Susan McCreight McAdoo

Aunt Sue lived on the farm in Paradise, and Paradise it was for children. Little did we realize the magnitude of her daily tasks. Uncle Mack's big responsibility was the farm, but the chores of the farmer's wife were never done. The washing, ironing, cooking, canning, churning and gardening went on and on. Aunt Sue and Uncle Mack had four beautiful daughters: Bertha, Bert; Lillian, Lill; Virginia, Virgin; and Gertrude, Gert; and two handsome sons: Joseph, Joe; and Dare.

Sometimes I was lucky enough to visit the farm during Christmas vacation, and could visit school. Aunt Sue packed our lunches, then we trekked off across the fields to the one-room McCreight schoolhouse. We walked on the icy crust of the snow, never sure when we'd break thru. Just before we got there, we came to the slide, a steep icy path about the width of a sidewalk, which led down to the school yard. Down we sat, and down we flew.

Tom McCreight's daughter, Ethel, who lived in the old homestead of Andrew and Ann, was the teacher. There was a pot-bellied stove in the middle of the room, and like the poem, "The School Master's Guests" says, "The childrens' faces were steaming, while they were freezing their backs." Their drinking fountain was a bucket of water with one dipper in the corner of the room. After the morning session and lunch, we played 'Prisoner's Base' and 'Run, Sheep, Run' in the snow. Ethel, who was Mother's favorite cousin, was a born teacher. After having taught forty years myself under almost ideal conditions, I marvel at what she accomplished in that one-room school. When we got home we made a bee-line for the cookie crock in the buttry (pantry). Sometimes we'd find paris buns, which only Aunt Sue could make.

Aunt Sue used no extra words, but we listened to every one of them, and we learned. One Spring day, when my visit was ending, we were getting ready to go to DuBois to return me to Eliza. Crabapple blossoms were at their fragrant best. Of course I wanted to take a boquet to Grandmother, and I didn't know when to stop robbing the tree which provided jelly. Aunt Sue asked quietly, "Do you think you have enough?" Every springtime I remember that soft-spoken query, and thank Aunt Sue.

We liked to watch her churn and make butter in the springhouse. There the cold spring water flowing thru it, kept crocks of milk, buttermilk, cream and butter as fresh and cold as any refrigerator. The huge wooden bowl, her paddle and a bit of salt were all else she needed to make perfect butter. When she went to the garden, she wore a long apron that came almost to the bottom of her skirt. When she left, she tossed its hem over her arm and filled it with whatever vegetables were on her menu. Sometimes fresh peas and small new potatoes, roasting ears, green beans and always red and yellow tomatoes. I have said she wasted no words. She needed also to be chary of her time and energy. That apron was adequate.

For children, summer joys were too many to mention. We played in a huge tree whose branches spread across the stream of water that flowed down from the springhouse. It was our palace, and it had ruby and emerald branches. We rode from the fields on loads of hay, and jumped in it, when it was in the mow. We climbed the big hill back of the house and the orchard, to where luscious wild strawberries grew, and rested in the shade of the big grove of pines at its summit. The view from this Allegheny hilltop would convince anyone that the McCreight settlement was well named. We picked berries for shortcake, or just ate all we could hold. We went for the cows when it was time for evening milking, then sat on the front porch under the lilac trees, until the sunset colors left the sky. On Sundays, we passed the school and the McCreight cemetery, then cut across Uncle Tom's farm to Sunday School. When we got home, Uncle Mack greeted us with, "Get a book! Get a book!" There was no playing around on the Sabbath Day.

The McCreight sense of humor did not escape Aunt Sue, but in her, it surfaced rarely and unforgettably. Many years later, Mother, my two children, and I drove her to Gary, Indiana, to visit her daughter Lill's family. She rode shotgun with me, and carefully watched our progress westward across the Ohio map. Suddenly she said, "We'll have to stop!" There wasn't a gas station or even a tree in sight. I said, "Aunt Sue, can you wait until we come to a rest room?" "No", was her reply, "We can't go any further! We've run out of map!"

Aunt Sue came often to see Grandmother. She sometimes walked two miles to the Reynoldsville-DuBois streetcar. She always bro't a small gift to her mother. She could never stay long, but the brief visits were treasured by both those dear ladies.

She couldn't linger, because she, too, "Had promises to keep, and miles to walk before she'd sleep."

B. 23 August 1854 † D. 17 January 1932