tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81784937354997577012024-02-06T20:07:45.632-07:00THOSE OLD MEMORIES"Those Old Memories" will include stories, photographs, genealogy, scrapbooking, recipes, and interesting history of my family.
Some family surnames: Troyer, Gardner, Moore, Hopkins, Allen, Amsberry, McPherson, Wyatt, Godfrey, Lee, Henley, Cutbirth, Tudor, Gustafsson, Larson, Hellgren, Farley, Harshbarger, Harvey, McComsey, Johnston, Hyndman, and Buchanan.Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-17322287385021598202015-06-28T15:28:00.000-06:002015-06-28T15:28:05.161-06:00Oil was put on the rusty threads, but the old bolts would not turn! (AKA, The Drawn Out Death of a Genealogy Society)<br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Oil was put on the threads, but the
old bolts would not turn.</span></div>
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about a failing genealogy society.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><b>(This post is a copy of the same article that I posted on <i>The You Go Genealogy Girls</i>, this same date.)</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> This pertains mostly to one society but could easily
apply to others who are not vigilant with the future of their own societies. Two
well written and recent articles can be read here as to the life and death of
Genealogical Societies. There are certainly some out there that need to take a
lesson from both <a href="http://longlostrelatives-smp.blogspot.com/2015/04/an-open-letter-to-genealogy-societies.html">Susan Petersen</a> and <a href="http://genalines.blogspot.com/2015/06/genealogy-society-woes.html">Ruby Coleman</a>. Many of the points-of-fact
made in these two fine articles IS what is killing many societies, and sadly my
own state society is on that list. The 'good ol' boys' club makes for a slow
and painful death! Change is never easy but in this day...you either change and
progress or get left behind. I encourage everyone interested in their own
Genealogical Society to read the articles written by <a href="http://longlostrelatives-smp.blogspot.com/2015/04/an-open-letter-to-genealogy-societies.html">Susan</a> and <a href="http://genalines.blogspot.com/2015/06/genealogy-society-woes.html">Ruby</a>. </span>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A few problems and gripes from my own personal
perspective about my State Genealogical Society.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1. There is so much more today for the average
genealogist to pick from to help them learn and do quality research, why would
anyone waste time with a society who does not want to give much back to them as
a member? I volunteer some of my time to a few good sites by helping to index
or digitize records. Those sites also give back to me. I also have two local
county museum/research centers that benefit me and to whom I help as much as possible.
I want my membership to my genealogy society to be a two way street. My state
society can't even get caught up on the publications that have been in arrears for
months and months, digitizing records for the website is nearly stagnant...there
have been no new publications or direct email contacts since the April 2015
Conference. Just a day ago, I got a membership card in the mail which was
actually paid in April. Things had begun to progress the last half of 2014 and
first part of 2015, now everything appears to be backsliding again.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2. A Facebook page is all that seems to be
quite active but has little of consequence on it pertaining to the actual
Society itself. It is very little Society news and mostly turned into an inquiry/message
board type site. I would love to see some division of the two; news and
inquiry. This idea was offered once before and poo-pooed but I still like the
idea. Maybe I want to spend time on inquires that day and maybe I only want
to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>quickly check society news (always hoping there will be something uplifting and new) and don’t
have time for reading lengthy posts. Other FB sites create separate ‘pages’,
why can’t this society do the same? </span></div>
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From personal experience my state
society has neglected to make use of my offer of free digitizing of
records that
should be on their regular website (after I offered at least 3 times to
help digitize
records and got no response from 2008-2013, I quit offering). Those
surname family
records are still in limbo. Granted I am in the far end of the state,
away from most society activity, but I drive and so do most of the
society members. I was willing to pick up items too and voiced that to
two different past Presidents. Their last State Conference of 2015
brought more
requests for help with articles and digitizing...so why didn't anyone
contact
me OR OTHERS who offered in prior years? This year I was directly asked
to help
with possible area Rep work, <u>the one time</u> that I could NOT agree to do
it because of my husband's illness in 2014-15 and his need for constant care. I
did do some graphic design work and printing this last year in the way of
certificates and a few other items for the society. I was asked by the then
President to help and I did that gladly because it was something I could do
from home. I got no pay, nor expected any. I put together a small vendor table
group to help bring some variety to the last conference and made several prize
donations as they had been sorely lacking in vendors for the several previous
yearly Conferences. The only thank you for coming and setting up that I got was
from the then President and one other and now past officer/member of the
society.</span></div>
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4. How does a State Society elect a new President who makes every effort
to
bring about change and progress...and then cause so much trouble for her
that
it led to her resigning after a year of service? (I should add that
after having to virtually
try to drag them forward because the 'good 'ol boys' resented her
straight
forward leadership and progressive ideas.) Leadership is truly a quality
that
few really possess and Presidents of any entity ARE supposed to lead.
Most good
leaders, including the one who resigned, have years of experience doing
just
that...LEADING. She has more than 50 years experience, is a well known
professional researcher, and had 13 years experience as the head of a
501-C foundation and has written several genealogical publications/books
over 40 years. Taking initiative, being out-spoken about problems and
solutions, and rallying the other workers/members are known good
qualities for
leadership. Trailing from behind or being led by a nose ring won't
benefit any
officer or his/her company/society, particularly one elected to a
Presidents job.
In the retail or business world, the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">stagnant</b>
and non-progressive type would not even be considered to be President of an
organization. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">5.
Another observation looking in
from the outside; personality conflicts have no place within the
leadership of
any group/society...nor does extreme nasty badgering and bullying. As a
close relative
of the past President, I admittedly had some special insight into the
back-stabbing
and obviously malicious attempts toward subverting the Presidential
leadership of
this lady. The nasty and malicious emails that she received often from
two of the “good 'ol boys” for a nearly a year were abhorrent. They
should absolutely be ashamed at treating <b>anyone</b> that way.
That alone has caused my husband and I to have second thoughts about continuing
both our memberships in this society, that yet to be determined.<span style="color: red;"><b> <span style="font-size: large;">Had it been my choice, all those emails would
have been made public and shared with every member of the society. I still
think they should be.</span> </b></span>(The President chose to keep those mostly private, a
decision that I absolutely disagreed with.) As President during all that time,
she was moving the society forward and trying to protect the Society's assets
both real and intellectual.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">6. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Years of complacency have taken a toll in many
areas, including adherence to policy and by-laws, seriously declining
membership, poor conference management and programming, the same few people
just rotating titles for years, a stagnant to non-existent website and more. This
last year, a disgruntled officer (who had held his office for years) officially
resigned and it was accepted by the board. An interim replacement volunteer was
found to act until elections and when the first officer found out, he just
changed his mind to keep the job …he followed no by-law rules and did not wait
until election to officially run again. The ensconced old officers in this
society do not want change. It is run like a small club not a non-profit
society and one which is chartered/sanctioned by NGS by-laws. No society can be
a one or two man/woman operation as it requires good leadership and members who
are proud to belong and volunteer. Change was beginning to be in order in my
society but I feel it will now likely remain stagnant or slip back into regression
just as it has been for several years...no change, no improvement, no
accountability, and nothing to bring in new ideas and very few new people. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">7.
As for the money. Why such a
complaint about spending a little extra of a good sized savings to help
promote
a good conference? Maybe I am the only one but a few nice rolls/cookies
instead
of granola bars was a nice thing! The meals were wonderful too and I am
betting the society still has plenty of monetary reserves to move
forward on. As a former business owner for 35 years, sometimes you have
to spend a little extra to gain a lot in the end! Going to a conference
to hear a great speaker, experiencing a very good offering of
presentations and meeting with friends is always great fun. I like to
hear a renowned speaker when I attend a conference. My dues should help
pay for
a tiny part of these expenses. I can learn nearly all the same things
right from home now
so why should I drive all the way from western Nebraska to the east of
the
state for 8 hours one way if there is not something special to bring me?
Megan, Laura,
and George were wonderful, what happened with the 2014 conference? Were
you
saving money for something special, perhaps a rainy day... or for a
society burial
fund? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">In conclusion:</span>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I have sat silent on this matter for
some time, particularly because I have a direct family relationship to the past
President of the Society<span style="color: red;"><span style="font-size: large;">**</span></span> that I am particularly referring to.<b> I did not feel
that many would heed my comments because of that fact.</b> I have thought about and
stewed many nights over this for some time now and I can no longer sit in
silence. I watched as certain people carried on a vicious campaign against this
lady; mostly because she was assertive and pushed for change, advocated for policy
adherence and progress but also because they fostered personal animosity
towards her and felt a great loss of former power under her guidance. Her
guidance and leadership seemed to intimidate them. Even considering a personal
connection to the aforementioned President, I truly feel the outcome would have
been the same for anyone who might have threatened the Status-Quo of this
organization. In the 15 or so years after my retirement that I have been deeply
involved in genealogy, I have joined several genealogy societies both small and
large, not a one has failed to be inspirational and helpful in some way except what has
been my own state Society. That makes me sad. A few young, climbers who have
joined the remaining 'good 'ol boys' will not keep my own society afloat unless
they too see that progress and a strong leader into the 21st Century is needed.
If they too, fall prey to the statement of <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">“that
is always how we have done it”</b> that will be an even quicker way to the society
graveyard. Age and youth must work together. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just because you are younger and thinking you
are smarter, just shaping to the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">old</b>
society leadership and ideas WILL NOT move the society in the right direction.
All genealogy societies need both new blood and the old and experienced
members. The so called ‘rookies’ as well as the ‘ensconced relics’ should all
have a place, but both should realize that change should occur. The ‘rookies’
are the sustaining life of a surviving society! Old and new can complement one
another when they choose to work together for betterment of the society.
Knowledge is certainly not limited to one age group! Sadly, because of what <u>I
personally</u> believe to have been inspired by a lot of early on
jealousy and
animus by some of the leadership, my society has recently lost a good
President and the backing/membership of several of the seasoned
members.With a life to live and more to do than put up with intimidation
and down right nasty people, her family wondered why anyone should
enjoy serving the ungrateful 'beast'. She is certainly not a quitter,
far from it, but after a with encouragement from her family and close
friends, me included, she made the ultimate personal decision to resign
as President after only one short year. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"> Contrary to what
some have put forward, members for decades don't leave because their President
is aggressively leading but instead <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">because
there is nothing for them to stay for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">I believe that The Nebraska State Genealogical Society
leadership has to make some serious and progressive changes if they want the
Society to survive. Clean house and start over if necessary. Adhere to rules
and by-laws. Try to foster and hold the membership. Actively engage and then
show appreciation to volunteers. Take special care of the physical collections and ensure
their safety <i>and society ownership</i> for generations to come. Work
for the betterment of and be accountable to the
membership. The times are changing, accept that... and make the needed
changes. This is going to be a tall order in my humble opinion, as I see
this society sliding into oblivion as have many others the last few
years!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Cheri Hopkins</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">YouGoGirl #2 </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="color: red; font-size: large;">**</span>Ruby Coleman, past President of
the Nebraska Genealogical Society is my sister-in-law</span>
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Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-86249367087330962532013-04-19T15:19:00.002-06:002013-04-19T15:23:40.521-06:00E. B. Straiter... Civil War Confederate VeteranI have been going through old newspapers and came across this article. Thinking it may be relevant to someone's family research I am posting it here. There was an old soldiers home and veterans unit in Hot Springs, South Dakota -not far from Alliance which was the point of origin of this article. Alliance was and still is a prominent rail division point for the railroad so many "travelers" ended up going through here in those early years.<br />
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The Alliance Herald (Alliance, Nebraska) July 15, 1915<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgji-8wV00X_d7_qxUMjJRlS4dDDvkrkTjywxkIcXTFDFR27vYdoJgliWBBMcuSQUwgN_T4pT9L0rRpJXCk-mo9bI07Qlv-Yy9o4C6RBApNOt1WfvdiA2IN8TPta0KGjxX0WySUm4e07BM/s1600/e.b.+straiter--CSA+soldier-The+Alliance+herald.,+July+15,+1915,+Image+15.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgji-8wV00X_d7_qxUMjJRlS4dDDvkrkTjywxkIcXTFDFR27vYdoJgliWBBMcuSQUwgN_T4pT9L0rRpJXCk-mo9bI07Qlv-Yy9o4C6RBApNOt1WfvdiA2IN8TPta0KGjxX0WySUm4e07BM/s1600/e.b.+straiter--CSA+soldier-The+Alliance+herald.,+July+15,+1915,+Image+15.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">E. B. Straiter, Civil War Confederate Veteran</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuBZ_czGtas8gdhWW0KFAuKdHU0JlfrF5Nu43hXRu4WqdNeTCHCLDQvoWinIjscfYqZRfcdchFxxIAeOzaPFJQEsXg7JxT9ogKh1etvyaHUFaPw8nxPnd7L658UFAYe_Zac1qg18pgyk/s1600/TOM--websize.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHuBZ_czGtas8gdhWW0KFAuKdHU0JlfrF5Nu43hXRu4WqdNeTCHCLDQvoWinIjscfYqZRfcdchFxxIAeOzaPFJQEsXg7JxT9ogKh1etvyaHUFaPw8nxPnd7L658UFAYe_Zac1qg18pgyk/s320/TOM--websize.jpg" width="320" /></a>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-63855796519639706772012-05-16T08:16:00.000-06:002012-05-16T15:14:31.074-06:00Genealogy Fun in Eastern Nebraska...part 2 (Homestead Monument)Welcome back, the second part of this article is about the continuation of my recent genealogy trip to eastern Nebraska with my cousin. You can read the first part of the story <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2012/05/genealogy-fun-in-eastern-nebraska.html">HERE</a>. The latter part of last week was spent having fun just touring some sites and cemeteries in and around Adams and Gage Counties of Nebraska.<br />
<br />
<br />
First stop was at Red Cloud, Nebraska- the home of the author Willa
Cather. Red Cloud is a pretty little quaint town with many historical
buildings, several of which relate to some of the writings of Willa
Cather. Her book,<i> My Antonia</i> was set around some of the homes and
people of Red Cloud. We toured her original home and drove around the
tour to see more of the historical buildings. I had never been to the
little town and it was treat, especially to be taken back in time in our
minds at least.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9M3hrv5Ba5UNetxhw23MwkO4-WMK8UincCJ04LPXXt40M8X4mPwnxc5i4VXAXdxryh0hWe-vvPJCc6C5KZsihF-oBdAY0EuoxG_f0iRTIh42rumPe7PY6HfAqYQXG15jzbUayaskPWGw/s1600/IMG_7257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="233" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9M3hrv5Ba5UNetxhw23MwkO4-WMK8UincCJ04LPXXt40M8X4mPwnxc5i4VXAXdxryh0hWe-vvPJCc6C5KZsihF-oBdAY0EuoxG_f0iRTIh42rumPe7PY6HfAqYQXG15jzbUayaskPWGw/s320/IMG_7257.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Willa Cather home</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOndE0VEaRjYEOEKDJzorIQ_kvViKAgRZ5hp44OfEjdXstLsY0I11XZC2yi8p0tqSaVtPXE1wr8VscOVso-EKT1RSP1CtSRSgIu-ZOZ2Wk5PZmloVDHvmF1AuLTDsbmvjHQtUJcTMXSI/s1600/IMG_7259.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOndE0VEaRjYEOEKDJzorIQ_kvViKAgRZ5hp44OfEjdXstLsY0I11XZC2yi8p0tqSaVtPXE1wr8VscOVso-EKT1RSP1CtSRSgIu-ZOZ2Wk5PZmloVDHvmF1AuLTDsbmvjHQtUJcTMXSI/s320/IMG_7259.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cather historical marker</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBU_B6lyjHLVVZwvZHWUVx6j_OpDhT4c4c2S68Z2TTIn6gz8DDMM_Hv4_JbVl_zLhjEvOI_gl-e33pHd9Ojs-tb_ROmt_7TgiaOmT3yldE_u1AeFMzwp4IMFa_6NCcyOyHRd4b3lYpoJo/s1600/IMG_7266.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBU_B6lyjHLVVZwvZHWUVx6j_OpDhT4c4c2S68Z2TTIn6gz8DDMM_Hv4_JbVl_zLhjEvOI_gl-e33pHd9Ojs-tb_ROmt_7TgiaOmT3yldE_u1AeFMzwp4IMFa_6NCcyOyHRd4b3lYpoJo/s320/IMG_7266.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Me in front of her home</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WOVdMwU8fmHsn7RjW1OXRUhtApUTj_BE28J2pld0gKXut6uAYahq42Q789AEVFHo732LzX5Cs4HiXXABXXmKy1J09BVgyOpUke8O1UzkE3WbDv8Fyn2sE0s1jfUsPIqwR_Gku_ILts8/s1600/IMG_7267.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0WOVdMwU8fmHsn7RjW1OXRUhtApUTj_BE28J2pld0gKXut6uAYahq42Q789AEVFHo732LzX5Cs4HiXXABXXmKy1J09BVgyOpUke8O1UzkE3WbDv8Fyn2sE0s1jfUsPIqwR_Gku_ILts8/s320/IMG_7267.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Historical old home of Willa Cather's writings</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXRcPcNCQb0bbgXtTN6eMRFXc1bwO8r8mEnIkpftKrNJ1utzRSKMxgmX4v5rH_QmV06-GlwK9qHAayCRmogyaXKX_q5J4rJDoTJ9FFGFehyphenhyphen8dF0E650LfWlxn0WTCMbtHUbmpSAO07GA/s1600/IMG_7269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyXRcPcNCQb0bbgXtTN6eMRFXc1bwO8r8mEnIkpftKrNJ1utzRSKMxgmX4v5rH_QmV06-GlwK9qHAayCRmogyaXKX_q5J4rJDoTJ9FFGFehyphenhyphen8dF0E650LfWlxn0WTCMbtHUbmpSAO07GA/s320/IMG_7269.JPG" width="166" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Beautiful old red brick building, Red Cloud, Ne.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPexCf7fZSLXnlBw3DxRIXJE1f_W0xJ5gxrS1ndJNrlcJ5uDJsKHEVkheD4kA8heGTguV8v5zhQj6rVeL_RKSztGPNhIBeOxNpJjkYHRO4s3gv-uN1amHPCGzNWd41RDa5gqoLGtbtO4/s1600/IMG_7270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitPexCf7fZSLXnlBw3DxRIXJE1f_W0xJ5gxrS1ndJNrlcJ5uDJsKHEVkheD4kA8heGTguV8v5zhQj6rVeL_RKSztGPNhIBeOxNpJjkYHRO4s3gv-uN1amHPCGzNWd41RDa5gqoLGtbtO4/s320/IMG_7270.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Old bank block, Willa scratched her initials in the outside wall</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssgbakBitiC2IaFH4GGO4dsfnsN2opUJnWKCERHReo3yDz9zfhgExZeygMTmBPTrepXrjjfor7jP8o_xVu1hHuFFB53Jb16weQiXXvGnS7sT_vnM9V1hbpQsXZtCK3vexq16iMNZ1Mbw/s1600/IMG_7271.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgssgbakBitiC2IaFH4GGO4dsfnsN2opUJnWKCERHReo3yDz9zfhgExZeygMTmBPTrepXrjjfor7jP8o_xVu1hHuFFB53Jb16weQiXXvGnS7sT_vnM9V1hbpQsXZtCK3vexq16iMNZ1Mbw/s320/IMG_7271.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Quaint church in Red Cloud, Ne.</td></tr>
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Seeing the historical buildings around Red Cloud was certainly fun and learning more about history is always a welcome experience!<br />
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The Homestead National Monument near Beatrice, Nebraska was our next stop on our exploring Nebraska some if it's great sites. For anyone interested in history and especially for those with ties to ancestors who may have settled on the plains or other areas of the country who offered homestead land, this is a fun place to visit and learn more about early settlement. All four pages of the original Homestead Act of 1862 are on display at the monument right now and through the end of May in celebration of the 150th anniversary of the Homestead Act. What an awesome experience to have been able to view this historical document in its entirety! I was absolutely thrilled to see it in person and be so close to the actual signature of Abraham Lincoln. The display is such that visitors can get quite up close to the document as it is shown behind glass as a unit. It is under armed guard, a rather strange experience to see in the small museum. We were able to get close enough to take semi-descent photos but as NO FLASH or tripods were allowed, there is a rather bad glass reflection from other display lights and the display is dimly lit for preservation purposes, it is hard to get excellent quality photos. None the less, we did get some photos and loved seeing the document. The Homestead monument also offers a great museum and several displays for everyone to learn more about that period in history. A really nice outdoor learning center, theater with learning films and two excellent gift shops in both buildings at the monument makes this a very worth while historical place to visit even during the times that the original document is not there. I can't wait to go back and spend some time there. Take along some extra fun money as they offer very nice books on history, genealogy, Nebraska, quilts and more! Enjoy a few of the photos that we took when we visited the <a href="http://www.nps.gov/home/index.htm">Homestead National Monument</a> last week! <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76ZiwGnnN8sMsyGudQywOuIKPludfmfQxyys_x4fwgTkqpOOFGMPFAOMrCAdMVdZBqpFdAMStk8ZqvacDuUjdIp-fqgCkJG0mOIRcKz_egj-qv4tPExXbcv-T1KErK-Mx9-RRi_cLdXE/s1600/Homestead+document--original+p1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76ZiwGnnN8sMsyGudQywOuIKPludfmfQxyys_x4fwgTkqpOOFGMPFAOMrCAdMVdZBqpFdAMStk8ZqvacDuUjdIp-fqgCkJG0mOIRcKz_egj-qv4tPExXbcv-T1KErK-Mx9-RRi_cLdXE/s400/Homestead+document--original+p1.JPG" width="303" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">page 1</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFu7lxTY78N5jCG9SiJJH9rrYb1TbZvqK1pfD1N85cYDNGKHpdRupeQmuAGb5T7xb-PzDYywoIGz_vucWmhOZZmXCEm0FC1zBXQdlpDaKzoOMc4n7U0Ceno3d9GvPdmABMLffIj9fcTc/s1600/Homestead+document--original+p2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWFu7lxTY78N5jCG9SiJJH9rrYb1TbZvqK1pfD1N85cYDNGKHpdRupeQmuAGb5T7xb-PzDYywoIGz_vucWmhOZZmXCEm0FC1zBXQdlpDaKzoOMc4n7U0Ceno3d9GvPdmABMLffIj9fcTc/s400/Homestead+document--original+p2.JPG" width="293" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">page 2</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPm_d7QslOFI1pfu36F1xlOcH6kGI76txEK-RacCQIDFnd-TWBS8mhGE0FWpbyStwiP2zTPgi2f8etbAl7GSdff0R2beoZZmIaxkOKlXn8jIDyInGPtjw-Kl0dTSo8czn8dcLw7eTiIk/s1600/Homestead+document--original+p3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLPm_d7QslOFI1pfu36F1xlOcH6kGI76txEK-RacCQIDFnd-TWBS8mhGE0FWpbyStwiP2zTPgi2f8etbAl7GSdff0R2beoZZmIaxkOKlXn8jIDyInGPtjw-Kl0dTSo8czn8dcLw7eTiIk/s400/Homestead+document--original+p3.JPG" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">page 3</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mpHrp22QtFHa9xuV4TmDcIgt9vrBJnSWa5HTTSFbDzHagwgO7HjGibqgZNUsLbKfC-QYQyWpCBRNYp3pyr4HD9yxCPzHab3DtlcIb9MoV0Vsx4gx7Do32jYv2Om4YU9Lm_KMS4HTO64/s1600/Homestead+document--original+p4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mpHrp22QtFHa9xuV4TmDcIgt9vrBJnSWa5HTTSFbDzHagwgO7HjGibqgZNUsLbKfC-QYQyWpCBRNYp3pyr4HD9yxCPzHab3DtlcIb9MoV0Vsx4gx7Do32jYv2Om4YU9Lm_KMS4HTO64/s400/Homestead+document--original+p4.JPG" width="292" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">page4</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRT2ps0SddG7umWcCLiLtODPSAAJNhVfXncfHrpZM0rUn4OkmuhgOBAN7fAfUeG-jIk0r8f24aam7_Isxp_tkvuZ5QZO_-E3rdenXqE9IeJw_TPT3Us-0oytH_cV8eXJppNUh3BmT7RGQ/s1600/Homestead+document--original+p5+signature+closeup.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRT2ps0SddG7umWcCLiLtODPSAAJNhVfXncfHrpZM0rUn4OkmuhgOBAN7fAfUeG-jIk0r8f24aam7_Isxp_tkvuZ5QZO_-E3rdenXqE9IeJw_TPT3Us-0oytH_cV8eXJppNUh3BmT7RGQ/s320/Homestead+document--original+p5+signature+closeup.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signature of Abraham Lincoln</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZDsPnGO_DLGtb59DRuFA5qxD1PNDnIQsaq6GYp4jde8QzRak0wTsQvNy2ptUe4Aun7Ps9kAClop1mDzyFLdoK1ooSrDbYpNOteVMdud3_TjTo_5kTK-0v-nlBqs2PLOhzfmBw2r9i3k/s1600/Homestead+documents+as+displayed,+under+guard.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyZDsPnGO_DLGtb59DRuFA5qxD1PNDnIQsaq6GYp4jde8QzRak0wTsQvNy2ptUe4Aun7Ps9kAClop1mDzyFLdoK1ooSrDbYpNOteVMdud3_TjTo_5kTK-0v-nlBqs2PLOhzfmBw2r9i3k/s320/Homestead+documents+as+displayed,+under+guard.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Shows how the Homestead Act document is displayed</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzKpU2PZ64wtpif8YdkjLPzJ1p1qSDWQW88qPsNcrjF6jtLIYy-hkyM8Q7FM_vHhyGe5tPKonYnoRM6In262V611-H4U6QtpNNlSWlAcr20b5UM_wvkfrYhtXoy5ooqaWpb4gG9759_4/s1600/homestead+advertisment.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihzKpU2PZ64wtpif8YdkjLPzJ1p1qSDWQW88qPsNcrjF6jtLIYy-hkyM8Q7FM_vHhyGe5tPKonYnoRM6In262V611-H4U6QtpNNlSWlAcr20b5UM_wvkfrYhtXoy5ooqaWpb4gG9759_4/s320/homestead+advertisment.jpg" width="232" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Copy of original poster</td></tr>
