As a genealogist, we are always cautious when we hear reports of someone who lives to be over 100 years old. Sometimes we find “evidence,” but the “go to” is always that we’re actually looking at something else. Either two people by the same name or perhaps misremembered. In other words, we actually presume that the story is incorrect or maybe embellished, and we have to work to prove that the person actually did reach that age.

Especially before the days of modern medicine, without medications like antibiotics, living to be a centenarian required an incredible amount of luck many times over. Winning both the genetic and lady luck lottery.

By way of example, the story that “Grandpappy Estes lived to be 109” turned out to have grown after his death. Based on George Estes’s Revolutionary War pension application and the reporting of his death, we actually have been able to reconstruct his age. Grandpappy Estes was born in 1763 and died in 1859 at the age of 96.

His son, John R. Estes also “lived to be over 100,” except he was actually 98 when he died. Many of his grandchildren lived into their 90s too, with a few approaching 100.

Longevity certainly does run in this family line. Two of John R.’s great-great-granddaughters, my aunts, lived to be 99.

Of course, today, ages are much easier to confirm with birth and death records. Even before that, census data helped a lot, but was nonspecific and often didn’t exactly correlate from one census to another.

I truly believe that sometimes people didn’t know what year, or day, they were born. Reading old depositions, sometimes birth and age information wasn’t specific and didn’t seem to be important.

Of course, the older one gets, the more often one needs to do math to determine their age, so someone’s age sometimes becomes “fuzzy” as memory fades. It’s easy to see how people began to simply remember someone as achieving that century milestone. All in all, it was remarkable to become anyplace near that aged – so family members could be forgiven for remembering their revered elder in the most favorable or remarkable of circumstances.

Enter William Claxton.

William isn’t my ancestor, but he’s the son of my ancestors, Fairwick/Fairwix Clarkson/Claxton and Agnes Muncy, on my paternal grandmother’s side of the tree.

William, it appears, was quite a colorful character.

Uncle William

Years ago, one of my cousins, Daryl, was chasing information about William Claxton and his first wife, Martha Patsy Gillus Walker.

Things get complicated and confusing quickly.

Martha’s first husband was not William Claxton, but was Henry Claxton, the son of James Lee Claxton and Sarah Cook. Henry died in August of 1838 at age 23.

Martha then married her second husband, William Claxton in July of 1843. William is the son of Fairwix/Fairwick Claxton, the son of James Lee Clarkson or Claxton. William Claxton was Henry Claxton’s nephew, so Martha married her deceased husband’s nephew.

Both Claxton men that Martha married were born in 1815. Fairwix was the oldest child of James Lee Clarkson, and Henry was the youngest, born the same year as Fairwick’s oldest child, William. Did you get all that?

Adding to the confusion just a bit is that Martha and Henry had three children, Edward Hilton, Angeline, and Flora Jane Claxton/Clarkson who later appear on the census with Martha and William after they married. Given that the children’s surnames were Claxton or Clarkson, it’s very easy and even normal without contradictory evidence to presume they were William’s children, but they weren’t.

That was only revealed in the pension re-application after the Civil War for James Lee Clarkson’s widow Sarah’s benefits that had been suspended during that war. Afterward, as her executor, Fairwick, her son, applied for her back benefits and had to include a statement of loyalty from all of her descendants.

Initially, there wasn’t any reason to think this was a banyan tree version of genealogy, but slowly, in trickles, the truth started seeping out, tidbit by tidbit, here and there.

It took years, and I mean decades, of unraveling to sort through this, and some of the findings are rather remarkable, seemingly more related to a tall tale than the truth. Seriously, though, who could make something this convoluted up?

The Census

William Claxton/Clarkson was recorded in several censuses during his lifetime.

In 1850, William, 29, was living in Hancock County, TN, with his wife, Martha, and all of their combined children. He was born about 1831, according to the census taker, and can read and write.

I should probably have mentioned that the Claxton surname is consistently butchered, too. We don’t even know what it “should” be. Y-DNA testing shows us that we match other men in other counties by the surname spelling of Claxton, but James Lee’s War of 1812 documents are filed under Clarkson. It’s also spelled Clarkston from time to time, and in the 1850 census, it’s spelled Caxton.

In 1850, William was living beside his brother, Samuel Claxton, my ancestor, who was living beside their widowed grandmother, Sarah Cook Claxton.

The identity of John Helloms, who was living with Sarah, has never been figured out, although there has been lots of speculation that he was her brother. The problem is that in a deposition, she says her father is Joel Cook, so John can’t be her brother since he’s five years younger than Sarah and her father, Joel Cook, was still alive past 1805.

