At the end of May I took a road trip with my husband, mom and grandma to New England. My grandma’s ancestors are originally from Barnstable, Massachusetts. They migrated to Tolland, Connecticut, then to Lyme, New Hampshire and eventually to Wood County, Ohio where my grandma now lives. My grandma has been to Lyme, New Hampshire before, about 20 years ago, when she visited the old town church and cemetery where a large number of those buried there shared her surname of Dimick.
Since I have become interested in genealogy she has wanted to go to Lyme with me to show me the cemetery. My aunt offered to watch our kids for a week while we took this trip with grandma. She didn’t have to offer twice! We left for Ohio on the day school was out for the summer.
We not only searched for our ancestors, but did some sightseeing as well. From Ohio, we first visited Niagara Falls, New York which is one of the most beautiful natural features in our country. We made it to Lyme, New Hampshire on the second afternoon where we stayed in a really nice bed and breakfast called Dowd’s Inn. Lyme is a typical New England town––small, quaint and full of history. Our first stop was at the local library, which didn’t have much local history or genealogy on the shelves, but there was a town history book for sale which we purchased. Then when the staff discovered that we had traveled all the way from Colorado to visit, they gave us a second book of oral histories from local townsfolk.
We learned there were several repositories for local history and genealogy––the town clerk, the Lyme Historical Society, and a local resident who apparently has a lot of information in her house (probably comparable to our own Mary McRoberts). The clerk would be open on Friday morning, the Historical Society was only open on Tuesday mornings, and the local lady was described as ... “best if you call her first thing in the morning. Actually, you might just want to write her a letter.” I got the feeling she was up there in years and possibly took a lot of naps. We were there on a Thursday and would be leaving late Friday so we decided to visit the clerk first thing in the morning.
The rest of the afternoon we spent in the cemetery taking a whole lot of photographs! There were quite a few ancestors I knew to look for in that cemetery and some that I hadn’t known would be there! Needless to say, we spent a large portion of our time in that cemetery, located just to the rear of the church where our ancestors worshiped. Inside, there was an old church document hung on the wall from the 1830s with signatures from several of our ancestors. That evening we decided to get some food from the local convenience store (there were no restaurants). I discovered perhaps the most bizarre food I have ever seen. Basically, it was a peeled, hard-boiled egg paired with a bright red sausage in a sandwich bag for $1.89. I did not get that for dinner! I think I had some gouda cheese cubes and some crackers with a bottle of local wine.
Following New Hampshire, we were on to Tolland, Connecticut. The library was closed but we discovered the local chapter of the French-Canadian Genealogical Society which had a library. In their collection were a few books that described several cemeteries around the town, as well as “Dimmock Farm.” We figured we’d check them all out. Finding Dimmock Farm was an adventure! We found the land it was situated on off of Dimock Road. There was a sign with a map showing the trail we were to follow and designating where there were some historical sites. There was also a large warning that said “Beware of deer ticks. Especially dangerous May and June.” This was a heavily wooded area with a muddy trail and a lot of overgrowth. I traded my flip-flops for tennis shoes, grabbed an umbrella, and we were on our way.
We were almost to the end of the trail and had not spotted anything when I remembered the warning about ticks. I glanced down just to check and there were probably six ticks climbing up my jeans that I could see. Of course, I screamed “Get them off, get them off!” which my husband Seth found very funny. I had visions of Lyme disease and wondered if that had anything to do with Lyme, New Hampshire. (Of course we were in Tolland, Connecticut at this point and it didn’t matter anyway.) After we returned to the car, unsuccessful in finding any remnants of Dimmock farm, we did a tick check. They were everywhere, in our clothes and in our shoes, but luckily no one had been bitten by one. We found ticks in the car days later, mainly stuck to shoe strings, but creepy just the same.
After Tolland, we visited the nearby town of Stafford. There was a cemetery there we wanted to visit. We did find a few Dimock/Dimick ancestors there. The most exciting thing we saw there was the wildlife! We were walking the rows of stones attempting to read the really old ones when we came across a box turtle minding his own business. Of course I had to pick him up, play with him and take some pictures for the kids. We imagined the turtle was thinking “just when I thought it was safe to live in the cemetery….” Not five minutes later we discovered a small toad as well, hopping for his life, no doubt warned by the turtle. That was a cemetery full of wildlife!
Our trip concluded in Boston, Massachusetts where we took a trolley tour of the city. My grandma declared “I will eat a lobster in Boston!” So we went out for seafood that night and my grandma got her lobster. While there we visited the graves of many of the signers of the Declaration of Independence and other notables such as Mother Goose. All in all it was a great trip with many strange adventures along the way. I experienced some of the more “wild” aspects of genealogy and can’t wait for the next excursion.
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Monday, May 12, 2008
The First Word #10: Journals Are This Girl’s Best Friend
I haven’t done much genealogical research lately. What I have been doing is changing my life situation from being a stay-at-home mom to having a full-time out-of-the-house job. So I have not had very much to write about lately.
However, I have been journaling a lot lately. These changes have brought up a lot of things for me to sort through. I have found journaling helpful in the past and have kept a semi-consistent journal for 12 years now (...good grief, has it really been that long?)
