Dateline Stockbridge: I came to the village 50 years ago. In a half-century I learned its old ways and watched them change. Norman Rockwell images made Stockbridge America’s hometown. The intervening 50 years made Stockbridge a microcosm of America—an echo of old America coping with change.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. The three featured here certainly are. They show the three stages from near destruction to hope.
The first (above) shows a house with a tree squarely in the middle of it. You may remember the storm just before Christmas 2022 that cracked the trunk, brought down the tree, and replanted it in the house. Inspecting the house, the first response was “level it.” However, the current owners, Tom and Ann Wool, loved Whitney House not the least because it was historic.
History of a House
Captain Silas Whitney was not one of the original settlers in Stockbridge, but he was an early arrival. Born in Petersham, Mass. in 1762, Silas mustered (joined up) in Stockbridge to fight in the Revolutionary War. That means he was already living in Stockbridge as early as 1775, the start of the war, and before 1783, when the war ended.
Silas served as a captain during the war, but family records describe him as “a farmer that followed agricultural pursuits all his life.” That was not unusual. During the Revolutionary War, it was an army of farmers. They fought in short bursts and went home to till, plant, and harvest.
Silas married Mamre Bradley in Stockbridge in 1789. He was 27, and Mamre was 24. Family records continue, “He was honest and much respected and beloved by his fellow citizens in Stockbridge.”
Silas and Mamre had five children—three daughters and two sons. The eldest, Abigail, died at 79 “of an accident, unmarried, and insane.” The next, Harriet, had a very different life. She married Elijah Curtis from a prominent family of millers, merchants, and hoteliers. Together they had seven children. Not much is known about the third daughter, Mary. Sadly, less was recorded about the women than the men. Silas died in 1807 at age 44. Mamre outlived Silas by almost 30 years. Both are buried in Stockbridge cemetery.
Their sons, George and William, were born 1795 and 1797 respectively. William Whitney is listed, alternately, as Deacon William Whitney and as a farmer. That is not a contradiction. Deacon in the Congregational Church was an honor—an officer in the church—and not necessarily a profession. William married Anna Jones in Stockbridge and family records list no children.
George, a lawyer, married Pamela Fellows Fenn in Stockbridge in 1845. Together they had one child, George Fenn Whitney, in February 1820. George (senior) died in 1825 when his son was just five years old. A note in the Stockbridge Library says George Fenn Whitney was raised by William and Anna Whitney. Pamela was born a Fenn but given the middle name Fellows because of the relationship to a prominent south county family. Fellows were generals in the French and Indian and Revolutionary wars and was selected by George Washington to put down Shays Rebellion. Pamela died in 1872; she was 78, and her son was 52. Begs the question, why didn’t Pamela raise her son?
George Fenn Whitney, listed as a farmer, married Mary Elizabeth Lynch in 1845. Thus the story of our house—the house eaten by the tree—begins.
There are six early maps of Stockbridge: 1830, 1855, 1858, 1876, 1894, and 1904. The Whitney house does not appear on the 1830 map. It does appear—in the location it occupies today—on the next five maps. In all but one it is identified as the home of GF Whitney. On the 1858 map, it reads JF Whitney. Archivist Josh Hall believes that is a misprint and should read GF for George Fenn Whitney. Since there were no Whitneys with the initials JF in all the previous Stockbridge generations, and since the house is in the same location as on the 1855 map, that seems correct.
On the 1876 map, the house receives a name: “Elm Cottage home of GF Whitney.” The name could be a signal that the house was enlarged or perhaps it was the style of the day to name houses. Whitney owned a large amount of land on both sides of the street and presumably farmed it.
Over the 50 years from 1855 to 1904, most of the land was sold off. On the same side as his house, individual lots were sold, and houses built. Across the street, the land was reported as too wet. However, great swathes of land were sold to Joseph Hodges Choate and combined into his estate, Naumkeag.
From the style, archivist Josh Hall estimates the house was built between 1840 and 1870. From the family history, Hall speculates that is was built in by George Fenn Whitney for his new bride Pamela in 1845.
Saving a House
Soon after the Wools stood staring at the house and hearing the word “demolish,” they met David Lanoue. Lanoue, a local contractor, specializes in saving our history—a house and a barn at a time. Referring to the first photo, Lanoue says, “That is what I was faced with on the day before Christmas 2022. I didn’t have time. I tried, but I couldn’t say no.”
It was a timber-frame house. “That is a style of building used before the Civil War.” Lanoue says. “For its day, it was a middle class house with beaded baseboards and casings. It is a Greek Revival style home, although some portions may be earlier.”
The next photo (below) shows that the tree was removed. What did Lanoue do? He carefully stacked and saved the wood. Surprised? Though the house was called the Elms, the tree was a Honey Locus that Lanoue estimates is as old as the house. It was saved because it would give Lanoue the material for replacing elements of the interior architecture with wood of the same period.
Honey Locus was used as an anthelmintic and antiseptic used to treat indigestion, smallpox, measles, coughs, and colds. In today’s world, the wood is used by the timber industry because it is hard and rot-resistant.
Next, Lanoue considered dendrology (the study of trees). Lanoue took core samples the size of a pencil from the house timbers. Those samples will determine the year the house was built.
“Separate lore from fact,” Lanoue says, “soon we will know.”
Only one assumption is necessary: The core sample tells the year the tree was felled and then it is assumed that the timber was used to build the house within a year of felling, otherwise it would become too dried out. Soon we will have exact year built.
Stabilization
The third photograph shows house stabilized—hope for a new life for an old house—in another chapter in a long story.