In 1858, according to the Rob Camp Baptist Church notes, William Claxton was baptized in August, along with his brother Samuel and William’s stepson who was also his first cousin, Edward Hilton Clarkson.

In 1860, William is living in the same place and is listed as age 37, so born about 1823 and has apparently only aged eight years in a decade. He can read and write.

Of course, the Civil War disrupted everything, and families were cleaved cleanly in two. Martha Gillis Walker was the “adopted” daughter of Edward “Ned” Walker Jr., who died in 1860. His descendant, Phillip Walker, reports that in the lawsuits regarding Edward’s estate, there’s a mention of William Clarkson by Henry Walker, Ned’s oldest son and estate administrator. Henry said that William had gone bankrupt during the war and had been loaned some money from the estate that he felt William would never be able to repay. The general sense was that Bill was broke and would always be broke. Perhaps this was part of why he moved away.

By 1870, William had moved to Claiborne County, the adjacent county to the west. He’s 49 in the census, so born about 1821 and living with Martha and their children. He doesn’t own real estate, has some personal property, and cannot read or write.

We know from other records that he probably lived near Cave Springs, some 15 miles from where he was born and lived in 1850 and 1860. That’s 15 miles through the mountains on dirt roads. By today’s standards, not far away, but times were different back then. In essence, he had moved away and wasn’t really part of the nuclear family anymore.

The Lawsuit

According to the lawsuit, William wasn’t there to help when needed during the last seven years of his father, Fairwick’s life, when the rest of the family was tending his farm for him as best they could. Fairwick died in 1874.

William was Fairwick’s eldest child. His two younger brothers had died prior to and during the Civil War. Brother Samuel was the next eldest, and he was gravely ill and incapacitated due to his Civil War service and died in 1876 as a result.

Samuel was followed by two sisters, then John, who also died in the war. Their youngest sibling was a sister who had died, probably in the 1860s.

Feeling completely betrayed and abandoned by William, his only remaining, healthy son, in his hour of need, Fairwick wrote William and the rest of his family, other than Samuel and two grandchildren who did help him, entirely out of his will.

In 1874, Fairwick died, and in 1875, William, then living in Union County, TN, some 45 miles away, filed suit against Samuel contesting Fairwick’s will. That suit made it all the way to the Tennessee Supreme Court in 1878, which is the only reason we have this information. The Hancock County records no longer exist.

To say this lawsuit succeeded in destroying what was left of the family is an understatement.

My heart aches for William and Samuel’s mother, Agnes Muncy, who had to testify about what happened in Fairwick’s last years, as well as about the death of her son Samuel and the deaths of her other children.

She also testified in a deposition about what Fairwick told her about the division of his land:

He and my self were alone and he said he wanted his business wound up that he intended to make three deeds one to Samuel Clarkson, one to Rebecca Wolf and one to Nancy Ferry (was then). I asked him what he intended to do with his other children and he said he would do by them as they had done by him they had left him in a bad condition and he had nothing for them. I persuaded him to leave some land for them and he said I need not talk to him for he would not.

Essentially, Agnes lost all five of her sons, four to death and William to distance, both physical and that imposed by his choices and the resulting heartache.

Union County

In 1880, William was still living in Union County, TN, and is listed as age 57.

We know he lives near Maynardville, in part because Martha, who died in 1884, is buried in the Campbell-Clarkston cemetery there.

In 1880, William was living beside his son, Jonathan Clarkson, and George Campbell from Claiborne County, who had married his daughter, Matilda, in 1869. William’s age, 57, suggests his birth about 1823.

My cousin, Daryl, was given this picture of Matilda Clarkson Campbell, who we originally thought was the person marked with the X – but it isn’t. Daryl later figured out, with assistance, that the people are, left to right in the rear, Dora Campbell (with the X), born 1890, and Matilda Haynes Campbell, born 1873. Front row, left to right: Broda Campbell born 1898, George Campbell born 1845, Matilda Clarkson/Claxton born 1846, Jesse Campbell, born 1875, and William McTeer Campbell born 1872. This photo would have been taken about 1899, given that Broda was born in January of 1898.

Broda and Jesse are the children of Matilda Haynes and William McTeer Campbell. William Campbell is the son of George Campbell and Matilda Claxton, the older seated couple, whose youngest daughter, Dora is standing behind them with the X. In other words, this is a three-generation photo. William Claxton would have still been living, but is not in the picture, but Martha Patsy Gillus Walker had already died.

