Gladys Bagg Taber photo

Gladys Bagg Taber

A prolific author whose output includes plays, essays, memoirs and fiction, Gladys Taber (1899 – 1980) is perhaps best recalled for a series of books and columns about her life at Stillmeadow, a 17th-century farmhouse in Southbury, Connecticut.

Born Gladys Bagg on April 12, 1899 in Colorado Springs, Colorado, she was the middle child and only one to survive to adulthood. Her parents were Rufus Mather Bagg, who could trace his ancestry back to Cotton Mather, and the former Grace Sibyl Raybold. An older sister, Majel, had died at the age of six months while a younger brother Walter died at 15 months. During her childhood, she moved frequently as her father accepted various teaching posts until they finally settled in Appleton, Wisconsin. Gladys graduated from Appleton High School and enrolled at Wellesley College, receiving her bachelor’s degree in 1920. She returned to her hometown and earned a master’s in 1921 from Lawrence College, where her father was on faculty. The following year, she married Frank Albion Taber, Jr., giving birth to their daughter on July 7, 1923.

Mrs. Taber taught English at Lawrence College, Randolph Macon Women’s College in Lynchburg, Virginia, and at Columbia University, where she did postgraduate studies. She began her literary career with a play, Lady of the Moon (Penn), in 1928, and followed with a book of verse, Lyonesse (Bozart) in 1929. Taber won attention for her first humorous novel, Late Climbs the Sun (Coward, 1934). She went on to write several other novels and short story collections, including Tomorrow May Be Fair ( Coward, 1935), A Star to Steer By (Macrae, 1938) and This Is for Always (Macrae, 1938). In the late 1930s, Taber joined the staff of the Ladies’ Home Journal and began to contribute the column “Diary of Domesticity.”

By this time, she had separated from her husband and was living at Stillmeadow, a farmhouse built in 1690 in Southbury, Connecticut, sharing the house with Eleanor Sanford Mayer, a childhood friend who was often mistakenly identified as her sister. Beginning with Harvest at Stillmeadow (Little, Brown, 1940), Taber wrote a series of books about her simple life in New England that possessed homespun wisdom dolled out with earthy humor and an appreciation for the small things. She published more than 20 books related to Stillmeadow, including several cookbooks.

In 1959, she moved from Ladies’ Home Journal to Family Circle, contributing the “Butternut Wisdom” column until her retirement in 1967. In 1960, her companion, Eleanor, died and Taber decided to abandon life at Stillmeadow. Having spent some summers on Cape Cod in Massachusetts, she decided to relocate to the town of Orleans where she would live out the remainder of her days. While a resident of Orleans, Taber contributed “Still Cove Sketches” to the Cape Cod Oracle . Her final book, published posthumously, was Still Cove Journal (Lippincott, 1981).

Gladys Taber had divorced her husband in 1946 and he later passed away in October 1964. She died on March 11, 1980 in Cape Cod Hospital in Hyannis, Massachusetts at the age of 80.


“It is Jill's theory that in every life there is one dog.Other dogs may come and go, but there is one grande affaire. I feel that is probably right and yet it worries me, for it might mean that I am a fickle person. For I seem able to love deeply just the dog I am looking at.”
Gladys Bagg Taber
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“Perhaps, after all, our best thoughts come when we are alone. It is good to listen, not to voices but to the wind blowing, to the brook running cool over polished stones, to bees drowsy with the weight of pollen. If we attend to the music of the earth, we reach serenity. And then, in some unexplained way, we share it with others.”
Gladys Bagg Taber
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“Christmas is a bridge. We need bridges as the river of time flows past. Today's Christmas should mean creating happy hours for tomorrow and reliving those of yesterday.”
Gladys Bagg Taber
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“Happiness of heart can never be measured out and bundled up, it's intangible. We keep running after it, grasping for it, and the heat of our running so seldom brings it closer. But now and then there may be a moment. We look at something and know it is good and beautiful. Those moments are happiness.”
Gladys Bagg Taber
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“Well, any love makes us vulnerable. Whatever we love will give the gift of pain somewhere along the road. But who would live sealed in spiritual cellophane just to keep from ever being hurt? There are a few people like that. I'm sorry for them. I think they are as good as dead.”
Gladys Bagg Taber
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“Best of all are the decorations the grandchildren have made ~ fat little stars and rather crooked Santas, shaped out of dough and baked in the oven.”
Gladys Bagg Taber
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