I’ve been home getting over a stomach bug the last couple of days, so I’ve been able to keep up with my blog reading (love that Google Reader allows me one easy place to keep up with all of them). I was reading today’s post of “Barking Up the Wrong Tree“. There were several quotes collected from various sites, each making claims of famous ancestry, being able to trace their lineage to Adam and Eve; in other words, people who have probably not done a lot of research on their own, and have taken at face value trees other people have created.
One quote in particular stood out:
I don’t need ancestry at the moment because my tree is complete.
This sparked a comment from Lianne Lavoie, who wrote:
Also, people who say their trees are “complete” are hilarious. I’ve never understood quite what they mean. I guess if they don’t care at all about “sideways” genealogy, and every one of their direct lines has reached a point where you can’t reasonably go back any further (eg. with Acadian ancestors, you usually can’t go further than the original immigrants)? I guess there’s a point at which I would call my tree “complete”, but I doubt I’ll get there in a lifetime.
This got me thinking of the nature of trees, and how trees and family trees share many of the same traits. To LLG70 and LinnaeLavoie, my thanks for inspiring this rare midweek post.
I think one can never call a tree “complete”. A tree is a living thing. It has roots that go down deep into the earth, drawing from it water and nutrients to sustain it. From its sturdy trunk, branches come forth, sprouting new growth each season. It is the nature of a tree to grow. A tree without growth will eventually die.
In the same way, a family tree is a living thing. Its roots are our ancestors. They go down through the ages. They are the foundation of the family. Our ancestors, like roots, provide through their lives and histories sustenance, maintaining our place in this world. Their descendants spread out through the years, each generation providing new branches, new leaves, and new growth.
I think that only when the life cycle ends could a tree ever be called “complete”. However, a dead tree will eventually decay; its roots will shrivel, its leaves and branches will fall. It will become nothing more than a stump which will in time be reclaimed by the earth, all trace of it vanishing.
My family tree I hope will never be “complete”. Even if I in my lifetime could ever hope to discover every last root, and find the story for each of my ancestors, the story still would not be complete. For the true story of any family tree lies not only in its past, but in its future as well. The branches of my family tree spread wide, and there are many leaves among those branches.
My own branch will go no further; when my leaf falls, my part of the story ends. However, the branches of my brother and my cousins will go on. Many of their branches have new growth; branches that have forked and started leaves of their own. While my own branch may vanish into history, I can only hope that what I’ve learned keeps the roots of our family tree strong to nourish generations of new branches to come.
I had been struggling today to decide on what to write about. Not having any particular thing in mind, I turned my attention to my Google Reader, to catch up on the genealogy blogs I follow. In doing so, I came across a post made earlier this month by Sheryl Lazarus on her blog “A Hundred Years Ago” about ironing. It brought to mind two pieces of family lore about irons and ironing.
The first story is about my Aunt Georgia and my Grandma Taylor. When the ironing had to be done, Aunt Georgia told me that to pass the time, she and my grandmother would read poetry to one another. They would take turns, one of them ironing, and the other reading aloud, until all the clothes were pressed. My Aunt Georgia’s favorite was “The Fool’s Prayer” by Edward Rowland Sill:
“The Fool’s Prayer” is reprinted from The Little Book of American Poets: 1787-1900. Ed. Jessie B. Rittenhouse. Cambridge: Riverside Press, 1915.
The second story of ironing is about my brother, Tim. At one point in his young age, Tim liked to iron when he would visit my Grandma Newell’s house. For hours I’m told, he would pretend to iron, using a container of baby powder as his iron of choice. Back and forth his little arm would go, smoothing out the wrinkles of imaginary pieces of fabric.
At some point, the family decided that since he liked to iron so much, they would get him a toy iron so he could play with a “real” iron. The gift was given, and the family waited to watch Tim with his new toy. From what I’m told, he picked it up, set it aside, and went right on “ironing” with his baby powder box!
The toy iron did get some use though; when I was old enough, I played with it. 🙂
Thanks, Sheryl, for inspiring me to share these stories!