According to the census, Martha Gillis Walker was older than William Claxton. She died in 1884. Today, the Campbell-Clarkston cemetery outside of Maynardville has been destroyed. When Cousin Daryl was researching, it was reported that only three stones remained and that the rest were either gone or broken. The top is broken and lost from hers, but the dates remain.

Mar. 8, 1815 – Feb. 15, 1884

In addition to Martha, others buried in that cemetery are reported to be:

• Harvey Clarkston, July 16, 1826 – Nov 26, 1886. Noted as the son of A. P. and M. Clarkston. I have no idea who this might be, but that early date seems like he’s important to unraveling this family.
• Jonathan McTeer “Mack” Clarkston, July 3, 1849 – August 23, 1928 – the son of William Clarkson and Martha Walker.
• William Campbell, 1807-1870 – the identity of William and his wife, Martha, below, are unknown.
• Martha Campbell, 1820 – ? – Noted as “wife of William Campbell, Mother of George Campbell. This may be true, but Martha Nevils and James Campbell were the parents of the George Campbell who married Matilda Clarkson/Claxton, so it’s not this couple.
• E. Clarkston, March 15, 1819 – October 3, 1895 – I have no idea who this is, but the early date seems important.

Who are these people? The oldest ones died before the days of death certificates, which began after 1900. Sorting out these connections seems important and might lead to answers in earlier generations. If anyone knows, please clue me in.

William Remarries into the Manning Family

On August 17, 1888, in Claiborne County, William Clarkston married Lizer (probably Elizabeth) Jane Manning, born in 1837 to William Mannon. Hancock County had yet to split from Claiborne, which would occur in the 1840s.

Even though disowned, William was apparently still somehow connected with the Hancock County Clarkson family, because in 1884, a transaction took place between William’s step-son, Edward Hilton Clarkson, and William Mannon.

1884, Feb 21 – E.H. Clarkson and Mary his wife of Hancock Co. to William Mannon of the same for $12 land in the 14th civil district of Hancock on the N side of Powell’s River bounded by Herel’s corner, Yearys and E.H. Clarkson’s conditional line, containing 2 acres more or less.  E.H. and Mary sign with their marks. Witness J.N. Thomas and R.D. Green

This is a piece of the original family land where Fairwick Claxton lived on the Powell River and adjoins the Herrell land. I have absolutely no idea how E. H. Clarkson obtained these 2 acres of land, especially given that he had been living in Union County with William and his mother. 

This could have been Edward’s inheritance from his father, Henry, that finally trickled down to him.

Henry did have a land claim adjacent Fairwix and Sarah’s grants. We do know that the earliest Mannon was living in fairly close proximity to Sarah, the widow of James Lee Clarkson – but that’s a story for another day.

The Hancock County courthouse burned, twice, so remaining records are sporadic.

Two Hancock County Clarkson Cemeteries

Not that it’s confusing, but the original Claxton/Clarkson Cemetery is located on the land owned by Fairwick, where James had originally settled with Sarah, and a second Clarkson Cemetery is located further north, near the Mannon/Manning land.

Due to Edward’s involvement in this transaction, for a long time I thought this was the land where the northern Clarkson Cemetery is located, which is near the Manning Cemetery. However, given the land description and location, it’s clearly not. The confusing factor is that William Mannon is involved with and lived near the northern Clarkson Cemetery and purchased the two acres of E. H.’s land that was the original Claxton family land claim several miles away.

However, E. H. Clarkson IS buried in the newer, northern Clarkson Cemetery near the Manning Cemetery, which is very probably where he lived. I told you this was confusing.

We will visit that cemetery in a few minutes. Let’s get back to William who is now married to Liza Manning, and missing from the census.

Twenty Year Gap

The 1890 census is missing, and I can’t find William Claxton anyplace in 1900. He would have been someplace around 77 by that time, so it would have been reasonable to think he had died.

But nope, he didn’t. He was just AWOL.

In 1910, William is still in Union County living with his son, Mack, whose name is really Jonathan McTeer Clarkson. William’s age is given as 85, so born in about 1825, and he’s listed as a widower again. This suggests that his second wife, Liza Manning, is probably buried in the Campbell-Clarkston Cemetery in Union County.

The Newspaper Article

Whoever would have thought William Claxton would have wound up in the newspaper.

Travis Chumley, a native of Claiborne County posts the most interesting photos and historical tidbits in his Facebook feed.

I searched his feed by surname and came up with this gem.

In the Sunday Telegram on April 23, 1916, in Clarksburg, WV, they marveled that “Uncle William” Claxton was 103 years old and had never worn a coat nor called a doctor. I’m here to tell you, it gets cold in those hills and hollers. It snows.