Keeping a journal is therapeutic. I can put on paper the things that are bothering me and get them out of my head. If there has been some sort of an event that I don’t understand or that is upsetting, I can write about it and then sleep well at night because it’s no longer churning in my mind. I also use my journal when things are going well and I want to remember how good I am feeling about something.
Journals are especially good for writing down special events, such as things my kids have accomplished, or a memorable trip, or a visit with someone. Writing down your thoughts, experiences, hopes, memories, and frustrations can be an excellent way of breaking your writer’s block. It can be a starting point for larger pieces. A journal can be a little snapshot or a preview of a larger article. I often go back to my journal for an article idea.
A journal will also be a treasure for a great-grandchild to read someday. Or they may be confused if they read my journals, I don’t know.
Here’s an excerpt from 3 October 1996 when I was still in college studying art: “I’m really looking forward to graduation. Only 7 more months then I’ll be able to do what I want to do…” And this one from 10 April 1997: “I’m going to name my next cat Gunther.” But also I wrote on 27 October 1997: “Two weeks ago we went to Abilene, KS for Seth’s grandpa’s 80th birthday. It was a surprise party. It was very fun. He was definitely surprised! It was also neat to meet some of Seth’s family that I hadn’t met yet…”
So I’ve written about my thoughts for the future, ideas about cat-naming, and about a special event related to an ancestor. These items are fun for me to read and will be even more fun for my descendants.
I don’t know about you, but it seems that my ancestors never wrote anything down. I don’t even have a letter, a Bible record or a grocery list from one of my ancestors. Oh how I wish just one person had kept a journal! I long to read about their thoughts, ideas, hopes for the future, what their kids were doing, their struggles in parenthood, in life. I would love to be swept away with visions of pioneer life of my ancestors, of the hazards of working on a farm, of falling in love and getting married.
It is one thing to learn about our ancestors, find the names and dates and fill in a chart. We can even flesh out some of their lives and personalities through extensive research, but we won’t ever know what they were really thinking and living if we don’t have any written accounts of their own... Thoughts and ideas right from their own heads and left on paper for the rest of us to find and read.
I have talked to my kids about keeping journals of their own. Even 7-year-old Ethan writes in one once in a while! They are still young. Ethan only learned to read and write last year. However, I’m planting the seeds in their mind that a journal is a good idea and therefore might be something they do in their future.
I think it is probably too late for me to find any journals or letters from my ancestors. I have asked just about every living relative I know if they know of any and the answer is always “no.” However, I can leave a journal for my kids and grandchildren and great-grandchildren to puzzle over after I’ve left this earth. More importantly are the benefits I gain from journaling right now while I’m still alive: mental health and writing ideas.
However, I have been journaling a lot lately. These changes have brought up a lot of things for me to sort through. I have found journaling helpful in the past and have kept a semi-consistent journal for 12 years now (...good grief, has it really been that long?)
Keeping a journal is therapeutic. I can put on paper the things that are bothering me and get them out of my head. If there has been some sort of an event that I don’t understand or that is upsetting, I can write about it and then sleep well at night because it’s no longer churning in my mind. I also use my journal when things are going well and I want to remember how good I am feeling about something.
Journals are especially good for writing down special events, such as things my kids have accomplished, or a memorable trip, or a visit with someone. Writing down your thoughts, experiences, hopes, memories, and frustrations can be an excellent way of breaking your writer’s block. It can be a starting point for larger pieces. A journal can be a little snapshot or a preview of a larger article. I often go back to my journal for an article idea.
A journal will also be a treasure for a great-grandchild to read someday. Or they may be confused if they read my journals, I don’t know.
Here’s an excerpt from 3 October 1996 when I was still in college studying art: “I’m really looking forward to graduation. Only 7 more months then I’ll be able to do what I want to do…” And this one from 10 April 1997: “I’m going to name my next cat Gunther.” But also I wrote on 27 October 1997: “Two weeks ago we went to Abilene, KS for Seth’s grandpa’s 80th birthday. It was a surprise party. It was very fun. He was definitely surprised! It was also neat to meet some of Seth’s family that I hadn’t met yet…”
So I’ve written about my thoughts for the future, ideas about cat-naming, and about a special event related to an ancestor. These items are fun for me to read and will be even more fun for my descendants.
I don’t know about you, but it seems that my ancestors never wrote anything down. I don’t even have a letter, a Bible record or a grocery list from one of my ancestors. Oh how I wish just one person had kept a journal! I long to read about their thoughts, ideas, hopes for the future, what their kids were doing, their struggles in parenthood, in life. I would love to be swept away with visions of pioneer life of my ancestors, of the hazards of working on a farm, of falling in love and getting married.
It is one thing to learn about our ancestors, find the names and dates and fill in a chart. We can even flesh out some of their lives and personalities through extensive research, but we won’t ever know what they were really thinking and living if we don’t have any written accounts of their own... Thoughts and ideas right from their own heads and left on paper for the rest of us to find and read.
I have talked to my kids about keeping journals of their own. Even 7-year-old Ethan writes in one once in a while! They are still young. Ethan only learned to read and write last year. However, I’m planting the seeds in their mind that a journal is a good idea and therefore might be something they do in their future.