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A few of our own family Homestead Documents are shown here to give you an idea of what some of the pages look like when you are able to find your own family documents online. I've included a couple pages from about three different people's document folders so you can see the variety of papers that may appear in your ancestors papers. Most packets will contain around 15 pages or more of document pages for each person who applied for a Homestead. <a href="http://www.fold3.com/title_650/homestead_records_ne/">Fold3</a> is slowly adding the documents to its database and about half of Nebraska is available at this time. The <a href="http://www.fold3.com/title_650/homestead_records_ne/">Fold 3 database of Homestead records</a> is FREE through May. Be sure to check back often if you are searching for your ancestor's records as new documents are being added daily. <b>Copies of these documents are NOT available at the Homestead National Monument so do not make the trip there under the assumption that they house those records. </b></div>
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<b> </b>Many of my personal families did settle and take homestead land in Nebraska so I have been lucky to get several of the documents. What a thrill to read how our ancestors attained and settled their land!</div>
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The fun of discovering your ancestor in Homestead Records is hard to describe, one gets a warm feeling of closeness to those who came before. My cousin and I really had a wonderful time touring the Homestead National Monument and other historical sites in Nebraska while spending <br />
quality time together, it was another grand genealogy outing!<br />
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Our last stop was visiting a family cemetery in Blue Springs, Nebraska, which I will tell more about soon. Thanks for stopping by!<br />
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<br />Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-40970092148654063082012-05-13T14:16:00.000-06:002012-05-13T14:20:12.373-06:00Genealogy Fun in Eastern Nebraska<span style="font-size: small;">Last week was a fun week for two cousins who had not been able to spend time together for years. I traveled east to Hastings, Nebraska to visit my cousin Joy for a week and to take in some fun and exciting activities near that area. After a fond greeting, our first plans of the week were made over dinner at one of her local restaurants...an awesome neighborhood restaurant the <a href="http://www.eatokcafe.com/index.php?page=render&LinkId=964"><b>OK Cafe</b></a> is full of antiques, displays to bring back childhood memories, gifts, and a unique large scale model train that travels the entire ceiling area of the restaurant on rails that criss-crossed the seating area and run along the walls. The atmosphere just makes you want to get busy writing your own family history! It was quite enjoyable and we had an awesome homemade meal while laughing and planning our week.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OK Cafe: Hastings, Nebraska-good food, fun establishment!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> Shopping, of course, was </span>on our schedule and the very first day we ventured out to see what we could spend money on! Fresh flowers and garden plants filled the back of our vehicle as well as pots, dirt and garden spinners...mine all had to spend the week in her back yard waiting for the trip back home to western Nebraska. We bought genealogy books, history books, movies and just fun trinkets as we skipped from store to store and was it fun! By days end on the first day we were worn out but we tackled day two and survived more of the same with additional plants and more fun meals together. A trip to the Adams County court house gleaned an old marriage record for my husband's family and rounded out day two of fun. We were getting closer to Friday, the first day we were to head to Grand Island to attend the<a href="http://www.nesgs.org/"> Nebraska State Genealogy Society</a> 2012 Conference.<br />
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My cousin was anxious to learn more about genealogy and getting her feet wet in the work of tracing some of her father's family history so off we headed to Grand Island on Friday. It is usually only about a 25 minute drive from Hastings to Grand Island but that Friday morning the fog was so bad that you could not see 20 feet, some of the thickest I have ever seen but we took it slowly and made it to the Conference in time to set up our vendor table and visit with friends before the opening activities. We really enjoyed meeting new people and seeing some old friends too. Day one featured several presentations by Laura Prescott which were quite informative, she was a good presenter and injected some family humor which made her presentations very down to earth. My partner with the <b><i>You Go Genealogy Girls</i></b>, Ruby Coleman, received the Society award for Nebraska Genealogist of the Year over the noon luncheon so we took photos and handed out congrats to her for her nice award. The afternoon rounded out with a very interesting presentation by Catherine Renschler about a large glass plate photo collection,<a href="http://www.adamshistory.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=128&Itemid=50"><b> The Hines Collection</b></a> that had been donated to the <a href="http://www.adamshistory.org/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=119&Itemid=48">Adams County Historical Society</a>...it was super interesting and very well presented. If you happen to have had ancestors from the Adams County or SE region of Nebraska, be sure to check out these photos as they are online and the Society needs help identifying many of them. By days close it was time to hurry home to tend the puppy dog again and make more plans!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruby Coleman- Nebraska Genealogist of the Year</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Laura Prescott, our Keynote Presenter</td></tr>
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Saturday was the second day of the Genealogy Conference and we headed back to Grand Island, this time on a bright and beautiful morning's drive. We had a great time listening to more presentations by Laura Prescott, enjoyed lunch with friends at the conference and we went home with lots of reading material and books, some older publications and some new ones too. Hopefully all the newly acquired knowledge from the Conference and our new reading material will make us smarter as we move forward with our family ancestor quests. We concluded that we need all the help we can get. We left the Conference with new ideas and the hopes that we could spend more time together attending fun family history gatherings in the future.<br />
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In between all the shopping, learning and eating we also managed to get cousin Joy's new computer all set up and running so she will be in top form as she moves forward with her family research. It was quite a job for two cousins who are basically technologically challenged but we got the job done and it all worked. We managed to eat a whole triple berry pie between us while setting up her computer so I know the sustenance made us smarter and helped us along!<br />
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With the shopping and Conference over it was time to turn our thoughts to plans for the rest of the week. We had discussed beforehand what other things we wanted to possibly do. After a day of just staying home, resting, visiting, spending time with her lonesome old puppy...and counting our money to see if we could get on down the road (gals can spend lots of money on fun and frivolity), we finally decided on our ventures for the time I had left to visit. Willa Cather's home and the historical sights of Red Cloud, Nebraska would be our first stop and then on to Beatrice, Nebraska to see the Homestead National Monument and view the original 4 pages of the Homestead Act which had just gone on display and then we would tour one of our mutual family cemeteries in Blue Springs, Nebraska.<br />
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Join me tomorrow with part 2 of "Genealogy Fun in Nebraska" as I tell of our fun trip and include pictures of the original Homestead Act and our journey back to visit several of our ancestors final resting places. I look forward to seeing you here soon!<br />
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<br />Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-16537533428131232562012-01-02T00:46:00.001-07:002012-01-17T19:57:24.931-07:00"Sharing Memories 2012 (Week 1): First Childhood Memory"My first real memory that was really seared in my mind was this little yard pool and leopard suit! I think I was about two years old. For many years that memory was with me although not quite so vividly as it was later. Mostly it was the leopard swim suit that I did remember...I wonder why that in particular? I was a great fan of the Tarzan movies that were so popular in the late 1950's and early 60's and never missed going to see a flick with my cousin at the Saturday matinee. Maybe I was destined to be "Jane" at an early age!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blacky and Cheri, taken about 1954</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilk9zvJQTdKpTFVKWl3OxCobCx5FW6_uygMpF83mqnGVRSrd447KuF-Rhn5lgdavDbWfhtGArYB3Wm4nk5OPj2Fd7_yhwfWnDVx9rN3cuJrsr_WBsSIrefnSQfTWwn_IJSKML3jtZBok/s1600/EPSON172+-+Copy.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiilk9zvJQTdKpTFVKWl3OxCobCx5FW6_uygMpF83mqnGVRSrd447KuF-Rhn5lgdavDbWfhtGArYB3Wm4nk5OPj2Fd7_yhwfWnDVx9rN3cuJrsr_WBsSIrefnSQfTWwn_IJSKML3jtZBok/s320/EPSON172+-+Copy.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"Jane"...quite the fashion statement!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>It was not until about 5 years ago when I started going through the hundreds of 35 mm slides that my Dad had taken that I came across these two old slides and digitized them. It was just as I remembered and the added bonus of the photos was that my first dog, <b>Blacky,</b> was in one of the pics and it is the best photo that I have to remember him by. I treasure the memory and feel so lucky to have the photos that my Daddy took and can enjoy them so many years later.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2NukInvaSwM6C7f_6jQsT3Uc8OvRXF-ZDLjqnZ7iZr0PCwh0hNbVEW_hn5CiZJJO4PMf0sFq9XtuS-6tgOA4Jnvt-fGP2DJkeTuG80uUQoFzgwm7fkDmOuiQqKnT2EekPsQqdpaLmYg/s1600/TOM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiq2NukInvaSwM6C7f_6jQsT3Uc8OvRXF-ZDLjqnZ7iZr0PCwh0hNbVEW_hn5CiZJJO4PMf0sFq9XtuS-6tgOA4Jnvt-fGP2DJkeTuG80uUQoFzgwm7fkDmOuiQqKnT2EekPsQqdpaLmYg/s200/TOM.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-50796862435763962992011-11-11T16:49:00.000-07:002011-11-11T16:49:52.606-07:00Katie Marie Coleman-Ashley... Day 6, A Week of Veteran SalutesAs today is Veteran's Day for 2011, I will end my week of salutes to family members with my beautiful niece Katie Marie Coleman. She proudly took the reins and followed in the footsteps of her 5th great Grandfather, John Shepherd Coleman, my featured ancestor here on this blog on Thursday the 10th, 2011. His story is here <a href="http://goo.gl/DXANC">http://goo.gl/DXANC</a><br />
Honor, bravery and love of country surely must be a few of the factors that lead our loved ones to serve as they left children and loved ones at home while they gave of their time for their country.<br />
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Katie Marie Coleman-Ashley held the rank of Specialist, her job was as an Automated Logistical Specialist. Maintaining and distributing the Army's large inventory of food, medicines, ammunition, spare parts and other supplies is an incredibly important job. The Automated Logistical Specialist is an integral member of the Army's supply and warehousing specialist team, responsible for supervising and performing management or warehouse functions in order to maintain equipment records and parts. Some of Katie's most important duties were making sure that the right supplies were delivered at the right time to help ensure the safety of Army troops in the field and on the front lines.<br />
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Katie Marie Coleman-Ashley served in HHC 9th Battalion of the 101st Airborne out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky. She was a proud member of the famed "<b>Screaming Eagles</b>". The distinguished history of the 101st goes back to WWII and has continued into today's world with service in Iraq and Afghanistan. When the division's second deployment began in 2005, Katie eventually was called to go abroad. She left her young son in the care of his Grandparents back in Nebraska as she deployed to Iraq for a year of service.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Homecoming for Katie Marie with her son,Tyler, at Ft. Campbell </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQAfURKbRyfxiIsAwMkjzMH3mknQAtyKPp1yl_dMU-ZrhqnNT5817t4njfUOu_P4lZ6p9AbzfJhPAZyStP9fgfx09DiH1CkztpqWmqGyNUTvjFmGi_UcrAzRlT7XiHZmSp5uew5riizo/s1600/ashley2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="432" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVQAfURKbRyfxiIsAwMkjzMH3mknQAtyKPp1yl_dMU-ZrhqnNT5817t4njfUOu_P4lZ6p9AbzfJhPAZyStP9fgfx09DiH1CkztpqWmqGyNUTvjFmGi_UcrAzRlT7XiHZmSp5uew5riizo/s640/ashley2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom is home from Iraq!</td></tr>
</tbody></table> We love you Katie and honor you for your service. Our pride in you will shine forever! ♥<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6QXh0KMKoPKKzWHGNly8s23qssXQqXO6V60rCL0IrKuscHXerfswOgXTQRjv8VP6qTS_AXUwjcGrpp0Fl5-BK8k99ECosWBbfbP-SqcdoDfko40Ago6FMZL-K40BV8SshnVLq-a5kWg/s1600/TOM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc6QXh0KMKoPKKzWHGNly8s23qssXQqXO6V60rCL0IrKuscHXerfswOgXTQRjv8VP6qTS_AXUwjcGrpp0Fl5-BK8k99ECosWBbfbP-SqcdoDfko40Ago6FMZL-K40BV8SshnVLq-a5kWg/s200/TOM.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-29526946295376031112011-11-11T01:45:00.003-07:002011-11-11T02:13:30.004-07:00John Shepherd Coleman...Day 5, a Week of Veteran Salutes<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">John Shepherd Coleman served as a private in Company D, 23rd Indiana Volunteer Infantry during the Civil War. According to records in the Indiana State Archives he enrolled on July 12 1861 at New Albany, Indiana and was mustered on 29 July 1861 at the same location. John Shepherd was mustered out on 23 July 1865 at Louisville, Kentucky. He married Margaret Jane Sharp(e) on 7 Feb 1852 in Harrison County, Indiana when he was 22 years old and he was thirty one when he enrolled in the Union army.</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">John's trade was that of a blacksmith as was his father and his son after him. I have often wondered if he might have served as a unit farrier during the time of his service although <b>that is not known at this time.</b> The 23rd infantry was involved in many actions of the war which included the Battle of Shiloh, Tennessee; the advance on and siege of Corinth, Mississippi; the assaults on and surrender of Vicksburg; the siege on Atlanta and they were also involved in the surrender of Gen. Joseph Johnston and his army just to name a few. Over all the 23rd Regiment was a busy unit and involved in many actions against their enemy during the war. They are known to have participated in the Grand Review of the victorious armies in Washington, D.C. on May 23-24 of 1865 shortly before they were mustered out in Kentucky.</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBYEbWJmsd0ItlHT26kOw6ERuS5Jr2wEn0oQgl-mOAlJwVqctgTsOsPUVwSRyzc_UkaduDgs2E71nR4ZqRyrq6z7E1yyZYBuXBS0D-939Zvps4vh7nYizPrMXQ2-ozV32F_VKzuytuLg/s1600/john+shepherd+coleman--edited+photo%252Ccropped+from+multiple+person.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdBYEbWJmsd0ItlHT26kOw6ERuS5Jr2wEn0oQgl-mOAlJwVqctgTsOsPUVwSRyzc_UkaduDgs2E71nR4ZqRyrq6z7E1yyZYBuXBS0D-939Zvps4vh7nYizPrMXQ2-ozV32F_VKzuytuLg/s400/john+shepherd+coleman--edited+photo%252Ccropped+from+multiple+person.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John Shepherd Coleman 1830-1912</td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">John returned to Indiana where he spent the remainder of his life after the Civil War. He died on 20 August 1912 in Jennings Twp., Crawford County, Indiana where Margaret and he are buried in the Dillman Ridge Cemetery of that county.</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadSP9XqRa0sOw8xG_iEbXdsYkyf7eNPA4tXKWNev5pvJwfgeCaXF6gLF9VOeX5ryfuqP8purb58GCdx1ayAKuO75Epm4IO_tU0tznWxVKWKz2uYDL77gXdPttjp7ivw8UabN3rpf8hLU/s1600/John+S.+%2526+Margaret+Sharp+Coleman-stone+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgadSP9XqRa0sOw8xG_iEbXdsYkyf7eNPA4tXKWNev5pvJwfgeCaXF6gLF9VOeX5ryfuqP8purb58GCdx1ayAKuO75Epm4IO_tU0tznWxVKWKz2uYDL77gXdPttjp7ivw8UabN3rpf8hLU/s320/John+S.+%2526+Margaret+Sharp+Coleman-stone+.jpg" width="279" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gravestone of John Shepherd Coleman</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">His gravestone says <i><b>"THE MORNING COMETH"</b></i> and I hope that someday when it comes again, we can meet as great great Grandfather and Granddaughter so that I might pay true honor to him for his service.</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-53183490859954669172011-11-10T01:23:00.000-07:002011-11-10T01:23:56.736-07:00Honoring Our Uncles...Day4, A Week of Veteran Salutes<b style="color: #274e13;"> <span style="color: #274e13; font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; font-size: large;">"Brothers-in-law"</span></b><br />
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<b style="color: #274e13;">Robert Wayne Harvey</b> was born 29 June 1923 at Greyrocks, Platte County, Wyoming to Robert Earl Harvey and Hilda Marie Larson. At age 20 he enlisted in the army at Fort Francis E. Warren in Cheyenne, Wyoming as a private. He worked up through the ranks to become a Staff Sergeant in the Quartermaster Corps and part of his time of service during WWII was spent stationed on Okinawa.<br />
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Robert passed away in Kirkland, Yavapai County, Arizona on Jan 7, 1987. His memorial is located near other family members in the Pine Bluffs, Wyoming cemetery.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1JwlTKtJZm3PkHVKAqUXcirIXoZmVMG4f_SFCM0l7sDChyNcayhQEVkfLts8oFgUGgMc22Ux0ujhR0ZZj65lA6S4y6TMfUYwqrAddY0wh6ZdV9E9sO4m_A2Xx4ZnSRBHHxHFAXn9O7dA/s1600/85.+robert+wayne+harvey+abt.+1943-44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1JwlTKtJZm3PkHVKAqUXcirIXoZmVMG4f_SFCM0l7sDChyNcayhQEVkfLts8oFgUGgMc22Ux0ujhR0ZZj65lA6S4y6TMfUYwqrAddY0wh6ZdV9E9sO4m_A2Xx4ZnSRBHHxHFAXn9O7dA/s400/85.+robert+wayne+harvey+abt.+1943-44.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robert Wayne Harvey -- Army, WWII</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<b style="color: #274e13;">Gene L. Casey Jones</b> was born 15 October 1925 in Wheatland, Platte County, Wyoming to Lester Leroy Jones and Esther Vosberg Watson. In 1943 at the age of 18, Casey enlisted in the army at Fort Francis E. Warren in Cheyenne, Wyoming as a private and worked his way up to the rank of Sergeant. He was stationed in Austria during the latter part of the war.<br />
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Gene "Casey" Jones died while living at Yuma, Yuma County, Arizona on 27 November 1988 and is buried in the Wheatland Cemetery, Wheatland, Platte County, Wyoming.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4sczz2lKDW4yb-TfD086FeG6TN8z4MdJ0ZjKJDtInIFKUodKOdRXa599vnQOwauv2NNBZIUES4Rg2z3k7weVA36pZxrPBU8-rxFzUu6qeOJUa50jxFaPXj3XEha5rLUVIQQbt-UkiuEs/s1600/45.+gene+%2528casey%2529+jones+abt.+1943-44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4sczz2lKDW4yb-TfD086FeG6TN8z4MdJ0ZjKJDtInIFKUodKOdRXa599vnQOwauv2NNBZIUES4Rg2z3k7weVA36pZxrPBU8-rxFzUu6qeOJUa50jxFaPXj3XEha5rLUVIQQbt-UkiuEs/s400/45.+gene+%2528casey%2529+jones+abt.+1943-44.jpg" width="317" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gene L. "Casey" Jones -- Army, WWII</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Gone, but loved and not forgotten.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYpu3AyQ8m2R-KUoiD33dhu1amzWvxL3QshNIkeh28dTi4CHXzi-MERhwUk_AHwTfD26N0gYItocrdVHZ7sbUj0f-BO4jSiDrsHIYlc21Ua9uj23aO0Er2oYnjAZMtrxDVbU5JvsnZro/s1600/TOM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMYpu3AyQ8m2R-KUoiD33dhu1amzWvxL3QshNIkeh28dTi4CHXzi-MERhwUk_AHwTfD26N0gYItocrdVHZ7sbUj0f-BO4jSiDrsHIYlc21Ua9uj23aO0Er2oYnjAZMtrxDVbU5JvsnZro/s200/TOM.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-24185726902574718502011-11-09T03:22:00.002-07:002011-11-11T00:25:42.233-07:00Charles Gray McComsey...Day3, A Week of Veteran Salutes<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">In honor of our third great Grandfather,<b> Charles Gray McComsey</b>, during this week leading up to Veterans Day 2011. If only we could go back in time...just to be able to see his face, give him a big hug and tell him how proud we are of his service to his country during the Civil War. Our honored Grandfather was a private in the Union army and served for three years of the war. A short but pertinent excerpt from the complete history of the 112th Illinois Infantry at the Illinois State Department of Archives states that <b>"Th</b><b>e Regiment actively participated in all the campaigns in East Tennessee, in 1863, and, up to February 4, 1864, sharing in the glory of redeeming that truly loyal people, and in wresting what was regarded as the key to the rebellion from rebel rule. Being always at the front and often at great distance from the main body of the army, it was kept constantly on the alert, and compelled to perform the severest of duties and always on short rations."</b></div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlu5BC025ovUW99nQXSXObugn9HW5R88tiha-FFC9DIOp1blmYluhmElelpIH_fUs4zvaVOeqk3VtzNQw3wpmepMsTfKUSJ-CRGEA5Vr3zRCBy8I1FTW8BaTiv_xQmn-oOAUEGlY-arM/s1600/6x6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFlu5BC025ovUW99nQXSXObugn9HW5R88tiha-FFC9DIOp1blmYluhmElelpIH_fUs4zvaVOeqk3VtzNQw3wpmepMsTfKUSJ-CRGEA5Vr3zRCBy8I1FTW8BaTiv_xQmn-oOAUEGlY-arM/s400/6x6.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In honor of our third great Grandfather...1838-1920</td></tr>
