PIONEER LIFE

“We primeval forests felling,

 We the surface broad surveying and the virgin soil upheaving."

The difficulties facing the settlers here were much the same as those encountered by pioneers everywhere : the toil of clearing and planting the land, finding adequate protection against pests, drought, fire and frost: building houses, obtaining household supplies, learning to avoid sickness under rude conditions.

The pines were pretty big to get out of the way, from eighty feet to one hundred feet high, but there was little underbrush. In our wasteful American way good timber was burned to get rid of it. Fires crept out from these piles, or were purposely set, to give the cattle fresh grass. Then the inhabitants would be called to save their fences and groves. The men beat the lines of flame with branches, or kindled back fires; the women brewed coffee to refresh them after their toil. Orange seedlings were brought often from a distance at night to keep them moist, or wild orange seeds were sowed in boxes, then transplanted to a nursery and budded. One brave pioneer told me she sold her jewelry to buy trees. Other crops were cultivated: sweet potatoes, sugar cane, corn, melons, pineapples, bananas and peaches.

The clearings had to be securely fenced, for wild animals and semi-wild ones roamed about. There were foxes, coon, deer, wild cats, cattle and "razor backs." One man gives this account of his experiences. "I bought five acres of land, or sand, on Lake Gertie and planned to make a little Garden of Eden for myself. I planted a great variety of trees, with great care, digging out big deep holes and filling in with top soil. I carried the trees over from my neighbor's nursery, one or two at a time, and took care to do it right. My trees were five times destroyed: three times by the cattle eating them and twice by burning; after which I suspended operations on my Garden of Eden, on account of lack of funds."

The houses were usually of logs until the coming of the saw mills. If you wanted a frame house, you had to send away for it. Dr. Bennett (1877) had all the materials for his home to the smallest nail brought from Jacksonville. In most of them there were two rooms, one below and one above, with a porch and a lean-to for a kitchen. One ingenious settler fixed sleeping places for his children, like berths on a car. The buildings had no cellars and were raised on blocks some distance from the ground. The space beneath was usually left open.

Rain water kept in tanks and filtered was used for drinking. If not carefully covered, wigglers would get in. There were some shallow wells. Mrs. Rich told of theirs going dry. Their horses had not come. Capt. Rich and Mr. Hampson had to carry all the water for the household from a well three quarters of a mile away. To cool it, water was put in a pail and wrapped around with a wet cloth, or hung in a jar in the air. The lack of plenty of pure, cold water was a real deprivation. We used to drive to the river, rush on the boat, as it landed, to get a drink of ice water. Ice was shipped from Jacksonville, but at the end of the trip, the purchaser did not get much but a wet barrel. The Kingsbury ice factory (1883) was hailed with delight; even if some times the ice tasted of ammonia, it was cold. Florida cows had too much to do getting a living to give milk. Sweetened, condensed milk was used, until Mr. McBride brought in northern stock and made a success of his dairy. Florida beef was very tough but was eaten; later, shippers began to bring in western beef. At first it was not uncommon for hunters to kill a deer on the way to town to trade. They would dress it in the street and sell the venison for twelve to fifteen cents a pound, the price of beef. There were also fish and quail now and then. Hog and hominy and Florida syrup made from sugar cane and tasting like molasses, were the staple articles of diet. Butter, sent from the north, had to be kept cool hanging in the well, and to be eaten with a spoon. Few tried to have it in summer.

There were innumerable insects to contend with, as well as the heat. Roaches and spiders crawled over the walls and fell into the water and flour, mosquitoes buzzed for entrance behind the netting over the beds. Fleas, ticks and red bugs troubled your happiness when you wandered off in the woods, intending to leave care behind. I have referred to the healthfulness of the climate, but folks did have fevers. I suppose the mosquitoes were to blame, though people did not know then what a menace they are. There may have been carelessness, too, about drinking water.

Perhaps, the greatest malady of all was homesickness. The homesteaders were widely separated. "However," Mrs. Rich wrote, "as we became acquainted, we began to feel that here neighbors were far apart yet so close together, while in the city they were close together and yet so far apart. Those who were not kept at home by young children used frequently to walk miles to spend the day with a neighbor. I well remember the first time I went calling with my two-year old boy. I drove through the woods, keeping in sight of the old government blazes on the trees, for a distance of something over a mile, until I could see the house where I was to call. Then I headed for the house straight through the woods. When I was ready

to go home, I had to get the man of the house to go with me to the section line, and when he had located that for me again, I followed the blazes until I reached home."

Mrs. Austin whom so many remember for her cheerful spirit said: "I was so homesick for months I thought I would die. The change from a busy, attractive life in the city to a lonely squatting in the woods waiting on an orange grove to come into bearing was something hard to become reconciled to. My dearest neighbors while at John Cannons were Mrs. Voorhis and Mrs. Alexander. I would make frequent visits to them, pouring out my tale of woe and shedding my bitter, homesick tears. One day as I was prancing up and down Mrs. Alexander's porch with her baby, Frank, in my arms, watching the boat come in, I said to her, 'Oh, did you feel this way, and how long before you got over it?' She said: 'Why you are a pioneer and you must be brave and not give way to your feelings.' Then I cried some more and said, 'Oh, I can't be brave.' " How well she belied her words; and DeLand, and its advancement became her pride and her Florida home looked "mighty good" to her. There she wanted to rest, as she does, "after life's fitful fever." Did one ever hear of a city stopping its activities to honor the passing of a woman

who held no official position? And yet how fitting it was, since she was aunt to half the town and her good will took in all its citizens.

Many in writing me have spoken of the cordiality of the people as the chief charm of the town. Mrs. Bielby says: "The change from city life was very new and delightful to me. We were all very friendly. All seemed to be equally 'poor' and struggling, but we did not mind." The social life of the people found expression in various ways. First of all, were the continuous picnics. The party in the picture are on the way to the river. They are Rowena Dean, the first teacher, her brother Kirk Dean, Mr. Moon, a druggist of DeLand, and Corinne Sinnette, an artist from New York City. There were two ox teams on this picnic, one fast and one slow. This, I think, was the rapid pair. On the Fourth, 1882, a party went to Blue Springs for the day. Lizzie Pearce and a friend rode in an open buggy and were drenched by the rain. There was only one top buggy in town. Cora Fudger was the first young lady to ride in that, but I haven't found out the name of the owner.

They boated, danced, played cards and rode horse- back. Most of the entertaining was in private homes. Though small, there were always the verandahs, and the out of doors at hand. Fine linen and china were not lacking even when the rooms were unplastered, nor dainty gowns, though the guests came in carts. Various organiza- tions were formed, some literary and some social: the Orio Club, the Moonlight Club, the Browning Club, the Lake Helen Literary Society, the Old Settlers’ Association.

Excerpt from, The Story of DeLand and Lake Helen, Florida.

Written by, Helen Parce DeLand.