I think it is probably too late for me to find any journals or letters from my ancestors. I have asked just about every living relative I know if they know of any and the answer is always “no.” However, I can leave a journal for my kids and grandchildren and great-grandchildren to puzzle over after I’ve left this earth. More importantly are the benefits I gain from journaling right now while I’m still alive: mental health and writing ideas.
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The First Word #9: The Story of a Summer Home, Nederland, Colorado
My husband Seth’s grandparents were known throughout the family for their summer home in Nederland, Colorado, commonly referred to as “the Cabin.” When I became part of the family I heard stories and was shown pictures of events at the Cabin. It was a place where the whole family came together and created a lot of happy memories.
Seth’s grandfather, Paul Furbeck, wanted a home in the mountains. He and his wife Margaret lived in Abilene, Kansas––it is a good eight or nine hour drive from Abilene to Nederland. One of their daughters was living in Evergreen, Colorado, so in 1976 she began scouting the area for land that they could consider buying. She found a 1.8 acre lot on the southern side of Nederland for about $7500. For Grandpa, the view sold it. The Cabin would have a perfect view of the town below and the Indian Peaks to the North.
Grandpa wanted to build the house from scratch. He was always interested in working with his hands and this would be no exception. He bought the house from a company called Capp Homes who sold houses in kits. Capp had a crew come to the lot and build the framing for the foundation. The family helped out and then built the rest of the house.
The foundation and basement was poured in 1977. They lived in a camper during the time they were there until the house was in a livable condition. They were able to begin living in the Cabin about the end of the summer of 1978.
When they first built the home, they would come to Colorado at the end of May, after school let out for the year, because Grandma was a school teacher. They would return to Abilene before school was back in session for the fall. After they retired, they stayed longer. One year they didn’t leave until after Thanksgiving. During that trip they discovered how the snow would get packed thick on the county road and that their driveway would develop a terrible drift in the winter that soon became impassable. They would have to park the car at the top of the driveway and walk down to the Cabin through the trees, creating a trail.
I remember times visiting my husband’s grandparents at the Cabin. They would be out in Colorado for a few weeks in the summer and we’d go visit. Seth’s grandma liked to take drives in the mountains––we’d just get in the car and see where we ended up. One day we drove up to Caribou, a ghost town, and had a picnic. Once we drove down Magnolia Road, a very steep and narrow road, where she picked up a hitchhiker who needed a ride to the highway to catch the bus. (I never would have imagined Grandma picking up a hitchhiker!) Another time we drove through Ward and down the mountain the “back way” into Boulder.
As they grew older, they were able to stay less and less. Four months gradually turned into two, then just a few weeks. Eventually the house was empty for most of the year except for the occasional visit by an aunt or cousin who was out for a ski trip. The last summer they came to visit their summer home was 2001. At that point, Seth and I were living there with our son Ethan.
In 1999, we were living in Aurora when Seth got a job in Boulder. We decided it was time to move closer to his job. This was just about the time when the grandparents had only been able to come to their summer home for a few weeks each summer and the drive was getting longer and harder for them to make. We needed a place to live, they needed someone to take care of their house. It was a perfect fit! We moved into the Cabin in March 2000. Ethan was born in December 2000 and his first home was that Nederland, Colorado mountain home. It is a beautiful house in a beautiful town.
The house is still owned by Seth’s grandma. When Seth got a new job in Longmont and we had our second child, Ellie, we felt the need to move to Longmont and purchase our own home. Now the Cabin is being rented, by the same couple for the last 5 years. They love it and take great care of the house.
That house has blessed this family with so many wonderful memories––pictures of various grandchildren visiting, an old pile of walking sticks collected in the woods. It stands for so many experiences and is a family treasure. Not as small as a family bible or photo album, but a house can be a genealogical treasure too. Built by the hands of the family, it holds a lot of spirit within its walls.
Seth’s grandfather, Paul Furbeck, wanted a home in the mountains. He and his wife Margaret lived in Abilene, Kansas––it is a good eight or nine hour drive from Abilene to Nederland. One of their daughters was living in Evergreen, Colorado, so in 1976 she began scouting the area for land that they could consider buying. She found a 1.8 acre lot on the southern side of Nederland for about $7500. For Grandpa, the view sold it. The Cabin would have a perfect view of the town below and the Indian Peaks to the North.
Grandpa wanted to build the house from scratch. He was always interested in working with his hands and this would be no exception. He bought the house from a company called Capp Homes who sold houses in kits. Capp had a crew come to the lot and build the framing for the foundation. The family helped out and then built the rest of the house.
The foundation and basement was poured in 1977. They lived in a camper during the time they were there until the house was in a livable condition. They were able to begin living in the Cabin about the end of the summer of 1978.
When they first built the home, they would come to Colorado at the end of May, after school let out for the year, because Grandma was a school teacher. They would return to Abilene before school was back in session for the fall. After they retired, they stayed longer. One year they didn’t leave until after Thanksgiving. During that trip they discovered how the snow would get packed thick on the county road and that their driveway would develop a terrible drift in the winter that soon became impassable. They would have to park the car at the top of the driveway and walk down to the Cabin through the trees, creating a trail.