In May, I shared a book I had written in about second or third grade (about 40 years or so ago) about my Mother. Today being Father’s Day, I wanted to share the book I wrote for my Dad. I don’t know how long it’s been since he’s seen this.
Again, the cover still looks good, despite its age.
The book formula is the same as the book I wrote for my Mom. Each page starts with “A father is to”, and then the illustration and words relate to what I felt a father was supposed to do.
It is interesting looking at them side by side to see the differences in what I wrote about. The roles of Mom and Dad are very different in the eyes of my younger self.
As I did with my post in May, I’m going to present the book page by page. If you scroll over the picture, there will be my comments as an adult looking back on what I wrote.
A Father is to Let You Bat by Pam Taylor
A father is to give you an allowance.
A father is to let you bat.
A father is to watch you when your mother is gone to the store for some groceries.
A father is to wear a necktie to work and on special occasions.
A father is to hold your hand when a lion roars at a zoo.
A father is to let you play baseball with your brothers.
A father is to take you to the Detroit Zoo.
A father is to cook breakfast when your mother isn’t up yet. He is in an apron.
A father is to tell jokes as he gets home from work.
A father is to get a raise from his boss at work.
A father is to get a job is his workshop is on strike. He got a job at Hank’s and Herman’s
Though distance separates us, my Dad is always close in my heart. Happy Father’s Day, Dad! I love you!
I was having a bit of writer’s block tonight, so rather than trying to force some new thoughts to come together, I thought I’d share a piece of family history.
“Poppa”, my great-grandfather Joseph McCombs, wrote a poem after his first wife died. A copy of the poem was made for my Aunt Jeanette, one of his daughters, and given to her as a gift. After her death, it was given to my Aunt Georgia who then passed it on to me.
A scan of the copy I have is below:
On the cardboard backing the parchment, the inscription reads “To Aunt Jeanette–Christmas, 1983”. James Ray Slaughter, who copied this poem was the son of Jessie Rae McCombs, Jeanette’s sister. My great-grandfather, Joseph Jeremiah McCombs, wrote this poem some time after the death of his first wife, Georgia Almeda Brazal (referred to as Meda in these lines). After Aunt Jeanette passed away, my Aunt Georgia (daughter of Mattie Beatrice, another sister) kept this poem. One day, when I was visiting her at her home in Lapeer, she passed it on to me.
–Lines by Joseph Jeremiah McCombs–
“Lines to My Wife”
Oh, Meda Dear; Thy Toil Is Done
Thy Work on Earth is O’er;
That Gentle Word, That Pleasant Smile
Will Greet Us Here No More.
I Gaze into That Marble Face,
In Life so Dear To Me;
Yet Dearer Still in Death Thou Art,
With All Thy Purity.
Of Soul, That Shines Upon Thy Face–
The Celestial Light of Heaven
The Smile Upon Thy Coral Lips–
Sweet Token of Thy Welcome.
Our Little Girls, Thy Tender Care
Will Forever Be Denied.
By Other Hands, Less Fond Than Thine,
Their Wants Must Be Supplied.
Our Pathway Here was Sometimes Rough–
Strewn With More Thorns Than Flowers,
But Thou Wert Ever By My Side
To Beguile My Lonely Hours.
But Now Thou’rt Gone To Thy Reward,
We’ll See Thee Here No More.
Those Loving Smiles And Tender Words,
We’ll Miss Foverevermore.
Forever, Did I Say? Well No,
When My Here is O’er,
That Beauteous Form Again I’ll Clasp,
Upon The Other Shore.
Together Then, We’ll Ever Roam
The Fields of Paradise,
Our Dear Ones All Be With Us There,
Oh Won’t That Be So Nice.
I Wonder if Thou Cans’t Look Down
From Portals in The Sky,
And See And Know Our Deeds And Thoughts
As Time Rolls Swiftly By.
I Only Hope Thou Cans’t, Dear Love
Look Down on All We Do,
Our Deeds Shall Thy Approval Meet,
Our Thoughts, of You of You.
