Nancy O’Neal
I came to the O’Neal farm in 1990 after inheriting an interest in the land. Some of the farm has been in the family for five generations. My father grew up on the part of the farm called Chesnut Hills. In those days, they mowed the hay using mules rather than the big tractors that do the work today. Our family acquired the part of the farm I live on in 1930. The dead cedar tree at the driveway is such a landmark for people finding the farm. I don’t know how long the tree has stood there but without it, people would just drive on by.
Our family has deep roots in Florence. I am descended from both the Coffee family and the O’Neals. Our families joined when John Coffee’s granddaughter Mary Coffee married Edward O’Neal II. Mary lived in a house called Ardoyne south of Gunwhaleford Road. Mary kept a journal, which captured her experience both in Florence and elsewhere. My father had the journal transcribed. In her diary, Mary documented how the Civil War impacted her. One of her stories involved “Pap” Dave Hutchins Smith, who lived to be 106 and was buried at the farm. Pap Dave had served as a camp man to Andrew Jackson in the War of 1812. Pap Dave was a great storyteller and kept Mary occupied when she was a child. During the Civil War, Mary’s pony had to be hidden in the basement to keep him safe from soldiers on either side of the war. During one such time, the pony gave himself up by whinnying. Soldiers found the pony and took him to their camp across the river up on the bluff. According to Mary, Pap Dave got in his boat and crossed the river. Once in the army camp, he asks to be introduced to officer in charge. When he meets the officer, Pap Dave starts telling him stories. He charmed the officer with his storytelling ability and got Mary’s pony back. There is a portrait of her in my sister-in-law’s house. According to her journal, the painter, most likely a traveling portrait artist, had to bribe Mary with candy and paint her bird into the portrait to get Mary to stay still long enough to paint her.
The lane that winds through the woods of the farm is one of the most beautiful spots. One day we were walking through the lane, pushing cows. I had been living here on the farm for about a year and I was learning to work cattle on a horse named Sage, who knew way more about moving cattle than I did. The dogwoods were blooming, and I thought I had just died and gone to heaven.