But that wasn’t the only place William’s story was published. William went viral, at least for that time, and the story was picked up in Atlanta, Georgia, Laramie, Wyoming, and probably more locations. Ironically, I’m not sure which of the local papers originated this story, but surely one of them did. Uncle William was famous!

For those who aren’t “southern,” Uncle and Aunt are terms of respect and affection for an older person. For example, my “Uncle George” was a term of endearment for an elderly second cousin once removed (2C1R) who helped me immensely when I first began my genealogy journey. Yea, “Uncle” is much simpler, and everyone “down home” understands. So Uncle and Aunt may or may not be your actual uncle and aunt, or they might be. Is it any wonder our genealogy is confused?

Newspaper articles are full of gold nuggets. William walked 10 miles a day with no or little fatigue. First, why? I can’t even do that today. I don’t know, of course, but based on the culture in the hills at the time, I’d bet he smoked unfiltered cigarettes, too.

Albert is indeed his son, so that’s accurate, although William did live in Union County for some years – from about 1874 through at least 1910. However, he may have gone back and forth between Union and Claiborne.

This article is definitely about the right William Claxton/Clarkson. It’s interesting to note that the old man was deaf.

In the final census before his death, taken on January 30, 1920, William lives with Robert and Emma Patterson. Robert is 63, and William’s relationship to him is listed as grandfather-in-law. William is noted as being 103 and widowed – so born about 1817. He can no longer read and write.

Claxton Reunion – Dinner on the Ground. Held at the William Richie and Flora Claxton Gray home

I came across this photo of the Claxton Reunion that reportedly includes William and his son, Albert, at the home of Albert’s daughter, Flora Claxton (1881-1965), who married William Richie Gray in September 1909.

“Uncle William” Claxton died in 1920. If these children at left are really Ruby and Caltha Grey who were born in 1922 and 1924, respectively, then the William in this photo is not our “Uncle William.”

Posted on Ancestry by a descendant, this photo shows Flora revisiting Albert’s homestead in Ousley Hollow, which is located on Straight Creek, probably today’s Ousley Lane, which runs through “Ousley Holler” in Claiborne County. This is where “Uncle William” lived with his son.

The old log cabin in Ousley Hollow doesn’t look terribly different than the old Clarkson Home adjacent to the northern Clarkson Cemetery in Hancock County, TN, the part that was originally Claiborne, where Edward Hilton Clarkson lived.

The Northern Clarkson Cemetery

Mary Parkey (1927-2000) and I visited this cemetery in 1992 during our great adventure. This cemetery is on private land and you can’t find it if you don’t know exactly where it is and have someone generous enough to escort you.

Both Edward Hilton Clarkson and his sister, Flora Jane Clarkson Chadwell are buried there.

Mary Parkey said that Edward’s wife, Mary Marlene Martin whom he married in 1860, is buried here in an unmarked grave as well, having died in 1893. Edward clearly maintained his connections with the Hancock County families because Mary’s parents were Anson Cook Martin and Margaret Herrell whose family lived adjacent James Clarkson’s original land.

Today, both the northern Clarkson and Manning cemeteries are under the stewardship of the Manning family. I really think this should be called the Edward Hilton Clarkson Cemetery.

William Mannon donated the land for the Mt. Zion Baptist Church, where E. H. Clarkson served as moderator, which is also located nearby.

Clarkson/Claxton Cabin in Hancock County

Edward Hilton Clarkson was the moderator of the Mt. Zion Church for many years.

This land was quite rugged and extremely remote when Boyd Manning took Mary Parkey and me back to the cemetery on his tractor back in 1992.

We climbed aboard the back of the tractor at Boyd’s barn, then he drove down a rough path part way. Towards the end, the tractor could go no further, so we trekked through the woods and overgrowth the rest of the way.

After we were finished at the cemetery, we walked down a steep incline, down a hill to the old Clarkson home, snugged into the holler. I believe this is the roof, still remaining today, but I can’t tell for sure.

No access road was available, and there’s no road to that structure today, either.

None of us knew how those abandoned vehicles managed to get there. Boyd said that once they got there, they never got out.

It was very steep up to the closest path, which wasn’t at all a road. We climbed.

The abandoned home looks like it has been enlarged at least once.

Unfortunately, the early Hancock County deeds are gone, so we may never know exactly how Edward came to own this land, assuming he did. It’s clear that he lived here.

The interior looked like someone just walked away – or died. Dishes were still sitting in the kitchen, and canned goods were eerily waiting for someone to come home and make dinner.

This house had been abandoned for years, probably decades, when we visited.