I remember times visiting my husband’s grandparents at the Cabin. They would be out in Colorado for a few weeks in the summer and we’d go visit. Seth’s grandma liked to take drives in the mountains––we’d just get in the car and see where we ended up. One day we drove up to Caribou, a ghost town, and had a picnic. Once we drove down Magnolia Road, a very steep and narrow road, where she picked up a hitchhiker who needed a ride to the highway to catch the bus. (I never would have imagined Grandma picking up a hitchhiker!) Another time we drove through Ward and down the mountain the “back way” into Boulder.
As they grew older, they were able to stay less and less. Four months gradually turned into two, then just a few weeks. Eventually the house was empty for most of the year except for the occasional visit by an aunt or cousin who was out for a ski trip. The last summer they came to visit their summer home was 2001. At that point, Seth and I were living there with our son Ethan.
In 1999, we were living in Aurora when Seth got a job in Boulder. We decided it was time to move closer to his job. This was just about the time when the grandparents had only been able to come to their summer home for a few weeks each summer and the drive was getting longer and harder for them to make. We needed a place to live, they needed someone to take care of their house. It was a perfect fit! We moved into the Cabin in March 2000. Ethan was born in December 2000 and his first home was that Nederland, Colorado mountain home. It is a beautiful house in a beautiful town.
The house is still owned by Seth’s grandma. When Seth got a new job in Longmont and we had our second child, Ellie, we felt the need to move to Longmont and purchase our own home. Now the Cabin is being rented, by the same couple for the last 5 years. They love it and take great care of the house.
That house has blessed this family with so many wonderful memories––pictures of various grandchildren visiting, an old pile of walking sticks collected in the woods. It stands for so many experiences and is a family treasure. Not as small as a family bible or photo album, but a house can be a genealogical treasure too. Built by the hands of the family, it holds a lot of spirit within its walls.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
First Word #8 - How Could That Record Be So Wrong?
Have you ever wondered how records could ever be incorrect? How could they get so full of the “wrong” information? Have you ever come across a census that was so full of errors you wondered where they came up with it? I have some examples of this and some ideas on how it could have happened.
While researching my great-great grandmother, Martha (Meeker) Dimick, who died in Nashville, Tennessee, I located my standard starting records: obituary and death certificate. Martha Dimick was born in Wood County, Ohio on 27 May 1872 and died 23 September 1970. Both her obituary and her death certificate state that her parents were Mahlon and Mary (Baughman) Meeker. After spending unsuccessful hours searching the 1880 census to find her with her parents, I finally changed tactics and found her birth registration. Her parents were actually Lafayette and Philinda (Baughman) Meeker.
The informant for her death certificate, and most likely her obituary as well, was her son, Gerald Dimick. He was only 2 months old when his grandfather died and his grandmother died 22 years before his birth! Needless to say, he didn’t know his grandparents and, if his mother never really talked about them, he maybe didn’t even know their names or confused them––Mahlon Meeker was his great-grandfather. Or, at times of distress, such as the loss of a loved one, our minds are not as sharp as they usually are, which could have been the case with Gerald.
On a more recent note, my genealogical buddy Birdie Holsclaw and I met each other for dinner a few months ago. At that particular restaurant they take your name and and order, then call you when your food is ready. Birdie and I ordered and then sat down to wait. During our meal, I noticed that her receipt said “Bertie.” I immediately imagined all those poor census takers who did the best they could recording names, sometimes in a short amount of time, with language barriers or uncooperative families. They were trying to get through hundreds and thousands of households on a deadline, just like the cashiers at restaurants who are trying to get to as many customers as possible.
Another modern incident of incorrect information comes to mind. My brother got married 25 June 2005 in Estes Park, Colorado, which is in Larimer County. I was there. My husband, children, mom, grandma and aunt were there too. We all witnessed the event, we even have video and pictures to document the marriage. However, the Colorado marriage records state that he was married 25 August in Adams County. Why? Because he forgot to file the appropriate papers in time. So they held the ceremony and were married but the license wasn’t filed with the state until August. If you are familiar with Colorado, you would not mistake the mountainous backdrop of Estes Park in those pictures with the sweeping plains of Adams County as the recorded “truth” claims.
My brother’s story could be similar to that of my ancestor Thomas Mitchell who married Angeline Higdon around 1848-1849. They are in the 1850 Barren County, Kentucky census, married, no children. However, every attempt to locate a marriage record in that county––and about 10 of the closest surrounding counties––has turned up nothing. It could have been that they were married by a traveling minister who never turned in his records to the county. Or they eloped to some other state, maybe even changing their names. Or they never actually married.
When evaluating the records that have been left for us to interpret, (or perhaps not left, as the case may be), it is important to try to imagine what obstacles the record taker may have been dealing with such as language barriers, or the stress the informants may have been under. There are any number of factors to consider. If that doesn’t work, I try to imagine a scenario for the unknowns that helps me sleep at night. At least until I find that record…
While researching my great-great grandmother, Martha (Meeker) Dimick, who died in Nashville, Tennessee, I located my standard starting records: obituary and death certificate. Martha Dimick was born in Wood County, Ohio on 27 May 1872 and died 23 September 1970. Both her obituary and her death certificate state that her parents were Mahlon and Mary (Baughman) Meeker. After spending unsuccessful hours searching the 1880 census to find her with her parents, I finally changed tactics and found her birth registration. Her parents were actually Lafayette and Philinda (Baughman) Meeker.
