For about as far back as I can remember in my adult life, I have wanted to take a trip to places I haven't ever been but are the places my grandparents and great-grandparents lived out their lives. Of particular interest to me was going back to Caruthersville, Missouri, where I had been once at 16 with my parents. We spent the night at a campground, and we drove & strolled around town a bit, but no research or cemetery walking was done. I didn't know enough then to ask the correct questions of my grandma.
In 2006, my husband had returned from 2 tours overseas, one in combat. In between his 2 tours I'd had a rather major surgery, and now with our eldest's graduation completed, it was time. I'd only flown once as an adult, with my entire family, and my husband and youngest dropped me off at the airport. I had packed a duffel full of mostly genealogical notes, and a few travel necessities. In my purse were those antiques that appear in internet memes: Printed Directions from MapQuest and an early Nokia!
My distant cousin Byron had rolled out the welcome mat along with his wife and children, and they were delightful. The Southern hospitality was rich. After dinner we took a drive to Byron's mother's place, and Oda Mae regaled me with stories of long-gone great aunts and uncles, even of "Mrs. Pfeffer" my 3rd great grandmother, who had passed on while Oda Mae's in-laws were still newlyweds. It was a perfect lesson in interviewing anyone you can while they are still here.
I didn't know until the next morning that Byron had taken the day off to chauffer me around Pemiscot County. My wish was his command! We drove out to the former farm where my grandmother was born, now not much more than a small house, and the highway bisecting what had been a farm community. We inspected an old schoolhouse on the other side of the highway, and stopped to chat with a gentleman who was driving up the road in a piece of farm equipment that I could easily have driven my car under.
We continued on to the cemetery where "Mrs. Pfeffer" joined her daughter Maggie who had died in 1917. Her other daughter and son-in-law, my grandma's grandparents are nearby, as are a few of their infant daughters. Several other Greenwell and Pfeffer relatives are there also. I left flowers for Granny Greenwell, who I never but who lives on in legend.
Back to town for lunch: catfish and hush puppies. We then visited Sacred Heart Catholic Church, which my Papa Greenwell and his brother Bob helped to build. Papa Greenwell even took on the Catholic Church when the rectory and school were under construction, and they wanted to move one of his infant daughters from her original burial spot in the churchyard. She stayed and is there to this day. Inside the church, there is a "Tree of Life" memorializing the departed faithful. The elder that was present took great pains to show me the ceramic leaf, the only one apparently, that will not stay on the tree. One George F. Greenwell (Papa himself) has been "reattached" to the wall several times. Since it's been 90 years, I shared with her that George had died by his own hand, and we darkly joked that perhaps that is why he keeps falling from the tree.
Another women working in the church office kindly looked through some of her oldest records, some written in pencil on dark paper, and found a death date for a briefly mentioned uncle, brother to my Granny Greenwell. John Pfeffer had died at age 20 in 1905, no other details are known. He too is named on a ceramic leaf, and his leaf apparently stays attached.
We wrapped up our day at the area nursing home, visiting Granny's cousin Agnes Greenwell Johnson (daughter of Bob) who was then 99 years old. Frail of frame, she was as sharp as the proverbial tack. Byron was able to get a short nap while Agnes told me stories. It turned out that "Uncle George" was reportedly an excellent provider, had been kicked in the head by one of his mules about two years prior to his death, and the doctor had reported at some point that "he'd never be right." She also told a precious story about her older sister telling off a group of boys that were cat-calling the two young women. She told of meeting her husband's impoverished family and how they had only beans for dinner, no bacon, no cornbread. I was so glad to have met her after having exchanged a few letters. She lived on a few more years, and is now buried next to her husband, not far from her cousin.
After parting ways with Byron at the courthouse (no land records found, our people having been sharecroppers), I drove across the river to Alexander County, adjacent to Pulaski County, Illinois. I went into the hotel on the highway north of Cairo and stood in the lobby where the desk clerk was otherwise occupied. It was a bit warm out, and getting dark, so I waited a half hour while hearing one side of the following conversation: clearly the local sheriff or deputy had spent the night in the hotel the preceding evening, and the distraught WIFE was grilling the desk clerk about whether he was still at the hotel and who he was with. Dare I say, DON'T try that in a small town, eh?
The next morning, relatively well rested, I set out for the courthouse and the local cemeteries. In America, I learned from a local that several cemeteries had been plowed under for additional acreage, a common practice in the past that is now verboten. I had had a good friend's tutorial before my trip on carrying a large stick in case of snake, which turned out not to be necessary, but I was glad of the stick for dealing with brush and uneven ground. Due to the convergence of the Ohio and Mississippi Rivers, there is frequent flooding, and due to lack of population and economy, the cemeteries in the area are in some of the worst repair I've seen to this day. For the most part, I did not find those I was looking for. At the courthouse, though, there was plenty. While the courthouse has been victim of many floods, and prior to that, fire, there were plenty of facts verified, and loose ends I am still following. I even noted at the time that there were too many land entries for me to record by hand - we had not yet met much of the digital age at that point.
I crossed the bridge from there to Kentucky, where my Pfeffers and Greenwells met before journeying to Missouri. The ladies at the courthouse were wonderfully helpful and helped me find several land transactions for each of the noted families. The secretary at the Catholic Church at the time was prickly, but I was able to find a few plots at the Catholic Cemetery. That particular neck of the woods was the only place on my trip where my little Nokia couldn't pick up a signal, but I enjoyed a HOT day with a nice breeze, as well as lots of rolling scenery and horses.
I spent a few days in Nashville before coming home, and took in one evening at the Opry, thinking of my ancestors listening around the radio in the before times. I was able to return to both Illinois (extremely flooded that year) and Missouri with my youngest daughter in 2018, and we found a few more facts but also had a marvelous time. We spent more time on that trip bushwacking through a couple of forgotten cemeteries and exploring more of the backroads. We made sure to enjoy plenty of southern cooking. We spent a day in Memphis, then hit Chicago on the way home.
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