My favorite picture book as a child, without a doubt, was Doris Burns’s Andrew Henry’s Meadow. (My copy was a Weekly Reader Children’s Book Club edition.) I savored the text and illustrations every time my mother read it to me. I felt Andrew Henry’s excitement as he set off through the woods to create a place of his own. As other children arrived at his meadow, Andrew built them homes to match their personalities. Each house he built had an element that appealed to me, from Alice’s house for the birds to George’s house with a water view to Margot’s castle with a working drawbridge. “Soon nine houses stood in the meadow. It looked like a small village.” I don’t think it resonated with me as a child that Andrew and his friends were running away from home.

Fast forward to about the time my daughter was born, when my son was 4. I pulled the book off the shelf at Mom’s house to read to my son. I looked at the cover and felt the same pull of coziness. I noticed the book’s slightly out-of-line spine and the almost denim-like texture of the green cover as I was excited to share the story with my son. But as I read the story, the coziness seeped away. The maternal instincts kicked in, and I felt not only sadness for Andrew Henry but also outright fear as the children, one by one, ran away from home, no one knowing where they had gone.

I brought the book back home with me, and it continued to hold its place in the bedtime book rotation for both children. The more I read it and saw my children drawn in by the illustrations, the more the coziness returned. As an adult, I am aware of the draw of that meadow today. A place my home gives me today. A quiet spot to be yourself.

They kept them, and my sister and I found these multitudinous communications tucked away in our childhood attic. In just a few weeks, you will be able to experience Malcolm and Ida’s 1920s love story. I am a tad excited….enjoy a sneak peek of the front and back covers.

2026. My father was born 100 years ago this September. Illness cut his life short just beyond the half-century mark. I was a teenager when he died. His illness stole years from me before his death. Who was he? I have a synopsis of my tall, handsome father that I can recite when asked. He was a teacher, principal, and then superintendent of Stanly County Schools. But who truly was Jacob “Jake” Marvin Carter? This is the year for me to share the broader story of his life and of him as a person. I will update along the way!

A handful of letters written in 1945 by two Colombian pen pals, Jose and German, to my mother is something I treasure greatly.

The letters are relatively benign. The boys speak of their age and physical description. Mentions of the family farms that produce coffee. The classes they were taking and the languages they spoke. One of Jose’s longer letters speaks of his favorite Colombian poets and his knowledge of American poets. He wished to exchange newspapers. What an excellent opportunity for these kids to practice their languages and gain some global awareness. The conversation about poets being similar to today’s teens discussing music artists or YouTubers. In his letter, German asks my mother to pass his name on to another girl if she doesn’t want to write him back. Sharing names and addresses is similar to how teens today follow each other on social media. The endorphins teens experienced in 1945 when a pen pal’s letter arrived were probably very similar to those teens experience today when they check their “likes”.

There is a sharp contrast 80 years later in how kids and teens interact with “strangers”. Every year during elementary school, my kids had a unit in media (aka library) about the dark side of the internet. They were taught early not to give out their name and address and to be wary of communication with strangers. Considering the possibility of a sleaze at the other end of the pen was not on the parental radar in 1945, like the greater possibility of a sleaze at the other end of a keyboard is today. Pen pals still exist, but google “Pen Pal Safety” to see how the world is different.

Jose’s hometown today looks nothing like it did in 1945. A search of the area noted on Jose’s pictures turned up no similar pictures in Armenia, Colombia. Wait a minute.... did he just send random pictures? Sadly no. In 1999, there was a significant earthquake in Colombia, centered very near Armenia. Building codes were not established until 1984. Much of the city was destroyed due to buildings that were not structurally sound. That would explain why a search of Plaza Bolivar kept coming up with a very modern church. But look just to the left of the new church, atop a tall, presumably earthquake-proof pillar.....there is Simeon Bolivar, Liberator of Colombia! So glad Jose mentioned him in his letter.

One of Jose’s letters mentions that the authorities did not check the letter he received. Tape found on several of the envelopes from him might indicate the letters were searched. How many war secrets were discovered in pen pal letters???

Social media is a regular part of the majority of teens’ lives today. They meet through mutual friends, at camps, school, work, and continue to keep in regular contact with each other via this medium. (Just like adults.) Information is abundant. The internet has plenty of pitfalls, but all those questions Jose and Germain might have had, teens today just Google. In the 1940s, global exposure came from movies and the war snippets before the movies began, along with radio news, newspapers, parents, school, and books about far off lands. The world became a bit smaller and real when the letters hit the mailbox.

What were my Mother’s letters to Jose and German like? Did she write in Spanish? Pictures of herself, Aunt Boots, and her friends Mary Catherine and Ann most likely made the trip to Colombia via the postal service. Jose and German sent photos of themselves with friends in their suits. Today, it would be a good mix of baseball caps, athletic attire, with a smattering of Lululemon thrown in.

