Indeed, some did give all.

Memorial Day, according to the US Department of Defense, honors those who gave the ultimate sacrifice – that of their lives.

It’s a day of mourning, and also a day of honoring those who have fallen. Some in battle, and some as a result of their service.

Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell

Jim and I took an unplanned trip to the Florida National Cemetery in Bushnell to visit the grave of his uncle. I didn’t realize this National Cemetery even existed, and Jim didn’t realize that’s where his uncle was buried.

We shed a lot of tears. To be clear, Uncle Joe served twice, but did not die in the line of duty. However, others in the family have. We celebrate them, today, too, even though we can’t visit their graves.

The Bushnell National Cemetery is beautiful and wonderfully maintained, laid out in military precision, with identical markers for everyone.

I didn’t expect the cemetery to be so large. There are more than 204,000 burials, arranged in sections, and space is still available.

I’m very grateful for whoever posted the GPS coordinates for Jim’s uncle, Joseph Bister, on FindaGrave, or we would never have found him.

The cemetery is a sea of markers. Each one honoring a veteran or their spouse who is eligible for burial.

Where is Uncle Joe?

We found the section and started our search.

Jim located the marker about half way back.

Jim placed his penny, signifying that someone has visited.

Uncle Joe’s marker. He served his country in two wars.

Plastic tubs holding small flags were being strategically placed in front of each section. Before Monday, each grave will receive a flag to honor their service and sacrifice. Every soldier sacrifices.

We decided to go ahead and place Uncle Joe’s flag.

A kind visitor took a photo of us, then I left Jim to have a few private minutes with his uncle. I suspect they had some catching up to do.

Gold Star Memorial

As we were driving through the beautiful, peaceful cemetery, observing several families visiting their loved ones, I noticed something near the exit. Of course, I had to pull over and take a look.

I was not expecting a Gold Star Memorial, although I’m incredibly glad to see it.

As you probably recall, I’m the representative family member for Robert Vernon Estes, a POW who died a torturous death in a horrific POW camp in North Korea. I’m also his namesake.

Robbie is my uncle’s son, and I still pray that one day his remains will be repatriated, identified through DNA, and that I can lay him to rest at Arlington where he deserves to be.

There’s so much raw emotion for me here. Especially combined with the knowledge of my father’s service, and that my mother’s fiancé, Frank Sadowski, was killed in Okinawa on Tombstone Ridge.

“…and those they left behind…”

My God, I’m sobbing.

The back is beautifully carved as well.

Words fail me.

In our culture, the eagle is a majestic bird that signifies strength, power, courage, wisdom, and yes, freedom.

The eagle reaches between the worlds, a soaring messenger between the earthly and the spiritual. The eagle comes to get you and transports you to the next world when your time here is finished.

I’m not leaving you, Robbie. Not until you come home or I join you, rising on the eagle’s back.

Vietnam Memorial

Nearby stood another monument, honoring those who served in Vietnam.

I thought I was out of tears, but clearly, I wasn’t.

“…wounds, seen and unseen…”

No truer words could be spoken. Or in this case, carved in granite, and in the hearts of those who suffered along with those whose lives were destroyed.

Perhaps one day I will be able to write and share with you about the husband I lost to Vietnam, and his incredibly torturous journey – but today is not that day.

Today, I will simply leave you with a final photo of Jim, a small spec behind the flag, kneeling at Uncle Joe’s marker.

Francois Savoie (c1621-1679/1686) (Scavois, Savoye, Savois) was born about 1621, someplace in France. The location is uncertain, but if he lived in the area where other Acadians lived, he would have been found in the Martaize region, near Loudon in the Seigneury d’Aulnay. Charles Menou d’Aulnay, whom we’ll meet in a little bit, recruited many of the Acadian settlers from his mother’s seigneury. His mother was Nicole Jousserand. She married René Menou who signed an agreement wherein he relinquished any interest in her holdings.

There have been and continue to be unsubstantiated rumors about Francois Savoie being the illegitimate son of Prince Tomaso Francesco di Saviua-Carignano who was born in 1596 in Torino, Italy. Supposedly, Francois Savoie, an Acadian living in Nova Scotia, in a death-bed confession, named Prince Tomaso as his father.

Evidence, You Say? You Want Evidence?

Ok, let’s look at what evidence we have.

My friend, Maree, located one baptism for a Francois Savoie in the parish of St. Remi in Troyes, Aube, France on March 28, 1620. That’s the right timeframe. Other records from this parish for Savoye and Savois are reported between 1610 and 1620 in this parish register. In later years, there is nothing else for Francois.

While, at first glance, this is exciting, there’s a very large fly in the ointment.

Troyes is about 400 km or 250 miles away from the regions in which the Acadian families are known to have originated. Specifically, d’Aulnay’s mother’s seigneury was at Loudun, and most of the Acadian families were from someplace in the red oval. Martaize, La Chaussee, someplace in the Poitou, or from near La Rochelle. Furthermore, Troyes is not located near the coast, so certainly not convenient or attractive for a young man to set sail for New France.

I shared my exasperation with Cousin Mark, who is a prodigious researcher and can ferret out incredibly obscure records.