There was no running water, and one wire for electricity had been strung at some point, held up with nails. Wash tubs sat beneath a lean-to with a roof, and water was carried from the spring.

Every desirable homestead had a fresh spring or well. The Clarksons were lucky, and this spring is probably why they chose this location. Less desirable properties obtained their water from a spring or creek downstream of others, but you never knew if the water was contaminated by the time it got to you.

The cool water runs out of this small cave and pools below.

I actually considered purchasing this property many years ago, with the goal of restoring the cabin in a peaceful location that I could visit from time to time. Maybe escape to was more like it. I think the cabin was a lost cause, truthfully, but I surely wanted to own a piece of family land. I thought my ancestors had owned this land, but now I know better – although it was the land of James Claxton’s grandchild, Edward. Ironically, Edward’s wife, Mary Martin, was also the child of a different ancestor of mine, Margaret Herrell. The DNA of my ancestors is scattered and buried here.

This wasn’t where William Claxton was born, nor his father or grandfather. The original Claxton land was about five miles away.

I wouldn’t find the original Claxton/Clarkson land in the Clarkson bend of the Powell River for another 15 years. 

William’s Burial

FindaGrave suggests that William Claxton/Clarkson is buried in the Campbell-Clarkson Cemetery in Union County, but he’s not.

I would have expected him to be buried maybe someplace on Straight Creek in western Claiborne County, given that’s where he was living in 1920, but he’s not there either. Surprisingly, he’s buried at Cave Springs.

Cousin Daryl took this photo years ago and confirmed his birth and death dates on the stone in person.

The last testimony to William’s advanced age is this stone, which gives his birth day and year as September 20, 1815, and his death as June 29, 1920.

If these dates are indeed accurate, William was three months shy of his 105^th birthday, an incredible milestone. He would have actually been 104 when the census was taken earlier that year, so that’s mighty close.

William’s Trail

I mapped William Claxton’s life, as best we know. Granted, there are gaps.

William Claxton/Clarkson was born on the old Claxton homeplace, just down the road from Camp Jubilee in what was then Claiborne County, but is now Hancock.

After 1860, but before 1870, he moved to someplace near Cave Springs in Claiborne County, near where the Campbell family lived, then on to Union County, where the Campell-Claxton Cemetery is located on Rosewood Lane.

Some years later, between 1910 and 1920, he had moved back to Ousley Hollow on Straight Creek, along present-day Ousley Lane, and then, finally, was buried back at Cave Springs.

Intrigue

The Claxton family is one of suspense and intrigue.

There are people who seem to be important buried in the Clarkston-Campbell Cemetery in Union County, but we have no idea who they are.

I still can’t figure out who the father of James Lee Clarkson/Claxton is. Or where James came from before Russell County as a young adult around 1795. Daryl and I always thought the unusual middle name McTeer descended from the Campbell line, but now it looks like it may have somehow come through the Claxton/Clarkson line.

James Lee Claxton’s father-in-law, Joel Cook, disappears into thin air.

James’s widow, Sarah Cook, is found in the census with John Helloms in 1850. Who the heck is that and why is he living with her? Some widows cared for people who could not care for themselves, but this seems different.

Sarah was somehow connected with William Hulloms, who died in Claiborne County in 1820. Sarah is the administrator of his will. Why is that? That’s very unusual. Are those two men connected? If so, how? And how are they connected to Sarah?

What’s Next?

All I can say is that one tiny tidbit has finally turned up – in the most unexpected place. And it’s one juicy morsel.

Stay tuned. I have a collaborator, and we’re digging as fast as we can.

We might have a lead.

Or, perhaps, we have one more mystery on our hands.

One thing’s for sure – Uncle William, who assuredly knew those answers, isn’t telling!

_____________________________________________________________

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I really considered saying nothing this holiday season because it’s been really a difficult year

However, I’ve always been quite transparent with my readers, so I invite you to listen while I talk to myself.

Do you talk to yourself?

Sometimes I have to.

You see, 2023 has been one devil of a year.

Let me give you just a few lowlights.

• I’ve had Covid twice and RSV once. Yes, I took the vaccines, which is probably why it didn’t kill me.
• I have a very close family member with horribly debilitating long Covid, and he has had it for almost a year. Not only can he not work, he can’t even stay awake through a meal. Forget doing anything enjoyable. If anyone dares to say anything about how Covid isn’t real or long-Covid is just laziness, I’ll not only ban you from my blog, I’ll curse you with fleas to your armpits and private region for the duration of what I hope is your very long flea-ridden life.
• A young family member took her own life after being bullied at school. And yes, the school knew about the bullying and DID NOTHING. Not only do I remain furious, but the family is beyond devastated. I can’t even imagine Christmas at their home right now.