The informant for her death certificate, and most likely her obituary as well, was her son, Gerald Dimick. He was only 2 months old when his grandfather died and his grandmother died 22 years before his birth! Needless to say, he didn’t know his grandparents and, if his mother never really talked about them, he maybe didn’t even know their names or confused them––Mahlon Meeker was his great-grandfather. Or, at times of distress, such as the loss of a loved one, our minds are not as sharp as they usually are, which could have been the case with Gerald.
On a more recent note, my genealogical buddy Birdie Holsclaw and I met each other for dinner a few months ago. At that particular restaurant they take your name and and order, then call you when your food is ready. Birdie and I ordered and then sat down to wait. During our meal, I noticed that her receipt said “Bertie.” I immediately imagined all those poor census takers who did the best they could recording names, sometimes in a short amount of time, with language barriers or uncooperative families. They were trying to get through hundreds and thousands of households on a deadline, just like the cashiers at restaurants who are trying to get to as many customers as possible.
Another modern incident of incorrect information comes to mind. My brother got married 25 June 2005 in Estes Park, Colorado, which is in Larimer County. I was there. My husband, children, mom, grandma and aunt were there too. We all witnessed the event, we even have video and pictures to document the marriage. However, the Colorado marriage records state that he was married 25 August in Adams County. Why? Because he forgot to file the appropriate papers in time. So they held the ceremony and were married but the license wasn’t filed with the state until August. If you are familiar with Colorado, you would not mistake the mountainous backdrop of Estes Park in those pictures with the sweeping plains of Adams County as the recorded “truth” claims.
My brother’s story could be similar to that of my ancestor Thomas Mitchell who married Angeline Higdon around 1848-1849. They are in the 1850 Barren County, Kentucky census, married, no children. However, every attempt to locate a marriage record in that county––and about 10 of the closest surrounding counties––has turned up nothing. It could have been that they were married by a traveling minister who never turned in his records to the county. Or they eloped to some other state, maybe even changing their names. Or they never actually married.
When evaluating the records that have been left for us to interpret, (or perhaps not left, as the case may be), it is important to try to imagine what obstacles the record taker may have been dealing with such as language barriers, or the stress the informants may have been under. There are any number of factors to consider. If that doesn’t work, I try to imagine a scenario for the unknowns that helps me sleep at night. At least until I find that record…
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
First Word #7 - How I'm Related to Roy Rogers and How I'm Not
I am related to Roy Rogers. I was practically born with this knowledge. It is a part of who my family is, part of how we define ourselves. Ever since I was a little kid, I was told about this fact. I have often heard stories about “Cousin Roy” who moved from Ohio to California and I have even watched some of his movies. Any time he was in the news or mentioned on TV my relatives would say “There’s cousin Roy.” It often came up in conversations with our friends. “Hey, we’re related to Roy Rogers!” The usual response being something like “Who’s Roy Rogers?” This bit of information is what got me to actually begin researching my family history. I wanted to know how we were related. (You notice I didn’t say “if.”)
We’ve all heard these claims and rumors when researching our families. If you share a surname with someone famous, chances are it’s been postulated, if not claimed as true, that you’re related. It is such a common phenomenon that genealogists even make jokes about it.
I wanted to know how exactly how I was related to Roy Rogers, I was bored and had access to a high speed internet connection before such access was common. I had grown up knowing that his name was not Roy Rogers, but Leonard Slye. My mom’s mother was Helen Sly. (Therefore, we are related!)
From doing some basic Internet research and accessing the census, I determined that Leonard Slye was born 5 November 1911 in Cincinnati, Hamilton County, Ohio.1 His family owned a farm in Duck Run, Ohio where he lived and worked until about 1929. His line has been traced back to colonial Maryland.2 I have also seen some charts showing this Slye line back to Warwickshire, England.
My late grandmother Helen Francis Sly (no ‘e’ on the end) was born in Rudolph, Wood County, Ohio, 10 April 1914. I have researched her Sly line in the U.S. back to the late 1840s or early 1850s when they immigrated from Wiltshire, England. It’s the old story of three brothers in England, two of whom came to America, James and William Sly. I believe I have found them on ships’ lists but haven’t confirmed it. The Slys are found in the 1841 Wiltshire census3, then are found in Sandusky County, Ohio in 1856 when James Sly was married in Erie County.4 The other brother, William, was married in 1858 in Huron County, Ohio.5
I have found no connection between my line and the Slyes in Hamilton County. One obvious difference, but not the most important, is the spelling with and without the ‘e’. Also, Wood County is in the northwest corner of the state, near Michigan and Indiana, while Hamilton County is in the southwest corner of the state on the Kentucky and Indiana borders. Geographically, these two lines were not close. I have traced almost all of the descendants of my Sly line from William and James and have found none that have had connections to the Slyes in Hamilton County.
I had to go and spoil all the fun for my family with the pesky truth. Maybe it’s OK sometimes for a family to have a myth to talk about. There’s some history to that in and of itself. My brother now has conversations with people along the lines of “We used to be related to Roy Rogers, but my sister had to go and ruin that!” So I’ve sort of gotten a reputation as the “Confounder of Fantasy” or the “Assassin of Overstatement.” Honestly, I’m also saddened that I have debunked this myth in our family. It was a part of how we defined ourselves. My heart breaks a little because I can tell my family misses being “related” to Roy Rogers. It’s like I popped someone’s balloon just to hear it pop. Don’t get me wrong, I am interested in proof and finding out the truth just like the next dedicated genealogist. But maybe I don’t have to burst bubbles just to highlight my skills. Roy Rogers will always be a part of my family’s history and in that way we are related to him.