From Cousin Mark:

One note about François Savoie: there is considerable garbage on Ancestry and elsewhere about his supposed illegitimate birth to a prince of the House of Savoy. Some have portrayed François as the son of Thomas François de Savoie, or more properly Tommaso Francesco di Savoia, as he was in truth Italian, not French, born 1596 in Turin which is in the Piedmont region of Italy. He married into the French Bourbon family in 1625 and later moved to Paris, but not until after fighting France in several wars. No one has yet explained how this Italian prince could be sowing his wild oats in Martaizé or somewhere nearby in the Loudunais in about 1621 and yet not hang around for the child to be given his noble name.

Expanding on what Mark said, we know that Tommaso Francesco of Savoy-Carignano was known as such because in 1620, he was officially granted the newly created title Prince of Carignano, establishing the House of Savoy-Carignano, a cadet branch of the ruling House of Savoy.

Tommaso Francesco di Savoia was born in Turin, Italy, which was part of the Duché de Savoie at that point in time. The terriroty extended into Switzerland and the far eastern portion of France. Today, the mountainous southeastern French Department of Savoie, which borders Italy, remains, and so does a Swiss county by that name.

It’s about 500 miles through mountainous terrain from Savoie, outlined with the red dashes, to the Poitou region of France. I found no historical record of any connection between Tommaso Francesco di Savoia and western France. His family’s holdings were in the Turin region.

It’s natural for Savoie researchers to connect the dots because of the name – but that doesn’t mean that connection is accurate. Even if there is a connection, it would more likely be due to the region of Savoy rather than to Tommaso Francesco di Savoia himself. However, based on the distance and terrain involved, even that is unlikely. Peasants didn’t have the resources to just pick up, leave, and move to another area.

Back to Mark:

Indeed, Savoie is a common toponymic name in France. I found over 40 François Savoies listed in the 1610-1630 time period at Filae.com, and that’s just from the records that exist and have been located by the various genealogical societies in several regions that do not include Paris as those records went up in flames during one of their periodic revolutions. There must be hundreds more births by that name in that period of time. Our François Savoie was a peasant, “laboureur”, not a nobleman. I wish I could find his baptismal record; I’ve looked, but 1621 is a problematic year for Loudunais records.

Some people show Martaizé or La Chaussée, but no one knows where either François or the Lejeune sisters were born, and White does not hazard a guess.

White, referenced by Mark, is Stephen A. White, retired Acadian historian and researcher.

In 1634, Nicole Jousserand drew up a tax list of the families who lived in her seigneury.

The original document is held at the French Archives:

AVEU AU ROI de NICOLE DE JOUSSERAND, DAME D’AULNAY de ses terres affermées à Martaizé – 1634 – aux Archives Départementales d’Indre et Loire (Série C, Liasse 601)

If someone can actually retrieve this document, the original may be clearer than the decades-old old poor, partial copy that I found.

Nicole began the document with:

To the King, my Sovereign Lord,

I, Nicole de Jousserand, wife and spouse of Messire René de Menou, Knight, Seigneur of Charnizé, having no community of property with him, authorized by justice to pursue my rights, daughter and heir of the late Messire René de Jousserand, during his life Seigneur of Londigny, Angliers, Aulnay, Triou, and the fief of Beaulieu (also called Rallette) previously held by the Arnaudeaux in the parish of Martaizé and surrounding areas, and of Dame Renée Robin, my father and mother, residing in the town of Loudun, declare I hold and claim to hold from your castle of Loudun, when applicable, the following items in grain and monetary rents with the inheritances listed below.

Nicole then listed, by small areas, probably farms, the residents and how much wheat and rent they owed. I will publish this entire document separately, but the interesting aspect for the Savoie research is one name in a specific entry, which might or might not be relevant.

d’Aulnay Basserue in Martaize taxes:
1.5 boisseaux of wheat, 2 deniers rent due by:

• • Guy Barrault
  • Jean Savarri on behalf of his wife Michelle Baraut

Owed for a house, courtyard, and garden—all held together as one property—situated in the village of Martaizé, in the area known as la Basserue.

Bounded by:

• • One part: the holdings of Louis Guerin and the heirs of Jean Godet
  • Another: the widow of Izaac Bricault
  • Another: land of Gaspar Montiller
  • Another: land of Gaspard Constance and René Fouscher
  • One end: the land of René Girard
  • Another end: the land of René Theuilleau

As you know, spellings were not standardized in early records, but it appears that perhaps Guy Barrault and Michelle Baraut could be siblings, with interest in land farmed by their parents. Bricault could also be a derivative of that surname.

Remember, Nicole owned the land – the people who lived there could never own the land. It was a feudal system, and while the farm families lived on the same land for generations, they always paid rent.

If you’re excited because you recognize other familiar Acadian names as neighbors, such as Guerin, Godet, and Girard (Girouard), I am too.

Unfortunately, I only have part of the actual original document, plus a document, in French that was transcribed from the presumably complete original a long time ago. The page with Jean Savarri on it is not included in the copy of the original that I have.

Could this be our Savoie family, living among the rest of the Acadians? It’s certainly possible. It’s unfortunate that there is so much record loss in France.

I will discuss the Y-DNA results of Francois Savoie later in a separate article, but suffice it to say that there is no evidence, not one shred, that the death-bed confession ever happened, or that Francois Savoie is the offspring of the House of Savoia, or that there is any surname connection to Italy.

And trust me, I will be the absolute first to write about it when and if there’s even a hint that this might be true.

For now, the origin of our Francois Savoie or Savoye remain unknown.

