A brief history of my next door neighbors

Cotuit has one church — the Federated Church. I think it’s a merger of two faiths from back in the days when the population was too small to support two parishes and it was decided to “federate” or create one church shared by two faiths: Methodist and Congregationalist. Even though I was confirmed as an Episcopalian, I was married there and my father’s funeral was conducted there, and many other significant events have taken place there over the years. So it’s a important thing to the Churbucks, but more in a convenient than a pious way.


Every day at 6 pm, the PA system in the belfry plays a recording of bells, which is nice to hear on a quiet evening. In the 50s my father swapped the recording with an early rock-and-roll record.

But I digress.

The main thing about me and the church is that the Parsonage — the house owned by the Church for the use of the minister — is next door to my house to the south. I could shoot a bottle rocket and hit it (which I have done).

When I was a little boy the minister was Reverend Kraft. He and my grandfather were friends, and our yard sort of morphed into his yard, and the Krafts were held in high regard by the family as Reverend Kraft had been there for a very long time.

Then there were a series of different ministers starting in the late 1960s — one transcribed my Great-Great-Grandfather’s Civil War letters. Another was an avid gardener. One — Reverend Wilson — was from The Cameroon and had two wonderful little girls, Hannah and Olyenka. It’s been an interesting experience living next door to the minister, sort of like a built-in governor for excessive behavior. Which never stopped any excessive behavior from occurring, but the fact that the minister lived right across the yard always gave one pause before calling a sibling a bad word or lighting an M-80 at 2 am..

For the past few years there has been a lapse in ministerial occupancy of the parsonage. The house was dark and quiet for a couple years, then the church began to rent the parsonage to random tenants. But no ministerial presence.

Then the news came that a new minister is on her way.

In the spirit of being a good neighbor I provide you this link. Scroll down. My new neighbor is there. She is not the cheerleader.

Author: David Churbuck

Cape Codder with an itch to write

0 thoughts on “A brief history of my next door neighbors”

  1. Wow…a very Churbuckian welcome to her. A little history, then right to the swim suit shots.

    I’m sure it’ll be great to have a returing minesterial presence in the parsonage again.

  2. The lord sure works in mysterious ways……

    This is what you get for giving money to the poor woman at the gas station.

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