The next myth I’m going to tackle is that we are “direct descendants of William Henry Harrison.” My other grandmother’s grandmother’s maiden name was Harrison. Maybe I won’t share my conclusions with them this time.
------------
1. “Roy Rogers Tribute” on the Womack Family News website: http://www.womacknet.net/features/royrogers/roy.htm. Viewed 6 June 2007.
2. Research of Viettia Newcomb, of Ukiah, UT. Pedigree charts sent to author August 2000.
3. James Sly household, 1841 Census returns of England and Wales, Wiltshire, Heytesbury Hundred (Warminster), Horninsham Parish, Piece #1177. FHL film 464196.
4. Erie County Marriage Records volume 2, page 183, Probate Court, Sandusky, Ohio. (Marriage of James Sly and Catherine R[einner?])
5. Huron County Record of Marriages, page 180, Court of Common Pleas, Probate Division, Norwalk, Ohio. (Marriage of William Sly and Harriet Callin)
Monday, July 23, 2007
The First Word #6: Roadside Stops: Rest Areas, McDonald’s® and Cemeteries
Last summer, my family and I visited relatives, as we do every year. All of my ancestors, all four lines, converged in Wood County, Ohio for several generations, so there is a lot of information to find each time we go back for a visit. I always make a list of new things I want to search for, such as obituaries, church records, land records, and so forth, but probably my favorite is searching for the cemeteries and tombstones of my ancestors.
Often I am visiting “easy” cemeteries such as Fort Meigs Cemetery in Perrysburg, Ohio. It is quite large but very well indexed and mapped and only a few miles from my grandma’s house. Another “easy” cemetery is Maple Grove Cemetery, in Findlay, Ohio located one block from my dad’s house. On nice days, we just take walks in the cemetery even if I’m not looking for tombstones.
On our last excursion, I had a few ancestors to locate in a “new” and as it turns out, not-so-easy cemetery in Hancock County, Ohio. Hancock is one county south of Wood, and the cemetery was near the city of Findlay. I had done some research in advance of our trip, consulted historical maps, checked county history books and looked in Google Maps for a current map of the area. I knew the general location of this cemetery, within a few square miles or so. I knew it would be between a few major roads, but not on which particular county road.
My dad, who I mentioned lives in Findlay, offered to drive us and help us find it. He knew from my maps the general area in the country where this cemetery should be and a few landmarks along the way. My extended family has become curious about my “hobby” and they are interested in the new things I find out about our ancestors every time I come. We had to take two cars because everyone wanted to ride along, six of us in all.
Since my dad knew the area best, we let him lead and followed him in our car. He drove to the general area with no problems, but after a few turns and no sign of a cemetery, we quickly realized that we didn’t know enough to find it ourselves without systematically driving up and down country roads in a grid-like manner.
After some time, we were driving down yet another country lane surrounded by farm land and a few houses nestled next to small wooded groves. My dad spotted a farmer driving his tractor down the road ahead of us. My dad, who has a knack for striking up conversations with perfect strangers, pulled up beside him and waved him down. Since I was in the second car, I couldn’t hear the conversation but I watched my dad get out and lean up against the tractor like he was talking with an old buddy about “this weather we’re having.” I watched the flapping of arms left and right and the pointing “over there.” My dad finally motioned for us to follow him, climbed into his car and we were on our way again.
We turned around and went east just one road. Behind a stand of trees that had been blocking our view, sat a little cemetery. It seemed to be well cared-for and was located a stone’s throw from someone’s house. I suspect that it was originally a family cemetery that expanded to meet the needs of the surrounding community. We had a fun time walking the cemetery and locating the tombstones together. It wasn’t too difficult to locate our ancestors due to the small size of the cemetery.
I think it was a memorable experience for my dad. I also learned one thing about genealogy from my dad during that trip; don’t be afraid to talk to the locals, and if you are, then bring along someone who isn’t. It can also become a fun activity or adventure for your family members to help you out with your research. It will give them a sense of being involved in the process.
I also try to get my children involved with searching for our ancestors. When I take them to cemeteries I use it as an opportunity to work on the alphabet.* (“Ethan, find a tombstone beginning with an M.”) On this trip, involving my kids in the search for our ancestors’ graves had begun to take it’s toll. One day, while taking some time to check out two cemeteries, my son fell asleep in the car in the cemetery. He was confused when he woke up and said “Are we still in the cemetery?” I had to answer, “No, we’re in another cemetery now.” On a different day, while riding in the car with my grandma, Ethan saw a business’s sign made out of a large slab of stone. He said to my grandma with much trepidation, “Grandma! That’s not a tombstone is it? My mom stops at anything that looks like a tombstone!” I guess he’d had enough genealogy for one trip.
*As mentioned in “How Potty Training Can Help Your Genealogy” in BGS Quarterly, Vol. 38, No. 2, May 2006.
