The Luke Miller House - Madison Eagle - 5/13/04
“Don’t it always seem to go that you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone -
They paved paradise and put up a parking lot..”
--from “Big Yellow Taxi” by Joni Mitchell
People like me who grew up in the Midwest can get excited about buildings dating back to the 1800s; they were the oldest we had. I was startled by the casual attitude about historic places in Madison when we moved here 24 years ago. I remember gaping at the early dates on historic markers around town and being shocked that people actually lived in places like the Sayre and Miller houses. My lack of experience had me thinking that old buildings should be museums and that history should be kept away from the grubby little hands of daily living. Since then I’ve become accustomed to history in everyday life. Living in historic houses, even shopping in them, seems like a good idea, a way to be closer to the past. I gloat a little when I visit my home town in Ohio and pass historic sites with dates like 1848... poor ol’ short-timers.
Part of our town’s historic backbone is the Luke Miller house at 105 Ridgedale Avenue. The property has been beautifully preserved by its owners through the years and keeps a bit of Madison’s past alive. I drove by it today as many of us in Madison do almost every day. It’s easy to forget how special it is and take it for granted as part of the landscape. Other historic buildings in the area are younger than the Miller house: the Sayre house is dated 1745, the Bruen House, 1835, Chatham’s Crane House, 1815, and the Campfield House of Morristown, 1787. These are all just newcomers compared to our 1730 Miller house (dates from the Library of Congress Historic American Buildings Survey).
The recent round of discussion about the future of the Luke Miller house made me stop to think about what it must have been like in the past, standing on that land we now know as Ridgedale Avenue. Take an imaginary walk there, and go back to 1730 while you’re at it. (Mental time travel is the best kind because there’s no need to change clothes, check your breath, or back the car out. Bingo- you’re there.) Now think about Ridgedale Avenue, and what has come to pass in the last 300 years.
The Miller house was on British land, meaning that when it was built in 1730 George Washington had not yet been born, and the American Revolution was in the future. See the house standing alone – no fence, no sidewalk, no Ridgedale Avenue; just a dusty path. Now, imagine Andrew Miller, his wife, and little Josiah Miller, future father of Luke, standing outside at sunset after a hard day’s work. They must have been people with hopes and dreams that pulled them from easier lives to carve out their places in the new land. What were their lives like?
There were no roads. People herded their livestock as they walked: a few pigs, a cow, and some chickens. They carried their tools on their backs. They made their own clothes by spinning, weaving, knitting, and sewing. They built their house by chopping wood and moving stone. They made their own dishes and furniture, and their light came from candles made of animal fat. They hunted for their food, and probably ate birds, squirrels, bear, deer and rabbits. They grew their own fruits and vegetables and did the skinning, plucking and butchering before the cooking could start. Kids didn’t go to school, rather, they would be busy feeding the livestock, chopping wood, or plucking a chicken.
The Luke Miller house was built by Andrew Miller, one of Madison’s earliest settlers and the grandfather of Major Luke Miller, for whom the house is known. Andrew bought a piece of land from David Burnet and built the house we see today in about 1730. Known for a time as Miller’s Station, the house stood on a path called “the road to Hanover Neck”, the future Ridgedale Avenue. Ridgedale was then a Native American trail which the colonists found handy because of its elevation and ample water supply on either side.
Andrew Miller’s son, Josiah, was living in the house during the Revolutionary War with his son, Luke, who was 17 years old. Josiah was a respected farmer and blacksmith, professions which were carried on by his son. Luke Miller served as a Major in the Revolution, married Rachel Bonnell in 1783 and had at least one child, a daughter Electa.
The Miller home was a center of hospitality for both officers and soldiers stationed in the Bottle Hill area, including General George Washington. Major Luke Miller was born in the house on Ridgedale Avenue on September 8, 1759 and died in that same house on January 23, 1851.
When the Revolutionary War ended in April of 1783, the Miller house was one of about 20 in Bottle Hill. Life at this time is described by Frank J. Esposito in his book The Madison Heritage Trail as being “about 60 years from the wilderness”. Life was still hard with few luxuries. Houses came and went, as did the people who lived in them. There were births, marriages, deaths, wars, victories and progress. The Miller house has somehow been there through it all.
Time travel in the other direction (still no need to put your shoes on) sees Madison gradually becoming more populated over the years with houses and
buildings being taken down and built up until we come to a fork in the time line – why its 2004! One path on the road takes us walking down
Ridgedale Avenue, under the old trees that form a cool, green canopy in the spring and summer. The traditional look of the neighborhood transports us
to an earlier age until we pass the new upscale houses where the Luke Miller home once stood. Someday (on this time line) few people will remember the
family that built a house here in 1730.
A part of Madison’s history is at a crossroads now. Maintaining the Miller house as an anchor to our past is an expensive proposition, but an anchor can be
priceless. The return on investment is a living gift to those who follow us in the future. Newcomers and old Madison families alike, we all have the right to claim]
the town’s history as our own. Having a link to the past in our midst is a reminder of our existence in the bigger picture. We are not the end point, but part of a
process in which we’re thankful to those who went before us and made today’s life possible. We are also responsible for decisions which will shape the kind
of town we leave for future generations.
A town with a strong sense of where it’s been may help people in the future to understand the world they live in, and where they’re going in it. It would be a nice legacy to leave.