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<div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"> He became a respected pioneer in western Nebraska after the war and made his home near and later moved to Gering, Nebraska. Several of his children and grandchildren are buried in the West Lawn Cemetery in that community along with Charles and his wife Mary.</div><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnLgwqc0Vq-nTvqFiXWObxM_OUtSaJR2rXfue5r1WFgg_A3-zH20uESb8P8UDeCRm9u_wpvQedKAGNSMo3nl3v0BsUZA0ULnIzq0H1jjiaXasjueYSIz39Th_oepBoRYLbp0kgNkjhuI/s1600/charles+mcComsey+obit.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxnLgwqc0Vq-nTvqFiXWObxM_OUtSaJR2rXfue5r1WFgg_A3-zH20uESb8P8UDeCRm9u_wpvQedKAGNSMo3nl3v0BsUZA0ULnIzq0H1jjiaXasjueYSIz39Th_oepBoRYLbp0kgNkjhuI/s640/charles+mcComsey+obit.jpg" width="408" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Obituary of Charles McComsey</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguk28oLI3v9ZKmx_frrq9Pxp2IDv7sWjHfSzKi2GROGrbl6-eg8emIJrsugpGq5EZdahIrR70hY5SSDNC1n-yrZ2FyhlMtB93SCNCAoc-EOV5DUPSnlkCzfQoRNiiazzLcmA5I9lqNhOw/s1600/McComsey-Gering+Nebraska.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="363" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguk28oLI3v9ZKmx_frrq9Pxp2IDv7sWjHfSzKi2GROGrbl6-eg8emIJrsugpGq5EZdahIrR70hY5SSDNC1n-yrZ2FyhlMtB93SCNCAoc-EOV5DUPSnlkCzfQoRNiiazzLcmA5I9lqNhOw/s400/McComsey-Gering+Nebraska.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Family gravestone</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"> </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;">Thank you for your service and the life and legacy that you passed to us all!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFVeuellnO1mgEiyCDxtojj2shv_nkgNOdxsHbTAqoZNNpRr1W0Skg__Y-VyR2GKLr8IFD2Wjmh1UzDhJvGmugHrV_epXh0O3dKts9cbxs3q-9n8vdc8gYuAyrIArB6kruPL5ns48PGI/s1600/TOM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="142" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiFVeuellnO1mgEiyCDxtojj2shv_nkgNOdxsHbTAqoZNNpRr1W0Skg__Y-VyR2GKLr8IFD2Wjmh1UzDhJvGmugHrV_epXh0O3dKts9cbxs3q-9n8vdc8gYuAyrIArB6kruPL5ns48PGI/s200/TOM.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-5887517266260180362011-11-07T17:11:00.000-07:002011-11-07T17:11:13.087-07:00Millard R. Coleman...Day 2, A Week of Veteran Salutes<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepNGnZjIxW-t1LevZwxBPBJ4U_PBCIrfHkSaFcS1SGWzM8M-GOm1_p0m600GjeL1YPUJvOcv49SSaiIrYnZUdYdWeAoOATrmmo46icjpb1vS4bhmW3_Aw8xgAyLByN2mrdEv3lcbRyjE/s1600/mill+and+helen+coleman%252C+alliance+city+park+abt+1944.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhepNGnZjIxW-t1LevZwxBPBJ4U_PBCIrfHkSaFcS1SGWzM8M-GOm1_p0m600GjeL1YPUJvOcv49SSaiIrYnZUdYdWeAoOATrmmo46icjpb1vS4bhmW3_Aw8xgAyLByN2mrdEv3lcbRyjE/s640/mill+and+helen+coleman%252C+alliance+city+park+abt+1944.JPG" width="352" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millard and Helen Coleman- Alliance, Ne. about 1943</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Millard Coleman was my uncle, my Dad's younger brother. Even though we lived far apart for all of my life, he was always an important part of our extended family. He and his family came to Nebraska to visit at least every other year and Mom and Dad and I would drive to Boise, Idaho to visit them on occasion. We always had great fun...Dad and Uncle Millard were very close and both were fun loving and always laughing about an old story or reminiscing about old times when they were growing up. That is what I remember most about Uncle Millard is his wonderful little laugh, I do not think I ever saw him without a smile on his face or heard anything but kind words from him. His kindness and thoughtfulness which stemmed from his love of the Lord were what really set him apart.<br />
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When I was a little girl and would stay over with my Grandma, one of the most fun activities was pulling down an old hat box from the top of her wardrobe and going through it's contents. It was a Navy hatbox that her son, Millard had sent her while he was in the Coast Guard. In that box were some of her lifelong treasures...her hanky collection! That collection was so special to go through as a little girl but the box is what has stayed in my memory all these years. What I would not give to have a photo of that box on top of that old wardrobe now. Grandma was so proud of her son for his service and she was a lifelong member of the Navy Mother's Club in his honor.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg89uAdKzhj1PnHbW1W7ysW-dGdNEkmydV-2wC99skTaoY_u-ANHjjxOhsM54jARHwNRWGvredkv_Ais-f23waBCGqb49s96aCTjr-Lz0bN_2E7Y312fNoBu4gd5pqJqRK8KoiXe7i60/s1600/jpg+logo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkg89uAdKzhj1PnHbW1W7ysW-dGdNEkmydV-2wC99skTaoY_u-ANHjjxOhsM54jARHwNRWGvredkv_Ais-f23waBCGqb49s96aCTjr-Lz0bN_2E7Y312fNoBu4gd5pqJqRK8KoiXe7i60/s200/jpg+logo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
Millard Coleman was born on May 21, 1919 in Broken Bow, Nebraska to Opal Edith Gardner Coleman and Frederick M. Coleman. He grew up in Alliance, Nebraska where he graduated in 1936. He met his wife, Helen Lyon in Alliance and they were married in Salt Lake City in 1941. During WWII, Millard joined the Coast Guard and during the war he and Helen lived in various places during his service years and they eventually settled in Boise, Idaho where they spent the rest of their life working and raising two children. Millard Coleman passed away in 2008 and is buried in Boise, Idaho.<br />
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♥Remembering our uncle, Millard R. Coleman, with love and honor.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD1UkYS1KHEi9iJ_DXOGZa4KoCR615UOow226PbbLjUoWXLjhB56f_O5PuMJMLRIBSNTTUAOcpOjvmzAOrg2KCSnj26u_nMY-pcZKFQ7ScZ33wCJ2K82SK486xfzDagO-6AoPAGxU_aI/s1600/Fred+M.+and+millard+coleman%252C+taken+alliance+abt+1943-4.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVD1UkYS1KHEi9iJ_DXOGZa4KoCR615UOow226PbbLjUoWXLjhB56f_O5PuMJMLRIBSNTTUAOcpOjvmzAOrg2KCSnj26u_nMY-pcZKFQ7ScZ33wCJ2K82SK486xfzDagO-6AoPAGxU_aI/s640/Fred+M.+and+millard+coleman%252C+taken+alliance+abt+1943-4.JPG" width="632" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Millard Coleman with his Dad, F.M. Coleman, about 1943</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyHabcSrjB4FkdJXMPROGyD69cKWvZ4DnBduvOpNGSLzLdkFSo7GTjUDzzTKJLCEFIhgDPEQ1P_BeokJOGachwzeV3RbKckITqlUcK0r71Zk4_Hl0cMmq8bRQJBehFw_vMJO7OMf6JlE/s1600/TOM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibyHabcSrjB4FkdJXMPROGyD69cKWvZ4DnBduvOpNGSLzLdkFSo7GTjUDzzTKJLCEFIhgDPEQ1P_BeokJOGachwzeV3RbKckITqlUcK0r71Zk4_Hl0cMmq8bRQJBehFw_vMJO7OMf6JlE/s200/TOM.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-61537978336922172672011-11-06T15:25:00.004-07:002011-12-04T22:45:59.216-07:00Brig. General Maurice M. Beach...A Week of Veteran SalutesWith the approach of another veterans day, I will be posting some of our family service members to honor our loved ones.<br />
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I have written before about Maurice M. Beach and his exemplary career, that full biography article can be found here <a href="http://goo.gl/2dg8l">http://goo.gl/2dg8l</a><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maurice M. Beach...drawing made of him in England, 1945 </td></tr>
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General Beach had an extraordinary military career during the active years of WWII and continued to serve as he commanded his troops and assisted in airlifting the wounded from Normandy.<br />
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During the years immediately following the war, there was a multinational occupation of post-World War II Germany<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Germany" title="Germany"></a>. The Soviet Union blocked the Western Allie's railway and road access to the sectors of Berlin that were under Allied control. Their aim was to force the western powers to allow the Soviet zone to start supplying Berlin with food and fuel, thereby giving the Soviets control over the entire city. In response, the Western Allies organized the <b>Berlin Airlift</b> to carry supplies to the people in West Berlin. The United States Air Force and the United Kingdom's Royal Air Force were aided by several other allies and flew over 200,000 flights in one year, providing up to 4700 tons of daily necessities such as fuel and food to the Berliners. Both General Beach and his wife were actively involved in the actions of the <b>Berlin Airlift</b> while he was stationed in Europe.<br />
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It is with great love that I honor uncle Maurice M. Beach. Our family misses you so much!Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-41853884493776562992011-10-18T23:44:00.004-06:002011-10-19T00:59:36.659-06:00Holy Smoke...Going Out With a Bang!<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><a href="http://blog.eogn.com/eastmans_online_genealogy/2011/10/turn-your-loved-one-into-live-ammunition.html"><span style="color: blue;">Dick Eastman's Online Genealogy Newsletter</span></a> of October 14, 2011: <i>"Turn Your Loved One Into Live Ammunition" </i>sure did present what may seem to be a strange new way of honoring your loved one who has now passed on...to most of his faithful readers who commented it was an idea that was indeed just down right weird so with this posting I am sure to offend some of my genealogy friends and maybe even family members. They may think for sure that this writer has officially lost her mind!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE-T29vHfPYKZ0OKaoUi9k7zd8vfjci_P1zpWu_rZ4-fZmupIp-yX46VchlH_znLJiSVQ6dA6SOGh97QvYWZNLoVlogKFUtjdbYn1Tf13roHqsdZtjXgb1nCtTe1doElYCrVgq-TvbTM/s1600/1911slavic+postcard.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggE-T29vHfPYKZ0OKaoUi9k7zd8vfjci_P1zpWu_rZ4-fZmupIp-yX46VchlH_znLJiSVQ6dA6SOGh97QvYWZNLoVlogKFUtjdbYn1Tf13roHqsdZtjXgb1nCtTe1doElYCrVgq-TvbTM/s400/1911slavic+postcard.JPG" width="255" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early photo postcard from my shooting collection</td></tr>
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</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Over the years I have seen many strange things show up in the way of honoring our ancestors and loved ones. Burials in vehicles or huge carved vehicles of stone above, a five foot sundial, a statue of Mickey Mouse to mark the final resting place and jewelry made just to hold a speck of ash in order to keep the loved one near to heart...so why not the product that the company </span><a href="http://www.myholysmoke.com/"><b><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">HolySmoke LLC</span></b></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> has to offer? Live ammunition filled with ashes to be kept or "fired" in the appropriate setting in honor of one's life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">I should explain that there are as many ways to be buried or remembered after cremation as there are flavors of jelly beans and just as many reasons why some people choose one way over another. Personal beliefs, cost of a funeral, dislike of conventional ways, are but a few to mention. I am one who has rather unconventional views on the matter. My husband and I have conventional lots in our local cemetery, next to my beloved grandparents and parents. That is where our gravestone will someday be as I do believe that a final little plot of land on this earth is all that we can physically leave behind in addition to our offspring, a little spot for family to come visit and for future genealogists to someday discover us and our history. I will not be "living" at the location of my gravestone as my requests to my children have already been to have my ashes placed, spread -if you will, in places that I have grown up and loved. Places where I have felt the closest to the loved ones who have gone before me and where my family has experienced great joy together.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg89egkNEkkhasae1U73gw1jHAon20eV4qFDUnj1cT-6V16fAGaZGaBzDRsnBeymtZysORyiBGiRbXcK6UtZKWbM69QOcB3rwFB47eot08v0HpEupGCaFMw1TeQCliX-vbqwq9BnOuZqs/s1600/websize.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg89egkNEkkhasae1U73gw1jHAon20eV4qFDUnj1cT-6V16fAGaZGaBzDRsnBeymtZysORyiBGiRbXcK6UtZKWbM69QOcB3rwFB47eot08v0HpEupGCaFMw1TeQCliX-vbqwq9BnOuZqs/s640/websize.jpg" width="306" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I guess this is "tooting my own horn"!</td></tr>
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<tr style="mso-yfti-irow: 1; mso-yfti-lastrow: yes;"> <td style="padding: 0in 0in 0in 0in;"></td> </tr>
</tbody></table></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">On to the point of this rambling on! I grew up learning to shoot, hunting with my Dad from age eight. I was the girl with two much older brothers and when they were grown and gone I had all of Daddy's attention and love. We were shooting and hunting buddies and I was spoiled rotten! Those were some of the best times of my life and yes, guns and shooting have always been a big part of my life. I met my husband on the shooting line of a trap club and we have traveled to hundreds of shooting ranges and have shot millions of rounds together over our 40 years of marriage. In 1971 while in college I was the National Collegiate Women's Trapshooting Champion. I am a family genealogist, my other love interest in life but I have the great outdoors in my blood and burnt gunpowder is my favorite smell so naturally being "shot" out of a cartridge or better yet out of a shotgun shell when my days on this earth come to an end is an awesome idea to me! I can't think of a better send off or a better resting place for my ashes through eternity than being spread over the land I love. I can just hear my sons saying <b>"there goes Mom -dead bird!" </b>(The call on the trap field for a scored broken/hit target.)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">All strange, morbid and funny thoughts aside for now, I hope I have not lost all my readers! If you are the unconventional or adventurous type, go ahead and check out the</span><span style="color: blue; font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> <a href="http://www.myholysmoke.com/">Holy Smoke website</a></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> if you too want to <b><span style="color: purple;">GO OUT WITH A BANG</span></b>!</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; mso-margin-bottom-alt: auto; mso-margin-top-alt: auto;"><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-49233028153411373332011-06-25T23:43:00.004-06:002011-06-28T01:22:38.509-06:00Civil War Conference - Alliance, Nebraska - July 8-9, 2011If you love genealogy and history, this is one conference you won't want to miss! The Heritage Seekers Society and the Knight Museum and Sandhills Center in Alliance, Nebraska are hosting a two day Civil War Conference on July 8th and 9th. Coming up soon! One you won't want to miss.<br />
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Titled "Remembering the Civil War...150 Years Later", this will be a premium offer for anyone interested in this part of history. We have been planning this conference for many months and it will be a first for our brand new museum facility. We have one of the finest new museums in the midwest and invite all to join in our conference as we honor the Civil War Sesquicentennial and the memories of those who fought.<br />
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We are offering seventeen (17) educational, genealogical and historical presentations over the two days (lunch included both days) and you can attend <b>all</b> classes and presentations, no need to choose only a few. We will have many great prize drawings for attendees throughout the conference. Our 11 speakers are all professionals and well qualified in their field of study and will offer classes on genealogy researching as well as historical presentations for your enjoyment. This is a top quality conference and we invite everyone to contact us for more information.<br />
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To our local residents, your new museum is hosting this awesome event and we encourage you to support the facility and come see what is new!<br />
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Here is a sample of what we are offering along with even more...<br />
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<i>Civil War research classes</i><br />
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<i> History of the Kansas/Missouri Border Wars</i><br />
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<i>Historical programs on Civil War quilts, along with a quilt show and a local quilt shop will display their wares.</i><br />
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<i>Civil War character portrayals</i><br />
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<i>Classes on the GAR and Lincoln's war time rule</i><br />
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<i>Program featuring firearms of the Civil War......</i>..<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><i><b>plus much more</b>! </i></span><br />
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We hope to see you all there on July 8th and 9th for a great learning experience.<br />
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For a 4 page copy of our brochure in PDF format, click on the word <u>Brochure</u> below. You can save and print it if you like. It takes a minute to load so be patient!<br />
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<a href="http://bit.ly/eYqWOA"><b>Brochure</b></a><br />
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If the link fails, email me! <br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b style="color: red;">Email me: <span style="color: black;">clchopkins@gmail.com</span> I will email you a copy of the brochure in PDF </b></span><br />
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<b>Contact for more info:</b><br />
<b>Knight Museum and Sandhills Center</b><br />
<b>Alliance, Nebraska </b><br />
<b>308-762-2384</b><br />
<b>museum@cityofalliance.net</b>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-63777761136611838482011-06-15T23:57:00.002-06:002011-06-16T00:02:54.893-06:00Remembering My Dad..Father's Day 2011On this Father's Day of 2011, I hold the memory of my Dad so very near to my heart and even now, twelve years after his passing I miss him every day. My Dad was one of the truly special people in the world and a great Dad to his three children. Even now as I will soon near 60, my oldest brother nears 75 and we have lost one sibling...I look back and we were blessed and given the greatest gift of all, our Dad.<br />
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<div style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div style="color: blue;"><b><i>Frederick Dale Coleman</i></b></div><div style="color: blue;"><i><b>born March 9, 1914 in Broken Bow, Nebraska</b></i></div><div style="color: blue;"><i><b>married Irene Dorothy Moore- March 20, 1936- Alliance, Nebraska and lived his life, worked and raised his children in Alliance, Nebraska </b></i></div><div style="color: blue;"><i><b>died Oct 5, 1998 in Denver, Colorado </b></i></div><div style="color: blue;"><i><b>buried in Alliance Cemetery- Alliance, Nebraska</b></i></div><br />
Daddy was of course special to each one of us in our own way but to all three of us he taught the greatest things in life. We learned to love the outdoors and nature, our love of hunting and fishing and the respect for our natural world, those things all came from our Dad. He saw them all with eyes of wonder and a heart full of love for what was around him. His lessons about history, loving our country, learning about it's past and protecting it's future were all precious to us and imparted to us that same ability to hopefully pass that love of history and country down to our own children and grandchildren. My brothers and I were so very fortunate that our Dad gave to us all those treasures as nothing could have been a better legacy. We were loved and we were taught to love and respect our family, our Mom and ourselves.<br />
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Dad was a man of so many talents and a love for life, yet his first priority was always his wife and children.<br />
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<b>His talents, skills and loves were many:</b><br />
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-Dad worked in his youth a a motorcycle delivery man with his own business<br />
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-house and interior painter as a young man, learning from his father-in-law <br />
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-raced motorcycles for years, and rode the first motorcycle to the top of the highest point in the Black Hills in the 1930's<br />
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-toured with a motorcycle for nearly 70 years, often with Mom or me along for the ride<br />
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-he was an artist and painter all his life<br />
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-Dad made beautiful hand tooled leather goods which he enjoyed as a lifelong hobby<br />
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-he was a hunter and avid fisherman from the time of his youth and taught his children to follow in his footsteps<br />
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-The family went along on hundreds of fishing and camping trips and learned the history of the mountain man with Dad as we attended many a re-enacted rendezvous<br />
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-we all learned to make things with our hands and do repairs if necessary, Dad was always there to encourage the job<br />
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-he played the violin and the banjo with great joy<br />
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-collecting western art, coins, firearms, and banjos kept him busy in his spare time, his own private hobby room was filled with the things he loved to collect <br />
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-learning history was always foremost in his love of reading, he treasured any book that he was given and read them all<br />
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-he tinkered with photography, leaving behind several thousand slides and he and mom kept many albums of photos<br />
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-he even tried his hand at wine making...many years ago<br />
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-he was great to help Mom with the yard work and weed killing, even though the occasional flower bed also bit the dust<br />
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-Dad loved all his grandchildren and followed their lives with enthusiasm as to sports, band etc and even though he could not be there for all the events, he followed with enthusiasm<br />
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-pride and upkeep of his home, vehicles, motorcycles, and campers taught his children to appreciate what they had later on<br />
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-my dad was a hardworking conductor on the Railroad for nearly 50 years, and well respected by all his friends and fellow workers<br />
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-his children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren.... and my Mom, those were his greatest treasures <br />
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-Mom was the love of his life..for almost 70 years, including 63 years of a loving marriage<br />
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These are but a few of the special attributes and loves of my Dad, it would take volumes and much better words than I can write to truly impart what a great Dad he was and how much he was loved and is missed on this Father's Day of 2011.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinKJ_-OYFTcHifuDQPq7juHVv3MBDq0iW9yLSnCYwgTAMN1sj6HH0xdu7UN1mLl0bRFAETPYVeGD97irgbGjEjSPFfXcsx2dT2PhEuMSmVHAczoiuADTlxUTwzgf25MkTsmiw6reO2ZY/s1600/freddie%252C+the+painter+abt.+1957.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="280" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhinKJ_-OYFTcHifuDQPq7juHVv3MBDq0iW9yLSnCYwgTAMN1sj6HH0xdu7UN1mLl0bRFAETPYVeGD97irgbGjEjSPFfXcsx2dT2PhEuMSmVHAczoiuADTlxUTwzgf25MkTsmiw6reO2ZY/s400/freddie%252C+the+painter+abt.+1957.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Freddie Coleman, my Dad, with his painting, 1957</td></tr>
</tbody></table>At the early age of not quite five years old, my Dad painted a picture for me which I count as my most prized possession. It says: "to Cheri by Dad 1957" and it has hung in a place of honor in my home for 40 years now as it did in my own bedroom at home all the years of my youth. I love looking at the American Indian lady as much today as I did many years ago...because she carries within her eyes the love from my Dad. ♥<br />
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</b>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-83105519674027443252011-05-12T00:14:00.000-06:002011-05-13T14:21:25.843-06:00Another Take On Local Museums - an Overlooked Genealogy Treasure Trove!<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8u_I_SgeKUMxGIJxqjTenaGZDkGnWFOGRUvXJk4iFJxr4ncOznUXMdtTummBKdwmHat4ldIaf4fQclBQuxHxndkr54A-CKhdhdn70SZ5TN0oKht83W95usxGkd6YJa4y_NqBVJpJsCe8/s1600/hgj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8u_I_SgeKUMxGIJxqjTenaGZDkGnWFOGRUvXJk4iFJxr4ncOznUXMdtTummBKdwmHat4ldIaf4fQclBQuxHxndkr54A-CKhdhdn70SZ5TN0oKht83W95usxGkd6YJa4y_NqBVJpJsCe8/s320/hgj.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Knight Museum and Sandhills Center houses Heritage Research Room</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The very recent article by Lorine at <a href="http://olivetreegenealogy.blogspot.com/2011/05/local-museums-overlooked-genealogy.html">Olive Tree Genealogy</a> sure does hit home and prompted me to add my comments on using your local museum sources. Be sure to stop over at Olive Tree Genealogy Blog and read her entire article.<br />
