Never Alone, Never Bored: The Life of Louisa W. Jackson Davis

A woman who redefined "room for one more" and never missed a family gathering—even after death.

Some ancestors are mysteries. Others are legends. And then there’s Louisa W. Jackson Davis, a woman who lived her entire life in a full house—and wouldn’t have had it any other way. With two husbands, four children, and an ironclad commitment to family togetherness, Louisa didn’t just survive the 19th and early 20th centuries—she hosted them.

Here’s the story of a woman who moved through life with one hand on a cradle, one foot in someone else’s living room, and a keen instinct for locating the nearest available sofa or bed.

Louisa Jackson: Never Alone, Never Bored

Some people are born with a silver spoon. Louisa W. Jackson? She was born to fill a bunkbed.

From the moment she arrived on November 15, 1846, in Asbury Park, New Jersey, Louisa was part of a crowd—and she never really left one. By age three, she was already sharing a home with her parents, baby brother, and her ten-year-old aunt (because why not?). Louisa’s life kicked off with a full house and never quite quieted down.

As she moved through childhood, she hopped from one bustling household to another—New Jersey, Shelter Island, Southold—with a rotating cast of relatives. Louisa didn’t live in homes so much as family clusters. Whether she was bunking with parents, boarding with cousins, or moving in with mysterious Lippincotts, she was never more than one room away from company—and probably someone's leftovers in the icebox.

She married William H. Warner around 1866, had two daughters, and then—when William left this earthly plane—Louisa took it in stride and promptly married again. Her second husband, Captain John H. Davis, brought maritime flair and two more children into the mix. We can only assume he referred to their household as “the ship” and insisted someone “batten down the hatches” during every thunderstorm.

By 1900, the Captain was gone too, and Louisa—twice widowed—set her sights on New London, Connecticut. Did she take up quiet knitting in a little boarding house by herself? Absolutely not. She moved straight in with her son Samuel and stayed there, or very near, for the next two decades.

And when we say she stayed with family, we mean she really stayed with family. From 1898 to 1922, Louisa’s name appeared at addresses like 84 Howard, 78 Blackhall, and finally, 34 Spring Street. She wasn't just living near her children—she was living with them, or right down the block. Think of her as the original group-text: always in the middle of the action and impossible to ignore.

By her 70s, Louisa was living with her daughter Mary Jane Warner and likely offering commentary on everything from pie crusts to politicians. And when Louisa passed away in 1924 at age 77, even death didn’t part her from the people she loved most.

Originally buried at Cedar Grove Cemetery, Louisa was later moved to Jordan Cemetery in New London, where she now rests alongside her daughter Mary Jane Warner and granddaughter Mary Rollins. Because of course she does. Even in death, Louisa was not about to miss a family gathering.

How to Live Like Louisa
(Get a Bigger Dining Table)

If Louisa had a motto, it would probably be: “There’s always room for one more—pull up a chair.” Want to live like Louisa? Try this:

• Never live alone (even if you could). Privacy is optional. Family is not.
• Rotate addresses regularly—but only if you’re following your children.
• Keep casseroles and opinions warm at all times.
• Marry twice, raise four kids, and outlive both husbands with style.
• Get listed in more city directories than most people have dinner parties.
• Request (or arrange?) to be buried with your daughter and granddaughter, because togetherness doesn’t stop at the cemetery gate.

Bonus points if your descendants find you in records and real estate listings.

Final Thoughts

Louisa W. Jackson Davis lived a life stitched together by family. Her homes were full, her calendar probably fuller, and her legacy is the kind that reminds us how rich life can be when shared. She didn’t need solitude to feel strong—she built her world around connection, resilience, and probably an excellent Sunday roast.

And somewhere out there, I like to think she’s still calling out from the kitchen, “Who’s staying for dinner?”