The Hermitage, part 4 of 4

Features

January 26, 2008

By Don Wicks Picayune Item Sat Jan 26, 2008, 05:58 PM CST

PICAYUNE — After Leonard Kimball’s death in 1883, Jane, his wife stayed on for several years, then sold the Hermitage to a widow by the name of Fredrics from Louisiana. Mrs. Fredrics sold it around the year 1886, when the store became unprofitable, to Allokar Camillo Bruno Tuma, an Austro-Hungarian apothecary born in Dresden Saxony, who fostered many improvements and established businesses in the area. On Allokar’s death in 1898, the property was inherited by his daughter, Louise Tuma Mary who sold it to the Terrells in 1903.

The Terrells lived there peacefully until the late 1920’s. There is a story about Thomas Terrell who enjoyed playing the violin on the porch. After his death in 1915, his daughter, Letia Terrell wrote in her diary how much they all missed his playing. Some who have visited the Hermitage have commented on the sweet violin melodies heard while on the grounds. This ghost like music has been attributed to Eliza Jane Poitevent, but perhaps Thomas Terrell continued her lament, or perhaps they perform a duet, those two who so loved the magic of the old Indian campground. What is now the Pool-house was built by Elvira (Evie) Marson Terrell for her father, Stephan Marson, who came to live with them when his wife died. The swimming pool was added later.

Lamont Rowlands, a lumberman in business with L. O. Crosby, bought the Hermitage from the Terrells in the late 1820’s. It was his secretary, Elsie Farr, who gave us the colorful narratives of Parts 1 & 2. Mr. Rowlands then sold the Hermitage and business to L.O. Crosby, who lived there for many years with his family. The estate finally ended up in the hands of Doug and Sally Abraham. Doug had been, as was Cook and Kimball, a Mississippi state representative.

You have been given only a sample of the information available about our founding. This grand old antebellum mansion, nestled on a bluff, bordering the confluence of East and West Hobolochitto Creeks, which began as an Indian village, now awaits the comfort of new inhabitants. Settled by a pioneer, purchased for its beauty and commercial appeal by a veteran of the war of 1812 who became a judge and state legislator and encouraged settlers to occupy the area, willed to a friend who also served in the state legislature, who became a mentor for our favorite daughter, Pearl Rivers, poet and one time owner and publisher of the Times Picayune, is waiting patiently to be rescued. The graves of Moses Cook, his wife and daughter, Leonard Kimball, and loyal slaves buried in the small family plot along with the slave graveyard on the old L. O. Crosby property that has been obscured by time, all cry from their slumber to be rescued. Will the new owners be sympathetic to its historical importance?

There is a chance, though small, that we as citizens of this proud community called Picayune could gather together and make the dream of our ancestors come true by purchasing the property. Imagine yourself sitting on the portico reading the poetic words of Elsie Farr. Imagine, standing on the landing besides the river, reading the poems of Pearl Rivers, basking in the inspiration that fostered our great ancestors, then, walking the path to the small gravesite, and saying a prayer for the Choctaw, Jarrell, Moses and Leonard and the African American slaves who served loyally through tumultuous times to maintain the homestead. Perhaps, if God bids us so, we could join together in community and secure our birthing place for ourselves, our children and our grandchildren for generations to come. The Hermitage begs to be preserved as an historic site. The Hermitage and its grounds need to be open to the public, not only to honor our past, but to give inspiration to future generations. Currently the home and grounds of the Hermitage are unavailable for visitation, and (I was told) are protected against trespassing by a security firm along with guard dogs.

Even if we fail to preserve the Hermitage, our efforts will have re-kindled the spark of bygone days. Time, like Hurricane Katrina, can quickly wipe away antiquity. Our history is too important, and has for too long been neglected. We need a place to furnish our past, to store our precious documents and to house a research center to gather and maintain our heritage. How can we be who we are, unless we know who we were?

Don Wicks is a local writer who is currently researching Eliza Jane Nicholson, with the hopes of writing an extensive biography on her life, her poetry and her publishing career. Don resides near the Ceaser community with his lovely wife Suzanne.

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