Frank dozed in his chair. He thought that he heard an approaching buggy, but it passed down the lower road. Frank sat in his rocking chair in the living room of the house where he had been born.

His faithful wife of 37 years, Cynthia, had recently passed away. He’d written to Ed, his younger son who lived with his family on the West Coast, asking him to come home. All that Frank owned in the world, he wanted to give to his son, Ed, including the family farm.

The early summer sun streamed through the window, shining on Frank’s face, feeling very good after a few weeks of not knowing which way his life was going. He felt so tired. With Cynthia’s passing, Addie had moved into the house. He just didn’t feel well anymore, and even was getting a little paranoid.

Frank and Cynthia had lived a good life on the farm at the base of the mountain across from the pond which bore his family name.

Frank’s grandfather, Jacob Levenseller had come to the wilderness called Canaan in the early days of the settlement of the town of Lincolnville. Grandfather had carved out a farm from the 125 acres of wooded land, cutting the wood and brush and hauling the rocks from the rough terrain to build the formidable stone walls, which served as boundaries and fences.

Grandfather had built his log cabin farther up on the side of the mountain. The stone foundation was still visible in the upper field.

Frank’s father, Hezekiah, along with his siblings, were born in the old cabin. Hezekiah had married Margaret, known to all as Peggy, daughter of Samuel Dean. There, they raised their family on the side of the mountain. It was Frank’s father who built the long set of farm buildings on the bank across the road from the pond. The buildings consisted of the big farm house with shed connected, running uphill, with the large barn.

As Frank dozed in the sun, his whole life seemed to be running through his mind, as clear as though it had happened yesterday. He remembered his brother, Sam, who had gone to fight in the Civil War. Sam had been the second brother of that name. Their mother, Peggy, had told him of her first-born son, Samuel Dean Levenseller, named after her father. Frank had kept up the family burial plot with the little white stone with Samuel’s name, in the cemetery in Centre Lincolnville.

The second Sam had married Eunice French, having two children, Clary and Sam Jr. before he answered the call for volunteers to fight for the Union, on Feb. 22, 1864. Sam was two years younger than Frank. Just six months after he left, their father received the letter that Sam had been killed in action in an ambush on the railroad, Aug. 25 at Ream’s Station, Va. Father and Mother took the loss hard. Frank still felt the emptiness of losing a brother.

Frank was 28 when he married Jane Luce of Searsmont. She bore him a son, John Wesley Levenseller, in 1870. Jennie, as she was called, died when John was 2 years old, of complications of delivering a premature babe. Jennie was only 29 years of age. Frank’s mother was too old to care for a youngster, so John was mostly raised by his mother’s family in Searsmont. Frank saw him as often as he could.

After Jennie’s death, Frank courted her double cousin, Cynthia Maria Luce. Jennie and Cynthia’s mothers were sisters of the Wentworth clan, and their fathers were brothers, James and Elijah Luce. Cynthia was ‘in a family way’ when they married in 1873. Addie was born six and a half months later, followed by Edgar in 1875 and baby Jennie in 1877.

Cynthia had been a good, faithful and loving wife. They had been married 37 years, living on the farm with his parents, Hezekiah and Margaret. Father had died in 1879, six years after Cynthia had come to live in the household. Mother died in 1886, at the advanced age of 87 years. Mother was known as a kind and thoughtful neighbor to all. Mother and Cynthia got along fine in the big old farmhouse. Father and Mother were born, died and had always lived in the town of Lincolnville.

Frank was a very smart, self-educated man. He recalled the hay press he had put together. It had seemed to him that when he and the other farmers had extra hay in their barns, the hay took up much less space and easier to handle if it were compressed.

Several men came by to look over his invention. Then one day in 1876, he read in the local newspaper a notice reading, “HAY PRESSES! CAUTION! I hereby notify all persons that are building or intending to build or operate said presses without the sanction of Ambrose Strout, that they will be prosecuted, and compelled to recognize his right in the invention…” and a second notice that A. Strout claimed all territory in the U. S., New Brunswick or unsold territory, for his presses, and anyone pressing hay in his territory could settle the trespass with Strout’s lawyer.

Frank put his hay press into the shed, locked the door and left the press for a few years. In 1891, he was again pressing hay for the neighbors. He was also raising crops, especially potatoes, to ship to the Boston markets.

