2024 #52Ancestors, Week 29: Automobiles

Ah, the automobile.  We use it for mundane tasks like driving to work, hauling landscaping materials, and toting groceries.  Today, though, I'd like to declare my appreciation for this fine piece of technology that allows me to visit ancestral places with relative ease.  Without an automobile, how likely is it that I would have visited West Virginia and the spot where Colonel John Field lost his life?  Not likely!  Or the cemetery with the monument to the now non-existent town of Wilmington, Kentucky - a place where John Field purchased land with the hope of residing in the new county seat?  Nope, probably wouldn't have made the trek to visit that place either.  Over the last several years, I have enlisted the trusty family steed to take me to various areas of genealogical importance, so today, I pay homage to...the automobile.

In August of 2014, my sister's automobile took us to Pulaski County, Illinois.  Here, I learned where my ggg grandparents were buried and was able to visit the stone of my gg grandparents.  G.W.'s missing date of death has since been rectified.

Then I took a long hiatus from lengthy travels because I became a mom, but in July of 2022, I was back in the driver's seat to southern Illinois.  This time, we were on the hunt for another ggg grandparent, Thomas Green (the above Emma K.'s father).  We found him in Anna Cemetery.

I have visited Thomas one other time since then. 

The next month, I drove across the Ohio River to make the aforementioned trip to Kentucky to locate a cemetery with a couple amusing headstones.

It was in this town that John Field (my 4x great grandfather), purchased 3 lots of land in January 1827 with the intention of building in what was supposed to be the McCracken County Seat. I doubt it happened. When Wilmington flooded in 1832, only a jail, courthouse, and six houses had been completed.  Now, there is no Wilmington - just a couple of commemorative monuments in Wilmington Road Cemetery.

In June of 2023, I took my brand new automobile to Minnesota.  This time, though, I wasn't looking for a dead person.  I was visiting my "Cuzzin Heather" in person for the first time.  This was the only genealogy-related trip for last summer, but it was well worth the drive!

In June of this year, we took a whirlwind road trip through the states of Indiana, Ohio, West Virginia, and Kentucky.  While in Point Pleasant, West Virginia, my daughter and husband were anxious to visit the Mothman statue and museum, but I had genealogy on the brain.  Just down the road from the cryptid tourist traps was Tu-Endie-Wei State Park, a sort of cemetery/historical marker for the Battle of Point Pleasant that occurred in 1774.  At this battle, sometimes recognized as the first of the Revolutionary War, my ancestor, Colonel John Field, died.  He was buried with other soldiers of rank at The Magazine.

Just a few days ago, we returned from a trip to southern Missouri.  For the first time, I was able to visit Hayti - the place where Great Uncle Horace perished.

The site of the former Keystone Building which was partially destroyed by a fire in 1941.  Horace and Commissioner Houston H. Buckley died in the fire.

And then, I went to visit Horace's final resting place.  It took some sleuthing and posting in various Facebook groups, but I was able to determine where the now-defunct cemetery is located.

County Poor Farm #2 was/is located just off the intersection of 412 and Highway Z next to the Pemiscot County Special School District administrative building.  The district superintendent was outside when I pulled up, and he gave me permission to walk the empty field.  I said a few words, left a note and some flowers, and felt a great sense of peace at finally being able to "Find Horace."  Thank you, automobiles, for your assistance.

2024 #52Ancestors, Week 26: Family Gatherings

As far as I am aware, we have never had any family reunions on either side of my family.  We get together primarily for wedding and funerals (sad, but true - it is the same for many other families).  Below is a picture of the most recent family gathering on my dad's side, my cousin's wedding.  In the photo are his wife, sons, mom, sisters, and nieces and nephews, but it also includes his aunts, uncles, and cousins from both sides of his family.  Ever the genealogist, I made sure to get one that was just the first cousins, too.  😇

While there have never been any official reunions, for many years a friend of my mom's side of the family hosted an annual Glögg party.  Glögg is a type of mulled wine that originated in the Nordic countries around 3000 years ago. It eventually became associated with Christmas, but it was also a popular drink for any kind of social gathering.  Chuck and Ozzie (Arlene) Walley were friends with my grandmother, Marilyn (Swanson) Pearson.  Consequently, their parties were attended by Pearsons and Swansons alike.  These holiday parties continued well into my late teens, and I remember the annual argument about how long the drink should burn.  (Traditional glögg is set on fire in order to completely dissolve the sugar granules, but you don't want to burn off all the alcohol!)  Chuck and Ozzie threw a heck of a party, and I have many memories of the warmth and scent of them.  Maybe some of the attendees weren't blood relatives, but they were family anyway.