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Our local museum just recently re-opened in its new location and we have a wonderful Heritage Room that was specifically designed for local history and genealogy research. We are so lucky to have a great facility here and ours could easily be used as prime example of how local museums can integrate their record holdings into the over all public use of their facilities. The Knight Museum and Sandhills Center in Alliance, Nebraska is a state of the art facility in a small city setting. We house many records that not only pertain to Box Butte County, Alliance and the surrounding communities but also many which center on western Nebraska. Our museum is also the caretaker for many older records that were once housed at the court house here. You can read a<b> full listing of the Knight Museum and Sandhills Center holdings </b>on a post by Nebraska Roots and Ramblings blog which can be found below.<br />
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Our museum director has been instrumental in building up our fine researching facility and she and her hard working staff spend several hours each day working with organizing the holdings as well as helping with the many local patron and distant inquiries from all over the country for records. Our museum will do simple research on past area residents, scan or copy nearly any document in their growing collections to help with genealogy requests or historical projects. We are so lucky as genealogists to have places locally that will help in our quest for information. Like Lorine stated in her blog, a donation to your local facility will help to insure the future of these repositories for us all. Libraries have traditionally been the keepers of records but many museums have holdings of documents that are often an overlooked source, especially the museums in small towns and communities.<br />
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Be sure to check out your local museum or those from your family ancestral areas for unexpected treasures, you may just find more than you ever thought possible. Museums now are often so much more than places to view beautiful displays of<b> "times gone by"</b>. Your family stories or photos just may be lurking in a forgotten corner or drawer, just waiting to be discovered!<br />
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<a href="http://www.usgennet.org/usa/ne/county/boxbutte/knightmuseum/knightmuseum.html">Knight Museum and Sandhills Center - Alliance, Nebraska</a><br />
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<a href="http://nebraskarootsandramblings.blogspot.com/2009/05/knight-museum-sandhills-center-heritage.html">Nebraska Roots and Ramblings</a> (describes holdings of the Museum Heritage Room)Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-83951421061757155402011-04-21T13:54:00.002-06:002011-07-18T22:35:59.920-06:00Poetess in the Family, Part Four.....Ruth Harvey Douglass<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><span style="color: black;">This is the last part of Ruth's story and poetry. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading of her family and walking with her as she wrote the poetry of her memories! </span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfM4jIssR0gQgjiCX5bzdqVmKSd0OYLRLKVO_QZN7-3uyKGBUIwOGDrpT5qvkOEUwfCj0LfiLrfbcx3tWUk-kAFes0eZoOvjHmE5zkPJDx9M84WjEVrEX12g2TyTXD22GKfKma_BCK9Aw/s1600/leila+ruth+harvey+douglass-edited.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfM4jIssR0gQgjiCX5bzdqVmKSd0OYLRLKVO_QZN7-3uyKGBUIwOGDrpT5qvkOEUwfCj0LfiLrfbcx3tWUk-kAFes0eZoOvjHmE5zkPJDx9M84WjEVrEX12g2TyTXD22GKfKma_BCK9Aw/s400/leila+ruth+harvey+douglass-edited.jpg" width="252" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leila Ruth Harvey Douglass</td></tr>
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">‘The Prize’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">While walking in the hills one day along a hogback rise, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">In glancing down, to my surprise,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">lay a treasure to be prized.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">With glinting side, serrated edge and needlepoint so fine,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I picked you up and held you tight.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For now you were mine!</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Who made and fashioned you so fine? </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And did you fall from beaded pouch</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">or shot from bow to kill a bird</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">With feathers prine?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Though many years have passed </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">since you were dropped that day</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I’m still wondering who he was</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">that passed along that way.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Was he a chieftain of his tribe?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Or was he a renegade,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">with buckskin clothes, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">feathers in his hair and</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">painted for a paleface raid?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The wild wind blowing o’er the plains, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">he rode his pinto where?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Fifty years have passed and gone</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">since I found you there.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">With winter snows and summer rains</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">how long had you lay there?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">To me, you are my treasure yet</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">and still no answer why or where.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And as I add you to my treasure store,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I guess your age…</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Two hundred years or more.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Ruth Harvey Douglas</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">1969</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">‘Reflections’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">As I am dreaming and communing with my god</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I think of friends I knew and those beneath the sod.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">There are no tears, there are no regrets,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For I hold a bouquet of violets.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I dream of the hills of home and the house my father built, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I see my mother’s out stretched arms</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Which beckon me tonight.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">There are no tears, there are no regrets,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For I hold a bouquet of violets.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I dream of sisters with hair of brown and fair like driven snow.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">They hold the hands of her who had the hair of gold.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">There are no tears, there are no regrets,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For I hold a bouquet of violets.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I dream of brothers, straight and tall, who stand beside the throne</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">With radiance all around.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">There are no tears, there are no regrets,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For I hold a bouquet of violets.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I hold the golden family chain; just two links are left,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For year by year each link has fallen away in death.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">There are no tears, there are no regrets, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For I hold close to my heart the bouquet of violets.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Ruth Harvey Douglass, 1969</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div> <b> THE END </b><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Authors note:</b> A niece of Ruth Douglass typed up “As I Remember” for her Aunt Ruth and later gave a copy to my mother-in-law, Kathleen Hopkins. After reading the memoirs, Kathleen could see that there was genealogical value to the work, along with the sentimentality of it. Kathleen contacted Ruth’s daughters Beth Dearinger and Polly DeGrazia to ask if she could make a few minor revisions and print the book using a computer. She then gave a copy of it to the Genealogy Department in the Laramie County Library in Cheyenne, Wyoming with the consent of Ruth’s daughters. Mom retyped this work in the year 2011 to help me with this presentation of Ruth’s story and poetry.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> The steam tractor and engine that was mentioned in Ruth’s story, and owned by the Harvey family, threshed grain for many local farmers in the area and we have many pictures of the threshing machine with all the Harvey family members standing on and near it. My husband’s grandfather, Earl Harvey, bought the steam machine from his brother Elmer and took it to the Slater Flats area where Earl had homesteaded. Earl drilled many water wells for neighbors on the Slater Flats, Wyoming with that old steam engine. The old boiler from that original engine ended life in Wheatland, Wyoming and was used by the laundry department of the old Wheatland General Hospital. The rest of the original engine was sold as scrap metal when WW II started.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwigSiJpxQ0q3pAV4Ld2oCsB3UoiLu0hGiosKBmKXpGkE_qEgBXWVwaWL-jHO0jZeAKzFQ9UoFLlG1AQ0LvJa7QbrUdvfh4WBUvbiTN0vY2GFl6l4AjMU1AVhSA6Ob0rWvJVudHOIj80/s1600/robert+earl+harvey+steam+engine+1910-1917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="365" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwigSiJpxQ0q3pAV4Ld2oCsB3UoiLu0hGiosKBmKXpGkE_qEgBXWVwaWL-jHO0jZeAKzFQ9UoFLlG1AQ0LvJa7QbrUdvfh4WBUvbiTN0vY2GFl6l4AjMU1AVhSA6Ob0rWvJVudHOIj80/s400/robert+earl+harvey+steam+engine+1910-1917.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harvey steam engine, Wyoming</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprT12wClNIQ892Ld8opzX-qDX-yoad4iFJZb-XWxOvXWnZqk-n-n4pykf0vdZEzs8s4IQv5hQJHGDO_AAjMZILywh5N2s5nfdiQ0AKqiNYnLSqBdB1d8cSEyT_PV1f1-_3Xyrf8qBgcA/s1600/Harvey+well+drilling+rig-1910-1917.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprT12wClNIQ892Ld8opzX-qDX-yoad4iFJZb-XWxOvXWnZqk-n-n4pykf0vdZEzs8s4IQv5hQJHGDO_AAjMZILywh5N2s5nfdiQ0AKqiNYnLSqBdB1d8cSEyT_PV1f1-_3Xyrf8qBgcA/s400/Harvey+well+drilling+rig-1910-1917.JPG" width="270" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Drilling a well with the steam rig, Wyoming</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <i><b>Obituary of Leila Ruth Harvey Douglass, The Poetess</b></i> </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ruth Harvey Douglass was born in Albia, Monroe County, Iowa on 29 September, 1894, and came as a child to Wyoming with her parents who homesteaded near Albin, Laramie County, Wyoming. It was there she met and married Mark Miles Douglass. During their lifetime they lived in several communities of Wyoming; Wheatland, Slater, Horse Creek and Chugwater before they moved to Washington state in the early 1940’s.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">As a Wheatland resident, Mrs. Douglass served for years as Assistant Platte County Superintendent of Schools under Mrs. Cora A. Douglass, and also assisted in the Platte County Treasurer’s Office when needed.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">While in the Slater area, Mrs. Douglass, her husband and daughter, Polly, lived on the property now owned by Mr. and Mrs. Jack McQuisten. She was instrumental in the organization of the Slater Women’s Club in 1936 and served several years as President.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">An avid collector or Indian artifacts she lost a valuable collection when the service station her husband was managing at Horse Creek burned to the ground. It was then that they moved to Chugwater, Wyoming where they lived for several years before moving to Washington.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">She was a member of the Order of the Eastern Star and belonged to the Wheatland and also to the Chugwater Chapters.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Ruth Harvey Douglass passed away on 26 Jun, 1973 in Seattle, Washington after an extended illness.</div><div class="MsoNormal">----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal">Our family feels so blessed to have these wonderful poems and writings of Ruth, which give us the insight into the lives of our ancestors which we would not have had without her prose and poetry. Her poetry brings so many beautiful memories to those who knew Ruth and for those of us in the family who never had the pleasure of knowing her- she drew a beautiful picture for us to see in our minds and gave us a path to follow in the discovery of our beloved ancestors.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Thank you to Mom for the hours of work to help to bring this story to the page and again to her and Aunt Hazel for their genealogical work over many years which has helped us all to learn about our family gone before us.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">A Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- Part One:<a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/02/poetess-in-familyruth-harvey-douglass.html"> here</a></div>A Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- Part Two: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/03/poetess-in-family-part-tworuth-harvey.html">here</a><br />
A Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- Part Three: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/search/label/Leila%20Ruth%20Harvey%20Douglass">here</a><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">All stories, poetry and photographs in this series are owned and copyrighted © by the Harvey and Hopkins families and may not be reprinted without the permission of the family. Contact clchopkins[at]gmail[dot]com</span></div><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><span style="color: black;"></span></span><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-65409964886328301892011-04-05T17:57:00.000-06:002011-04-05T17:57:17.942-06:00Trails of My Imagination<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDrfpSu0UYeCuMMbfHrV_s-OtqzXD5CzQD4UeoJrFK6eW2AOWaW74EixNYa1wsOaLFaU-FCgkMBp9nsJyabMSBaGrqy9nU6Rca8ROPCSZu_LIRFSJL1EbfqwFtHmOL5ec6efV8k3-e0U/s1600/re.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="398" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVDrfpSu0UYeCuMMbfHrV_s-OtqzXD5CzQD4UeoJrFK6eW2AOWaW74EixNYa1wsOaLFaU-FCgkMBp9nsJyabMSBaGrqy9nU6Rca8ROPCSZu_LIRFSJL1EbfqwFtHmOL5ec6efV8k3-e0U/s400/re.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Welcome to Richard Ellis as a new Blogger!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b><i>"Trails of My Imagination"</i></b> is the title of a new genealogy blog by my friend Richard Ellis. I invite you to check out his new blog and join in as a follower!<br />
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Dick has been doing genealogy for about ten years and since his retirement he has had more time over the last five years to devote to his passion. He is a Nebraska native who was a physical therapist for 51 years while he looked forward to more free time to follow the trails of his ancestors. At the present he is mostly working on his ELLIS and ADKINS direct lineage. Dick is a regular attendee at our local Heritage Seekers Genealogy and History society and is always eager to learn more about genealogy and history and now he has joined the world of genealogy blogging to share his family history and hopefully to meet new family members who would like to welcome another "cousin" to their ranks.<br />
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Please stop by his new blog <i><a href="http://www.trailsofmyimagination.blogspot.com/">"Trails of My Imagination"</a> </i>and welcome Richard Ellis to our world of genealogy and historical story telling! <a href="http://www.trailsofmyimagination.blogspot.com/">Here </a>is the link to his blog.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-20021384320327907942011-03-26T17:59:00.009-06:002011-07-18T22:46:04.164-06:00Poetess in the Family, Part Three.....Ruth Harvey DouglassIn this third installment of the stories and memories of Ruth Harvey Douglass you will read some more of the heartfelt poetry that Ruth wrote. Her "<i>Canyons of Wyoming"</i> is particularly meaningful to all of us as most of our family has visited the old homestead areas near Albin and LaGrange, Wyoming and marveled at some of the beautiful scenic lands which Ruth recalled in her poetry.<br />
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She did such a good job of putting her memories down on paper and added many of the little details about her parents: James William Harvey and Fannie Lee Harvey that made them come to life from the pages. Her siblings: Elmer, Myrtle, James, Earl, and Mary all played important roles in her life and are fondly recalled in her memories. I hope everyone has enjoyed reading about a little bit of the history of Wyoming as told through the recollections of Ruth.<br />
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Part three of Ruth's memories and poetry: <br />
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<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">‘Yesterday’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Could I but walk again the paths of yesterday</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Would they be the same or would they have changed?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">My childhood footsteps blown away or are they still there</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Among the flowers as I ran along that day?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Would trail herds still come up the hill</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">From ranches near LaGrange or are these, too, dust?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Do saddles still hang on the old corral</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And cowboys still sing in the bunkhouse there?</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">For these were the boys of the old frontier</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Clayton and Henry and Sharkey, too.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">A cowboy named Curley who was the best</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">At story telling…I see him yet.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Sixty years have passed since then, and things</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Would not be the same for all are blown away</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">In the wind.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">We had very few Christmases at our house but one year mother said we could get a tree, provided we got a pine tree as she didn’t like the smell of cedar. So Earl and I went after a tree. We then had nothing to trim it with, but Myrtle had sent a box and there were handkerchiefs for all, so we draped them over the bunches of needles. For me she had made a sewing box out of cardboard covered with green flannel with needles and pins in the underside of the lid and a little pair of shears. How pretty it was and very neatly made. One other year she sent me a doll which I had until after I was married and the children broke it. I don’t think our mother ever had time to make a gift with seven of us to look after. One Christmas the folks gave me a sled.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I remember a time mother and I sat under a pine tree along the rim of the canyon and the wind sang in the tree tip. My mother began to cry and I asked why and she told me she was sad…had to leave her home State of Iowa, her friends, her married daughter, and the grave in the cemetery in which our baby sister, Dora, had been placed. She never did get to see that grave again. She was so sad it’s no wonder I remember so well the sighing of the wind.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">James William Harvey and Fannie Lee Harvey, the parents of Leila Ruth Harvey Douglass, our Poetess</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Along about then, Elmer decided he wanted to buy a steam plow and do plowing for others to help pay for it. He went to Denver and bought a large outfit which cost a lot of money. He also had to hire extra help to run it. Then the Andersons decided to buy their own as they had so much land under cultivation and they too, plowed for others so this cut the profit Elmer had counted on making. He still owed quite a bit on it and soon came in danger of losing the whole thing so Ed came to the rescue and sold his place to finish paying for the steam plow. That ended the time of the steam plow and last I knew, it was sitting in a field, a pile of rusted metal.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Once when the men were moving the big steam engine, John Adcock wouldn’t let them cross on any of his land, causing them to have to go along the edge of a deep canyon with danger to themselves as well as the machine. When Mother found that out, she was mad and she said “you just wait. He’ll want a favor some time”. And sure enough, one day he came to get her to go help them with a new baby and sickness and my mother said “No”. This was very unusual, for my mother went where ever she was needed and many babies were brought into this life by her and without any Doctor.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I don’t know if I have told of the wild flowers in the canyons. There were harebells of blue, sego lilies, a sand cherry that was about the size of a man’s thumb. They grew close to the ground and had blossoms like plums. The cherries tasted like chokecherries, only sweeter. Another flower grew about eighteen or twenty inches tall and had light green leaves which would stick onto your dress without a pin. These flowers were white, a white poppy that you couldn’t pick due to the white milk that ran out of the stems and was very sticky. One bank was covered with fern and we called it “Fern Bank”. Mary and I used to sit there in the shade. A turtledove had her nest close by. <br />