J J McCombs
(Copied 1983 by his respectful & devoted grandson – James Ray Slaughter)
The first time I read it, I was struck by several things. I could see how very much Poppa had loved Meda. I could see that he was dealing with how he would be able to raise their girls. And, I could see his faith through these words, knowing that while they were parted in this life, they would meet again in Heaven.
The other thing that struck me was that the rhyming pattern and format was very familiar to me. I knew that many traits could be passed on through the generations, but I did not know poetry style was one of those traits.
Here is a poem I wrote almost twenty-six years ago. It is a summary of my faith, and it ties me to Poppa in a way I never imagined.
Little Lambs
I often think of little lambs
So gentle, meek, and frail;
Their little voices – how they bleat!
Their coats so curled and pale.
Always bounding off somewhere
In search of pastures green;
Looking for something better
That ever remains unseen.
Then I think of one Little Lamb
So gentle, meek, and mild,
Who came into this world for us;
Our God’s most holy Child.
This holy, sacrificial Lamb,
His sinless life He gave;
For all of us–HIS little lambs–
He went into the grave.
Then rose again on Easter morn,
And reigns with God on high.
I gave my life to this holy Lamb;
His little lamb am I.
Does anyone else remember the television show “In Search of…”? I used to love watching it. My Dad turned me onto it at first. It was in the late 70’s and early 80’s; about the time I was in high school. The show was hosted by Leonard Nimoy, and was done documentary style.
The focus of the show was to explain mysteries and phenomena. Some shows dealt with natural occurences like tornadoes. Others delved into things like ESP or UFOs. Several shows dealt with mysteries of historical significance as well, like Jack the Ripper, the lost colony of Roanoke, Virginia, or even Dracula (Vlad the Impaler, but of course, they did touch upon the vampire as well).
“In Search of…” never claimed to have the correct answer. It gave the facts, provided some possibilities, but ultimately, it left it up to the viewer to make up their minds as to what the explanation really was.
In going through my family history, I have a few mysteries. One that keeps drawing my attention is a child without a name. So today on my genealogical journey, I’m going ‘In Search of…’ Baby Taylor.
I’ve actually mentioned this baby before. I first discovered information about this child on the 1900 US Census when tracing my great-grandparents’ travels from their native West Virginia.
My Grandfather and His Family
My great-grandmother has eight living children, but had nine children in total. The ninth child, Baby Taylor, is our mystery. When and where was the baby born? Was it a boy or a girl? How long did the child live? When and where did it die?
Assuming the child was not born out-of-wedlock, the date of birth would be some time after my great-grandparents were married. My great-grandfather’s obituary stated:
He was married on March 15, 1883 to miss Georgia Chrisman and to this union nine children were born….
I was able to confirm the date of the marriage using data from a vital records search at the West Virgina Division of Culture and History site (West Virginia has been probably one of the easiest places I’ve found to search for such information, and if you have family members that are from West Virginia, I would recommend searching there).
The date of the 1900 US Census was the 29th of June. So, I was looking at a window of birth somewhere between March 15, 1883 and June 29, 1900 (about a 17 year window).
Looking further into my great-grandfather’s obituary, it provided me with more information:
He moved with his family to Nebraska in 1884 and for nine years resided in that state. In 1893, he moved to Gallatin, Mo., where he made his home for sixteen years, moving from there to Arkansas, where he lived for three years.
So, unless born on the move from West Virginia to Nebraska in some state between those places, the baby would have been born in West Virginia, Nebraska, or Missouri. Those were the three states the family lived in within that 17 year window.
The birth months and years on the census of the 8 children known are:
Millard D. – October 1885
Oscar R. – March 1887
Boyd – July 1888
Lucy D. – April 1891
Ethel – November 1892
Anna M. – February 1894
Hazel – May 1896
Floyd R. – April 1900
I decided to look at the gaps between events:
From Marriage until birth of Millard D. – 31 months
Between Millard D. and Oscar R. – 17 months
Between Oscar R. and Boyd – 16 months
Between Boyd and Lucy D. – 33 months
Between Lucy D. and Ethel – 19 months
Between Ethel and Anna M. – 15 months
Between Anna M. and Hazel – 27 months
Between Hazel and Floyd R. – 47 months
I excluded any gap that would be too small for another baby to be born (assuming a normal term of 9 months for each baby, that would mean less than 18 months).
