My Valley
Grandfather loved
music and when I began taking lessons he would sit next to the old square piano and listen
with delight to tune after tune, including the old hymns. He could play a flute, and when
his children were small, often gathered them about when he would play and they sing the
good old tunes then popular.
Grandfather had two brothers: Alfred, a doctor who lived at Bethel, some six miles away, and Milton, a farmer, who lived on a hillside just outside the Valley. Uncle Milton was a great Bible student and often pondered on "the deep mysterious things in life". He seemed to know just when the world would come to an end, when the millenium would begin and the "thousand years of the reign of the devil". While I was fascinated by his conversation, I was scared out of my wits at the same time. To visit at Uncle Milton's was a great joy for he treated me as an adult. He would talk about the stars and planets, about meteoric stones he had found in his plowing, about his fishing expeditions in Mongaup Creek, accompanied by the big black tomcat who would snatch any bullhead that got too near the edge of the water. Uncle Milton was a dear old man of sweet nature.
Another man to honor is the Rev. Wm. Ferrie, A.M. of Edinburgh University, who was pastor of the little white Presbyterian Church. He was a most scholarly man. With a large family -William first, then six daughters, and finally John the youngest, he and his wife had come to the Valley in its early days. He, too, delighted in fishing but I fear he never caught many because of his humanitarian methods. He never fished with worms, and only used live bait because he could snap rubber bands around the minnow to fasten it to the hook. In the winter he fished through the ice in the mill pond with a special tip-up that had a small sleigh bell fastened to the twig, so that when a fish pulled on the hook, the bell jingled and he would hasten to the catch.
He was considered most eccentric by many people. He had a peculiar Scotch way of talking, and many expressions were the product of his up-bringing and not generally understood. His little pony-built horse was dubbed "the beastie". The trouble was, I think, that he was much above the general run and so seemed queer. I do recall hearing him say that he knew more than anyone else in the Valley, but when I repeated this at home, Uncle Howard said, with a grin, "I'm sure he couldn't tell by looking at a hemlock stump how many shingles it would.make; neither could he tell how many board feet might be in a pile of lumber. Let him say that again in my hearing." The two men were great friends, each enjoying the other's company, but each expert in his own line of work. It was Mr. Ferrie who baptized me. Aunt Mary made the arrangements and I went before the session one Saturday afternoon. In the old pastor's study were Uncle Milton, Mr. Wynkoop Kiersted and probably others, but I was too frightened to look about. Instead of asking me the deep theological questions I feared he would, he asked if I loved the Lord and would accept Jesus Christ,as my Savior. Then we went to the church and I was baptized "Nina Barney".
From my babyhood up to this time I had been known as Neenie, sort of a pet name bestowed on me by the family but certain relatives insisted that this was no name at all and suggestions were made that I re-spell my name and adopt a more formal one. As Nina was nearer to the name of my babyhood, I decided to be baptized Nina, hoping my friends would not change it to Nina (long I) but Neena. The reason for my never having been baptized as an infant was because it had been planned for my grandfather Rev. James Barney to come from his church near Providence, R.I. to my parents home in New York City to perform the rite of baptism, but owing to illness he did not come and I was left without baptism until I became a member of the Associate Reform Presbyterian Church of Mongaup Valley 1886.
Years after while visiting daughter Esther and her husband Richard in Shrewsbury, Mass we all drove over to the Congregational church in which my grandfather had preached 40 years, now within the city limits of Providence, R.I. I talked with the present pastor and visited the family plot in the cemetery surrounding the church.
Through having previously established contact with Grandfather Barney's daughters, my aunts living in Worcester, Mass. I had come into possession of some newspaper clippings describing the 100th anniversary of the founding of this Congregational church giving my Grandfather high praise for his work and achievements. The present minister who showed us about on the occasion of our visit there gave as his opinion that my Grandfather was a man much ahead of his times. It was said of him that he took great interest in political and social matters usually considered outside the jurisdiction of the Church.
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