History

Let’s look at the historical events that led up to Francois’s arrival in Acadia. There’s a lot to unpack here!

Let’s start with my visit to the Fort Point Museum in present-day Nova Scotia.

The museum is located on the site of the original Fort Sainte-Marie-de-Grâce, where the first Acadian settlement was established.

In 1632, France received Acadia in the Treaty Saint-Germain-en-Laye, and Isaac de Razilly, a Knight of Malta, brought 300 elite men and three monks to establish a trading outpost at La Hève, now LaHave, in present-day Nova Scotia, along with maybe 12 or 15 families.

We don’t have the names of those men, but Francoise Savoie, at 11, was a mere boy and would not have been traveling alone.

Razilly died in 1635 and was buried at La Have. The location of his grave is unknown, but a marker honors his remains in the fort graveyard where he was assuredly buried.

The King appointed Razilly’s brother, Claude, as the new governor of Acadia, who appointed his cousin, Charles Menou d’Aulnay as his lieutenant to actually run Acadia. D’Aulnay had been actively working in Acadia with Isaac de Razilly since 1632 and was familiar with the culture, terrain and what needed to be done to accomplish the settlement and trade goals.

D’Aulnay moved the existing colonists to Port Royal around 1636 and built a new fort in what is now Port Royal by 1643. He also sent for another 20 additional families, although we don’t know who they were.

Now we’re up to maybe 32-35 families.

By 1636, Francois Savoie would have been 15, still far too young to marry. Unless Francois arrived as an orphan laborer, or with his family, he probably didn’t leave France until he was at least 20 or 21, or older, and then likely with a contract, as most of the men who sailed from La Rochelle had.

Francoise wouldn’t have been 21 until 1642ish.

Acadian Civil War

Two opposing forces were dueling for control of Acadia, Razilly with Charles Menou d’Aulnay on one side, and Charles La Tour on the other. Both men held a similar commission for different portions of Acadia.

In 1640, La Tour attacked Port Royal, followed by d’Aulnay blockading La Tour’s fort at the mouth of the St. John River for five months.

Their arguments and naval battles escalated in 1641 and 1642, and the English, seeing an opportunity as well, became involved.

In 1642, Razilly’s brother, by then the owner of Port Royal, La Heve and Ile de Sable, sold his interest in the fledgling Acadia to Charles Menou d’Aulnay.

In May of 1642, d’Aulnay signed agreements with La Rochelle merchant-banker, Emmanuel Le Borgne to supply him with a ship and to finance the colony. He promptly moved the seat of Acadia from La Hève, now LaHave, to Port Royal.

In 1645, La Tour was absent from his fort, located across the bay at the mouth of the St. John River, and d’Aulnay attacked. La Tour’s young wife, Françoise Marie Jacquelin, only 23, directed the defense of the fort. Realizing it was a lost cause, she accepted terms of surrender that promised life and liberty to La Tour’s garrison. She agreed, but d’Aulnay immediately broke his promise and hanged every soldier of the garrison, forcing Madame La Tour to witness their executions with a rope tied around her own neck. She died three weeks later of unknown causes, with Charles La Tour having taken refuge in Quebec.

If anyone was a heroine in this tale, it’s Françoise Marie Jacquelin aka Madame La Tour.

With La Tour out of the way, having been defeated and now in Quebec, d’Aulnay received a commission in 1647 and was appointed both Governor and Lieutenant-General of Acadia.

By now, Francois Savoie would have been about 25 or 26, and was likely in Acadia. It’s probable that he arrived with d’Aulnay in 1642 with his new ship and a crew of workers.

In 1650, d’Aulnay drowned in a boating accident, falling into the frigid waters of Port Royal basin, and La Tour immediately leaped at this opportunity to seize control of Acadia.

Are you sitting down?

In 1653, Charles La Tour married d’Aulnay’s widow, Jeanne Motin, in order to bring peace to Acadia and end the years of warfare.

I bet both Madame La Tour, who had died defending her husband’s fort from d’Aulnay, and d’Aulnay who drowned hating La Tour, rolled over in their respective graves! Yet, for Acadia, this is probably exactly what was needed. The infighting between warring French factions was not sustainable and threatened the very existence of Acadia.

The Acadian families had to be very relieved to finally have peace and not be constantly on edge, expecting an attack at any moment.

The Early Years

For Francois Savoie, the years before his marriage are murky.

• In 1636, when the Acadia families were moved from La Have to Port Royal, Francois would have been about 15.
• In 1642, when d’Aulnay was known to bring many settlers, families and workers, and moved the seat of Acadia to Port Royal, Francois would have been about 21.
• In 1645, when La Tour fled to Quebec, Francois would have been about 24.
• In 1650, when d’Aulnay died, Francois would have been about 29.

Based upon the 1671 census, we know that Francois was married to Catherine LeJeune by 1651 or 1652, given that they had a daughter born in 1653. Of course, it’s possible that they were married earlier, and any children born before 1653 perished.

Catherine was born about 1633, so marriage about 1650 or 1651 is reasonable. Acadian brides often married early, so she could have married as early as 1648 or 1649.

The couple likely married in Port Royal, although it’s remotely possible that they married in France. That’s improbable, though, because Catherine LeJeune had a sister in Acadia and possibly a brother who had definitive ties to La Heve. The most likely scenario is that both LeJeune sisters arrived with their parents in Acadia before 1636 when the Acadian families were moved to Port Royal, and married French men who arrived either as craftsmen, laborers, or soldiers.