Often I am visiting “easy” cemeteries such as Fort Meigs Cemetery in Perrysburg, Ohio. It is quite large but very well indexed and mapped and only a few miles from my grandma’s house. Another “easy” cemetery is Maple Grove Cemetery, in Findlay, Ohio located one block from my dad’s house. On nice days, we just take walks in the cemetery even if I’m not looking for tombstones.
On our last excursion, I had a few ancestors to locate in a “new” and as it turns out, not-so-easy cemetery in Hancock County, Ohio. Hancock is one county south of Wood, and the cemetery was near the city of Findlay. I had done some research in advance of our trip, consulted historical maps, checked county history books and looked in Google Maps for a current map of the area. I knew the general location of this cemetery, within a few square miles or so. I knew it would be between a few major roads, but not on which particular county road.
My dad, who I mentioned lives in Findlay, offered to drive us and help us find it. He knew from my maps the general area in the country where this cemetery should be and a few landmarks along the way. My extended family has become curious about my “hobby” and they are interested in the new things I find out about our ancestors every time I come. We had to take two cars because everyone wanted to ride along, six of us in all.
Since my dad knew the area best, we let him lead and followed him in our car. He drove to the general area with no problems, but after a few turns and no sign of a cemetery, we quickly realized that we didn’t know enough to find it ourselves without systematically driving up and down country roads in a grid-like manner.
After some time, we were driving down yet another country lane surrounded by farm land and a few houses nestled next to small wooded groves. My dad spotted a farmer driving his tractor down the road ahead of us. My dad, who has a knack for striking up conversations with perfect strangers, pulled up beside him and waved him down. Since I was in the second car, I couldn’t hear the conversation but I watched my dad get out and lean up against the tractor like he was talking with an old buddy about “this weather we’re having.” I watched the flapping of arms left and right and the pointing “over there.” My dad finally motioned for us to follow him, climbed into his car and we were on our way again.
We turned around and went east just one road. Behind a stand of trees that had been blocking our view, sat a little cemetery. It seemed to be well cared-for and was located a stone’s throw from someone’s house. I suspect that it was originally a family cemetery that expanded to meet the needs of the surrounding community. We had a fun time walking the cemetery and locating the tombstones together. It wasn’t too difficult to locate our ancestors due to the small size of the cemetery.
I think it was a memorable experience for my dad. I also learned one thing about genealogy from my dad during that trip; don’t be afraid to talk to the locals, and if you are, then bring along someone who isn’t. It can also become a fun activity or adventure for your family members to help you out with your research. It will give them a sense of being involved in the process.
I also try to get my children involved with searching for our ancestors. When I take them to cemeteries I use it as an opportunity to work on the alphabet.* (“Ethan, find a tombstone beginning with an M.”) On this trip, involving my kids in the search for our ancestors’ graves had begun to take it’s toll. One day, while taking some time to check out two cemeteries, my son fell asleep in the car in the cemetery. He was confused when he woke up and said “Are we still in the cemetery?” I had to answer, “No, we’re in another cemetery now.” On a different day, while riding in the car with my grandma, Ethan saw a business’s sign made out of a large slab of stone. He said to my grandma with much trepidation, “Grandma! That’s not a tombstone is it? My mom stops at anything that looks like a tombstone!” I guess he’d had enough genealogy for one trip.
*As mentioned in “How Potty Training Can Help Your Genealogy” in BGS Quarterly, Vol. 38, No. 2, May 2006.
The First Word #5: Building Brick Walls Between You and Your Living Relatives
The week of Thanksgiving 2006, I discovered that my great-uncle, William H. “Bill” Sly of Buckeye, Arizona had died 13 January 2005 at the age of 81. That was almost two years ago! No one in my immediate family had even heard of his passing. A cousin (my third cousin once removed) who also works on Sly research, and who coincidentally lives in Phoenix, also had not heard about his death.
I happened upon his obituary while checking out a new subscription-based web site that contains a growing collection of historical newspapers: www.genealogybank.com. I thought I would check Genealogy Bank out to see if anything useful to my research turned up. I searched for "William Sly" intending to locate my great-great grandfather by the same name in Ohio. However, an obituary for "William H. "Bill" Sly" from a Buckeye, Arizona newspaper turned up first on the list. Unfortunately, the obituary turned out to be only one sentence in length and did not have much information.
I remember visiting Uncle Bill in Arizona just after I finished kindergarten during the summer of 1980. My parents packed my younger brother and me in a van (the old style, not a comfy mini- van with a DVD player) and we headed out from Weston, Ohio to Buckeye, Arizona. I don't remember much about that trip, but I do remember it was so hot that our crayons melted! I also remember Uncle Bill was a big guy to a 6-year-old, who did a lot of laughing. We visited his mother, my great-grandmother, Lucy Alice (Long) Sly. She was living in a nursing home, was very frail, used a walker, and seemed ancient to me. She would have been ninety-two years old and she passed away that November, just five months after our visit.
Lucy Alice (Long) Sly was my maternal grandmother's mother. She was born in Audrain County, Missouri to Martha Alice “Mattie” (Mitchell) and William Henry “Harvey” Long. Her father, who was born in Ohio, moved to Missouri where he met and married his wife and they had most of their children. In 1900 he moved the family back to Wood County, Ohio. Lucy married Sanford Sly sometime between 1910 and 1915. Their first daughter Alice (who was not Sanford’s biological daughter, but that’s a story for another time), had a lung illness such as asthma or tuberculosis. Sometime between 1930 and 1936 they moved Alice and their youngest child and only son, William H. “Bill”, to Arizona thinking that the dry climate would benefit her health. Their two other daughters, Marie and Helen (my grandmother) were already married and therefore stayed in Ohio.
