Remembering My Great‑Grandmother, Cora Elizabeth Wilson
Cora Elizabeth Wilson Putman
1871-1968
When I look over the stories I’ve written for my family history blog, I’m surprised that I never wrote about my great‑grandmother, Cora Elizabeth Wilson. Maybe it’s because her life was so quiet, steady, and unassuming — the kind of life that doesn’t insist on being told yet lingers in memory with a gentle persistence. Still, she shaped so much of my early sense of family, and it feels right to finally give her story its place.
My memories of Cora begin in the mid‑1950s, when my family would travel to Henning, Illinois, for the annual Putman Reunion. Those trips were an adventure for my siblings and me, and at the center of them was Cora’s two‑story house, just a block from the Methodist church she loved so dearly. The house had already stood for decades by the time we visited — my grandmother, June Elizabeth Putnam, was born there, and so was my father. Even as a child, I sensed that the house held stories long before I arrived.
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| Four Generations - Putman Descendants My father, Paul Simmons, his grandfather Ernest Putman, his grandmother Cora Wilson Putman and his mother June Putman Simmons Merritt Children: Cathy, Nancy, Judy & Robert Simmons |
We slept upstairs in one of the three bedrooms, tucked under quilts that smelled faintly of lavender and age. My grandmother, who traveled with us, always teased us about who would have to empty the slop pot in the morning. By then, the house had an indoor bathroom — added in the 1940s — but the slop pot remained a relic of earlier days, and the teasing became part of the ritual of visiting Henning.
What I remember most vividly is waking to the smell of hot oatmeal drifting up the stairs. Great‑grandma Cora made oatmeal like no one else. She served it with real cream and brown sugar, and to this day I can almost taste that warm, comforting sweetness. It wasn’t just breakfast; it was her quiet way of caring for us. She didn’t fuss or hover. She simply prepared what she knew we loved and let the food speak for her.
Cora didn’t talk much directly to us children. She spent most of her time
chatting with my parents or my grandmother, her voice low and steady. But she
always made sure the Sunday school teacher knew we’d be attending church that
weekend. Perfect attendance pins mattered, and Cora was determined that her
great‑grandchildren would earn theirs. I remember walking into Sunday school,
bulletin in hand, and hearing the teacher say, “Cora told us you’d be here
today.” It made me feel seen, even if she didn’t say the words herself.
We had a special name for her — “Chicken Grandma.” With three sets of
grandparents in our lives, we needed a way to tell them apart, and Cora earned
her nickname honestly. She kept a dozen chickens in her yard, and to us, that
made her endlessly fascinating. She would take us on a tour of her garden,
naming each vegetable and explaining what she planned to do with it. Beans for
canning, tomatoes for supper, cucumbers destined for pickles. Her garden wasn’t
large, but it was tended with care, and she spoke about it with a quiet pride.
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| Coral Putman - Honored as Charter Member of Henning Women's Club |
As I’ve grown older and learned more about her life, I’ve come to appreciate just how deeply rooted she was in her community. Long before I knew her, Cora helped establish the Henning Woman’s Club, becoming one of its charter members. Even in her later years, she remained active, and when she turned ninety, the club honored her at a luncheon celebrating both her birthday and the organization’s forty‑fifth anniversary. It didn’t surprise me to learn that she was recognized that way — Cora was never one to seek attention, but people noticed her steady presence all the same. She was the kind of woman who showed up, contributed, and quietly made things better.
Cora Elizabeth Wilson Putman
June 26, 1894 - Wedding Picture
Looking back, I realize that Cora’s life was shaped by the same
steadiness she showed in those small moments. Born in 1871 in Bismarck,
Illinois, she lived through nearly a century of change — from horse‑drawn
wagons to the space age — yet her world remained rooted in family, faith, and
the rhythms of rural life. She married Ernest Wentworth Putnam in 1894, raised
her five children in that Henning home, tended her garden, cared for her
chickens, and stayed active in her church and community until her final years.
Cora lived to be ninety‑six, passing away in 1968. Her life was not
marked by dramatic events or grand achievements. Instead, it was defined by
constancy — the kind of quiet presence that shapes a family without ever
announcing itself. When I think of her now, I remember oatmeal and chickens,
garden tours and Sunday school bulletins, and the feeling of being welcomed
into a home that had already held generations before me.
Hers was a quiet life, yes. But it was a life that mattered — to her
family, to her community, and to the children who still carry her memory
forward.
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| Putman Reunion Picture - 1958 Cora on the right and her daughter Hazel on the left In 1958 they wore a dress and hat to a Sunday Reunion picnic! |