The original employment contracts, typically signed in La Rochelle before embarking, lasted for three years, and the man could not marry until his contractual obligation was fulfilled. If Francois arrived in 1646 or 1647, and completed his contract, he would have been free to marry in 1649 or 1650.

These puzzle pieces fit.

Windows of Opportunity

This brings us to windows of opportunity.

French families didn’t have the opportunity to settle in Acadia for the entire time between 1632, when the first French families arrived, and 1755, when the Grande Derangement, the horrible expulsion, occurred.

For the first few years, from 1632 to about 1635, the seat of Acadia was at La Heve. In 1635 or 1636, d’Aulnay moved it to Port Royal where the settlers began building their signature dykes to reclaim the salt marshes along the Riviere Dauphin.

For the next few years, d’Aulnay and Charles de la Tour battled for control of Acadia.

We get a small hint at the size of Port Royal based on La Tour’s 1643 attack wherein he chased d’Aulnay back to Port Royal. Three of d’Aulnay’s men were killed and seven injured. The fort was defended by 20 soldiers. La Tour burned the mill, killed the settlers’ livestock, stole furs, gunpowder, and other supplies.

This may have been before Francois arrived, but we don’t really know.

From 1636 to 1654, French families arrived in Port Royal, as did laborers and soldiers from time to time.

Francois’s wife, Catherine LeJeune, who was born about 1633 was assuredly born in France, so it stands to reason that her parents brought her and her sister, but died before the 1671 census. Catherine’s older sister, Edmee LeJeune, was born about 1624 and married an Acadian man, Francois Gautrot, about 1644. Catherine LeJeune married Francois Savoie before 1650. They were assuredly in Port Royal before 1650, because Gautrot later signed a document attesting to d’Aulnay’s achievements before his death.

By 1650, Francois Savoie was about 30 years old – a traditional marriage age for French males.

We know unquestionably that Francois and Catherine were in Acadia before July of 1654, when the English attacked and retook Acadia.

The English captured both the fort and the town, and the window of opportunity for French settlement closed for the next 16 years.

In 1654, Francois and Catherine had at least one and possibly two children, assuming older children hadn’t died prior to the 1671 census.

Francois, then about 33, would have been defending the fort in Port Royal that fateful day in 1654. While he probably wasn’t a soldier, an attack would have been an “all hands on deck” event.

According to Robert Sedgwick, who led the English soldiers, there were about 130 Frenchmen who put up resistance, as best they could. There were more than twice as many English soldiers, all of whom had more experience.

The French soldiers reportedly “took their heels to ye Fort” where they surrendered on August 16^th. Sedgewick treated the soldiers decently and with honor – paying their wages in pelts, a surprisingly generous gesture, and transported them back to France.

Francois was a married settler with a family, not a soldier, so he stayed in Acadia.

Port Royal was still small with about 270 residents as estimated by Nicolas Denys, a prisoner held at Port Royal who did us the favor of penning this description in 1653:

“There are numbers of meadows on both shores, and two islands which possess meadows, and which are 3 or 4 leagues from the fort in ascending. There is a great extent of meadows which the sea used to cover, and which the Sieur d’Aulnay had drained. It bears now fine and good wheat, and since the English have been masters of the country, the residents who were lodged near the fort have for the most part abandoned there houses and have gone to settle on the upper part of the river. They have made their clearings below and above this great meadow, which belongs at present to Madame de La Tour. There they have again drained other lands which bear wheat in much greater abundance than those which they cultivated round the fort, good though those were. All the inhabitants there are the ones whome Monsieur le Commandeur de Razilly had brought from France to La Have; since that time they have multiplied much at Port Royal, where they have a great number of cattle and swine.”

Please note the critically important comment about “All the inhabitants there” having arrived with Razilly. This probably includes the LeJeune sisters’ parents and possibly even Francois Savoie’s parents. If Francois Savoie arrived with his parents and any siblings, there is no record of them having survived.

A league is about 3 nautical miles, which is equivalent to about 3.4 miles. So 3 or 4 leagues would be 10 to 13 miles, but I’m not clear exactly what “ascending” means in this context. Based on what I know about the settlers, I’d guess that it means upstream or above the fort, but some families settled below the fort

There’s a LOT of information packed in here.

Denys also recorded that Robert Sedgewick of Boston had been ordered by Robert Cromwell to attack New Holland (New York). As he got ready, a peace treaty was signed between the English and the Dutch. Since he was “all dressed up with nowhere to go,” he attacked Acadia in August 1654 and destroyed most of the settlements (even though it was peacetime)…including Port Royal, La Have, and the Saint John River.

The Acadian settlers were allowed to remain, retain their land and belongings, and could worship as they saw fit. Sedgwick left the area, but appointed an Acadian council with Guillaume Trahan in charge.

Acadia was now back under English rule and would remain so until being returned, again, to the French in 1667. In 1668, Marillon du Bourg arrived from France, and took physical possession of Acadia.

Bourg’s son became provisional Governor and Lieutenant-General of Acadia, and married the eldest daughter of La Tour and d’Aulnay’s widow. Are you keeping all this straight?