There are at least three living connections from my family to Uncle Bill. My cousin living in Phoenix (I mentioned earlier) said she remembers visiting my great-aunt Marie but didn't remember visiting my grandmother Helen. Several years before his death she had tried contacting Uncle Bill to see if he was interested in corresponding with her about the family––he was not. However, my mom’s half-sister, who is now the oldest living relative on that side of my family tree, used to visit Uncle Bill quite often. Unfortunately, after his mother (her grandmother) passed away in 1980, she didn’t visit as much and eventually lost touch.
Several times over the past few years I had talked to my mom about getting in touch with Uncle Bill. I especially wished to visit him again after becoming increasingly interested in genealogy. Over the years I checked the SSDI occasionally to see if he showed up and he didn't. As long as he didn’t, I kept my hope that one day we could make the trip, but it was not to be. None of my family’s connections to Uncle Bill knew of his passing for over two years.
This experience has convicted me of the fact that we need to get in touch and stay in touch with our living relatives. I am not sure why my branch of the family lost touch with his branch of the family. Surely the distance had something to do with it. Possibly telephone costs were a hindrance as well. No one has said, but maybe there were some hard feelings between family members. It is sad that he is gone, not only because I never really got to know him personally, but also from a genealogical standpoint. I have SO MANY QUESTIONS for him. He may have been the only one who could have answered them ... like the brick walls surrounding his parents and his sister Alice. I have a feeling those walls may stay there for a while if not forever. My interest in genealogy makes that breaking of a family tree branch all the more poignant.
I happened upon his obituary while checking out a new subscription-based web site that contains a growing collection of historical newspapers: www.genealogybank.com. I thought I would check Genealogy Bank out to see if anything useful to my research turned up. I searched for "William Sly" intending to locate my great-great grandfather by the same name in Ohio. However, an obituary for "William H. "Bill" Sly" from a Buckeye, Arizona newspaper turned up first on the list. Unfortunately, the obituary turned out to be only one sentence in length and did not have much information.
I remember visiting Uncle Bill in Arizona just after I finished kindergarten during the summer of 1980. My parents packed my younger brother and me in a van (the old style, not a comfy mini- van with a DVD player) and we headed out from Weston, Ohio to Buckeye, Arizona. I don't remember much about that trip, but I do remember it was so hot that our crayons melted! I also remember Uncle Bill was a big guy to a 6-year-old, who did a lot of laughing. We visited his mother, my great-grandmother, Lucy Alice (Long) Sly. She was living in a nursing home, was very frail, used a walker, and seemed ancient to me. She would have been ninety-two years old and she passed away that November, just five months after our visit.
Lucy Alice (Long) Sly was my maternal grandmother's mother. She was born in Audrain County, Missouri to Martha Alice “Mattie” (Mitchell) and William Henry “Harvey” Long. Her father, who was born in Ohio, moved to Missouri where he met and married his wife and they had most of their children. In 1900 he moved the family back to Wood County, Ohio. Lucy married Sanford Sly sometime between 1910 and 1915. Their first daughter Alice (who was not Sanford’s biological daughter, but that’s a story for another time), had a lung illness such as asthma or tuberculosis. Sometime between 1930 and 1936 they moved Alice and their youngest child and only son, William H. “Bill”, to Arizona thinking that the dry climate would benefit her health. Their two other daughters, Marie and Helen (my grandmother) were already married and therefore stayed in Ohio.
There are at least three living connections from my family to Uncle Bill. My cousin living in Phoenix (I mentioned earlier) said she remembers visiting my great-aunt Marie but didn't remember visiting my grandmother Helen. Several years before his death she had tried contacting Uncle Bill to see if he was interested in corresponding with her about the family––he was not. However, my mom’s half-sister, who is now the oldest living relative on that side of my family tree, used to visit Uncle Bill quite often. Unfortunately, after his mother (her grandmother) passed away in 1980, she didn’t visit as much and eventually lost touch.
Several times over the past few years I had talked to my mom about getting in touch with Uncle Bill. I especially wished to visit him again after becoming increasingly interested in genealogy. Over the years I checked the SSDI occasionally to see if he showed up and he didn't. As long as he didn’t, I kept my hope that one day we could make the trip, but it was not to be. None of my family’s connections to Uncle Bill knew of his passing for over two years.
This experience has convicted me of the fact that we need to get in touch and stay in touch with our living relatives. I am not sure why my branch of the family lost touch with his branch of the family. Surely the distance had something to do with it. Possibly telephone costs were a hindrance as well. No one has said, but maybe there were some hard feelings between family members. It is sad that he is gone, not only because I never really got to know him personally, but also from a genealogical standpoint. I have SO MANY QUESTIONS for him. He may have been the only one who could have answered them ... like the brick walls surrounding his parents and his sister Alice. I have a feeling those walls may stay there for a while if not forever. My interest in genealogy makes that breaking of a family tree branch all the more poignant.
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