Solitude walked with pioneers

Webb farmhouse in Mandarin

Family bubbles, social distancing, and online opportunities to connect eased my solitude during the height of our never-ending pandemic. A recent discovery of a small historical park made me realize that solitude walked beside every pioneer in frontier Florida, all the time. 

I realized that during a stroll through a historical site new to me. My husband and I were traveling side streets in the Mandarin neighborhood of Jacksonville when we arrived in town earlier than expected for a funeral. We found a hidden gem: the Walter Jones Historical Park, perched on the banks of the St. Johns River.

This being a pandemic, the site's historical buildings were closed to visitors but the park was open for walking. And it was during my walk along the nature trail, toward the river, that the solitude thought struck me. Everything was so quiet. Few people were out and about that day. It was easy to imagine that a hundred or more years had just been lopped off the calendar. Easy to realize that every day back then, the people on this and other homesteads were far removed from each other.

Mandarin is one of the older neighborhoods of Jacksonville, best known today as the place where writer Harriet Beecher Stowe wintered in the late 1800s. At first I wondered if the historical park contained her house. It doesn't. A historical sign marking the site where her home once stood is about a mile away.

The park features a collection of period buildings, one of which contains the Mandarin Museum and Historical Society. Others are the St. Joseph's Mission Schoolhouse for African-American Children, an old barn, a sawmill, barnlike winery and the 1875 Webb farmhouse.

The Webb farmhouse fronts the river. In its time, it was surrounded by 30 acres of farmland. The river, not the land behind the house, was the major highway of its day. It was a lifeline for people who lived in isolated pockets before rail lines reached them in succeeding years.

The quietness and isolation of those early lives seemed so real during my walk. My husband was on another section of the trail and I was alone. There was peace and beauty in the land and water around me. But the beauty of the human connection was made clear by its absence. I never noticed such a feeling quite like I did that day, in that place.

I like to spend a lot of time alone. But too much of even that good thing is unhealthful. We're made to love and help ease each other's journey through life. Much as pioneers did when they were able to bridge the miles between them. Much as we should still do today, even though the miles aren't always physical anymore. They're metaphorical. And it's crucial that we bridge them.

A mission to educate

I saw this photo of a Catholic academy while browsing vintage Florida newspapers online, and was immediately intrigued. First, I was surprised, because the photo was part of a large ad telling of the virtues of the academy. Then my questions arose. Where was Loretto? What happened to the school? Why had I never heard of either?

Little did I expect that research would reveal a fascinating thread of Florida Catholic history.

Started as an educational initiative soon after the Civil War, the academy had evolved into a boarding school for boys by the time the ad was placed in the 1890s.  As the photo states, the school was situated in what was then the town of Loretto. The community was later swallowed by the giant city of Jacksonville, but it retains its named distinction today and is considered a neighborhood.

Loretto is adjacent to the historically significant Mandarin, now also a neighborhood. In fact, the other photo on this page is from an article that locates the St. Joseph's Church and school as being in Mandarin itself. This second photo is from a 1914 encyclopedic publication with the unwieldy title of The Catholic Church in the United States of America,Undertaken to Celebrate the Golden Jubilee of His Holiness, Pope Pius X.  At that time, the mission of Mandarin was considered 13 miles south of Jacksonville. 

More interesting, the mission was first visited by a priest from St. Augustine in 1787. Florida wasn't yet Florida at that time. The land was under Spanish rule.

The first church - I guess the first St. Jospeh's - was built in 1858, very early by Florida frontier standards. By that time, Florida was a U.S. state and the Mandarin Mission had suffered from pressure and resistance from non-Catholics. The congregation of St. Joseph's was smaller than it had been more than a half-century earlier. Fr. John Chambon's 1863 census reported 120 Catholics. In comparison, from 140 to 150 baptisms alone were performed during the six-year period between 1787 and 1793.

Fr. Chambon is considered the founder of the mission. But a Fr. de la Fosse of St. Augustine is credited with starting the school in 1868, with Sister Mary Julia and Sister Mary Bernard of the Sisters of St. Joseph, also of St. Augustine, according to the Golden Jubilee book.

 A full history of the still-vibrant St. Joseph's Church is featured on the parish website and it tells how Sisters Julia and Bernard traveled 27 miles by oxcart to start teaching. They lived a mile from the school and once got lost in the thick undergrowth and wandered around until late into the night.

The academy grew into a boarding school after the sisters started taking in boarders to help offset costs. It grew in stature, too, according to the parish history, and had students from as far away as Cuba. The sisters also taught free day school for boys and girls. Because of segregation laws, the sisters had to teach the African-American students in a separate building.

The academy lasted just shy of a century. It closed in 1963, after a remarkable run. The associated church remains a vibrant parish, and its online history is well worth reading. Not only does it provide an overview, it includes details that help convey the challenges faced by Catholics who served in Florida when it was mission territory. I salute them.