Frank recalled the evening in 1895 when his youngest daughter, Jennie, came to him with her beau, John Morse, asking for his permission and blessing to be married. Jennie was 17 years old and 'in a family way.’ Frank admonished John, asking if he realized the responsibility that he was taking on, as he paced the living room with his hands behind his back. He then gave them permission to marry, telling John to take good care of his daughter.

The Lermond children, living next door, spent carefree days between chores and school, with Jennie, Addie and Ed, swimming in Thomas Pond, having picnics, playing childhood games, and enjoying each others’ company. They all attended the Lamb School down the road where Frank often taught.

Frank’s roots were German. His father told him of his people who had come to Old Broad Bay, later known as Waldoboro, from Germany in the mid 1700s. Frank had many relatives in the Waldoboro area. Grandfather had told him that when they came to the new settlement of Canaan, later called Lincolnville, they saw the twin mountains in the distance. Grandfather said, “That’s where we will settle,” and so they did.

Katie Lermond had married Sylvanus Griffin. They, Ed and some of the Lermond boys went to Massachusetts to make their fortunes. The Lermond children’s mother, Mary, who had been born in Ireland, had family in Massachusetts. Ed had gone to Boston to work about the time that Jennie married. Frank took him to Rockland, when he took a load of potatoes to be shipped on a steamer of the Eastern Steamship Company. He’d gotten $1 a bushel for the potatoes, a good price. Ed took the steamer to Boston.

Frank’s children seemed to be doing very well for themselves. John had a sawmill in Searsmont, where he sawed long lumber, as well as staves and barrel heads for the coopering business. John was an active member of the Masonic Lodge. He had married in 1906 to Julia Berry. They had two daughters, Margaret and Marjorie.

Frank had given Jennie a teaching job in Lincolnville during the early days of her marriage between the births of her children. Jennie soon gave up teaching to tend to her family. A tear ran down Frank’s cheek, as he recalled one of the saddest days of his life.

He and Cynthia had gotten word from John Morse that Jennie was having a very difficult delivery of her eighth child. He harnessed up the buggy horse, hitched him to the wagon and drove over to Belmont, getting there just before Jennie passed away, leaving a motherless premature infant son and seven young children.

Jennie was their beautiful baby daughter. Cynthia was grief-stricken. Frank didn’t think she ever got over Jennie’s death. It had been more than three years, and his eyes and heart still welled up with the sadness of seeing her grieving family. Her children were so young that they had no idea of what was going on. Jennie was only 30 years old. It brought back memories of the death of his first wife, Jennie. He often drove to East Searsmont to young Jennie’s grave. The first Jennie was buried in Appleton Village with her people, so he didn’t get there often. Now Cynthia was gone. Oh, Cynthia, you, too, were too young to leave this earth, only 59 years old.

Frank had been a school teacher since he was in his early 20s. He taught more than 50 years, and was superintendent of schools in Lincolnville. In 1877 and 1878 he also served as selectman of Lincolnville. He had been known as a strict school teacher. There was so much to teach young ones, if they were willing to learn. He recalled meeting Alice Pitcher years after he’d taught her. Alice attributed her success in teaching to him. She told him, “When you taught a lesson, we understood and learned it!”

Frank always had a work horse or two on the farm. He also enjoyed his fine younger horses, used with the riding buggy. He and his neighbors, George Lermond and Lucius Knight, enjoyed trotting their young horses in friendly competition to see whose horse could do the best. In the winter, they competed on the frozen pond. Observers said the colts were all about equal.

Hark! Did he hear children’s voices? It had been some time since the old house had the laughter and chatter of children. Ed, his wife and three children had arrived, in answer to the letter that Frank had written him.

Francis Hezekiah Levenseller, always known as Frank and F.H., died June 26, 1911, just one year after Cynthia had passed away, and four years after the death of his beloved daughter, Jennie. Frank was 74 years old. He died on the farm where he, and his father before him had been born.

His obituary recorded that he was a man of sterling qualities and his dealings with his fellowmen were honest and upright. His kindness of heart and nobility of character won for him many friends. It can truly be said a good man has gone from our midst.

A verse from his obituary reads: “One less at home! The charmed circle broken — a dear face Missed day by day from it usual place, But cleansed, saved, perfected by Grace, One more in Heaven!”

He joined Cynthia, there, whose obituary recorded: “Although our loss is her gain and she can never return to us. We feel that we shall one day go to her where there is no more parting!”