Searches of these two young men, Jose and German, on Google and Ancestry have been fruitless. Who knows if they continued in the family coffee business? But I will pour another cup of coffee and imagine that they did!

Armenia July 18/45

Dear Mildred,

A few days ago I have received your letter and I didn’t answer because we are doing the second examination of the year. I had made the last to day and I answer you immediately.

I thank you by the pictures. All are very beautiful and yours are the better. Please if you can send me one more bigger. (That is?)

You inquire of me if I speak English, French or Spanish. I speak Spanish but I am studying English, French and Latin. I had two years of English, three of French and one of Latin. I like very much to speak other languages and I am going to study Greek.

I send you in this letter some pictures of Armenia and of my parents farmer. One is my church and Bolivar’s Park. You can see there the statue of Simon Bolivar our liberator. Twentyth July is the day of independence and we are going to celebrate it with much stateliness.

A friend mine wants that you write her. Her address is

Haydee Garcia G Armenia Caldas Columbia Carrera 14 No 14-11

I’ll thank you if you write to she. She don’t speak English but I translate your letters and she write you in Spanish. Or if you don’t like I’ll translate the letters for you.

Now we are at vacation time just 7th August.

I send you a picture of me and don’t forget, send me one of you.

Write Soon, Sincerely,

Jose Jesus Llanos

Manizales, August 9/45.

Mildred Kyser Hamlet, North Carolina - US

A friend of mine told me you could have correspondence with me. Is it truth?

Sow, if you want to write me, my address is the following.

German Lema Colegio de Puestra Señora Manizales - Colombia - S.A.

I am sixteen and I have many brothers and sisters. I study in Our Lady’s College five years ago, this College is for us like High School is for yours.

As you see, I know English only a little. This is my second year of English, but I can write and speak something.

Do you speak Spanish? Answer me in your letter.

I am hoping your answer or if you can’t do it, please give my address to a girl friend of yours.

Good-Bye Mildred, Till you answer me.

German

German’s photo is at the top of the page.

Imagine setting off for 7 weeks, traveling 8600 miles through 11 states with no smartphone or GPS-enabled vehicle and nary a convenience store in sight. Ernie Schaller, my husband’s maternal Uncle, and George Faber, both teetering on either side of 20, made this epic journey in 1934. They set off in an automobile from their hometown of West Bend, Iowa, on December 3, 1934. 86 years later, COVID quarantine organizing led to the discovery of photos of their excellent adventure. Consultation with my husband’s cousin, Gloria, a family historian/genealogist, brought George and Ernie’s journey to life. Gloria has a double connection to this journey. In addition to Ernie being her maternal Uncle, George is her paternal Uncle. Along with sharing her memories of her Uncles, she had postcards that George wrote to his parents. Perfect narrations for the photos. Larry scanned these photos 15 years ago from his Aunt Helen’s photo album. We had almost forgotten them. The photos were a bit weathered when scanned, but they tell a story worthy of a Hollywood portrayal.

Oh, to be a fly on the inside of the windshield. George and Ernie either bunked by the side of the road, with relatives, or perhaps with someone a hometown townsperson recommended. The roadmap must have been well-worn by the end of their travels.

There are no pictures from the Rose Parade, but George mentioned attending the parade in one of the postcards. He says the family they were staying with encouraged them to return to Los Angeles to see the parade on New Year’s Day. This would have been New Year’s Day, 1935. The parade was not televised until 1947. What an impression that parade must have made.

Ernie’s mother wrote a letter that he received while in Oregon. She was very clear that the boys needed to be home before January 22, because Ernie’s sister was marrying George’s brother, and George was to be the best man. They made it back to West Bend with about 48 hours to spare. A write-up of George and Ernie’s excellent adventure appeared in the January 24, 1935, issue of The West Bend Journal. It can be found at the bottom of this post.

George married Gertrude Henrich in 1955. They made their home in West Bend. After feeling the pull to leave West Bend, Ernie met and married Helen Siesennop in 1946. They made their home on a farm in Eolia, Missouri. George passed away in 1994, Ernie in 1995. Neither had children. Aunt Helen’s photo album reveals glimpses of other aspects of Ernie’s life—more of those to come.