She never was there much only to lay an egg and hatch one bird, then that little bird hatched the rest of the eggs she had laid. A modern day babysitter. She never was afraid of us. In draws where water would run after a rain, nearly always we could find yellow sweet peas. There were ground cherries, too, but they always grew where you didn’t want them. Once we had a very hard rain and hail, water ran deep in all the draws and into the canyons. After several days I heard a loud noise and the edge of the canyon had caved off. It was a good thing I wasn’t there looking over the edge.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinpiY3KcUIhuHKjdJ9lIWXcU1Be_620GloHI3bb4azRtMoT1pTLswS_ufAJPdV1jX56BfZ-rPdTEAdnWv2P3kgmCfqdOYAKEI17sMiAHWUOXrLlHZyfTUbCpNuMDuRuxlsS5WtbNoJysU/s1600/LEILA+RUTH+HARVEY+DOUGLASS.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinpiY3KcUIhuHKjdJ9lIWXcU1Be_620GloHI3bb4azRtMoT1pTLswS_ufAJPdV1jX56BfZ-rPdTEAdnWv2P3kgmCfqdOYAKEI17sMiAHWUOXrLlHZyfTUbCpNuMDuRuxlsS5WtbNoJysU/s400/LEILA+RUTH+HARVEY+DOUGLASS.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">‘The Canyons of Wyoming’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The incredible stillness in the canyon depths is only broken by </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The soft songs of unseen birds or a few pebbles, falling from some</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">crevice to the floor below.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Beneath the protection of overhanging ledges the ancient ones who</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">lived here so long ago walk again through these canyons. Near</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">the spring of soft, cooling water the smoke from cooking fires</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">rose upward to mingle with the white clouds that drifted</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">overhead, proof that this quiet and peaceful place was once</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">populated with dreamers such as me.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I Love you, canyons of Wyoming…….</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Over yonder butte black clouds form with distant lightning and thunder.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Sheets of rain are falling and prairies are running deep with water.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The distant roar tells that it is dashing down through the canyons</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">in its race to the floor below, only to disappear into the sand. </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">As suddenly as they came, the storm clouds vanish</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">and the sun emerges to guild every blade of grass,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">every pine tree with fairy jewels. Birds sing again,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">white clouds float across the sky to fade away into the distance.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I Love you, canyons of Wyoming…….</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">In the coolness of the evening, soft winds blow and a million</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">stars blossom in the skies…seems we merely need reach up to</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">touch them. The call of a night bird and sounds of coyotes in</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">the far distance breaks the stillness. Where once I roamed there</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">is now lonely emptiness and the stillness is only broken by my</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">memories.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I Love You, Canyons of Wyoming</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">We had quite a few horses by now…some good ones and some not so good. One big black that was Elmer’s never could be counted on for he might do anything. Once he rose up in the air and almost hit me as he came down. He did hit a little fluffy duck of mother’s and that big old hoof flattened the duck out as thin as paper. Old Dan broke his leg going through a deep snow drift and had to be shot. Ed had a beautiful brown mare he was keeping to raise colts and someone stole her and we never did find her. Ed had a horse named Frank, too, that we could ride or drive. He never could be trusted either! Elmer bought a big black stallion named Rex and we liked to watch him run in circles around Elmer on a long chain. Earl didn’t have much of these things and left home to take a homestead near Slater, Wyoming where he got his start. Ed also left and located near Earl. Ed had married Helen Douglass and Earl married Hilda Larson. Elmer married Lou Edminston.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I have, no doubt, missed many of the things that should be written about. We could still find buffalo skulls on the prairies, we could tell the difference by the shape and the short horns. There were no antelope or deer around by 1904 and the men used to go over north of “Old 66” to hunt them.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Uncle Pete killed a deer with a single shot Winchester rifle, 44 caliber, and he was probably a hundred yards away. He missed the first shot and the deer ran over to the canyons southwest of where we lived. Pete, Ed Anderson and his brother, followed it and killed it about a mile west of John McMann’s house. The second shot hit the horn and the deer turned around and came right back by Uncle Pete, which gave him time to reload that single shot rifle and the third shot he got him right through the heart. That was the last deer that was ever seen in the country around Albin.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I remember my Grandpa Lee.<b> <span style="color: red;">(1)</span></b><span style="color: red;"> </span> He was well known to the early residents of the Pine Bluffs area as he was one of the very earliest settlers and endured all of the harsh privations and hardships that always come to new countries. He saw this section develop from a land of buffalo grass and roaming herds of cattle to a modern farming community with rural mail routes, telephones, truck transportation and so forth. He came to Wyoming in 1889 and settled on a homestead twenty miles north of Pine Bluffs.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Grandpa raised a lot of chickens and he wouldn’t let Granny kill one. If she got to eat one she killed it when he went to town and she put the feathers in a pail back of the stove and buried the head in the manure pile. If Pete and grandma wanted a hen to cook, Pete would take the gun and yell “an old hen crowed”, and would run out and shot one, as Grandad said it was bad luck for a hen to crow. A pretty sneaky way to get a chicken, wasn’t it?</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Granny had to use white pepper for if she used black pepper, Grandpa wouldn’t eat the food. I many ways he was so unkind and so disagreeable but Granny was always so serene and happy…She never acted as though she heard what he said. She had red hair and brown eyes. She told me that in those early days the blizzards were so bad that they set posts on the way to the barn from the house and had a w ore on them so they could hold on to it to get from the house to the barn as they had to walk with their backs to the storm and couldn’t see where they were going. The snow was so fine and the wind so fierce it would just take your breath.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">The incident of the Grey wolf, as told to me by Granny Lee. It was getting dark and there was a terrible blizzard outside. Pete had gone to the barn t o feed the horses and on the way back to the house, a big grey wolf chased him clear to the door.* As Pete dashed through the door, he slammed it shut on the wolf’s head. In the excitement they never thought of the gun and Grandad was beating the wolf on the head with a stick of stove wood. The wolf finally jerked loose and got away. Considering this happened in the year 1889, it could have been possible and I have no reason to doubt Granny Lee’s word. At that time they were living in a dugout on one of the Anderson places before they filed on the homestead.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">*(Earl Harvey, Ruth’s brother, said the wolf chased the dog to the door, not Uncle Pete).</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">A trip to Aunt Mary Jackson’s house at Bayard, Nebraska.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">As mother had not seen her sister for so long, the family decided to go visit them. All of us were packed into Grandpa Lee’s covered wagon with Granny sitting right in the middle of the wagon bed. Grandpa and Pete were on the seat, so mother, Mary and I were filling g in the rest of the spaces along with food and extra cots to sleep on. It must haven been late in the fall…November or December, because it was cold. Of course, Grandad had his usual nit so was feeling pretty spry. We were warm in the wagon but cramped.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">We drove all day and when we came to Pumpkin Creek it was frozen over and Grandad yelled, “Look Out, Old Maude is going to Jump”! She did and when the wheels hit the ice they broke through and a cot fell over and hit Mary on the ear and she let out a blood curdling yell. We stayed all night with some people and it was so cold that the telephone wires sang all night and I didn’t sleep much. We all slept on the floor.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">We went through a range of hills and a place called “Wright’s Gap.” Only one wagon could go through at a time, so Pete walked through to see if the other side was clear before we started through. Mary and I walked and the tracks through the sandstone were worn down until they were hub deep by so many wagons going through for so many years.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I can’t remember much more about the trip, although we did see frozen wild pumpkin vines along the creek and the prairie grass was the color of dead grass and clean as though it had been swept with a broom. We spent Christmas with them and all of us went to the Church to hear the program and see the tree. No gifts were on the tree but each got a mosquito-bar sock of treats, some were red and some were green.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Aunt Mary had quite a few children so we had a lot of fun. Going at that time of the year was pretty risky but we got home without any trouble. I can’t remember all of the Jackson children's names but there was J.D., Grace, Daphne, and Merle. J.D. passed away many years ago and as far as I know, all live around Bayard except a baby, Helen, who was born after we were there and she lives in California. Grace married a Robert Cleveland. She also taught school for several years. These children always loved us and all came that could, when Mother and Father passed away, showing a bond of relationship that can’t be equaled. J.D. was only named J.D., so in later years he named himself John David. He said he didn’t see why anyone would name a baby just two initials…J.D..</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">About 1906 Wad and Mary Robinson came from Iowa to homestead and they were friends of our Grandparents so they lived with them until they had a place. Wad was a great hand to pretend he was sick so he could lie in bed. He was always asking his wife to bake him a hot apple pie before he got up. Wad and Mary had a parrot called “Teddy” and they left him with our Grandparents a lot. He said a lot of things like ‘Teddy wants a strawberry” or a cracker. Took a bath and washed his feed in his water cup. Once when the men went to town and came home, Pete said, “Do you know what we forgot? We forgot the tobacco.” And Teddy started that silly laugh of his and repeated “They forgot the tobacco.”</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Granny Lee used to tell me many things about their lives and the trip they made to the Jackson Hole Country from Iowa in a covered wagon in 1895.<span style="color: red;"> </span><b style="color: red;">(1)</b><span style="color: red;"> </span> I was but one year old. She spoke of Fort Laramie as ‘old’ then. I have been to Fort Laramie several times and I even attended a dance there in “Old Bedlam.” All of my poems seem to be around these things in the past and when I realize that Earl, who is 80, and I am now74, are all that are left in the the golden chain of our family, I am really sad and lonesome. Many, many of my days are spent in quiet thinking and my love of letters to and from friends. Also, I think of the many, many who should be living today, for they were not old when they went away.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Ruth Harvey Douglass</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">1969</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: center;"> There will be one last chapter to "Poetess In the Family.....Ruth Harvey Douglass" to follow next week.<br />
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Poetess In the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part one:<a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/02/poetess-in-familyruth-harvey-douglass.html"> here</a><br />
Poetess In the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part two: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/03/poetess-in-family-part-tworuth-harvey.html">here</a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: center;">Poetess In the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part four: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/04/poetess-in-family-part-fourruth-harvey.html">here</a></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: center;"><span style="color: red;"><b>(1)</b> </span>Hannah and Milton Lee's story is told in "<b><i>Hannah Lee's Overland Journal"</i></b> , a three part article which may be found here: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/01/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland.html">Part 1</a>, <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/01/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland_30.html">Part 2</a> and <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/02/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland.html">Part 3</a><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">All stories, poetry and photographs in this series are owned and copyrighted© by the Harvey and Hopkins families and may not be reprinted without the permission of the family. Contact clchopkins[at]gmail[dot]com</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: black; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-34766974455241238702011-03-17T00:24:00.005-06:002011-03-17T02:03:02.922-06:00One Lovely Blog Award<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaIRtMRBbLzQw6i1sjZg5MkUQfvSBrnBF6BubFIwkJajXpp0ZT3HOwb6DB4FjG6sgOkkZoipeXk8ieYBcYDGsORNg5YxsBx2KHIs4INuhQVf1IeuOKrFbrb1mwbBEo18OEuq6JV6AIUU/s1600/rdftyu.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdaIRtMRBbLzQw6i1sjZg5MkUQfvSBrnBF6BubFIwkJajXpp0ZT3HOwb6DB4FjG6sgOkkZoipeXk8ieYBcYDGsORNg5YxsBx2KHIs4INuhQVf1IeuOKrFbrb1mwbBEo18OEuq6JV6AIUU/s200/rdftyu.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Those Old Memories is proud to have been once again recognized by another great blogger! Cheryl Palmer of <a href="http://heritagehappens.blogspot.com/"><b>Heritage Happens</b></a> blog has awarded me the <b><i>One Lovely Blog Award</i></b>. Thanks to Cheryl for including me in her selection. I am always humbled when another blogger chooses to honor my blog.</span></div><br />
<div style="color: #741b47; font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Trebuchet MS',Verdana,monospace; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px; margin: 15px 15px 2px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">There are rules for accepting the award, they are as follows:</span></b></span></div></div><div style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Trebuchet MS',Verdana,monospace; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px; margin: 15px 15px 2px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">1. Accept the award, post it on your blog together with the name of the person who granted the award and their blog link. </span></div></div><div style="font-family: 'Lucida Sans Unicode','Trebuchet MS',Verdana,monospace; font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: 19px; margin: 15px 15px 2px;"><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">2. Pass the award on to 15 other blogs that you’ve newly discovered.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"></div></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"> 3. Remember to contact the bloggers to let them know they have been chosen for this award.</span><br />
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</div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="Apple-style-span">The blogs that I have chosen to pass this on to are some new ones I have found and really like, a few that have been around awhile, and a couple that are not well known in the genealogy world but are blogs that I enjoy reading and fit nicely in the world of genealogy and history.</span></span><br />
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</div></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif; line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: large;">They are in no particular order, but one on the list which I just found is<b> Just Another History Blog. </b>I think he might be a great regular addition to the genealogy world of blogs! </span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://ancestorsatrest.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ancestors At Rest</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://coloradoreflections.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Colorado Reflections</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://justanotherhistoryblog.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Just Another History Blog</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://familybibles.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Family Bibles</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://ourfamilyquilt.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our Family Quilt</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://tatteredpast.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Tattered Past</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://agraveinterest.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A Grave Interest</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.afewnutsfromthetree.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">A Few Nuts From The Tree</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://ancestorsoup.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ancestor Soup</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><a href="http://nebraskarootsandramblings.blogspot.com/">Nebraska Roots and Ramblings </a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://ancestralwormhole.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Ancestral Wormhole</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://ourattictreasures.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Our Attic Treasures</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://betweenthegateposts.blogspot.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Between The Gate Posts</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.civilwarwomenblog.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Civil War Women Blog</span></a></span></div><div style="line-height: 19px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-43806457639335704612011-03-09T20:52:00.004-07:002011-04-21T14:31:50.272-06:00Poetess in The Family, Part Two.....Ruth Harvey Douglass<div class="MsoNormal">In honor of Women's History Month, I have chosen to write about Ruth Harvey Douglass. She wrote a wonderful memoir of her family and without it our family would not have the privilege of knowing as much as we do about our ancestors. Ruth left us all a great legacy in the form of her story and beautiful poetry. I hope everyone enjoys reading about her memories of family and Wyoming!</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOd53GpUQtwfNe7g_5KLaWfRmYABMCdbiJt2r8nLUZSrSixx_4L4KksqK2Dl2aqm-tA0S43hslPLIRToV-lPYR5ZsdAI7YJQgjmSP5a77gfssrO-bcIp_MDHxNMTe3KorHjnwNg9giI8/s1600/Harvey+family+picnic+along+Horsecreek%252C+near+Albin%252C+Wyoming+%2528see+properties.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="396" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsOd53GpUQtwfNe7g_5KLaWfRmYABMCdbiJt2r8nLUZSrSixx_4L4KksqK2Dl2aqm-tA0S43hslPLIRToV-lPYR5ZsdAI7YJQgjmSP5a77gfssrO-bcIp_MDHxNMTe3KorHjnwNg9giI8/s640/Harvey+family+picnic+along+Horsecreek%252C+near+Albin%252C+Wyoming+%2528see+properties.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Harvey family picnic on Horse Creek near Albin, Wyoming -taken before 1915</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Poetess In The Family, part 2: </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">My mother’s people always gave us advice as to where things should be, as to directions. I remember they said the barn must be northwest of the house for fear of sparks from the house chimney would blow over and set it afire. Our caves and chickens must be where they were less likely to be covered with drifts in times of blizzards or blowing snow. The wood pile and any posts we may have extra must be stacked on end or stacked real high. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">We had a big wood pile and it lasted a long time. I remember in fixing the cave in the fall our father had it all done except the door and it began to snow. He got a little panicky and said he guessed he ‘Got caught with his pants down’. It was only a short storm and soon melted away. In summer when we saw the rain over by the buttes, we all ran to fill the baskets and boxes with dry wood so we could keep the fires going. We even enjoyed using the axe now and then.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">As I remember, ants by the hundreds found their way into the house from the wood pile and once they got into mother’s fresh gingerbread and she had to throw the whole thing away. We were never hungry for dessert for she always had a gallon crock of cookies or the big stone churn full of doughnuts. If she tried to hide them our brother, Ed, would smell them out anywhere they were and his eyes were always bright with pleasure when he found them. I remember his daughter Kathryn’s son, Roger, has those same bright eyes that express love and mischief.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">‘Childhood’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I know of a beautiful hillside, sunny, green and still, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">A canyon, deep, that lies below it…above it rises a hill.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">A hill that is dark with cedars and bright with summer’s glow</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And where a path is leading…to the cool spring below.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Along the edge of the canyon the cedars their shadows throw</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The leaning tree branches quiver…above its deep repose.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And there where the sandstone whitens, the prairie winds blow free</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The early days of my childhood remain these memories for me.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The splendors of the hills and valleys among the cedars dark and tall</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The mourning doves nest on the hillside, the purple haze over it all.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I remember them all in my dreaming as I roam these hills so free, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The sego lilies were blooming with silken petals for me.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I feel the canyons breathing with each breeze that falls </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And the mystery all around me and peace is over all.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">So when comes the autumn and snow their glory crowns</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">In memory I seek that hillside, far from the noisy towns.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And where the spring is flowing, from every care beguiled,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">I gaze at the endless distance with the eyes of a little child.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Blessed are the memories that none can take away,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Memories sweet and tender of childhood’s happy day.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And of these memories that in later years we read, </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">They lie along our pathway, in the flowers and the seed.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">So I love these hills and canyons, the cedars on the hill,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">These memories I shall take with me...wherever that I will.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">When Ed was twenty-one he filed o 160 acres about a mile an a half south of us. He only lived there long enough to prove up on it. That was in 1912. When he did batch there, his friends called him ‘Scuts’ Harvey due to the good biscuits he always made, but home seemed best and he always came back.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">We children attended a log school about a mile and a half away. Our teacher’s name was Maud Sinon and her home was over on Horse Creek. There were several other children too, Paul and Ralph Smith, Sylvia and Otto Anderson, and later a family by the name of Shake moved into the neighborhood. They had three children, Russell, Elmer and Sarah. Russell was so smart in arithmetic he got better grades than any of the others. There was a family by the name of Miller who lived in the canyons but they didn’t go to our school. We liked to go visit them as they had several children and Mrs. Miller would always make us some things she called ‘Doughgodies’ which were either bread dough or biscuit dough fried in deep fat. Both were rolled into thin cakes before frying. The Anderson family was large…Albin, Charlie, Elliott, Arvid, Sylvia and Otto. Alvin was an invalid and was the postmaster of Albin, Wyoming for many years. Andersons had lots of horses and cattle and nearly every Sunday they had a rodeo and we all went to see the boys ride.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">John McMann married a widow who had several children..Fred, Fern, Blanche and Neta. Other families were Cunningham, Rabou, Chindler, Welch, Edwards, Irvine, George and Joe McCann, Hermina Green, Adcock, Draper and Lige Rundell. Some new ones came by the name of Conley. Mrs. Conley was Mrs. Smith’s sister. The Gallio Post office was named after Mr. Conley. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">As the years passed, Elmer had a well drilled on his place and built a grout house. Our father built us a four room house and made a cistern that had water piped from Elmer’s windmill so we then had water close at hand. A log barn was built too, which had a straw roof. A coal house and new chicken house and two granaries were built. We raised large gardens to can and fill the new pantry that mother had. Father sent to the John A. Salzer Seed Company in La Crosse, Wisconsin for our seed and some new oat seed to plant called ‘Salzer’s White National’. The yield that year of this new seed brought people all over to buy their seed, but father wanted all he had raised for seed for himself so he told them all where they could order it. We raised flint corn as father didn’t think eastern corn would ripen. We children wanted to raise some popcorn but he didn’t think it would do anything either. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I well remember the year mother went back to Iowa to be with our married sister, Myrtle, who was ill. That summer my father and I raised 400 chickens and he was so proud of me as I learned to make pies and bread nearly as good as mother’s. I think I was about 12 or 13 years old. He would buy canned pumpkin at Albin and I would make pies of it.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I think they were mostly custard as I made too many pies for that amount of pumpkin. Both of us girls could kill and dress a chicken by the time we were 12.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Once my parents went to Pine Bluffs and were caught in a bad rain and hail storm on the way home. It was getting dark and they were wet and cold. I had supper ready of fried chicken and hot biscuits when they came in and my mother said she had never eaten such a good meal. Of course, that made me very proud, too! Fried chicken does not taste so good today after being fried in these synthetic fats. Nothing will ever smell as flavorful as hot lard.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">When my mother made hominy from the corn we raised, she didn’t use lye but used Arm & Hammer baking soda, three tablespoons of soda to a gallon of shelled corn. This was washed many times to loosen the hulls and remove the soda. When it was finished it was nice and white.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">No one has ever been able to duplicate her sugar cookies. We either had too much flour or not enough flour. Would you like to try them? Take two cups of white sugar and one cup of butter and cream well. Now add two eggs, one cup of milk, two teaspoons of KC baking powder and one teaspoon of nutmeg. Add flour to make soft dough. Roll out a portion, sprinkle with sugar and press into dough lightly with the rolling pin. Cut and bake. I hope you are able to get the right amount of flour as I have never been able to.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">My mother’s baked beans did not taste like these do today. She took one quart of great northern or navy beans and soaked them over night. These were put into a large granite pan with a lid. Slices of salt pork were added with salt, pepper and molasses. They were placed into the oven and cooked all day at a moderate temperature. Sometimes she added a little dry mustard but never tomatoes in any form.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">‘Summer’</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">When as a child I followed my father </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Behind the horses and a walking plow</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Turning the good earth into long furrows.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The myriads of blackbirds eating each worm turned,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The smell of freshly cut hay in the fields</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And the cry of a curlew high overhead.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The dozens of meadowlarks sitting on the barbed wire fence</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Singing in the morning when the sun was red in the east.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Fresh Beef, covered, hanging at the top of the windmill</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Curing in the pure mountain air.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Rest periods in the afternoons lying on</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The floor listening to our elders talk.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">My mother’s plans for the evening meal</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Frying chicken and hot biscuits from the oven.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Our old cat with kittens hidden in the hollow log of the barn</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Which she later carried to the house.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Ripe golden grain being harvested,</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">The whir of machinery threshing</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">And the smell of grains being hauled away</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Twenty miles t o the nearest town.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Butchering day when father expected </div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">All of us to help prepare those five</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Big hogs for the winter.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">All these, and more, are my memories</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;">Of the sweetness of summer.</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Our first plow was a walking plow and father drove the team of horses and one of the boys held the plow in the soil. We had a mowing machine too. When father bought our binder and cultivator in Pine Bluffs they said we must be rich for he paid cash for them. Also, a story got around that mother had cut class and real silverware that she used every day, which wasn’t true for it was only pressed glass and 1847 Rogers Brothers silver. We used what we called black-handled knives and forks for every day which we kept bright by polishing with brick dust. We had a white tablecloth but used either red or blue checked ones for everyday and mostly ate on the oil cloth which covered the boards on that home made table at all times. It was always exciting times when threshing time came with all the good things to eat and extra men there to help in return for our men helping them. Once mother had chicken and noodles which the men called shoestring dumplings! Mother did not cut her noodles like we do today. She rolled them out and dried them and then rolled it up again into a long roll and cut it in thin strips, and when unrolled they were long and narrow and just as hard to eat as spaghetti.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I think Mr. Cunningham had one of the first threshers. The first machine was run by horses which went round and round in a circle. Later he bought a steam engine. There were always about six men with hay racks who brought in the sheaves of grain from the fields and two men stood in the front of the separator to cut the binder twine on the sheaves as they were run through the machine. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Our only hay for a long time was the wild needle grass on the prairies but this was not so good for the stock, due to the needles, so my father started raising more oats for the horses and cows and then raised some millet for the chickens. Barley along with the corn was raised for the hogs. Mary and I loved to help father pick corn and worked along side with the men. A Doctor in later asked me if I had worked in the fields and I said yes, not because we had to but because we wanted to. I think we girls did everything in those years that was to be done. We could ride horses, chop wood, make soap, and milk cows. We picked the chokecherries for mother to make jelly of and she didn’t have much luck with it. She did make tomato preserves though, out of canned tomatoes. A number 2-1/2 can of tomatoes, three cups of sugar and stick cinnamon cooking would bring the wild bees from the canyons, but we never did find their tree.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Our little dog, Coaly, (because he was so black) was so cute. If he decided to visit our grandparents he would go by himself, which was about two and a half miles and we could see him going up a path through the hills. We only had to say, “Let’s go to the canyons, Coaly”, and he would taker off with his tail in the air. We wouldn’t see him again until we were at the spring as he had his own special way of going. When we got back home, there he was but his tail was not carried high over his back…it was dragging. Coaly was really Ed’s dog.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">The fall of 1905 we saw the first and only trail herd go through to Pine Bluffs from the ranches on Horse Creek. They camped at night on section five, which joined ours. We could hear them at night and one of the drovers told my father that was the half-way place. They must have watered at the spring as they couldn’t get any water at our place. There was a way to get a wagon through the canyons to the spring, so they must have come up that way. </div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Nora Cunningham used to drive a two-wheeled sulky around the country and she often stopped to talk to Mary. I remember once there was a cowboy who was talking to them and I asked who he was and she said “That’s Henry Greiser”. He later won the championship in Cheyenne at the Frontier Days Rodeo. To me, he looked handsome in his chaps and kerchief. In later years I met him again and we became good friends. He was then a foreman on a ranch north of Cheyenne.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">I remember too, when Bill Carlisle robbed the train near Cheyenne.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Mary and I never did get to go to Cheyenne to see the Frontier Days Show until later on in life, but Neta and Fern Raymond always went every year. Fern didn’t ride but Neta was always on a horse about every day. Mary and I both rode horses but we didn’t have time to spend away from the work at home as they did. I remember that Mary would rather clean than cook.</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;">Mary and I didn’t go to High School. A Dr. Marshall in Pine Bluffs offered to take us into their home as they had no children and our father could pay for our keep with meat and vegetables but mother wouldn’t let us go. We went to barn dances all over the country, driving a team of horses to the wagon. Ed and Earl always went with us. Many times we were caught in snow storms and the snow got quite deep.</div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeiv-H0lMWd5Uv19n_kGOEXN76bErcgvClhhjtqGHLdcKZozteMoWspmYqjc58vEL9eosNEInfTwUzWRq5hxUCv9Zwh6p_KZtLyuR9We30sdUnQfSJJgL7WCzCvTpF88SVdbYmPh0c-w/s1600/Ruth%252C+Mary%252C+Myrtle+Harvey-sisters.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXeiv-H0lMWd5Uv19n_kGOEXN76bErcgvClhhjtqGHLdcKZozteMoWspmYqjc58vEL9eosNEInfTwUzWRq5hxUCv9Zwh6p_KZtLyuR9We30sdUnQfSJJgL7WCzCvTpF88SVdbYmPh0c-w/s400/Ruth%252C+Mary%252C+Myrtle+Harvey-sisters.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sisters: Ruth, Mary and Myrtle Harvey, taken before 1915</td></tr>
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><span style="color: black;">To be continued.......</span><br />
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<span style="color: black;">Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part one: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/02/poetess-in-familyruth-harvey-douglass.html">here</a></span><br />
<span style="color: black;">Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part three:<a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/03/poetess-in-family-part-threeruth-harvey.html"> here</a></span></div><span style="color: black;">Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part four:<a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/04/poetess-in-family-part-fourruth-harvey.html"> here</a></span><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: blue;"><br />
<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;">All stories, poetry and photographs in this series are owned and copyrighted © by the Harvey and Hopkins families and may not be reprinted without the permission of the family. Contact clchopkins[at]gmail[dot]com</span></div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-26573010455900756772011-03-04T15:00:00.002-07:002011-03-04T15:08:48.668-07:00Fearless Females: Marriage Records of Pearl and Chet Moore<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd3YwFe1c5r1YzqASpjNAaysPxHedagFFR40BiEEo7FFU-zy0yAuFHy89_ReXbN5mS0AkMdhuyHMARAQZnBFRjO_b5F94ySpZYSAfKj_MkxEVnTNDPMvTHZobZ_ORlEw78xrnEXY6uMw/s1600/Pearl+Mae+Moore%2527s+funeral+book+p3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisd3YwFe1c5r1YzqASpjNAaysPxHedagFFR40BiEEo7FFU-zy0yAuFHy89_ReXbN5mS0AkMdhuyHMARAQZnBFRjO_b5F94ySpZYSAfKj_MkxEVnTNDPMvTHZobZ_ORlEw78xrnEXY6uMw/s400/Pearl+Mae+Moore%2527s+funeral+book+p3.jpg" width="278" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Page from funeral book of Pearl Moore Zehrung</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3BAdHIC8fpHipKonogwtpruFmD8F5yOK4obbPvDVVfuhEJXspIWcvF2M2Y8h9rGsqQjsXBJCYs1GcST_30uAsdzfckHors4V8EEZ4CZh1n1nXxCJEGavPoCA35l_O0TgBhhw7OvSq644/s1600/2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3BAdHIC8fpHipKonogwtpruFmD8F5yOK4obbPvDVVfuhEJXspIWcvF2M2Y8h9rGsqQjsXBJCYs1GcST_30uAsdzfckHors4V8EEZ4CZh1n1nXxCJEGavPoCA35l_O0TgBhhw7OvSq644/s400/2.jpg" width="311" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Framed wedding scroll of O.C. Moore and Pearl Zehrung</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpS7xMGHckvX6aeC3bIUtSFxyKJbwr9ppH5MqmoGTVL5Lw_tyoEebFnRBOlcq3YaoF2UXyD_vd5J5WdAvMUdxksLtmiSwnmQwkeYA5nP6nMPkr-YpRMx0fyPkqiIoV6ONahvCXxjPgqU8/s1600/1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpS7xMGHckvX6aeC3bIUtSFxyKJbwr9ppH5MqmoGTVL5Lw_tyoEebFnRBOlcq3YaoF2UXyD_vd5J5WdAvMUdxksLtmiSwnmQwkeYA5nP6nMPkr-YpRMx0fyPkqiIoV6ONahvCXxjPgqU8/s400/1.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">MOORE FAMILY: Oswin, Pearl, and daughter Stella, 1907</td></tr>
</tbody></table>The date was November 23, 1905. Oswin Chester Moore and Pearl Mae Zehrung were united in marriage in Alliance, Nebraska. Grandma and Grandpa Moore left behind them a rich legacy as to strong family ties but little is known about the day of their marriage. They were probably married in the parsonage as was the practice many times during that time frame. We also do not have an actual known wedding picture of our Grandparents but the one with their baby daughter Stella Moore would have been taken just a couple years later so it is the closest to a wedding photo that we have.<br />
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The beautiful 18 x 24 framed wedding scroll is the only real paper evidence. It hangs on the wall in my living room and I value it as one of my most valuable possessions. In all the family records I have, I do not have their official record from the court house for some reason so that is one that I must go find. This prompt did serve a purpose to alert me to the fact that the record was not in my papers or on the computer so it is another thing to add to the "to do list".<br />
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Grandma Pearl was really a home maker and Mother to three girls and did not have a lot of outside interests beyond her family. She was a wonderful cook who passed that passion down to her girls and their children. She was a life long member of the Royal Neighbors and the Methodist Church and her interest in the Royal Neighbors organization also passed along to her three children who maintained a standing with the Royal Neighbors and one who actively worked with them for years as a book keeper and group promoter. Grandma and Grandpa liked to attend area dances during the early years of Alliance and they enjoyed playing cards with close friends.<br />
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I was less than a year old when Grandma Pearl passed away at the age of sixty-six in the year 1953. She was a hard worker and devoted the last years of her life to taking care of Grandpa when he became ill, eventually bedridden and he then passed away a short time before her.<br />
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Wonderful pictures, heirlooms and stories of Grandma have survived so those things have helped to bring her to life for me and I proudly carry many of her characteristics and especially her looks! Attending to her final resting place has been my privilege since I was a small girl. <br />
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<i><b>In memory of Pearl Mae Zehrung Moore</b></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Fearless Females blog prompts suggested by<a href="http://www.theaccidentalgenealogist.com/"> The Accidental Genealogist</a>, Lisa Alzo</span><i> <b><br />
</b></i>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-13776082326597289682011-02-19T15:29:00.005-07:002011-07-18T22:48:28.392-06:00Poetess in The Family...Ruth Harvey Douglass<div style="text-align: left;"></div>In honor of Women's History Month, I have chosen to write about Ruth Harvey Douglass. She wrote a wonderful memoir of her family and without it our family would not have the privilege of knowing as much as we do about our ancestors. Ruth left us all a great legacy in the form of her story and beautiful poetry.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4puFDPD-KVnSH95kQz0Jvuo0XaJkqHHg-cmBwL5oFMp-Yqwxlh6Qc6rczK2tKm5fNXWIaY0Uq3iIwsoTTizFrKkrMUktCfe3Skxm7j4DV0eAdMUPOmBt9TPSXmmf9P4IbrbTdsUev3Hk/s1600/Leila+Ruth+Harvey+Douglass.png6x6.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4puFDPD-KVnSH95kQz0Jvuo0XaJkqHHg-cmBwL5oFMp-Yqwxlh6Qc6rczK2tKm5fNXWIaY0Uq3iIwsoTTizFrKkrMUktCfe3Skxm7j4DV0eAdMUPOmBt9TPSXmmf9P4IbrbTdsUev3Hk/s400/Leila+Ruth+Harvey+Douglass.png6x6.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Leila Ruth Harvey Douglass, "Poetess"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My husband’s Great Aunt Ruth must have been a wonderful lady. I wish that I could have met her as I am sure that I would have really liked her and I would have loved to have been able to just sit and talk with her. Her ability to recall and tell the story of her early life in Wyoming has served to be a beautiful window into the past for all of her family and so many of the things that she recounted would never have been known by all of her future generations as well as to all of us; the nieces and nephews. Her memories have allowed us all to know our Grandparents and Great Grandparents in ways that would have otherwise been lost to time. Aunt Ruth recounted her life on the open prairies of Wyoming and included several of her own poems which to us are works of written art to be treasured. She titled her story “As I Remember” and it is a very good descriptive story of the early life of a homesteading family in Wyoming. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Ruth Harvey </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">was born 29 September 1894 in Albia, Monroe County, Iowa to James William Harvey and Fannie (Lee) Harvey. In 1904, Ruth’s parents relocated to Laramie County, Wyoming and homesteaded very near that of Fannie’s parents, Milton and Hannah (Hyndman) Lee. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It is from the memories of that time that Aunt Ruth wrote her story. Here I would like to share the story and poetry of Leila Ruth (Harvey) Douglass, our beloved “Poetess in the Family.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">“As I Remember”</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">By Ruth Harvey Douglass</span></b></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When I was nine in nineteen-four</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I stood beside an open door</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Where the vast distance I could see</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And things looked very new to me</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">For I was young and liked to roam</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">In this…Our New Wyoming Home</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The canyon hills, pine trees, and prairie grass</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">With wild flowers all around</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And there upon the horizon far</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The Rocky Mountains reached the stars.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">No one but us could ever know the thrill of that expectation</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The building of our new home in Wyoming</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It was the first part of July, 1904, when I was nine years old, that we left our home in Burlington, Iowa to make a home in Wyoming. Before leaving, we went to visit my Father’s parents in Martinsburg, Iowa to bid them good-bye. My Grandparents decided that as Jim, my Father, was going to make a new home so far away, he would need extra money, so they gave him his share of their estate, which was a great help in buying the things we would need.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">To save as much money as we could, father let my brothers Ed and Earl ‘bum’ their way on the railroad to Pine Bluffs, Wyoming. They left on June 28 and as Ed was the oldest, he had charge of Earl and also enough cash for their food. When they got to Omaha, in Nebraska, they were picked up by the police and put in jail, as the police thought the boys were running away from home. They spent the night in jail until the police contacted our parents. The next day, however, they were permitted to leave and they continued on to Pine Bluffs. The day was July 4<sup>th</sup> so the boys took in the celebration put on by the Dolan Boys and other local cowboys. The next day they walked out to our Grandfather Lee’s farm at Albin. When they got there our Uncle Pete had received a letter from our parents telling that they would be in Pine Bluffs on July 7<sup>th</sup> with all of the family, including Ed’s little dog, Coaly. Thus, when we arrived, all of our family was together again and we were all so very happy.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When we left Martinsburg, there were numerous suitcases and a big basket of lunch so that we would not be hungry on the way. The train ride seemed endless and I was sick from the smell of bananas in our lunch…the smell seemed to be everywhere…and I never ate another banana for years and can’t say I really like them today. I can remember constantly bothering my mother with questions. Every time we saw a river I asked what river that was and when she answered ‘The Platte’ I always repeated ‘The Flat’.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It was my Brother Elmer’s duty to transfer our little dog when we got to Council Bluffs, and that left the suitcases and lunch basket for us to see to. Each of us had something to look after. In the rush to get transferred, and everybody seemed t o be in a great hurry, one of the valise straps broke and everything fell out in the aisle and had to be picked up and re-packed. By that time we were all getting a little tired and our father got very cross.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When we arrived in Pine Bluffs, my mother’s father and brother, Grandad Lee and Uncle Pete, met us with a covered wagon and our things were soon loaded as the household things had been shipped by freight and would be picked up later. We drove past some ranches far to the north and when we came to a rocky hill, my sister Mary and I wanted to walk up it so they let us off the wagon and we found some pretty little white flower like wax stars and some bluebells. We saw some yellow sweet peas off a way but Grandad would not let us go get them for fear of rattlesnakes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Grandad Lee had a team of white horses he called ‘Old Nig’ and ‘Maud’. He never drove them off a walk so we were all day getting to their homestead. As I remember, he so loved these two animals that when they died, he could not bear the thought of wolves eating their carcasses so he dug graves and they were buried out back of the barn.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Serenity</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The Rocky Mountain Tops are etched against the sky</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And golden eagles fly from lofty crags where purple shadows lie</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Serenity and jewel-like brilliance of sunset on distant hill</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">A horse and rider pause to drink their fill.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">All is quite but the evening breeze</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The sun sinks to rest behind distant trees.