I just can’t even…

• A month later, my closest family member, other than my immediate family, died unexpectedly when I was quite ill with RSV. Cheryl, my sister-cousin.
• I can’t even begin to explain the huge hole in my heart. She’s the last of my generation. Saying goodbye was both extremely difficult and very cathartic. No mixed emotions here. Being the last one standing does a number on your psyche.
• Then, my house was struck by lightning. This is beginning to sound like a really bad country song isn’t it?
• I’m not even going to begin to list everything that got fried. Let’s just say it would be easier to list what wasn’t fried and even that list is dwindling. We’ve become good friends with the electrician, is all that I can say.

Ok, enough of that. See, I’m already talking to myself. I’ve been doing a lot of talking and swearing and muttering under my breath this year.

I truly thought that losing 22 people to Covid, including my husband’s best friend and some very close family members over the past 2-3 years, was the bottom of that barrel. Covid isn’t “over,” but not as many people are perishing now. Or maybe we aren’t counting anymore.

I also lost four very close family members in another devastating event during that time.

Anyway, I thought “everything” would be better by now. Less trying. Fewer disasters. At some point, surely, the worst would have to be behind us.

We can’t even get past one issue or challenge before the next one arrives, screaming, “Hold my beer!” Hey, at least the tornado bounced OVER my house.

We aren’t discussing the flood, though. We were spared this year, but so many weren’t. People around here are building arks.

And the floors. If anyone even mentions floors to me, I’m liable to launch either into an apoplectic fit or a sobbing breakdown. We are now on the 7^th round of packing up and moving around the house from room to room to remediate floor issues. Yes, 7. That’s not a typo.

Some days, we have multiple disasters or multiple work crews stepping over each other here while I’m trying to work.

I don’t want to leave you with the idea that everything has been bad this year because that isn’t the case, but the year has been pretty much saturated with ongoing issues and disasters.

I was glad to be just about to usher 2023 out the door with a swift goodbye, but 2023 wasn’t done with me yet.

As I watch my social media feed, I’ve realized that many other people are experiencing this same thing – which is why I’ve decided to invite you to follow along as I talk to myself.

Meet Grinch

This brings us to Grinch.

Meet grinch.

Grinch looks like this, at least at my house this year.

After electronics take a huge power surge, like a lightning strike, some electronic parts and appliances fail immediately, and others fail more slowly. It’s like they are stressed, but they don’t give up the ghost right away.

After the initial hit (while we were traveling AND had Covid), I paid to repair the heat pump, which serves as a combined heating and AC unit.

Well, it turned out that I was throwing money away because right after Thanksgiving, we started having issues again.

So, after several service calls and a few parts, two very expensive pieces of the unit failed one after the other.

We were now facing the “fix or replace” decision.

I don’t need a stress test because receiving the quote for the repair started heart palpitations, followed by the quote for the new unit. Since I lived through that, I’ll probably live to see the century mark.

The new unit comes with a warranty. Parts and labor don’t, yet cost two-thirds as much as the new unit.

Couldn’t get parts for six weeks, best case.

And – we were freezing because we had no heat. It was a 4-quilt, 3-cat night, and I was still cold. The good news is that we had hot water, because I really needed hot showers.

So, the decision was made, and the installation of a new unit was scheduled for December 21^st. Merry Christmas. Well, those aren’t exactly the words I said.

However, the day before the installation, the experienced technician we really had confidence in quit. My anxiety level leaped right off the charts. I swear, the Grinch has secretly moved in.

The following day, the installation was on once again, staffed with other people, but everything had to be torn out first. The floor crew was here, too. Four trucks in the driveway and one on the street. I had to go sit in the car for some silence.

Regardless, I could hear my checkbook screaming.

Yes, the Grinch visited and stole the Christmas spirit for a month or so.

When the crew finished installing the new unit, they hauled the broken parts away, hopefully removing Grinch, too.

Thank goodness for multiple credit cards is all that I can say.

I’ve had to tell myself to take a deep breath and just breathe more than once.

So, now that I’ve told you about that evil Grinch, let me tell you what’s NOT wrong, and what I did to combat Grinch.

Grinch can put a huge damper on things, but Grinch CANNOT steal everything.

Holiday Spirit

Whether you celebrate Solstice, Hannukah, Christmas, or something else, the holiday season embodies a spirit of celebration, love, positivity, and generosity.

Gifts and colorful decorations remind people that others care.

Those who can, do for others who cannot.