2024 #52Ancestors, Week 28: Trains

Trains?!  Trains, you say?!  Well, my family has a long, proud history of being involved with the railroad - thought not necessarily in a positive way.  The inspiration for this blog, Horace Pearson, lost both of his legs (completely - they were amputated just below the hips) in a train accident when he was 8 eight years old.  His father, my great great grandfather, worked for the Illinois Central Round House in Mounds, Illinois.  He managed to keep all of his limbs.

Horace's sister, Nettie Pearson, married a man by the name of Roy Hudson.  She married a lot of men, but I digress...  Nettie and Roy were married in Caruthersville, Missouri, in November of 1915.  Not long after, in January of 1916, Roy (after evidently having a bit too much to drink) attempted to hitch a ride on a northbound Frisco train.  All he accomplished was losing his leg.  The amputation occurred just below the knee.

The Democrat Argus, 11 Jan. 1916, p. 1.

On the other side of my mother's family, Nils Wedberg also ended up under a train.  He lost one leg at the knee, but he was able to get a prosthetic.  Believe it or not, he lost the prosthetic in another train-related accident.  

You have to keep a sense of humor about these things, though.  I've now made it a point to take a picture under any train that isn't in danger of moving.

Me, in Paducah, Kentucky, by the Flood Wall Murals

Heather (who also has her fair share of train-severed limbs) and I in Duluth, Minnesota, at the Duluth Scenic Railway Museum

2024 #52Ancestors, Week 25: Storyteller

Flickr image

Sometimes you are lucky enough to happen upon the musings of a relative who did more than simply record the births, marriages, and deaths of family. That information is, of course, important, but it's really just the skeleton of a person's existence. The rest - muscles, skin, organs, etc, if we maintain the body metaphor - is made up of experiences and stories. What did they do for a living? How did they feel about their in-laws? What did they do for enjoyment?

My great grandma Lena's sister, Cecilia, was a storyteller of sorts, and she left a handwritten account of her family's emigration from Sweden and their early experiences in America. Some of her recollections were simple, single-sentence memories like, "One day I came home from school with my slate, and our maid sat down on it and broke it." It makes me wonder why this was a memory that stuck with her. Were slates expensive? Had Cecilia been warned not to set her slate down where someone might sit on it? I don't know the answer, but I do know she felt it was a story worth recording.

Many of her memories centered around church. She wrote of one experience that evidently also became a core memory for one of her acquaintances. In church, "Our parents would tell us to sing...loudly. So one of my early Christmases, Mae Ecknall and I were to sing together “Sjöng sjöng du litta skärra.” Well, she pronounced the word differently than I did as some do here. We surely did sing both a little differently. To this day, Mae has never forgotten and mentions it every year on her Christmas card when we sang together in Sunday School in our dear little church her parents also being charter members which makes Lebanon more dear to us living in the memories."

She also told of the difficulties of starting over in a new country. She observed that, "Mother was very lonely leaving her sisters back in Sweden. No doubt Father was also sad at heart, but he had to make the best of it...It was a big letdown for both coming from their childhood. At home [Sweden] were friends and relatives. There were a lot of social affairs, and they were in the height of it all. So life has its smiles and tears, ups and downs."

And then, of course, there are the stories that show us just how much times have changed from 100 years ago. Cecilia related that her husband, Rudolph, went out to get the paper one morning, and, "coming back, he said he paid $5.00 on a lot. The ball park was laid out into lots and it was here we built...the house now where I live." Imagine walking out to pick up your paper one morning and returning with real estate! Such a task can take months today. And we won't even discuss the $5 price tag...

These little anecdotes gave me glimpses into Cecilia's life and the lives of her parents and siblings. It helped me to imagine their day-to-day existence...which is the gift of every storyteller.