December 5, 1934, Colorado Springs, CO

Dear Parents,

I suppose by this time you are wondering where we are now. We arrived in Colorado Springs around 3. So we took in some sightseeing. We saw the Cave of the Winds and the Garden of the Gods, and was that worth seeing! Oh yes, I must tell you this too. We are sleeping aside of Pikes Peak. Tonight is a little cold, but no snow. This card you are getting is from the tower we went in. You could see six states and Pikes Peak over 100 miles away! Well I must close now for space is sparse. From George and Ernest

December 8, 1934. Tusayan, AZ

Just a few lines to let you know we are still OK. Saw the Grand Canyon this morning. As soon as I get through writing this we are heading for Los Angeles. I think we can make it. The mountains are not as bad as I thought they were. The roads are very good. Geo & E

December 11, 1934 Long Beach, California

Dear Parents, As I have time now I will let you know we are still OK. Got here at Carl’s Sunday noon and since then have been busy seeing sights. On Monday, Carl and Mrs. took us through Hollywood. Today we took a wonderful trip to Catalina Island and I cannot tell you in words how wonderful this trip is, especially the bird park. Tomorrow we are going to see the Battle Ships and oil wells. The next time I write you I will tell you when to write and I will write you a good long letter. Geo & E

December 27, 1934 San Francisco, California

Dear Parents, We are still OK and hope the same of you. We are at George Kleinfehn’s now. We got here this morning. Say, I tell you we sure went through some big timber along the coast route and mountains. We saw the biggest tree in the world. 32 feet in diameter and 300 feet in height. That’s where it broke off in 12 foot diameter. Now we have traveled 4500 miles. Well, I must close. Wishing you all a Happy New Year. From Geo & E

Dear Parents, As I am writing you a few lines to let you know we are all OK and on our way home. We are back at Carl’s. When you wanted us home by the 20th we had to move. And thought we would see the Rose Parade. They urged us to be back by New Year’s. After New Years we will be on our way again. Before we leave I will write you a letter. From Geo & E.

Dear Folks, Just a few lines to let you know where we are. Got here at 1 o’clock last night. Going to see the cave today. Drove up from Phoenix, AZ all day yesterday, 605 miles, the longest pull we made on our trip. We must hurry so will say Good Bye. Geo & E

January 6, 1935. Carlsbad Cave

Dear Folks, Just a few lines that I am writing this card from Carlsbad Cave. 750 feet below the surface. From Geo & E

January 17, 1935 Blackwell, OK

Dear Folks, Just a few lines. We are still OK and hope we find you all the same on Sunday night at the Schaller from 8 o’clock on. I suppose that is good news. Well, we are at Wendell Gartner’s now. Saw the 101 ranch yesterday and don’t know what we are going to see yet. They are all fine. We sure had a good time at Gainesville (Texas). Stayed there a week. They are all fine and saw all the girls and boys that were in Iowa. Well, this is the last card I will write til I get home so until then will be seeing you Sunday night. From Geo & E

There was always a gift to her from mom under the Christmas tree. Each year there were sarcastic birthday greetings to one another, just a few months apart. One always reminded the other they were older and wiser or younger and spry. All friendships are cherished, but there is something about those friendships that start at our earliest memories and last into adulthood. I have my Lynn. My mom had her Mary Catherine.

Mary Catherine was one of only a handful of people that called my mother, Mildred. (After leaving home she went by Millie) There were a couple drive-thru bank tellers who attempted to create a sense of familiarity with Mom and cheerfully greeted her with “Hello Mildred”, as that was the name on her account. That never sat well with Mom.

I did not know her very well but Mary Catherine’s friendship was very important to my mother. Their friendship was something I took for granted… something that for 82 years, just always was.

I can picture Mom sitting on the yellow cushion on the kitchen table bench, elbow on the table using the kitchen wall phone, or sitting in the rocking chair in her room, feet up on the bed, talking the phone to Mary Catherine. There was happiness in her tone and relaxation in her sometimes stressed body when she had these conversations. Much like when she talked to her sister.

Both were born in 1928 in Hamlet, North Carolina. The girls lived about 3 blocks from each other. I imagine they had a well-worn route between their houses. Perhaps they even had meeting spot as Lynn and I did. For us, it was Uncle Raymond’s driveway. (not to confuse future genealogists…not an actual uncle. ) Mom told stories of plays they wrote and performed. Tea parties they hosted. Stamp collecting and pen-pals. Nancy Drew books and Rainbow Girls.

Mary Catherine and Mom grew up during Hamlet’s railroad heyday. The town had grown from about 650 residents in 1900 to about 4800 in 1930. Seaboard Airlines Railway brought that rapid growth. (Why Airlines you ask? Before the aviation boom this term was used to market the direct line or beeline quickness of the railroad.) This small town in the sandhills of North Carolina was known as the “hub of Seaboard” and saw around 30 passenger train departures a day. The downtown area played host to travelers in their stores, restaurants, and hotel. That must have felt like big city life to those two young girls.

Mary Catherine and Mom remained close to their high school classmates. The reunions were a big deal as were out-of-state trips to visit classmates. After retirement, Mom always joined Mary Catherine for the Seaboard Festival held each year in the historically rich railroad town of Hamlet, NC. http://www.seaboardfestival.com

Mary Catherine was an only child. No nieces or nephews. She never married or had children. So, in my Hamlet archives box, she will have her own file, “Grandmommy’s best friend”. Mom had many treasured lifelong friends, but Mary Catherine was the friend that always was.