From 1654 until 1670, there was no additional French settlement, and, according to Denys in 1653:

• All the inhabitants…are the ones whome Razille had brought from France to La Have; since that time they have multiplied much at Port Royal
• The residents who were lodged near the fort have, for the most part, abandoned their houses and have gone to settle on the upper part of the river.
• They have made their clearings below and above this great meadow, which belongs at present to Madame de La Tour. (The great meadow is BelleIsle. When Denys wrote this, Madame de La Tour is Jeanne Motin, d’Aulnay’s widow.)
• If Denys was right, and the population was about 270 in 1653, and each family had 5 children, or 7 people total, that would be 38 or 39 families. Fewer children, on average would mean more families, and more children would mean less families.

Founder Families

It was reported that there were 34 families that chose to remain in Acadie after the destruction and capitulation of Port-Royal in 1654. That equals about 8 people per family, which sounds about right based on a relatively low infant mortality rate compared with Europe.

After France regained control of Acadia, another 30 soldiers and 60 settlers arrived between 1668 and 1670. Their orders were to restore French authority and keep the English out.

In 1670, a new governor finally arrived and ordered a census, thankfully! Otherwise, we would have no idea who lived in Acadia. Fortunately, the wives were recorded using their birth surnames, which allows us to begin piecing the families together.

While 1670 seems early, keep in mind that the first families has arrived nearly 40 years earlier, and between 1654 and 1670, there was no new French settlement.

In 1671, Acadia had roughly 67 families and about 400 French/French Acadian people, not counting Native people or French men living among the Native people or the people who refused to answer. By comparison, Massachusetts had about 40,000 residents.

Compared to 1654, Acadia hadn’t grown much. 34 families in 1654 and 67 in 1671 means that the number of families had nearly doubled. If you subtract out the 60 new settlers, assuming that was 30 couples, you have just about the same number of founder families that were there in 1654, which makes perfect sense. Of course, some had died, but others had married and set up housekeeping. Apparently only about one new couple married and was recorded in the census for each household that was “gone” since 1654. I would have expected more.

Francois Savoie and Catherine LeJeune were one of the founder families, living in Port Royal and, as a young married couple, were eyewitnesses to the 1654 depredations.

One way we can identify a founder family is if they:

1. Had married an Acadian surname spouse
2. Who had married siblings or parents who were also in the census
3. Indicating that they had already been living there before 1667/1671

That’s certainly the case with Francois Savoie and Catherine LeJeune.

The first person reported to have been born in Acadia, Mathieu Martin, was born about 1635 or 1636, so anyone born before that was unquestionably born in France. Mathieu was 35 in the 1671 census, although ages in censuses aren’t always accurate.

• Anyone born after 1635 and before 1654 may have been born in Acadia.
• Anyone born between 1654 and 1668 was assuredly born in Acadia…
• Unless their family arrived between 1668 and the 1671 census.

When the residence consists of multiple people from the same family, often we can infer when couples married.

In the spring of 1671, more than 50 new colonists left La Rochelle aboard the ship, l’Oranger, bound for Port Royal. Some French soldiers stayed in Acadia and became settlers, and some settlers arrived from other places in New France (Canada). These new arrivals are found on later censuses.

Caught in the middle between two powers, England and France, the Acadians were often subject to attack. It may be important to note that they maintained trading relations with people in New England, even though it was forbidden. Eighty-five years later, in 1755, long-established family and trade relationships may have helped save some of them.

The 1671 Census

Thankfully, the new French governor requested a census which provides us with the first even somewhat comprehensive view of Acadia, although some areas were missed.

The official census of 1671 recorded 392 people, mostly in and near Port Royal. Scholars estimate the real count was probably someplace around 500. These were divided into 68 households, of which 33 were founder families. I did not include second-generation children who have married in that number, if the parents are living.

In order to do this comparison, I created a spreadsheet that lists, in census order:

• Both spouses
• Their ages in the 1671 census
• Their birth location if it can be determined based on when they were born or what is known about them. For example, anyone born before 1635 or 1636 was unquestionably born in France.
• The number of children
• The calculated marriage year
• Arpents of land under cultivation
• Occupation
• Living location in 1671 if I can figure it out based on many other documents and sources.
• Other commentary
• Founder status – meaning the first families who arrived before 1654
• English/Irish – not French
• 1667-1670 arrivals

This is an example snapshot of the first three families in the 1671 census spreadsheet to give you an idea of what I’m doing.

The neighbors in a census tell us essentially where people live. Of course, the census taker may not have traveled in a “straight line,” and in Acadia was as likely as not to canoe back and forth across the river. I plan to publish this spreadsheet soon, but that’s a challenge because it’s not small and it’s color-coded.

If you just rolled your eyes in exasperation, I FULLY understand.