I’ve been that single Mom with no help, so I stuck some cash in an envelope and gifted our favorite server – who is also a single young mom whose mother died.

My first thought was that I couldn’t afford it, because, you know – evil Grinch and the heat pump. But guess what? Trust me, that heat pump cost so much that the cash I put in that envelope for her isn’t going to matter one iota. Not to me. However, it did matter to her.

She exclaimed, joyfully, “Oh, now I can get my daughter a stocking.” I wished I had put more in there.

At least I HAVE a house, and I CAN replace the heat pump, and I’m NOT debilitated by Covid. I’m also NOT sleeping on the sidewalk in the cold or begging for food for my dog. (Yes, I bought the dog food and gave the guy something for himself too. Yes, I also know it might have been a scam, but it also might not have been. If it was a scam, he deserves an Oscar. I’d rather risk the $ than risk allowing another human and his dog to starve in the cold.)

There’s something else too.

My path through the valley of the Shadow of the Grinch is strewn with boulders, but so far, I’ve been able to navigate them. Alright, I have a few bruises on my shins and my credit cards have been brutalized, but I’ve survived.

This is NOT a life sentence of cold and misery. I’m not condemned.

Ancestral Life

Historian Travis Chumley posts daily photos of life in Appalachia from the first half of the 20^th century on Facebook. These photos are of common people – workers, miners, farmers, women keeping house, and children.

Their everyday lives.

These are the lives of my ancestors on my father’s side.

My ancestors were poor, and some lived in grinding poverty – the kind that never leaves your soul.

I’ve been spared and remain spared that fate.

I searched Travis’s feed for both my family surnames and their locations, by county. I also searched the UNT Library collection, here, too, along with the Library of Congress photos.

Let me share this part of the story with you.

Harlan County, 1946

My grandfather lived in a shack up on Black Mountain in Harlan County, Kentucky.

The shacks were numbered. They lived in shack #74 for years, as listed on their child’s death certificate and the census.

Moonshine still – 1940s in Claiborne County.

My grandfather, along with his eldest son made moonshine for the miners. Their young daughters delivered it in a wagon during Prohibition. Yes, most of this family line suffered from alcoholism, a “gift” that descended generationally.

Miner’s home in 1946 in Bell Co. KY. This is one of the nicer homes.

Kerosene lamps. String beans on a thread were how beans were dried, which you can see at right, and newspapers served for wallpaper and insulation. These shacks were people’s homes but were not insulated. Snow drifted in through the cracks in the roof and windows. One family told me that their puppy froze one night, in bed with their three sons.

Bell County, Kentucky, 1946…

Mrs. Leanore Miller, widow of a miner, with a picture of her husband. She said, “there’s more widows and orphans in this holler than men at work”. Kentucky Straight Creek Coal Company, Four Mile, Bell County, Kentucky…

Source
National Archives Russell Lee photographer

Life was unrelenting, and there was no avenue of escape.

Wash day about 1920. Water was carried from the spring. Often clothes were boiled because they were worn for so long between washes. Notice the washboard. The Claxton land still had remnants of wash day down along the creek, long abandoned when we found it in the 1980s.

Everything was done wearing those long skirts, even in the heat of summer. Many women died when their skirts caught fire.

Walking the coffin up the mountainside.- 1940.

Medicine was scarce, and people were often afraid to turn to doctors. Not only was medicine unfamiliar, many women wouldn’t allow a man to treat them.

Death was common. Coffins were handmade in the barn, neighbors dug the grave, and family members were buried in cemeteries “up the hill.” My great-grandparents were buried on the same day, some say together, in the flu epidemic of 1918. They put one body in the barn to wait for the other person to die.

If you didn’t have medicine as a resource, then you were left with prayer. People went to church in wagons. The lucky ones got to ride in trucks like this lady in Springdale, TN, in 1940.

My cousin first took me “up the mountain” in the back of his truck that looked a lot like this, except without the roof.

Oklahoma in 1895.

After Tennessee and sometimes Missouri, the next frontier for many was Oklahoma and Texas. The government divided much of the tribal land and granted individual allotments to Native families. That started the next land rush of settlers who were eager to purchase land for pennies on the dollar.

Some made the journey with their entire family and belongings in a Conestoga wagon, but many of the Native people who were forced onto the Trail of Tears decades earlier, walking during the winter, didn’t make it.

A hitchhiking family waiting along the highway in Macon, Georgia, in 1937. The father repairs sewing machines, lawnmowers, etc. He is leaving Macon, where a license is required for such work (twenty-five dollars), and heading back for Alabama.

