I miss you Grafton..
Among the pleasantest recollections of an unusually happy childhood, there stand out in strong relief some occasional but eagerly looked forward-to visits to a delightful roomy old house in Grafton, Utah, which has been but recently removed from its original site to make space for a public pleasure-ground, now known as Zion National Park. At that time, however, Grafton was essentially in the country and the old-fashioned house lay at the end of the typical little Grafton town, very much in the same relation to it as the country seats of the English gentry are to their surrounding hamlets in England to this day.
This old house, however, instead of being occupied by the lord of the manor, was graced by the presence of three most charming ladies, who to my childish mind corresponded exactly to those three good fairies in Grimm's never-to-be-forgotten Fairy Tales, with which I first made acquaintance there, as well as with books dear to my soul, which formed part of an enchanting library that filled all the lower shelves of the old bookcases, where my good fairies had cleverly placed them within constant reach of our youthful hands.
These fairy godmothers were the three Misses Cooper, daughters of my grandfathers brother, William Cooper, and the society of three such clever, sympathetic, and delightful hostesses it is seldom given to the lot of people to enjoy. How well I remember all the many happy and useful hours spent in their company, when we unconsciously learned from them so many valuable and interesting lessons, and how heavenly their lessons felt!
Occasionally, when their family carriage, with the cross old Dutch coachman, Francis, neglected to meet us at the Grafton ferry, my sister and I ventured to walk alone from there to the house, by way of the short-cut foot-path crossing the old Grafton Common.
Here, in the spring, flocks of geese were in the habit of pasturing upon the young tender grass, and once we were actually attacked and chased by an exceedingly grumpy old gander, so that ever afterwards we were in deadly terror of these most worthy descendants of the defenders of the Roman Capitol. Yet even the almost certain prospect of being again confronted by similar doughty foes did not deter us from returning to the dear old house and its inmates as often as might be.
On rainy days it was an inexhaustible delight to be turned loose in the large old-fashioned garret and left undisturbed to play hide-and-seek in all its nooks and corners behind the pieces of furniture, spinning wheels, brass-bound and nail-studded horsehair trunks, boxes and barrels of every description which were stored there. Several of these barrels were objects of unfailing amusement, for they contained family papers and letters of the Revolutionary period, and we children loved to turn them over to examine the different old seals and to hold the queer paper with its prim old-time writing in faded inks up to the light, in order to detect the different watermarks, as well as to try to imitate the intricate manner of folding the paper to form covers such as were used before envelopes were invented.
I miss those days, when I could talk to people, when I could see people. Now, I am all alone. In this endless place where I have to clean and maintain this white cottage, all alone. Ive tried to walk away, to run away, to dig away. It's no use I will be here until I die, and I have to accept that now. If you find this message, I wish you the best.
Signed,
Thomas Cooper.