In 1671, we find the following families listed in this order on either side of Francois Savoie:

• Jehan Blanchard, 60, wife Radegonde Lambert, 42, and family with 5 arpents of land. (Possibly lived in Port Royal beside the Fort in 1671 – land expropriated in 1703-1705 when the new fort was built.)
• Widow of Francois Guerin, 26, and family with 6 arpents of land. (The widow was Anne Blanchard.)
• Michel Dupont (Dupuis), 37, wife Marie Gautrot, 24, and family with 6 arpents of land. (The father of the Gautrot sisters, Francois, had owned a lot beside the fort in Port Royal.)
• Claude Terriau, 34, wife Marie Gautrot, 24, and family with 6 arpents of land (Lives at BelleIsle eventually.)
• Germain Terriau, 25, wife Andree Brun, 25, and child, with 2 arpents of land
• Jehan Terriau, 70, wife Perrine Rau, 60, and family, with 5 arpents of land. (Original founder family at Port Royal, may have still lived there or at BelleIsle.)
• Francois Savoie is listed as Francois Scavois, a farmer (plowman), age 50, with his wife, Catherine LeJeune, age 38. Their children are listed as one married daughter, Francoise, 18, and then unmarried children; Germain, 16, Marie, 14, Jeanne, 13, Catherine, 9, Francois, 8, Barnabe, 5, Andree, 4, and Marie, one and a half. They have 4 cattle and are farming 6 arpents of land. (Son Germain is living in the BelleIsle Marsh by 1707. White says that Francois received land at BelleIsle by 1679. That brackets Francois Savoie’s death between 1679-1686.)
• Jehan Corporon, a farmer, age 25, his wife Francoise Scavois, 18, and one child, a daughter, 6 weeks of age and not yet named. They have one “cattle,” which is probably a cow, 1 sheep, and have no cultivated land. The livestock is probably her dowry. Livestock, location and no land strongly suggests they are living in a separate house on her father’s land, which means it’s probably not in Port Royal where the English have inhabited since 1654.
• Pierre Martin, 70, wife Catherine Vigneau, 68, and family on 2 arpents of land. (An original family, probably living in Port Royal because on August 9, 1679, Alexandre Le Borgne de Bélisle (after whom BelleIsle was named) in the name of Emmanuel Le Borgne Du Coudray, seigneur, for part of Acadia, granted to Pierre Martin and his son Mathieu “a parcel of land and a meadow, near Port-Royal, bounded to the east by the great meadow, to the west by the Dormanchin Brook, to the south by the Dauphin River, and to the north by the mountain”. In 1707, Renee Martin is living near BelleIsle.)
• Francois Pelerin, 35, wife Andree Martin, 30, and family on 1 arpent of land. (The Pellerin family lived at Port Royal near the fort and Hogg Island. Etienne Pellerin owned Hogg Island in Port Royal, having purchased it from Jacques Bourgeois at some point, got swindled out of it by Brouillan in the early 1700s, but eventually got it back.)
• Pierre Morin, 37, wife Marie Martin, 35, and family on 1 arpent of land (Moved to Beaubassin before 1682, possibly as early as 1672 with Jacques Bourgeois.)
• Matthieu Martin, 35, weaver, unmarried with livestock but no land (Reportedly the first child of French parents born in Acadia. His father, Pierre Martin received land in 1679, but that doesn’t mean they weren’t already living on that land in 1671. D’Aulnay had reportedly had BelleIsle dyked.)
• Vincent Brun, 60, wife Renee Brode, and family on 5 arpents of land (Brun family eventually lived on the north side of the River between Port Royal and BelleIsle.)
• Francois Gautrot, 58, wife Edmee LeJeune, 47, and family on 6 arpents of land. (Owned a lot adjoining the side of the fort in Port Royal – expropriated in 1703-1705 for new fort)
• Guillaume Trahan, 60, Madelaine Brun, 25, and family on 5 arpents of land. (Owned a lot adjoining the fort in Port Royal – expropriated in 1703-1705 for new fort)

Where was Francois Savoie Living in 1671?

Cousin Mark directed me to see White’s, “A Closer Look at Some of the Records“, on Lucie LeBlanc Consentino’s site, where White says:

Jean Lejeune was one of the early settlers of Acadia. This is known from the fact that his heirs received one of the early land grants at Port-Royal. This grant is mentioned in the “Schedule of the Seigniorial Rents” that was drawn up in 1734, after the British Crown had purchased the seigneurial rights in that area (Public Record Office, Colonial Office records, series 217, Vol. VII, fol. 90-91). The rents list shows the names of the first grantees of each parcel of land, as well as the names of those who were in possession in 1734. In some cases it is obvious that the latter belonged to the same family as the former, but in the case of the parcel allotted to Jean Lejeune’s heirs it is just as apparent that the tenancy had been sold. No record of the original grant has survived, but there are indications that it had been made early in the colony’s history. It is enrolled along with grants that were made to Barnabé Martin and François Savoie. Both of these men were dead by the time of the 1686 census, so the grants must have been made before then. What’s more, Jean Lejeune had likely been dead for quite some time by 1686, because this grant could have dated back to any time after the retrocession of Acadia to the French in 1670 pursuant to the Treaty of Breda.

Clearly Jean LeJeune was deceased before the 1671 census and this document places both Francois Savoie and Jean LeJeune, probably his father-in-law or maybe brother-in-law together.

We know, beyond a doubt that Francois Savoie’s son, Germain Savoie, born about 1654, lived at BelleIsle because his name appears on multiple censuses and maps between other residents who lived in the village at BelleIsle. We don’t know whether he was born there or later moved there. Germain’s wife was a daughter of Vincent Breau (Brun, Brot, Breaux, Brault, Beraud) whose family also lived along the river and was a near neighbor to Francois Savoie in 1671.

BelleIsle, according to MapAnnapolis, took its name from Alexandre LeBorgne, Sieur de Belle-Isle. He was born at La Rochelle in France in 1643.