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">How different everything looked to us, from Iowa, with miles and miles of prairie and in the sky, large white clouds that floated by with the wind and made big shadows on the ground. Mary and I would run to see if we could stay in these shadows. Our grandparent’s house was made of logs and had two rooms and we also thought that was very unusual.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Shadows</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I stand looking at the old log house </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">built by my grandparents in the early nineteen hundreds.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Walls still solid as that day,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">the roof now badly in need of repair.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The windows and doors listening for those who come no more</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and in the shadows, can it be myself</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">or the shadows of others before me? I touch these old log walls</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">remembering…..and I am not alone.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our folks made a trip to Cheyenne to file on the land we had picked out for our home. One half section of land: Section 4, township 17, range 60. Half of this was to be Elmer’s and half for our father. To us, it would be the finest home in the world because it was ours and we were together.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our father had $750.00 and when we started our new life, he first bought a team of horses for $300.00 and we named them ‘Dick’ and ‘Dan’. He bought a low wheeled wagon with a flat bed on it to haul the things we needed to build our place to live. He paid $15.00 f or it and bought harness for the horses for $28.00. Our placer was near some canyons where there was plenty of pine trees and dry wood to burn. Father and my brothers went to the canyons and made fence posts and hauled them to town where they were sold for 15 cents each and that is how we got our money for groceries that winter. They also realized enough money to buy a high wheeled wagon with a grain box for $80.00 and a McCormack mowing machine for $50.00.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our house was to be dug down into the ground three feet and then completely boxed in with lumber to give walls a six foot height. It measured thirty two feed in length and had two rooms, a bedroom and a kitchen, each sixteen by sixteen. The roof was a peak on which was covered with tar paper and a layer of sod. After this was done, the dirt they dug out was placed back against the walls up to the eaves. Both north and south ends had one small window that could be opened and the door was in the south end too. About five steps led up to another door which was our entry so that we could get out in case we were drifted in by snow. On one side of this entry were some shelves where mother had pans of milk. This type of house was called a dugout. Half was on Elmer’s land and half on ours.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My mother was quite proud of it as we had a wooden floor and most people in those days only had a dirt floor and dirt steps, which soon wore off to no steps at all. Mother had brought her ‘Ingrain’ carpet and this went over a layer of paper covered with straw to make it soft. I can see her yet…down on her knees stretching the carped with the carpet stretcher and tacking it down along the walls. She made a curtain of white muslin to divide the two rooms and she put her curtain rods high above the windows as the lace curtains were long ones. There were two beds and Mary slept on a cot and I on a leather sofa. The three boys slept in one bed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">In the Kitchen was a small stove, a work table for the water pail, etc., and a red painted ‘safe’ for the dishes and silver. As I remember, there was a wooden sugar pail that held exactly ten pounds and it even had a wooden lid that fit down over the top with a rim. Our table was made of boards, large enough to seat the seven of us and we had long benches to sit on. By the door was the wash bench and on the door, the roller towels hung. There was a mirror and a case to keep the comb in. I can still see today the stack of flour and corn meal in the corner….it reached to the ceiling….four sacks piled criss cross to the layer. Mother wouldn’t use yellow corn meal…it had to be white. As I remember the flour was ‘Triple X’. Granny Lee had told mother that it was so far from town that we should have on hand a thousand pounds of flour and plenty of corn meal, plus about four gallons of Swift’s lard and a quantity of baking powder. We also had lots of dried fruit.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Creativity</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The tables and the benches that were made of boards by our father,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The little four-hole stove would hardly cook for seven.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our bed ticks that were filled with straw that rustled when we turned </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">which reminded us of mice and many other things.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our clothes were warm, we girls had button shoes</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And if they needed fixing our father did that too.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">His tools were called a last and stand</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">With shoe nails and an awl</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">These he used to make them new</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And useful once again.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our underwear was made of Triple X flour sacks</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">But we didn’t care about that.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We didn’t know of mini skirts</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Or even skin tight slacks.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The dresses were made of calico</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">In what was called ‘sack aprons’</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">To us these were as fine</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As any Paris creation.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Our barn was made by setting two rows of poles, one row inside the other, and these were covered on two sides with woven w ire s o that the center could be filled and tamped in with straw. We got the first straw from an old stack at a neighbor’s farm. There were two doors, one for the horses to go in and one by the mangers near the hay stacks. The roof was straw weighted down by wire and rocks. I can remember that the horse named Dick was ornery about being tied up. He broke every rope by pulling back and shaking his head, so my father said he would break him of that and from then on Dick was secured by a chain. When our first grain crop was being threshed, all the straw was blown over the barn and that made it nice and warm.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">We didn’t have a well yet so water was hauled on the flat bed wagon, five barrels at a time. One was for drinking and was always covered by a cloth. The rest was for the stock.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">One winter it snowed for nineteen days and nights and the snow was so deep it covered the fences and our stock walked over the top on the drifts. Our dugout was drifted all around and we had to burn the lamp all day, too, for the windows were drifted in. We could not g o to get water so we melted snow in the wash boiler to drink and for the stock. We couldn’t get the chickens dug out for snow drifted in as fast as the men could dig it out, but they had food and were nice and warm so laid their eggs as usual.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">One night when we were eating supper late at night a wild animal screamed and our calf that was staked out bawled at the same time. Father took the gun and the boys took the lantern and ran outside but the animal had run off by then. Several years later Uncle Pete</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">and a neighbor named Wad Robinson shot this unwelcome night visitor over in the canyons behind John McMann’s. I can’t remember if it was a cougar or a panther. It was very large and had paws as large as saucers and long claws which were half torn off when he was dying on the rocks. They sent the hide away to have it tanned but Wad claimed the company said it was no good. Uncle Pete was always a little doubtful of Wad’s story.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">‘Wind’</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I hear it sighing in the pines</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Along the canyon walls</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Of years gone by so long ago</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">When I was but a child.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I hear it in the prairie grass,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The bluebells on the hill,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">The sea of waving wheat</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That my father tilled.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I hear it in the dust storms,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">And in the falling snow;</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I hear my sister’s laughter</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">As we ran through drifts of snow.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">It blows the clouds across the sky</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">To lay shadows as they go sweeping by.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I hear a symphony of soft, warm winds</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">to bring the flowers in spring.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I hear it in dry corn fields</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Now that it is fall</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Autumn leaves on the trees</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Make patterns on the wall.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">I would not leave my home again</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">No matter what the cost</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">If I could hear these winds again </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">That I am dreaming of.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Father and my brothers helped dig potatoes around the country and go fifty bushel for eating and seed. They also worked at the threshing around the country and bought two sows so we could get a start of hogs. We also bought two brockle-faced heifers and old ‘Tex’, a nice gentle milk cow. As I remember, the heifers would run off every chance they got and return to their home way over on Horse Creek near LaGrange. Old Tex always followed us around as she liked to eat any potato peelings that might be thrown out. We put up lots of prairie hay for our neighbors and for ourselves. We obtained a sack of white beans from Grandad Lee and Uncle Pete. At one time I remember we had sixty four pounds of frozen jack rabbits hanging on the north side of the house. The canyons were just full of small sand rabbits which were just as good eating as chicken. We had some chickens and they had a cave for their place to roost. In winter a lighted lantern was hung in it when the snow got deep and the door had to be closed.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Once when my father went to town he brought home a new estate stove for my mother and she was so pleased, for the old small one really wasn’t large enough for seven of us. I had heard her say it burned everything that went in the oven or else it wouldn’t get hot enough to bake anything. When fall came, the excitement of father getting our winter supplies was a great day. He brought boxes of dried fruits and a great big box of crackers. In those days they were in wooden boxes as big as an egg crate. We always had raisins, prunes, dried apples and sometimes peaches. We not only made stewed fruit of them but pies, too.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">My father made a cave not far from the house to keep our vegetables and the big barrels of cured meat and kraut in. We butchered from four to five hogs at a time and papa never rested until the last bit was taken care of. It all had to be done at once. There was lard rendering and we girls ground sausage to fry into cakes which were then placed in stone jars and covered with hot lard. By then he had the hams and shoulders and side meat put into the barrels and covered with brine that held up an egg. All bones had to be cooked and the head made into head cheese. Mother was weary when all was finished and often wished he would not kill so many at once, but he was thinking about the feeding of them. If a beef was butchered in those days it was quartered, wrapped in cloth and hung outside up high and the pure mountain air formed a crust on the outside and it didn’t spoil or flies didn’t bother it.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: black;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><b><span style="color: black;">To be continued... </span></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="color: black;">Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part two: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/03/poetess-in-family-part-tworuth-harvey.html">here</a></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="color: black;">Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part three:<a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/03/poetess-in-family-part-threeruth-harvey.html"> here</a></span></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";"><span style="color: black;">Poetess in the Family, Ruth Harvey Douglass- part four: <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/04/poetess-in-family-part-fourruth-harvey.html">here</a></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-size: xx-small;">All stories, poetry and photographs in this series are owned and copyrighted © by the Harvey and Hopkins families and may not be reprinted without the permission of the family. Contact clchopkins[at]gmail[dot]com</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="color: #351c75; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-19857815730821079472011-02-08T19:49:00.004-07:002011-07-18T22:50:32.124-06:00Amanuensis Monday- Hannah Lee's Overland Journal, Part 3<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Milton and Hannah Lee's cabin: Albin, Wyoming</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">"The Sentinel of the Prairie"</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">As we join Hannah and Milton Lee, their group has just left the Green River area of Wyoming and are headed for Jackson Hole and Yellowstone Country. Hannah’s journal which has been transcribed from her own handwriting and in her own unique style gives a storied accounting of her second trip overland to Wyoming in 1895.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #274e13;"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 13.5pt;">HANNAH LEE’S OVERLAND JOURNAL- PART 3</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="color: #274e13;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Mr & Mrs Hall & Grandpa Hall & 2 minors, Mrs Hall ashures me that she is not a bit a feard of Indians. We go to bed at nite & send up a prayer for protection and we travel a few days & camp over Sunday on the Grosventure pronounced Grovont. The men fish we get some nice trout. Ill tell you said I to Mrs Hall & Mrs Williams we will have the men get the stove out & we will all Bake lite Bread tomorrow. Mrs Williams said she would make her bread that nite & bake early and my bread next. Mrs Hall comes to my wagon & sais come Mrs Lee & see my Bread how nice. We turn to go, she looks towards the Hill & said oh dear, see the Indians. Coming over the hill there is a bout 30 & there is only eleven men in the crowd. Well said I there is 4 wimen & several shot guns & if we get into a fight we will use the shot guns. Why they have all stopt & are looking at us threw their field glasses. They cant be Indians. Mr Hall & Lee are looking threw their field glasses & finds it is white men. Now they are scared and think we are Indians but come on. They are Scouts & are out looking for Indians. We told them that we had not seen any Indians since we left the Reservations. A hunter finds a reporter lost in the mountains & brings him in to camp. Here he has a talk with the scouts & goes back to Lander. The Scouts bids us good day & are gone. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In the morning we start on & have a bad road threw the mountains & crossing cricks. There is no bridges in country. We are at Baken crick. The road runs a round the side of the mountain we all walk but the drivers. The wagons are rough locked & a good stout pole is put under the wagon box on top of the cupling pole on the upper side of the wagon & 2 men hold down on the pole while one holds to the hind wheel & around they go till 4 wagons are on level again. Mr Williams said he can drive a round alone & finds his wagon turned over. All hands are ready to assist & there was nothing broke. Every thing is soon loaded & down the valley we go & come to a nice place plenty of water & grass & camp for the nite. We are out of meet. After supper Mr Hall takes his Winchester & goes up on top of the mountain. We soon hear the gun. One two shots & here he comes down the Mountain dragging a nice fat Antelope & the boys were soon on hand to help dress the game. Now it is to be devided. Mr Hall said Pete turn your back to this venison. I am ready. Well whose is this. That’s Jims that’s yours and so on till we all had our shares. We all get a good nites rest & drive about 12 miles & camp on Cristel crick at noon. We eat dinner and are a bout ready to hitch up & we see a man on a saddle horse on the other side of the crick waving his hat for us to wate. He has something of importance to tell us & we wait as he has to go a half mile around the mountain before he can cross. Well here he…………</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><span style="color: red;">Author’s note:</span> The journal of Hannah ended here in the original copy as the last page of her handwritten log has been lost to time. Some years later, a family member wrote to Peter Smith Lee who was the brother of Milton Lee and he was then living in Brigham City, Utah. Peter said that the man who had been approaching the group by horseback with his hat waving was a reporter that wanted to know if any of the people from the group of wagons had seen any Indians. Leila Ruth Harvey Douglass who was the Granddaughter of Hannah Lee read that journal over and over as a child and recounted the ending as to this: We saw Mr. Spencer who was the son-in-law of Peter Smith Lee riding towards us and we knew that we were at journey’s end. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The exact final words of the original journal will now never be known but this short re counting of the travels of our Great Great Grandparents is a treasured document and seeing it in the actual handwriting of Hannah helps to bring her story to life.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> The Lee’s left Wyoming for a second time before 1900 and again returned to Iowa but their stay there was short lived and they headed for Wyoming again in 1901. That was their third trip overland and west into Wyoming.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The third migration of Milton E. Lee and Hannah Hyndman Lee from Iowa to Wyoming, 1901:</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The Lee’s along with their son, Peter Lee take up a homestead two miles east and two miles north of Albin, Wyoming and just a half mile south of their original homestead. Milton and Pete erected a two room log cabin and Pete also filed on neighboring land.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When first living in Wyoming in 1889, the Lee’s remembered the blizzards they had endured and this time they set posts from the house to the barn with a wire attached so they would not lose their way to the barn to tend to the livestock if a blizzard ever came up. This was good thinking on their part as this wire was used more than once to guide them back and forth. The blizzards would be so fierce they had to walk backwards holding on to the wire and the wind so strong it took their breath away.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Milton and Pete broke the sod, plowed the land in strips and grew wheat and oats.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Jotted down in a number of memorandum books in Hannah’s keepsake box were these notes.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nov. 21, 1905. Milton Lee sent the money to Cheyenne to pay off the note given for one black horse bought of Alec Perry. $100.00 plus $12.50 interest.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">June 24, 1906. Scott Brandon bought $7.00 worth of wheat of Pete Lee.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oct. 19, 1906. Pete took first load of oats to Pine Bluffs, 3470 lbs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Oct. 29, 1906. 1515 lbs wheat.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Put horses in field December 26<sup>th</sup>.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><b style="color: #783f04; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Ginger Cookies.</b><b style="color: #783f04; font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> </b> 1 C sugar, 1 C molasses, 1 C sour milk, 3 eggs, 1 tbsp ginger, 3 tsp soda beat in molasses till white, 1 c butter, flour to roll. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><b style="color: #783f04;">Strawberry Shortcake.</b><b style="color: #783f04;"> </b> Make rich biscuit dough adding an egg and 2 tsp sugar. Roll as for cinnamon rolls and cover with sliced berries and sugar, roll up and cut, bake in hot oven. Sauce. Stew a few berries in water and sugar, thicken slightly and pour over rolls.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> Feb. 1909 Grocery Order. 116 lbs potatoes, 1 box mixt tomatoes and peaches, 25 lb. box dried peaches, $3.00 coffee.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">March 8. 100 lbs. potatoes, 27 lbs. meat, $2.00 coffee, 10 lbs butter.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The Final Chapter in the Migrations and Lives of Hannah and Milton Lee</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">In 1910 both Pete and Milton sold their homesteads, each receiving $3000.00. We believe Pete returned to the Jackson Hole area having been there on the former trip with his parents. Pete may have gone back to Wyoming for a short time after as he had a daughter who died in Albin, Wyoming. Milton and Hannah moved in with their daughter Fannie and husband James William Harvey who had followed them to Wyoming about 1904. Hannah and Milton possibly lived in the dugout that James W. & Fannie first lived in before they built their house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">It is believed that Milton sent Pete $1500.00 to buy land in the Jackson Hole country and that Fannie and her daughter Mary Cunningham objected to this believing Milton and Hannah were too advanced in years to go back to Jackson. Milton became very stubborn about this and Mary Cunningham then decided he belonged in Evanston, Wyoming, a home for the insane. A trial was held in Cheyenne, Laramie County, Wyoming concerning Milton’s sanity. After hearing all of the testimony, a six man jury decided that Milton was not insane but very senile and recommended he be placed in the Old Folks Home in Lander, Wyoming. Milton was taken there a day or so after the trial. At the trial, Hannah stated that $1500.00 was all the money in the world she had and a lien was immediately attached to the property in Jackson. This lien was sold to a prospective buyer of the property and the monies obtained were used to support Hannah in her last years. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Hannah Lee died 7 November 1918 at her daughter Fannie Harvey’s home and was buried in the City Cemetery, Pine Bluffs, Wyoming. Milton Lee died 4 November 1920 in Lander, Wyoming. His body was shipped to Pine Bluffs and he was buried in the City Cemetery on November 8, 1920. The stonemason got their death dates mixed up when carving their headstones. Milton’s death date reads 1918 and Hannah’s 1920.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The old hand hewn cabin stood as a steadfast sentinel in a lonely field near Albin, Wyoming for over a hundred years and was razed just recently. Many members of our family visited the site and were able to reflect on the lives of our loved ones. My husband and I are lucky to have in our possession a 6 inch long hand forged log spike as well as several photos of the old cabin of the Lees'.