By Anna Drake
The author’s father, Benjamin Franklin “Frank” Drake III. Judging by the togs, this visit was in the late 50s or early 60s.
Back in the late 1970s, on our annual vacation in N.H., my family took a trip to the Dana Meeting House. Being about 10 or so, I don’t remember much about the visit except that it was a spectacularly sunny day, my dad was explaining details that went over my head, and he seemed especially pleased to have found the meeting house and made a connection between it and the family history, of which he was quite proud. We took a picture of him on the front steps.
Fast forward several decades, many New Hampshire family and friends in the area have moved or passed on, yet I’m still in the habit of coming up frequently for day trips in the summer and fall. I stop by special places and weather the lake’s temperatures well into October, past the point when boaters actively question and ask whether or not I’m freezing.
Earlier this summer, I must have come across the picture of my dad at the meeting house, because it occurred to me that it couldn’t be too far from my usual haunts in Laconia and Meredith. I decided to look it up, and Wikipedia soon brought me to its Web page, and there I discovered the history of the meeting house, and my family’s role in it.
Apparently, the Drake family was one of many which helped plan, build, and finance the meeting house, and they purchased no fewer than three pews, as well. I decided I had to visit this part of the family history – of New Hampshire history – this summer.
After a few false starts and a hurricane, my mother and I were able to attend summer vespers on Sunday, September 5. What a homecoming!
The day was drizzly, damp, and get progressively dark, but no matter. The meeting house was beautiful and, just as promised, untouched over the years (I’d expected a lone lightbulb somewhere.) Tiers of square pews surrounded a pulpit lit only by half a dozen candles; with the help of a flashlight, we were able to find the one with the name we were looking for: Darius G. Drake, my great-great-great-great-grandfather.
I know that in places like Europe, it’s considered no big deal to sit in, say, a thousand-year-old cathedral; but here in the States, an edifice of just a couple hundred years is a impressive. So, simply to sit in a meeting house in its original condition, the way it looked and felt over two hundred years ago, was an incredible feeling; to sit in the very pew in which my very own ancestors sat, prayed, and worshipped generations ago was simply a gift of history.
We listened to a beautiful vespers service in the gathering dusk of a damp summer night, delighting in the connections both past (our ancestors) and present (the pastor was a RI neighbor!), and appreciating the miracle of both love and time that is this very special place; this meeting house I hope to visit again and again.