Emmanuel LeBorgne, his father, took possession of the estates of Governer d’Aulnay after his death in 1650. This included a large marsh containing more than 1500 acres which then took his name. D’Aulnay had already dyked the marsh. Emmanuel entrusted this land to his son, Alexandre in 1668, when Alexander became governor of the colony.

We don’t know a lot about what happened between 1670 and 1693, although we do know BelleIsle granted some land in 1679 through a deed of concession.

Given that we know that d’Aulnay had the land dyked, it’s inconceivable that it was simply sitting there, going to waste, uncultivated.

How I wish we had a 1671 map!

The 1686 Map

We do have a 1686 map, but its purpose was to show Port Royal in a positive light, where houses are located and “Where a considerabley town can be built.” Homes near Port Royal and on the road south headed out of Port Royal, are included (marked 17 houses, below) in the detailed drawing. I’ve used the legend to label landmarks.

There are 2 houses on Hogg Island, Le Bourg and the Governor’s house, plus 14 or 15 buildings in Port Royal along the waterfront. Some of these structures are assuredly stables and some may be warehouses. The house by the church may well be the Priest’s rectory.

On the 1686 census, taken the year this may was drawn, there are three more men listed with Le Bourg at the beginning on the census that were officers and would have lived in Port Royal.

• Michel Boudro – Lieutenant General of Port Royal
• Philip Mius – Royal Prosecutor
• Claude Petitpas – Clerk of Court

These men would have lived very close to the fort, the center of business.

Based on the seven expropriations in 1701-1705, we know that the lots closest to the fort were where the following families lived or had lived:

• Jehan Blanchard
• Francois Gautrot (husband of Edmee LeJeune)
• Guillaume Trahan
• Michel Boudrot – above
• Jehan LaBat
• Antoine Bellevieu
• Abraham Dugas – armoreur

Additionally, two younger families, based on their occupations and no arpents fo land, would probably have been living very near the fort

• Jean Pitre – edge tool maker
• Pierre Sire (Cyr) – gunmaker

That accounts for almost all of the houses, if not all of them, located along the waterfront.

Other families in 1686 would have lived in the 17 houses that are located up Allain’s Creek, noted as the Cape on the map. You can also see the fields sketched along the Cape Road.

Based on this 1686 map, photographed at the O’Dell House Museum, we know families were living across the Riviere Dauphin from the Fort, and further east on both sides of the river as well.

Based on the 1671 census, there aren’t have enough houses to accommodate all of the families in or near Port Royal, so we know unquestionably that some people were living along the river, even without Denys’s 1653 journal entry saying many families had moved upriver.

The 1686 census shows 95 families, and only a total of 29 or 30 structures in Port Royal, and several of those aren’t for Acadian families. The Governor isn’t included in the census. Therefore, we know that the majority of the Acadian families are living along the river, on the reclaimed marshes. Many had moved there prior to 1654.

It’s not surprising that we’re confused today, trying to figure out who lived where – at BelleIsle or anyplace along the river, and when. Let’s just say that, complicating things further, Alexandre LeBorgne, Sieur de Belle-Isle, wasn’t of the highest repute.

The Dictionary of Canadian Biography tells us that:

A number of reports from governors of Acadia allow us to infer a good deal about Belle-Isle’s conduct and character. Grandfontaine had tried to limit his powers. According to Perrot, Belle-Isle was addicted to wine. When drunk he was capable of granting the same piece of land to several settlers at once, which could not but cause the farmers considerable vexation. Des Friches* de Meneval had gone so far as to put him in prison for a few days in November 1689, because of irregularities of this nature. Joseph Robinau de Villebon wrote in 1699 that former settlers had told him that Belle-Isle had withdrawn from the records all documents which might incriminate him. Finally Villebon was also convinced that Belle-Isle had not fulfilled his seigneurial duty, which was to see to the development of his lands.

Wonderful! Just peachy! Who doesn’t need a scoundrel plot twist!

The Village of BelleIsle

Over time, the village of BelleIsle grew to have around 30 families with a population of around 165 people. The parish of Saint-Laurent was founded here as a chapel of the parish at Port Royal.

Oral history tells us that Pierre Martin planted the first apples in Nova Scotia at BelleIsle.

Mapannapolis, one of my favorite resources, reconstructs the original homes and villages from compiling various documents and records.

 

The village of BelleIsle is shown on early maps, like this one in 1710. We know that BelleIsle is the location of d’Aulnay’s 1500 acre drained swamp. In fact, BelleIsle is one of the area’s most productive farm areas.

Francois Savoie’s Location

So, after all this, you’re probably wondering where Francois Savois was living in 1671.

First, we’ll probably never know for sure, but based on his neighbors, the fact that we know he had land at BelleIsle by 1679, and so did his elderly neighbor, Pierre Martin, I think he was living at BelleIsle and had been since before 1654. Since d’Aulnay originally had it drained, I’m guessing that Francoise may well have been one of those doing the draining, as was Pierre Martin and his sons. Jean LeJeune lived there too, and may have been the father of the LeJeune girls. They probably lived there too.

It’s also worth noting that neither Francois Savoie nor Pierre Martin had land expropriated near the fort, so they probably never settled in Port Royal proper, which makes me suspect that they started out upriver, or settled there very shortly thereafter. Other known BelleIsle families, such as Brun and Godet (Gaudet) also don’t have land near the fort, so the story of these BelleIsle families tracks similarly.