Source
Farm Security Administration Dorothea Lange photographer

Everything that family owned was in those bags.

Depression-era home, Wayne County, Michigan 1937

This isn’t in the South, but many people from Appalachia went north seeking work in factories or on farms.

1937 was the year my grandfather’s youngest child starved to death up on Black Mountain.

West Virginia 1937

Life was tough, and many were impoverished. This young woman is picking alongside the road for pieces of coal that fell off of trucks. Some scavenged along train tracks for the same reason. Coal and wood were both used to heat homes.

Walking to school, 1921

Notice that this girl is wearing a coat and hat but is barefoot. My aunt told me that they had one pair of shoes that the children shared for “good” and everyone was mad when the foot of the largest child stretched the shoes out. They went everyplace barefoot.

Clothes were shared in hand-me-down fashion from child to child until nothing was left. Scraps and remnants were often remade and repurposed.

Tennessee, March 1936…

Mother and daughter of an impoverished family of nine… FSA photographer Carl Mydans found them living in a field just off US Route 70, near the Tennessee River.

Source
Farm Security Administration

This mother’s skirt is made from a coarse feed sack, and her top appears to be a sweater in tatters. The baby doesn’t look much better. This is what hopelessness looks like.

I can’t help but wonder what happened to these people.

Scott’s Run, West Virginia. Miner’s child.

This boy was digging coal from mine refuse on the road side. The picture was taken December 23, 1936 on a cold day; Scott’s Run was buried in snow. The child was barefoot and seemed to be used to it. He was a quarter mile from his home.

Source
Records of the Work Projects Administration Lewis Hine photographer

This is no life to aspire to.

Many tried to leave, or did leave, but often what awaited them wasn’t any better.

Florida, 1939

“Buddy,” youngest child of migrant packinghouse worker from Tennessee, sitting on the only bed for six people, which is rolled out on the ground at night and pushed into the back during the day. Belle Glade, Florida.

Source
Farm Security Administration (Marion Post Walcott photographer

I don’t even have any commentary about this one except to say thank the Lord because there but for the grace of God and some amount of good luck goes every family.

Claiborne County outhouse in field. Clark, Joe. [Outhouse in an Open Field], photograph, undated, crediting UNT Libraries Special Collections.

Photograph of a wooden outhouse in an open field. A line of fence posts can be seen in the middle ground of the photo while trees are scattered throughout the background.

I grew up on a farm, and yes, we had an outhouse, but by that time, it was only used for emergencies.

In the south, everyone had outhouses. Many were still in use when I first visited Claiborne County in the 1980s.

Attitude Shift

All of this makes my first-world problems look privileged and trivial by comparison.

If my ancestors can and did survive that as routine life, I can assuredly survive this. I’m embarrassed to admit that I’ve been whining, grousing and complaining so much.

This is why I talk to myself. To remind myself that:

• My country isn’t under attack.
• My friends and family aren’t starving.
• We have clothes and food.
• There’s no outhouse outside, because there’s plumbing inside, including multiple bathrooms.
• We don’t have to find wood or pick coal from the side of the road for heat.
• I have shoes.
• My children had shoes, and they didn’t have to share them.
• I may have to pack up my belongings and shuffle them around my house to fix the floors, repeatedly, but I have more than a few suitcases of belongings.
• And I have floors – that I don’t have to sleep on.
• I’m no longer that single mother trying to figure out how to acquire the things that I know my kids asked Santa for.
• I no longer need to ration food from Friday to Friday to have enough to get to the next payday.
• I no longer have to live in terror of any “strange” noise my car makes, knowing I can’t afford to fix it.
• I have the ability to alleviate some of that suffering and those challenges for others through various means.

Grinch, I hate to tell you this, but you’re outta here. You’ve been evicted – run right out of town!

This is a Grinch-free zone now!

My Wishes for You

The best that life has to offer

Tranquility.

Kindness

Safety.

Wisdom

The wisdom to know when to walk away

Time

Time to do what you need to do

Time to do what you want to do

May your lightning bolt

Be one of awakening

Freedom from fear

Warmth

Family

Someone who loves you

Unconditionally

Loving another

Unconditionally

Fur family who loves you,

And that you love

Hope

The ability to help others,

Change lives,

Make a difference

The willingness to reach out with love

The desire to give

Motivation

Grace

Gratitude

Both given and received

The satisfaction of bringing joy to others

Great gifts,

But most of all

 I wish you peace

And Inspiration

That you may find your Calling

Or it finds you

And know that you are doing the work of the Divine

Not just for this day

Or month

But until the end of time

Happy Holidays, and no Grinch!