This letter was written by Lucius Williams (1809-18xx) and his wife, Eliza (Fairchild) Williams (1817-1905) of Batavia, Branch County, Michigan. They wrote the letter to his mother in Steuben County, New York.
Addressed to Mrs. Susannah Williams, Bath, Steuben County, New York
Care of Porter Smith
We are well and living comfortably. We have some more wheat than for our own use. Corn and potatoes are good and our buckwheat looks good now but there is seldom a good crop. We have had a very wet summer. The first week in July, it rained every day and it’s rained every two, three, and four days [each week] since. It was with difficulty people got their harvest.
It’s healthier here now than it has been at this time of year before since we have lived here. We haven’t heard anything of George nor his family since he was here a year ago in May. By the way of John Fairfield, he wrote to us shortly after he was out to see you and that is the last letter we have had from any one and some of you must write to us — not because they are obliged to, but because we want them to. Nancy has always written to us in answer to our letters but I can’t tell now whether I have answered her last letter or not. But I am not so particular as to wait for an answer every time and I don’t want her to, nor anyone else.
I had thirty weight of wool this summer. I have it spun except five or six runs. I shall have ten or twelve yards of satinet and the rest is for cotton and wool sheets. I made dresses last year. We should like to come to York State but we shall have to wait until we get the means, and you must excuse me for not writing. It’s so warm I can hardly stand it.
— Eliza F. Williams
August the 13, 1848
Well mother, I thought I would say a few words to tell you now how well we get along. I have broken up six acres of new land and ’twas a job. It took a big plough and six yoke of oxen. I changed work to get it done and have got it nearly paid. I am getting my hay. I hope I shall not have to work so hard this fall. I think it is not a going to be so sickly here this fall. There is nobody sick but newcomers and they are not bad. Some of you write. This is for all of you.
— L. Williams