in the cottage my grandparents built. It was a different kind of world than the sandy Lynn beach, the constant beating of ocean waves, and the sea-life, busily getting on with life. Nestled within the majestic Pines and the endearing Birches on Diamond Ledge with grand views of the White Mountains, my grandmother was, once again, the master of her universe and she re-acquainted herself with her life’s work: the wispy watercolors on paper and the heavy oils painted on anything to which it would adhere.
Annie and baby Marion, 1919
Nature was her subject and often a canvas. Her walks in the woods generated all manner of objects on which she would paint; Birch fungus, rocks with interesting shapes, pieces of wood. She would reanimate the lifeless with images of Chocorua, a lily pad on a pond, a moose feeding at the water’s edge. Back in Lynn, she sat at her window overlooking the Atlantic and painted, mostly with watercolors, the sailboats catching an ocean breeze, fishermen casting their nets or angling from the beach. The oils came out for the collection of driftwood, sea shells, and other objects collected on her daily walks on the beach.
Annie had learned to make ends meet, having lived through the depression with a family on the meager salary of a young minister. She began a long relationship with the Sandwich Home Industries, dedicating a portion of every day to produce her trademark artistic expression: small notecards decorated with a watercolor scene. Thousands of those cards must have been produced and sold at the Industries through the years.
Annie had learned to make ends meet, having lived through the depression with a family on the meager salary of a young minister. She began a long relationship with the Sandwich Home Industries, dedicating a portion of every day to produce her trademark artistic expression: small notecards decorated with a watercolor scene. Thousands of those cards must have been produced and sold at the Industries through the years.
Most of the time I was there in my crib and, later, playing at her feet, or in the stroller that she pushed through the soft sand to the hardened tidal sand at the water’s edge. It is at her side, she sitting at her work table and me straining to see what she was doing, that I have my earliest memory of life.
It was inevitable that my curiosity would lead to my own set of paints and paper. She would guide my hand to show how the colors would merge with the flow of water on the paper. She would point out at the open ocean and the sailboat leaning away from the wind, sails full, the captain steering with a tiller and a wake of disturbed water merging with the reflected sun. That image hangs on the wall above my desk, a four-year old’s amateur attempt, but proudly signed in the lower right corner: Carl…four years old.
It was inevitable that my curiosity would lead to my own set of paints and paper. She would guide my hand to show how the colors would merge with the flow of water on the paper. She would point out at the open ocean and the sailboat leaning away from the wind, sails full, the captain steering with a tiller and a wake of disturbed water merging with the reflected sun. That image hangs on the wall above my desk, a four-year old’s amateur attempt, but proudly signed in the lower right corner: Carl…four years old.
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I moved away with my family when I was five, leaving Annie to move on with her life, dividing her time between Lynn and Sandwich. Still, my happiest memory is our car climbing the gravel driveway up Howe Hill, the white cottage ahead, my grandmother standing at the front door greeting us with a wave. Even though we moved from Lynn, my summers in Sandwich remained steadfast and left me secure, under the influence of Annie C.
Carl Howe Hansen
September 2020
Carl Howe Hansen
September 2020
Annie, third from the left, with her family at The Studio, 1929
C R A Z Y Q U I L T
This quilt is in a style that became popular in the 1880s, likely due to the fascination of the asymmetrical art found in the Japanese pavilion at the Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. Add to the Japanese asymmetry, a love for English embroidery styles, and perhaps the Victorian desire to surround themselves with trinkets and tchotchkes; the result is the hyper-busy design of the crazy quilt.
Ora Belle Farrar Heard's Crazy Quilt
Ora Belle Farrar also caught the crazy quilt up in this fad. This quilt is an example of a crazy quilt that she made in her early twenties. The materials she used include; silks, velvet and cotton, with embroidered animals, flowers and shapes, as well as her initials, O.B.F. and a date, which we believe to be the completion of the quilt. The quilt is hand sewn and embroidered, and created more as a display piece rather than a functional blanket.
Ora Belle Farrar Heard came from Phillips Maine, where she was born in 1864. She came to Sandwich and married Arthur M. Heard. They lived on Maple Street in the Center Village.