The 2010, US Census reports Smith being the most common name in the US with almost 2.5 millions Americans identifying with the surname. According to the 1902 book, Origin and history of the name Smith, Smith means to strike with a hammer. Thus individuals in early English times working in trades such as blacksmith, goldsmith, coppersmith or shoesmith came to be known as a “smith”. Some early explorers to the Americas were Smiths, be it by trade or name only, who knows. Many Native Americans chose to use Smith as their name when dealing with the colonists. Some German Americans took the name Smith in order to assimilate into their communities with less stereotyping. Smiths, Smiths everywhere…..

David H. Smith was my maternal 2x Great Grandfather. There is a paper trail of Smiths before him, but a lot with the given name of William and well, you know how that goes. Those before David are classified as hypotheses.

My hypothesis about David’s parents is that his father was William Thornton Smith. William was born in Virginia. He married Grace Bryant in 1813, in Georgia. Grace was born in Washington County, Virginia. They had 10, +/-1, children. My 2xGGfather, David, was their 4th oldest son.

David was born September 27, 1823, according to his headstone. A newspaper article from The Albany Patriot reports that David married Hannah Moreland on November 3, 1846. Moreland family bible records indicate Hannah was born August 6, 1832. Hannah would have been 14 when they married, David 23.

David and Hannah Smith had 4 children. One son, William T. Smith, born in 1847, and 3 daughters. Missouri, born in 1850, Paulina, born in 1851, and Melvina, born in 1854. Hannah died sometime between the birth of Melvina and the 1860 US Census. There are not records to support David remarrying.

David and his son, William, served in the Confederate Army along with David’s older brother, Obediah. Obediah’s name being a tad more unique yields more results when searching for records. Searching for David and William’s service records is a bit trickier. There are quite a few Smiths with those given names from Georgia. Civil War research isn’t my speciality but written proof handed down through generations will do the trick! A letter found in my Mother’s possessions gives David permission in 1864, to travel to William’s funeral. Without this letter, “William T. Smith” would have become one of many with similar names and truly just a guess a to which was my William. William died on November 27, 1864, in Augusta, GA, at the age of 17 from pneumonia. He is buried in Magnolia Cemetery in Augusta. The back side of the Quarter Master’s letter gives his burial location.

The bearer D.H. Smith to ______ for this department is on a visit to GA hospital #3 to attend funeral of his son who died last night. You will please take this pass to inform my camp of teamsters and __________ until 10pm this Monday the 29th November at which time he will report back or be considered a deserter. Quarter Master for State Georgia

Again given the number of David Smith’s from Georgia, Grandpa David’s actual discharge information from his service in the Confederacy is not known. However, another document found in my Mother’s possession was an Oath of Allegiance to the US Constitution with David’s signature. He would have needed this document to vote. Thankfully it was saved. If only it hadn’t remained folded for 100+ years. David died on April 26, 1894.

Back home in Dooly County, daughter, Missouri married Hiram Lewis in 1871. At some point between 1880 and 1885, Missouri and Hiram moved to Florida. The trail fizzles out after 1885. Family records indicate they had no children.

David’s daughter, Melvina, my Great Grandmother, married Charles Worth Reynolds on October 27, 1875. My Grandmother, Ida Smith Reynolds, was the youngest of their 9 children. Family records indicate she had a twin. Absence of the twin’s name would suggest her twin died at birth. Melvina died when my Grandmother was 9 months old on December 27, 1894.

Paulina married her brother-in-law 2 years after her Melvina’s death. Aunt “Plyma”, as some called her, had no children. She raised her sister’s children as her own. Ida referred to her as both “Mother” and “Aunt Plyma”. Paulina, the last of David Smith’s line, died in Dooly County, GA on November 27, 1924.

My Grandmother, Ida, grew up with no Smith cousins. The Smith name ended with her Mother’s generation. My Mother however grew up with a robust group of Reynolds cousins. All sharing the Smith DNA. The Smith DNA is a bit diluted in my generation’s blood. The hunt will continue to determine what type of “Smith” runs in our veins.

John Richard Gregory, an unemployed and newly married 18 year old, traveled the same route as Pattie to get to Weldon from his home. He lived about 4 miles from town with his wife, Francis. Francis was 6 months pregnant. John was in Parker’s Store at the same time as Pattie on that Monday in September. He would later be arrested for her murder.

When Pattie’s body was found, Dr. A.B. Pierce determined that she had been killed the day prior, Monday, September 21, 1857. While witness accounts varied on the exact timeline in town, the sightings along the road were enough to alert suspicion. Multiple witnesses reported seeing John sitting and whittling or pacing just near where Pattie’s body was found. All of the witnesses from the road sightings described John as disheveled.