So, that left me with the following possibilities for Baby Taylor’s birthday (assuming the baby was not a twin of a sibling):
Between March 1883 and January 1885
Between April 1889 and July 1890
Between January 1892 and February 1892
Between November 1894 and August 1895
Between February 1897 and July 1899
The third one I found highly unlikely. My great-grandmother would have been almost constantly pregnant!
One day on familysearch.org, I was searching for more information on my great-grandparents, and I got a suggestion for an ancestral file. I went to look at it, and it showed the names of both my great-grandparents, and there were correct dates, including the date of their marriage. Underneath that it said “Show Children (9)”.
I figured that perhaps when I clicked on it, I would get eight names and then some “?” type entry for Baby Taylor. Instead, I got a name:
name:
Amy C TALOR
gender:
Female
birth:
15 Dec 1883
,, WV
death:
11 Aug 1885
afn:
6WK2-VK
AFN stands for Ancestral File Number, and is a unique indicator for that file.
Whoa! Not only a name, but a birth date and a death date too! The birth date and place listed was plausible; it was exactly nine months after my great-grandparents were married (that must have been some wedding night)!
But, before getting too excited, I wanted to check this out. Could I find the records that matched the information? Was Amy C. Talor (not sure why the different spelling) truly Baby Taylor?
So, back I went to my favorite vital research page in West Virginia, typed in Amy C. Taylor (figuring the Talor was a misspelling), Lewis County (last residence place of my great-grandparents), 1883, female, and hit search. I got back…nothing.
I started playing around with it. I changed the search to All Counties. Nothing. I changed the spelling to Talor. Nothing. I changed it back and just tried Amy. Still nothing.
Finally, out of frustration, I decided just to search just the last name. Show me all female Taylor babies born in West Virginia in 1883. That time, I got a list. Two results on the list of 25 caught my eye:
My great-grandparents were also born in Upshur county, and the date was two days off from the date given on the AFN record. While record 7 said Annie C. instead of Amy C., it was the same initials, and Lewis county was a possibility as well.
The unnamed Taylor girl did not turn out to be the right one. While the father’s name was listed as Wm., the mother was Idella M. and not Georgianna. Would I fare any better with Annie? See what you think:
The father’s name is hard to read here. It looks like a W and another letter. On the opposite page is listed the mother’s name, and the name of the person who reported the birth. The mother’s name is listed as “Georgie”. I wondered…would someone have heard the name Georgianna and thought it was two names instead of one (Georgie Anna)? I looked over to the name of the person that reported the birth. It happened to be the father, and he was listed as W. H. Taylor. The birth date was December 15th, an exact match to the record for Amy C.!
I thought of what that would mean that my great-grandparents had a child in 1883. They would have traveled miles with the baby in a wagon across several states to reach Nebraska. Where was she when she first started to crawl? In which state would she have taken her first steps? How would she have been kept occupied while her father worked on building their home?
Of course, I thought too about the death date that was listed. Annie would not have been quite two before she died. What happened? A sickness? An accident? Where would I find confirmation of the death date and would that provide other information?
Unfortunately, answers to those questions have yet to be answered. I have yet to confirm the death date, but I’m working on trying to reach the submitter of the AFN to see if I can get more details. I’m still looking for any other data on the family. I was hoping the 1885 Nebraska State Census would be helpful, but it hasn’t. I haven’t found any record of my family in it, even though I know they were there for Millard D.’s birth in 1885. They were supposed to have moved to Nebraska a year before that. Had something delayed them on the journey?
If I find out more information, I’ll share it when we go ‘In Search of…’ Baby Taylor Annie C. Taylor.
