A very long time ago, before Hallmark was even a twinkle in the corporate eye, reverence for mothers was expressed in stories that were shared and passed on, rather than greeting cards. Take for example the ancient Egyptian tale of Isis, who really, really wanted to have a baby with her husband Osiris. The fact that Osiris was dead and probably dismembered was but a trifle to a competent mother-to-be like Isis, and accordingly, she reassembled and resurrected her late husband just long enough for him to participate in the conception of their son. The end result was baby Horus who would grow up to become the first ruler of a unified Egypt, thus ensuring Isis’ new title and esteem as Mother of the Pharaohs.

Elements of this long-told tale eventually meandered across the Mediterranean where Greeks preferred their own version, Rhea, the “mother of the gods.” Rhea is credited with saving Zeus from his father Cronus who had developed the rather unsavory habit of devouring his children upon the occasion of their birth. But Rhea, understandably exasperated with Cronus’ questionable diet and a constant loss of offspring, played a clever trick. When she presented Cronus with their newborn son and he predictably noshed the offered bundle, it turned out to contain not a baby, but a stone wrapped in swaddling clothes. The real Zeus was secreted away to a cave where the doting Rhea thoughtfully provided him with her version of a nanny and an endless supply of Go-Gurt in the form of a golden dog and a magical milk-laden goat, and thus the god of sky and thunder was saved.

Abigail May Alcott  

| public domain

Stories of symbolically powerful mothers transformed significantly in medieval England and while the reverence remained, it became narrowed within the strict confines of approved religious attributes so that stories of powerful mothers were often replaced by stories of obedient ones. The personification of the Church as the ‘Bride of Christ’ and the veneration of Mother Virgin Mary entwined the two such that Mothering Day in England still celebrates one’s “mother church” in tandem with one’s “earthly mother.” 

While this observance was mostly lost in the American Colonies, a determined woman named Anna Jarvis wished to once again honor the achievements of individual mothers by remembering their stories, beginning with her own. Three years after her mother’s death, Anna dedicated herself to campaigning for an official celebration of motherhood, culminating in President Woodrow Wilson signing into law the Mother’s Day proclamation of 1914. Anna’s satisfaction in her achievement was short-lived, however, when soon after its creation, her sentimental, special day was appropriated and fully commercialized by the greeting card and floral industries. So appalled was she with what it had become, Anna began a petition to rescind Mother’s Day, but by then the holiday had found a permanent home among our collective celebrations. 

Fortunately, the tradition of sharing stories of remarkable mothers lives on, especially in Concord, where three mothers, in particular, stand out as having made essential contributions to the town, their families, and ultimately, our national story. 

Silhouette of Cynthia Dunbar by William King 

| Courtesy of Concord Museum Collection

Beginning with one of the most beloved mothers in literature, the real-life inspiration for Marmee in Little Women, Abigail May Alcott. While raising her four daughters and supporting the many progressive adventures of her husband Bronson, ‘Abba’ as she was also known, involved herself in the causes of women’s suffrage, temperance, relief for the poor, abolition, and was one of the first paid social workers in Massachusetts. For a time, the entire family lived at Fruitlands, the communal farm in Harvard where Abba put in long hours of hard labor. Louisa would illustrate this particularly exhaustive episode of her mother’s life during a fictional exchange in Transcendental Wild Oats, where she has a visitor ask if there are any beasts of burden at the farm. The thinly disguised Abba-like character tersely replies “only one woman.” Yet even in the face of hardship and toil, much like the unshakable warmth and affection of Marmee, Abba’s “peculiar maternal love” was said to have blinded her to all else.

Although Cynthia Dunbar is mostly known via relation to her son Henry David Thoreau, our second Concord mom can clearly stand on her own, and often did. Described by one modern biographer as “the vocal defender of liberal causes,” the nineteenth-century village preferred to think of her as “gifted with opinions, curiosity, [and] a racing interest matched by a ready flow of talk.” Frugal in finances yet generous in spirit, Cynthia often shared the family table with those less fortunate. She participated in the Female Charitable Society and became a founding member of the Concord Female Anti-Slavery Society. Cynthia and husband John were known for their mutual love of nature and their long rambling walks together (an amusing rumor suggested one of their children was almost born on a local hilltop rather than at home) which directly influenced the four Thoreau kids, in particular young Henry. So obviously was something of Cynthia imbued in her youngest boy that one neighbor remarked it was like the “father and mother over again, Nature and Art lovers, son like the mother, daughter like the father…” upon observing Henry and his sister Sophia exploring the woods together. 

Regrettably, no image of Susan Robbins Garrison exists, but she lived at The  Robbins House from 1823-1837

| ©istock.com/traveler1116

Less well known today than her Concord contemporaries, Susan Robbins Garrison played an equally vital role in the town’s abolitionist movement. Daughter of formerly enslaved Concord Revolutionary War veteran, Caesar Robbins, she married Jack Garrison who had courageously escaped his own enslavement in New Jersey. Susan signed petitions against slavery, the slave trade, the forced removal of Cherokee from their homeland, and likely helped to found the First African Baptist Church in Boston. She was the only woman of color listed as a member of the Concord Female Anti-Slavery Society and even hosted a meeting in the home she shared with Jack and their four children (now known as The Robbins House). Susan’s daughter Ellen Garrison Jackson would herself grow up to become a lifelong champion of African American rights and is often referred to as “Concord’s Rosa Parks,” thanks to the example set by her own mother’s brave activism. 

If you’d like to hear more about Concord’s laudable ladies and magnificent moms, a guided walking tour, or a tour of any of our historic house museums (when they’re open) is a great place to start. But no matter how you celebrate Mother’s Day this year, don’t forget to give a little nod of thanks to Anna Jarvis who brought us this day in the first place, and, in support of a worthy and ancient tradition, maybe tell a few stories of your own.