The last witness to see John on the road was Mrs. Summerell. She said John was running but she presumed his hurry was due to the dark cloud cover and the approaching storm. Another witness, Mr. Wood did not see John along the route but his horse did take fright at the brink of the hill where others reported seeing John earlier in the afternoon. Mr. Wood stated that once he was able to regain control of his horse he noticed something white far off to the side of the road under a juice tree but it did not excite his suspicions in any way and he kept going. An unidentified witness discovered Pattie’s body at this sight the following day.

Sheriff James Simmons traced John’s moves following the murder. John traveled to a store some 18 miles away. The store owner, Jesse Herbers, said he sold John about $10 worth of clothing and inquired of John why he didn’t do his business in Weldon as it was closer to him. John replied that he had money and could spend it wherever he liked. Jesse didn’t have a shirt for John to purchase. John was able to find one in a neighboring store.

Sheriff Simmons found John at the home of Thomas Moore. John was asleep when the Sheriff entered the home to arrest him. In his somewhat slumbered and disoriented state, John pointed out his belongings he needed to take with him. These belongings included a shirt and pants with obvious blood stains.

John Richard Gregory was found guilty of the homicide of Pattie Bird. His case was appealed due to a portion of the magistrates testimony. The appeals court ruled the guilty verdict would stand and John was sentenced to be hanged on December 28, 1858.

Historical information regarding Pattie is scarce. The spelling of her name varied from “Pattie” to “Patty” to “Patsey.” Census records indicate she was a mulatto and lived only with her son. Willis, in 1850. Court documents and newspaper reports indicate that she was a 50 year old freed slave. No obituary. No newspaper write ups about her life. Only a handful of households in Halifax County, NC, with the surname Bird appear in the Census.

John Richard Gregory was my 1st cousin, 4x removed. My 4x great grandfather, John Carter, was John’s Grandfather. Cousin John was orphaned as an infant and raised by his grandparents, John and Martha Carter. In his 1848 will, Grandfather John, asks that “my son William take care of my little grandson John Richard Gregory who is without parents or brother or sister and is in a destitute situation”. Common names of the time and place make pinpointing John’s parents difficult. Unfortunately at this time I can give no name to John’s Mother or Father.

The opposite of Pattie, John’s life was given much attention by newspapers following the murder. On the day of his execution, December 28, 1858, The Standard reports, “Whilst yet an infant, John Gregory was deprived of both parents. His father, a most intelligent and upright man, was killed in the performance of an act of humanity, and the helpless orphan was thrown of the resources of his connections. Too soon the boy contrived to become his own guide, philosopher and friend; and behold the sad result. One act of his life, a deplorable marriage, was chiefly instrumental in precipitating his ruin, by deservedly estranging him from all who felt disposed to give him succor.”

The same article in the The Standard also states, “Thus perished in the morning of life’s day, a young man who, under favorable circumstances, might, like some of his ancestors, have left a name honorably distinguished in the annals of the State, instead of meeting a felon’s death.” This is quoted not to eulogize what could have been John’s life woefully but to place a genealogical connection between John and his Grandmother, Martha Weldon Carter. Martha was the daughter of Col. Samuel Weldon, a Revolutionary Solider who played a large role in the formation of Halifax County, NC, and for whom the town of Weldon is named.

To put in context with today, justice for Pattie was served. Yet society failed to mourn the victim turning instead to paint a picture of a young white man whose life was wrought with hardships and an “ain’t it awful” attitude of his life being cut short. I know. This was 1858. But the narrative still plays out in some ways today.

Of interest and deserving a further look, the 1860 Census shows Willis, Pattie’s son, as a farm laborer living right beside Dr. A. B. Pierce, the physician investigating Pattie’s death. Previous Census records do not show the families living in close proximity. I like to think that Dr. Pierce offered Willis a hand when his Mother was tragically taken away. 10 years later, Willis had a daughter. He named her Pattie.

I am thankful for the State of North Carolina Archives. The story of Pattie Bird’s last trip to Weldon and her death were documented by witnesses in court. I was able to touch and review the actual court documents. Digitized historical newspapers through the NC Government and Heritage Library allowed me to follow justice being served through the trials and a rather wordy account of John Richard Gregory’s “repentance” and execution.

Family cousins’ letters sent to my Mom tell a story that may not be recorded anywhere else. Before reading these letters, I never thought to question that my Great Grandmother Melvina and her father, David H. Smith, were buried anywhere other than in the Pinehurst City Cemetery in Pinehurst, Georgia. After all, their headstones are situated there, right with the family. According to the letters, in the 1980s, at a reunion, the cousins discussed that it would be nice for their Grandmother to rest with her husband, their Grandfather Charles Reynolds, in town. His second wife, my great-grandmother’s sister, Paulina, lies beside him in town. I can only imagine the discussion. As the cousin’s letter states, David and Melvina had been dead for about 100 years. Most likely, they were not embalmed and were buried in a wooden box. Returned to dust. So only the headstones were moved.