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><b><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">A tribute to Hannah and Milton Lee by their Great Granddaughter</span></b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">This poem was written by my mother-in-law in 1987 after she and her husband were visiting Wyoming and made the trip to Albin, Wyoming and first located the cabin of Hannah and Milton Lee. Mom used as her inspiration a few words that her Aunt, Leila Ruth Harvey Douglass, had written in her Memoirs.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> <i><b> Sentinel of the Prairie</b></i></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Two miles east, then two miles north of a town named Albin, Wyoming, </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> There to the left of a Wheatfield ripe,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Stands a cabin in the gloaming.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> The primitive road that leads to it no longer hears the plod of hooves,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Nor the creaking springs of a wagon bed</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Under the weight of the sheaves.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The old log cabin my Great-grandfather built almost ninety years ago</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Still stands on the windswept knoll he chose</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Midst a wheat field golden yellow.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">What courage it took to settle here…far from the busy street.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">To snake the logs from the canyon floor</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">To me was quite a feat.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The logs were squared by adze and axe, then placed precisely so.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Shingles were hewn for the roof above,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Which covered the two rooms below.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">These old log walls are sturdy yet…I can see the marks of the axe.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Overhead in the attic I can plainly view</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Burlap tamped in the cracks.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The interior is littered with debris and dust, the ceiling is falling in,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And there I can see where the stove flu was placed,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The opening now covered with tin.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">The panes in the windows are long since gone…the windows are </span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">covered with boards. The old door sags on hinges a-rust</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">to let in the winter storms.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">What marvelous stories these old walls heard…in their golden days.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">If walls could talk I’d record every word</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">to learn of my ancestors ways.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">These walls shared their laughter; they shared their tears, and the joy</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">of a family reunited. These walls were a haven for those homeward bound</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">where within stood a beacon lighted.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">When the cabin was new, how did it look, here on this windswept hill?</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">And does it feel the regret that I feel,</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">That it now stands empty and still?</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Twilight is drawing to its close so I must no longer tarry…</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">…yet I pause in the gloaming…for one last look…</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">At this Sentinel of the Prairie.</span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif";">Kathleen Harvey Hopkins, 1987</span></span></i></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"> This article has been lovingly submitted in memory of Hannah Hyndman Lee and Milton Lee, our travelers of the western Prairie.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">-------------------------- </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Hannah Lee's Overland Journal- PART 1 is <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/01/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland.html">here.</a></span></div><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt;">Hannah Lee's Overland Journal- PART 2 is <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/01/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland_30.html">here.</a></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><i>source: The original journal of Hannah Lee, © and owned by Kathleen Hopkins</i></b></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><i>Amanuensis Monday is a popular ongoing series created by John Newmark at<a href="http://transylvaniandutch.blogspot.com/"> Transylvanian Dutch Blog</a></i></b></span><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-24186929918758711402011-01-30T19:27:00.002-07:002011-07-18T22:52:46.767-06:00Amanuensis Monday- Hannah Lee's Overland Journal, Part 2<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvEIwHgtq4EbpUhVWOmlNB7x0UuMYi_PSiqb5lmhwG3zWhf_gGZUxkJskB-yaurCg5OFtkHuJl3WE6TiwrnVbif2vyjVbgL0S31tHNFf-8zkITmONY5LU1MBDb4Zp5noU7FJu7V6cMzks/s1600/Hannah+Lee.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvEIwHgtq4EbpUhVWOmlNB7x0UuMYi_PSiqb5lmhwG3zWhf_gGZUxkJskB-yaurCg5OFtkHuJl3WE6TiwrnVbif2vyjVbgL0S31tHNFf-8zkITmONY5LU1MBDb4Zp5noU7FJu7V6cMzks/s400/Hannah+Lee.JPG" width="262" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hannah Hyndman Lee</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZuSUUjhfe1cqqVxSoTPr630j28biwOR89066ii_vUPqtIf4F9Pp2q2bgrMfO4PsSC0y0wkjIJc2_st-YOQAxBo3g3l_o8ILELwqEWHWemYgUnMjSa97WVrpBcyySVx7yy33MT3yhP8s/s1600/Hannah+and+Milton+Lee%2527s+roadhouse%252C+Jackson+Hole+wyoming-jpg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ZuSUUjhfe1cqqVxSoTPr630j28biwOR89066ii_vUPqtIf4F9Pp2q2bgrMfO4PsSC0y0wkjIJc2_st-YOQAxBo3g3l_o8ILELwqEWHWemYgUnMjSa97WVrpBcyySVx7yy33MT3yhP8s/s400/Hannah+and+Milton+Lee%2527s+roadhouse%252C+Jackson+Hole+wyoming-jpg.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">For the second time, Hannah Lee and her husband Milton had left Iowa and headed west toward Wyoming. On this trip they were headed for the Jackson Hole area near where Peter Lee had gone to settle when Milton and Hannah had returned to Iowa after their first trip to Wyoming. Arriving in the Jackson area they acquired a parcel of land and built a roadhouse to take in travelers who came to the area. They only stayed in the Jackson Hole area for a few years before returning to Iowa for a second time but it was long enough that an area Ranger Station was <i>at one time</i> named for Milton Lee. The old roadhouse building stood for years and operated as various businesses. The well known Heidelberg Bed and Breakfast, which is no longer in business, stood on the exact spot of the old Lee roadhouse according to Teton County records which our cousin found some years ago.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Below is the continuation of Hannah Lee’s Overland Journal as her group departed the Fort Laramie area to push on westward. It is transcribed with all the original spellings. You can find the family background information and the first part of this story and journal transcription on Those Old Memories, located <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/01/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland.html">here</a>.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"> <b style="color: #38761d;"> </b><b style="color: #38761d;">HANNAH LEE’S OVERLAND JOURNAL- PART 2</b></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the morning we started for Douglass, we are going up the North Plat River & find good camping places. There we see a rabbit & once in a while some antelope but they are hard to get as the distance is so far one has to practice a while before they can get one. Nothing will hit them but a 38 Winchester. Here we find lots of sage chickens. They are about as big as our Plimeth Rock chickens and are about as good. We are coming to some hills. Some days we have traveled threw quite a sandy country but their was plenty of grass for the horses but wood was scarce. Some times we had nothing but sage brush & other times weeds, but we seen so many curyosities that made us forget that wood was scarse. Well here is Douglass a good sised town on the north side of the river & we are on the south. We see Ft. Fetterman. Here we stay 2 days, & we go on our way to Casper Wyoming. We travel a number of days & is in a country where we don’t see but 1 ranch that any body lives in. In about 12 days we are in Casper a nice little town on the plat River. Here we meet Jim Lock of Fairfield, Iowa. Jim is looking well & glad to hear from Fairfield. Here we stay all nite. This is July the 3 and they are decorating the buildings for a grand selabration on the 4<sup>th</sup>. We see a thousand head of cattle the cow boys are bringing them a cross the river & taking them back in the hills. The horses gets scared & Mr. Oleary’s team starts to run away but are caught & no harm done. We go on for Lander one hundred & sixty miles on our way we find some of the lovliest flours. We gather some nice ones & press them & send them to our Friends at home. We meet lots of Freighters halling wool to Casper as that is the nearest shiping point. I have seen lots of Freighters with as many as twelve nice mules with fine harness on a Big heavy Mountain Wagon loaded with wool & 2 trail wagons fastened behind the other wagon. At night when they camp, they unharness every mule as he stands in his place the harness is laid behind each mule & the collars in front. They are fed & turned out to graze. One saddle horse is larieted to drive the mules in, when fed they are soon in their places. Here we are at the foot of a Mountain. Mrs. Barger & I walk. On the top we find 3 freight teams campt for dinner. They have six yoke of Cattle, the first ox teams I have seen for many years. Later on we find a freighter with one wagon wheel broke down & has to go back to Lander. We camp on deer Crick & stay over Sunday. There is a nice spring we find some wild goosberies. There is know one lives here & we find it very lonely. At night we are serenaded by wolves, one of our horses thinks she had better start back to Iowa & the rest all follow, but after a long chace are brought back & we go on. </div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"> Five oclock in the evening we camp at Lander quite a nice place, situated in a valley. Groceries are very high. We leave Lander to pass threw the Indian Reservation, the Shushonies. We travel up wind River a Rough & Rocky road. The reservation is 80 miles square we see lots of Indians the women & men are very dark Colord & have their hair Braided while the old Indiam men have their hair long hanging down over their shoalders & ware their over Coats most of the time all summer as it is cold out their. The roads are so rough, we camp 3 nights in the reservation. Wind River is not very wide but pretty deep on one side & is full of big & little rock which makes it dangerous to cross as it runs so swift a horse can hardly keep his feet. We leave the reservation & travel up wind river over 1 hundred miles. We camp & find a little store in the mountains. Here flour is five dollars a hundred, but we have a good suply & glad we didant need any but coffee we have to get which is 33 cents a lb. That’s good enough as it has to be freighted a long way. We camp at a squaw mans & stay all night. In the morning we start on for Old man Clarks, he is an old gentleman a bout 75 years old & lives all a lone in the mountains. We meet him on the road & ask if he could tell us where Mr. Clark lived, & he said if there were any more Clarks lived their he dident know of any but told us which way to go & said he would be back soon & meet us up the river but we did not see him & went on & campt by the river 4 days to a wait the arrival of an escort to take us over the wind river mountains. The boys went up the river a bout a quarter of a mile to his house & had a talk with him. He had lived their a long time & always went by the name of Old Man Clark. This was in ninety five when the Indian trouble was in the Jackson hole Country in Uintah co. Wyoming. Here came a man a horse back from over their 8 days travel threw a heavy timbered Country & unsettled, not a house to stay in over nite, one has to camp out . He tells us that he seen Mr. Lee & Spencer & that they sent word for us to stay there till we hear further news from the Indian trouble. Well we all talk it over & all are in favor of going on. We are at the foot of a mountain, & the Indians were out in the hills hunting. About 1 oclock we cross wind river for the last time & go about 8 miles & camp. We are to have Elk Stake for supper. We are where the game is plenty. We stay all nite, after supper we hang our old Camp Kettle on the pole & boil some for dinner the next day. We will soon be at the foot of the Big Mountain. Well here is a cabin this is old man Clarks gold mine. We all get down & go in & inspect the place. None of us has ever seen any mining done we all go down in the mine. Here are all the mining tools & the rocker, but no one at work but they said it would pan out $30 dolars to the ton. We start up a pretty steep mountain about 4 miles long. Here is the heavy pine timber the tallest pines I ever seen. My but it is nice. A bout 2 oclock we are all on top of the Mountain and glad to eat a cold dinner as all walked but the drivers. 3 or 4 miles farther & we camp. We are all getting short of meat & have a bout 10 days to travel before we get over to the Jackson hole Country. There is a trail one can go a horseback a shorter distance. There is no stores & we will all do the best we can & flour is getting scarce. All at once our road comes to an end. The men get down & at last finds a wagon track. We go down a small valley & here is a young porcupine he thinks he is hid he sits on a limb with his head tuckt under a few leaves. We leave him & camp. Here is a large herd of Antelopes. The Boys slip a around the pines & took a few shots but they were to far away.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">In the morning we start & go on down the mountains to green river as we go we pass 3 places like Big Meadows a beautiful place. It is getting dark. Pete Lee sees an antelope & gets his forty five ninety Winchester & killed 2. We were all glad as none of us had any meat since Morning & Williams is out of flour. The game is drest & we all have a share. Here we stay till noon. The next day in the morning Mr. Burlingham came with a lot of Dudes from Boston on their way to the National Park all were a horseback & about 30. We gave them a hind quarter of the antelope & they gave Mr. Williams some flour. They had a big wagon loaded with grub. 3 more teams joins us from the Big Horn. There is 7 covered wagons now. We leave green river. </div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">To be continued next Monday with part 3…</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><b><i>Source: excerpts from the original journal of Hannah Lee, © and owned by Kathleen Hopkins</i></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i>Amanuensis Monday is a popular ongoing series created by John Newmark at <a href="http://transylvaniandutch.blogspot.com/">Transylvania Dutch Blog.</a></i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Part 1 of this story is</span> <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/01/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland.html">here</a>. </span></b></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: #cc0000;">Part 3 of this story is</span> <a href="http://thoseoldmemories.blogspot.com/2011/02/amanuensis-monday-hannah-lees-overland.html">here</a>.</span></b></i></span><span style="font-size: xx-small;"><i><b><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></b></i></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8178493735499757701.post-70999696561011909552011-01-28T15:03:00.001-07:002011-01-28T15:07:11.737-07:00"My Favorite Food"-- 52 Weeks of Personal Genealogy and History<div class="MsoNormal">Oh boy, comfort food! MOM’S HOMEMADE NOODLES</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">From the time I was a little kid, this was it. My all time favorite was most definitely Mom’s noodles. On the days that Mom got up early to go to work and I was getting ready for school, she would roll out a batch of noodles in the morning to dry. Since I loved to eat anyway and her noodles were an extra draw, those days at school were some of the hardest. Watching that big old wall clock all day eagerly waiting for the three o’clock bell so I could hurry home knowing that chicken and noodles were on the evening dinner menu.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">My Mom and her mother were great cooks and making noodles was just one of those things that were passed down from one generation to another. I had an Aunt who lived in California for years and she was also a very good cook but claimed that she could never make good noodles. Several times a year my mother would stir up a few batches of noodles, cut and dry them and then mail bags of them to Aunt Stella in California and later after she moved to Arizona Mom still mailed noodles to her. Mom's noodles were always rolled out by hand, and cut by hand as she never owned one of those little machines to feed dough into that cuts them perfect. Perfect is a matter of perception, however, as Mom’s were as near to perfect as a noodle can get! My husband’s Grandma Alda made awesome homemade noodles too and we always asked her to make noodles when we would go to Wyoming to visit. I’m sure they were made nearly the same as my Mom’s and Grandma’s were wonderful even though slightly a different taste than Mom’s. They were distinctly Grandma’s. My own Grandma had a sister who lived in Broken Bow, Nebraska and as a child we would ride the train east and go to visit her. I can see and taste her noodles to this day, even though she has been gone for many years. I don’t know how hers were made or just what ingredients she used but I always called them “old fashioned” noodles. Great Aunt Kate would bring them to the table, thick with heavy chicken sauce (actually a heavy greasy or buttery type sauce). She always used good old country and farm raised hens and until her death she cooked on an old fashioned big heavy cook stove. She never owned a modern stove to my knowledge and her biscuits and noodles were really wonderful.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Some great things that my Mom cooked, I have never been able to duplicate to perfection but I do love to make noodles and mine do taste just like Mom’s. My youngest son now makes homemade noodles for his family of ten and even though his wife is a FACS teacher and an awesome cook herself, our son also loves to cook and the noodles are his to make when it is time for them to be on their menu. My favorite pairing is with chicken but on occasion I like to use beef tips instead as both are tasty and my Dad loved noodles stewed with fresh pheasant. Noodles, like ancestors, are just part of our family!</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Yesterday, today, and tomorrow- chicken and homemade noodles is my favorite, my comfort food, not only for the eating but also for the wonderful memories that always come to mind.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><b>Mom’s noodles</b></div><div class="MsoNormal">No exact recipe as I don’t have one, just ingredients and a general how to:</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">6-8 eggs whisked or beaten in a large bowl.</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal">Add flour, a pinch of salt, and about 1 tsp of baking powder for the 6-8 egg recipe. Keep adding flour until a moist dough that sticks together good is formed. Turn the dough out onto a well floured pastry cloth and work in just a bit more flour by turning the dough over a couple times. The <i><u>first secret</u></i> to good tender noodles, according to my mother was not to handle the dough very much and not to add too much flour, making the dough overly stiff.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Roll out the dough as thin as possible and let it dry for 2-3 hours, uncovered.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkL_NPEJfJkbKAX1rH0o_t2XYbG1VdbLdxXnnraV1cyUuzFSI-VRsSow3ElSeBBY5WnQ9-JEljukxgulpfeUXx_jkk8QyfAtuXCZkxmoDQEUyGAXJbnNFgINEq5wPADJAAKtahQPrb0k/s1600/1+homemade+noodles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCkL_NPEJfJkbKAX1rH0o_t2XYbG1VdbLdxXnnraV1cyUuzFSI-VRsSow3ElSeBBY5WnQ9-JEljukxgulpfeUXx_jkk8QyfAtuXCZkxmoDQEUyGAXJbnNFgINEq5wPADJAAKtahQPrb0k/s320/1+homemade+noodles.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SbeNKYuN0cY663OzC76WevLCIvbgzq1JM0ZQegkaMiZx5qcW-hUMDGiT2G5Bzc77kwClfarlBsD8YtByci16nlVY4hSC4O32tlFsCfI7sr9I4v_-axtOUe7zTOJ84HyO-ya4-fUhOpo/s1600/2+homemade+noodles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0SbeNKYuN0cY663OzC76WevLCIvbgzq1JM0ZQegkaMiZx5qcW-hUMDGiT2G5Bzc77kwClfarlBsD8YtByci16nlVY4hSC4O32tlFsCfI7sr9I4v_-axtOUe7zTOJ84HyO-ya4-fUhOpo/s320/2+homemade+noodles.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ti_puWgib13ZZ2jZqSSZOywwevhFvI0-9TGN62XradLCg-SKISRh7833Q8E0S542id1H_F8IBOm80FsObXaYQF7XJnJfdTDvus080Rwn5mMl8iHA3T0qgsFvhN2ikdX_WIbPQcVte6s/s1600/3+homemade+noodles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0ti_puWgib13ZZ2jZqSSZOywwevhFvI0-9TGN62XradLCg-SKISRh7833Q8E0S542id1H_F8IBOm80FsObXaYQF7XJnJfdTDvus080Rwn5mMl8iHA3T0qgsFvhN2ikdX_WIbPQcVte6s/s320/3+homemade+noodles.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVj-iPEGJzNOn1Dfb9ewUxh6UxQvihEzuQzdWC8O5hyphenhyphenZ-7skR5emfqkIS2PqbqlSpFxoCKgnBhoVlKyCtBt46BrmunZNPS7K6y8DBcP8y0mRzGK9LMyL7-bifPyMbBXWCtAUR-_X_WPlg/s1600/4+homemade+noodles.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVj-iPEGJzNOn1Dfb9ewUxh6UxQvihEzuQzdWC8O5hyphenhyphenZ-7skR5emfqkIS2PqbqlSpFxoCKgnBhoVlKyCtBt46BrmunZNPS7K6y8DBcP8y0mRzGK9LMyL7-bifPyMbBXWCtAUR-_X_WPlg/s320/4+homemade+noodles.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal">Roll the dough up, sprinkling with enough flour to keep the layers from sticking together. Cut ¼ inch slices off of the rolled noodle log, then cut the pieces up again and spread them out on the cloth to air dry. I usually leave them to dry for 4-6 hours. They can then be bagged, refrigerated and used in a couple days or they freeze well too.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">If you boil a chicken to use, remove the meat to a serving plate and bring broth to a boil, add the dried noodles, stirring to keep them from clumping as adding. When they start to just boil again, reduce the heat to the point of a low simmer as they will easily scorch and stick if cooked too high. Simmer UNCOVERED, as that is the <i><u>second secret</u></i> to tender noodles. Stir occasionally to prevent sticking and until they are soft. Add chicken pieces and serve over mashed potatoes.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(Click on the any photo to enlarge--)</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div style="border-color: -moz-use-text-color -moz-use-text-color windowtext; border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1pt; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;"><div class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none; padding: 0in;"><b style="color: red;">A warning: </b>freeze the dry noodles if you are not using them fairly soon, this is not a scientific recipe so use your own judgment as to preparation and storage!</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border: medium none; padding: 0in;"><br />
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</div></div><div class="MsoNormal">52 Weeks of Personal Genealogy & History – “Favorite Food” suggested by:</div><div class="MsoNormal">Amy Coffin of the We Tree blog (<a href="http://wetree.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">http://wetree.blogspot.com/</a>)</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Family Recipe Friday suggested by:</div><div class="MsoNormal">Lynn Palermo of The Arm Chair Genealogist( <a href="http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/">http://www.thearmchairgenealogist.com/</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">Geneabloggers, weekly and daily blog prompts: <a href="http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=30305424880">Geneabloggers</a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Cheri Hopkins aka You Go Genealogy Girl #2http://www.blogger.com/profile/17792786622751019882noreply@blogger.com0