My grandfather Carl (upper right) and his brothers in Lower East Pubnico, Nova Scotia, in 1934. His father, Charles Seward Wyman (not pictured) was a blueberry farmer who ran the general store. 5'4" and the only man in town who could pick up a railroad tie unassisted, or so the story goes. Probably an exaggeration a lie, but told convincingly. That's who we are.
Carl had moved to Massachusetts in the early 20s because of some epidemic in NS. He was out hunting with a MicMac friend when he got word not to go home, but go live with his uncle in Peabody, MA... temporarily. He was living in Jamaica Plains by this time, and working as a chauffeur at North Station in Boston, where he drove such luminaries as Henry Cabot Lodge II, who treated him well, and Calvin Coolidge, who didn't. Cheap bastard, he said. About this time he was building his first home in Westford, MA, which the bank later foreclosed on in the Depression. But banks had learned it was better to absorb the losses and ride it out when Grandpa Wyman built his second one in 1936, a Cape Codder that is still standing on Greenwood Dr, off Rt 27 near the South Chelmsford and Acton borders. He was the egg man for Chelmsford and West Lowell even up until the time I visited in the 60's. Maybe into the 70s. Grew lots of strawberries as well. My father once remarked in admiration that he had no enemies, which neither he nor I could say.
Very strong Coastal New England accent, which is how I knew that it extended up that far when I first read Hans Kurath in college. Didn't talk that much, but I remember him saying Ayuh! Ayuh! with a smile at just about anything I said. That's all a grandson asks for, really.
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