Also mentioned was my Grandmother Ida’s twin.  This is the only “documentation” I have of a twin.  My Aunt told me a few things that I wish I had delved into further.  One was that she had been told that her Mother had a twin who died at birth.

A quick FindAGrave.com search turns up a Rackley Family Cemetery matching the physical description given the road and creek. However, no Smiths or Reynolds are listed as buried there.  Yet a note on Find A Grave indicates this cemetery is also known as the William Smith Family Cemetery.  Hmmm….William Thornton Smith is my 3x Great Grandfather.  He died some time after 1860 in Dooly County, Georgia.  Census records indicate he lived in the  Montezuma/Byromville area.  Only two photographs are posted on the site and not of specific graves.  I contacted the person who posted them.  She told me her relationship to someone buried there but she’s not sure how the Smith’s tie in.  

Brain cells start tingling!  The search is on!  An Ancestry.com search shows Jonas Rackley for whom the cemetery is named was married to David H. Smith’s sister, Susan.  She is my 3x great Aunt.  Digging further, most of the others listed as buried there are somehow related, some by blood, some by marriage.  I was able to add a few more names by finding death certificates of spouses indicating the burial location was Rackley Cemetery.  

Find A Grave was able to help keep the relationship between the two cemeteries by designating Great Grandma Melvina’s headstone in Pinehurst City Cemetery as a cenotaph, a monument to someone buried elsewhere. I hope they will do the same for Great Great Grandpa David.

All this brings me back to a letter that my Grandmother Ida wrote to Malcolm describing a family outing on July 4, 1922.  I feel certain the creek is Hogcrawl, which runs near Rackley Cemetery.  

“We left here early and went to the river.  Rather a creek that runs into the Flint.  Carl and Aunt Paulina fished some.  The creek is on my Grandfather Smith’s old plantation.  Where my Mother and Aunt Paulina lived.  I don’t remember going to Grandfather’s but the older ones do.  They were like kids let loose again. 

After lunch, we rested and talked and talked.  You got your share of it!  Of course I was teased all day.  Claude slipped his arm through mine and we took a good long walk and talk.  He is the best old brother in the world.  So like my Father.  Then we de-camped and went by the old cemetery where Mother and most of our people are buried.  We cleaned it up and put out fresh flowers.  Then on by our old home place, where I was born. We stopped and went all around in the yard.  Then down to the barn that opens into a pasture.  Claude had to see if the old farm gate he built was still there.  They were all so funny and had such fun yelling out, “do you remember the time….”  Of course, I did not remember much.  I was just three years old when I left there.  But they told me and showed me where I learned to walk and where I fell down.  Carl had to take a look at the old “wash hole” down in the pasture.” 

I have a bit of work to do.  Hopefully I will also be able to find out a bit more about the lives of the people buried there as well.   But for now things feel at bit more centered as notes left by others point to that speck on the map holding some very important history.

Paulina Smith, married my maternal Great Grandfather Reynolds on January 5, 1897, shortly after my maternal Great Grandmother died. She became an instant stepmother to eight children. The oldest was 20, the youngest, my Grandmother Ida, just 3. Six girls and two boys. Paulina or “Aunt Plyma” as she was called by some of the children and grandchildren, was not only their stepmother but also their biological aunt. Paulina was my Great Grandmother’s older sister. Never married and no children of her own, she married into a full family at the age of 38. My Grandmother considered Paulina her own mother and refers to her as such in letters. A December, 1921, letter (portion below) from my Grandmother to my Grandfather displays of snippet of emotion as my Grandmother tells of her biological Mother’s death.

There is some mention in letters of my Great Grandfather building a house in town when he retired from farming. While not away teaching, my Grandmother lived with her stepmother, Paulina, before she was married. My Grandmother’s letters speak of the worry that Paulina had about my Grandmother and her future.  Paulina was able to see my Grandmother’s happiness with my Grandfather for 1 year before her death. I like to think some of the unidentified pictures I have are of Paulina. Who knows?  Paulina is buried with her husband in the Pinehurst City Cemetery in Pinehurst, Ga.

Theodosia Harris, married my paternal Great Grandfather Dickens on December 18, 1901, 10 months after my Great Grandmother died. Similar to Paulina, never married and no children, at the age of 39, “Dosia” became an instant stepmother to five children. Four boys, the oldest being 16, and one girl, my Grandmother Lorena, the youngest at age 6.   I can only go on records as I have no passed down history about this particular set of Great Grandparents. The trees branches become a bit tangled with Dosia as I have discovered she was not only my paternal Step Great Grandmother, but also my paternal 1st cousin, 3x removed.  Her mother was my Grandmother Lorena’s great aunt-in-law.  That’s for another day…..

Dosia is buried in the family plot behind the Dickens homestead in the middle of a field in Halifax County, NC.

Most likely these were marriages of convenience.  A morally upright way for another woman to be in the home to take care of the children.  Aunt Plyma and Dosia, are not directly my progenitors but most certainly had an impact in shaping the lives of their step children, especially the two youngest, both my grandmothers.

Through my Finding Progenitors journey I hope to account for people’s existence.  These two ladies are not likely to show up on many trees as other than an ancillary relative. I shall think of them as more than that.

Happy Mother’s day Step Great-Grandmothers Paulina and Theodosia!

Dec 23,

My dear,

May I call you that: there is nothing in the world I love better than roses and very few people I love better.  These are the prettiest long stem red ones! I shall wear them tomorrow, Christmas day.  Well thank you dear.  I do not know how to thank people.  I feel a bit ashamed that I did not send you anything but a card and a letter. But I do hope you have just the best Christmas you have ever had and that you will be so happy.

It’s rather late, but I just want to talk to you a little tonight.  Wish you were here.  Everything is so quiet in this big house.  It’s just a bit sad. Did I show you my own Mother’s picture?  She died on Christmas Eve night – after filling our little stockings. Quite a difference now and when they were all here.  But I do not mean to be the least bit sad on Christmas.  It just gets me a little on Christmas Eve night.

I have been having a busy day.  I have been to town about 16 times I think.  Went to Cordele last night. Mother and I eat with Ethel tomorrow.  Then Sunday they will all be here.

Am expecting a letter from you tomorrow.  Did you write? This is a really lot of scribbling as you of course know by the time you have read this far.  But I wanted to try to tell you how much I appreciated your gifts and how well I like them dear.  Good night and Merry Christmas.

Ever, Ida

My pre-digital photography is sorely lacking….and darn if my teenage self didn’t obey the no photos inside the cathedral rule.  Pere Lachaise photos are compliments of FindAGrave.com as mine didn’t do it justice.

Ok, here’s the thing.  I love cemeteries.  My near giddiness at the mention or sight of a cemetery brings sideways glances, raised eyebrows, “that’s creepy”, “really?” and the like from those who are not privy to my obsession.  No, I do not have conversations with dead people (ok, maybe I talk to them, but they don’t talk back!). No seances or ghost watches.  Perhaps it’s the introvert in me, being amongst a crowd and not having to converse, my husband would say.  Cemeteries are a meer resting place for people’s earthly remains as well as being a place for the living to remember someone’s existence.

Emotions understandably make cemeteries an uneasy place for many.   Modern cemeteries, especially the ones with flush, lawn level markers, for some reason do not have the same calling to me as older ones.  Even from the road some modern cemeteries feel saturated in emotion. The loss is new and fresh. The history is there but it’s raw and harder to see, perhaps not ready to be explored.

Older cemeteries are different.  In one sense they are one giant genealogical reference guide.  But they also can help you figure out a person’s life story.

Husband/wife, parent/child, siblings, grandparents, aunt/uncles……historically families were buried together.  After WW2, families became more mobile and in many cases only husbands and wives are found together.  My husband’s great grandparents were buried three states away from each other, more than 500 miles apart.  His great grandfather died in 1926 in Hancock, Minnesota. From what I can tell, his great grandmother then moved to live with her daughter in Elgin, Illinois.  She died in 1942 and is buried in Elgin. I can only surmise that cost was a factor in 1942, in not keeping Great Grandma Eliza and Great Grandpa George side by side for eternity.

Records of births and deaths are hit or miss prior to 1920. Some states established record keeping systems earlier than others. Church record keeping varied from place to place.  If a child was born and died between census enumerations, there may be no official record of their existence.  Luck may be in your favor in some cemeteries if a stone bearing information about a young child exists.  Other times one can only surmise a child died young from a stone marked infant or when smaller grave markings next to a married couple are found.

Sometimes a cemetery can solve a mystery, sometimes it can thicken the plot.  My fellow genealogist, Susan’s great grandfather has two death certificates from different counties (not neighboring).  Both state that he is buried in the Rockingham County Home cemetery, not in his home county.  She continues to delve into why/how he ended up in the County Home cemetery when the rest of his family was still in his home county.  Unfortunately some things may never be known.

Passing time can be unkind to cemeteries.  Many Southern families buried their dead in the “family cemetery” behind the homestead.  Some with only a rock for a marker.  Mother Nature has devoured those graves.  My Dickens progenitors rest just behind a grove of trees which most likely was their homestead. For over 100 years, they have been situated in the middle of a field.  Farm land that’s been in my family for generations, keeping them safe and sound.  No growing forest to consume them.  Back in the 1980’s, forward thinking cousins replaced the weathering headstones of my great and great great grandparents.  The remaining gravestones are deteriorating and will one day become illegible. Etchings, photographs and findagrave.com will keep a record of their existence.

My intrigue with cemeteries really comes down to the existence of the person.  Who were they? What joys and hardships did they face? Did they have a family? What was life liked when they lived?  Cemeteries really aren’t so bad when the emotion is gone and you look at them from a historical/social perspective.  My family and friends humor me.  They send me pictures of cemeteries and go out of their way to make “visits” with me. ……Lotta dead people still to find…..

Searching back, my maternal 4th great-grandfather stands out.  John Yost Meetze was born December 2, 1756, in Ederbringhausen, Hesse, Germany.  Stories conflict, but he was a Hessian soldier.  The conflict arises as to whether or not his service was voluntary or involuntary.  I had to do some reading to familiarize myself with Hessian soldiers.  During this time, they were commonly sold into servitude by their prince to King George III of England.  King George believed that these approximately 17,000 foreign soldiers, whose allegiance he now controlled, would supplement his own weary British forces in the late 1770s.  There was the thought that German soldiers would have the advantage over British forces, who were fighting their own brothers to retain control of the colonies.  Hessian soldiers were told that they were needed to fight Indians who were a threat to the American colonies. Only to find when they arrived they were actually fighting the colonists, some of them of their own German heritage.  Upon arriving in America, the Hessians found that the stories of an uncivilized society were not true.  Many of the Hessians fell into favor with the German Americans and assimilated into their society.

Writings about Grandpa Yost indicate his involvement with the British battle for Charleston.  It’s stated that he deserted the Red Coats in 1782, as they were assaulting Charleston from the Ashley River.  Yost was pursued for 30 plus miles and escaped over Bacon’s Bridge and fell safe within American lines.

I am not exactly sure how the events of the next 30 years of his life transpired, but  Grandpa Yost settled in with the German American community of Saxe Gotha, now Lexington County, in South Carolina.  He married Anna Margaret Gross from a neighboring county shortly after separating from his British servitude.  They had 8 children.  In 1812, Yost became an ordained Lutheran Minister.  He was ordained by Godfrey Dreher.  Godfrey is also my 4th great-grandfather; his daughter married Yost’s son.  Yost served more than a half-dozen churches until his death in 1833.

When I think about people living in this time frame, I am always amazed by what they endure and where they land.  The information I have shows that Yost left home somewhere around age 20, leaving his parents and siblings behind.  I have no indication that any family members followed him to the New World.  He was forced to fight for a foreign land with no common language.  He had the intelligence and courage to decipher the situation and devise a plan to escape.  Who knows, perhaps the whole experience was exhilarating for him.  Maybe the Hessians had heard of the new world, and he wanted to go explore.  Or maybe it was hell, and he wanted out.  Either way, I am not sure in today’s society that a person would come out unscathed emotionally.  Yost must have been a resilient soul, starting a new life, planting himself firmly in the South Carolina soil.

Even in death, my Grandpa Yost hasn’t been forgotten. 150 years later, in 1985, my mother, Aunt, and I took a cemetery hunting trip to South Carolina.  My mom had some sketchy notes with landmarks on how to find the cemetery.  It is said that the graves were submerged when the Army Corps of Engineers constructed Lake Murray in the early 1900s. There is a memorial marker at St. Peter’s church indicating that Grandpa Yost and family are under the lake.

My mother had information to the contrary.  We drove down a dirt road and headed into the woods, following her instructions.  I recall approaching the water’s edge and glancing to my left.  Wire fencing wrapped around wooden posts could be seen, covered with overgrowth. I wish I had been a better photographer at the time.  Inside the fencing, the headstones of Grandpa Yost, Grandma Anna, and other family members were visible.

As I am sure I will address in a further blog…..this was a very exciting moment for me.  I have a great fondness for cemeteries, especially uncharted ones.  My mom and aunt returned in 1996. They found the area had changed drastically.  The land had been cleared, and beautiful homes dotted the shoreline of Lake Murray.  Someone had taken the time to care for the cemetery.  Even surrounding it with fencing.

Grandpa Yost’s Find A Grave page has a picture of his headstone, not its original setting.  Grandma Anna’s is the same.  The photos were added in 2007, and the comments state, “was retrieved when the waters of Lake Murray dropped and put on display inside the church.”  Hmmm…

I realized, while writing this, that I’m not sure what happened to the cemetery over the past 20 years.  This story is to be continued……   I’ve been in contact with the administrator at St. Peter’s Lutheran church.  She’s got just the person to put on job she says….the local UPS man who has covered that route for more than 20 years.

Longevity.  Grandpa Yost’s memory endures on…