This brings me to the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center and the next chapter in our journey. Visiting the Savoie land.

The BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center

Jennifer and Charlie Thibodeau have breathed life into the Acadian culture and the lives of Acadian ancestors. Our Savoie ancestors, in particular, because the Center sits on Savoie land.

Behind the Center, with its colorful Acadian-theme roof, lies the lush Savoie land, along with the rest of BelleIsle village, between the Center and the Annapolis River.

A few years ago, Charlie and Jennifer Thibodeau purchased a run-down but much-loved “Hall,” which means a small community center, located on Little Brook Lane, just off of Evangeline Trail, the road running east from Port Royal, now Annapolis Royal, along the North side of the River.

The Hall had been purchased by a Savoie family member many years earlier to save it, but it needed a LOT of work.

Enter Charlie and Jennifer.

Seriously, this is where they started 5 years ago. Today, their dream, created with their own two hands, is beautiful, homey and welcoming to everyone.

You can see the sweat equity that Charlie and Jennifer have invested to restore the building so they can host and welcome returning Acadian descendants, and steward the Acadian culture and lands. More specifically, and magically, the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center stands on Savoie land and in many ways, is a living history museum.

In August of 2024, I met up with my wonderful cousins Mark and Manny in Annapolis Royal, and we just kind of wandered into the Hall.

When I first pulled up, I didn’t know what to expect.

They were obviously quite busy at the Hall.

Even though they were getting ready to host the Broussard Family Reunion, Charlie and Jennifer immediately made us feel welcome.

I had emailed Charlie, who goes by the Acadian Peasant, and I knew they were going to be busy because the Acadian World Congress, an every-five-year event, was taking place across Nova Scotia while we were visiting. I just didn’t realize HOW busy!

Several families were hosting family reunions for all returning members, even those they had never met before, at the Center.

I saw what I learned was an Acadian oven beside the building, and Charlie was sweating, cooking something in the oven and trying to fix something else at the same time. Seriously!

I later discovered that Charlie had constructed this oven in true Acadian fashion, with his own hands.

I got out of the car and was pretty hesitant, because people were milling around outside.

I wasn’t sure who he was, but Charlie introduced himself and said, “Hi, come on in.” I didn’t want to be a pain, so I asked about the event taking place – which looked kind of like a picnic.

He told me it was the Broussard family reunion. I apologized and told him I have Broussard ancestors, but didn’t realize they were having a reunion, and  I’d gladly come back another time.

He said, “That’s fine – you’re family – come on in.” I didn’t have to be asked a third time.

I wasn’t sure exactly what the Center was. Let me try to describe it. It’s one large room, a small hall, full of love, good cheer, artifacts, history, and more. It’s sort of an Acadian welcome center. You can sit at the table or the couch and there’s a quilt or afghan, just like there used to be at home.

I stopped by on several days while I was in the area, including for Charlie’s birthday party, and met long-lost cousins every day that I was there. It’s like the family I never had – or never knew I had.

We had all gravitated back “home” and found our way here.

I knew I had found my way “home” when I saw their tray of rocks that had been collected in the area.

I looked around for a few minutes, then offered to return when they weren’t so busy, especially since Charlie was talking to another couple. When Cousin Mark and I overheard the discussion about the Savoie family, our ears perked up.

We didn’t mean to butt in, but joined in the conversation peripherally. Charlie offered to take the other people to “see the Savoie homestead.” I’m often rather shy, believe it or not, but this time, I just blurted right out, “We’re Savoies too. Would you mind if we tagged along?” I actually couldn’t believe I did that. Then I roped Mark and my other cousin in too – “you want to go too, don’t you?” Of COURSE they did!

Both Charlie and the couples were very gracious and allowed us to join the merry band. Poor Cousin Mark had on shorts and sandals, but he wasn’t missing it for the world either.

So, off we went. On a spontaneous great adventure.

When we left, I had no idea what I was getting myself into. In more ways than one.

Come on – you’re going with me!

BelleIsle Marsh and the Savoie Land

We formed a small parade. Three or four vehicles driving down a little dirt road that turned into a two-track between walls of swamp grass so high we couldn’t see over it.

On both sides.

It was bright and sunny, not to mention beastly hot – and I marveled at how anyone could live in this kind of terrain.

We drove as far as we could, then simply stopped, although the little path we were driving on continued, but was increasingly overgrown. We were near what was clearly the end of the “road.” We got out of the vehicles and began to walk, near the red arrow.

Of course, that day, I had no idea where we were – at all. No map and probably no cell coverage. I was just following Charlie.

A sign warned us about ticks and snakes and such. Snakes and other wildlife don’t bother me one bit, but ticks are another matter altogether.

Mark is one brave man, heading into the swamp in shorts, but that just goes to show the dedication of a genealogist. We didn’t come this far to not visit their land. We had stumbled upon a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity – and we were going.

First, we saw some apple trees. Acadians are famous for their apples and orchards. The original Acadians may have been displaced, but their apple and other fruit trees remain yet today.

I didn’t yet know that Mathieu Martin was supposed to have planted the first apple trees. The Martins and Savoies were neighbors at BelleIsle.

I could see the green apples bobbing from the tree branches, sunning themselves. It’s too bad they weren’t ripe. I would love to have tasted one. These trees are abandoned, reclaimed by Mother Nature, today.

If you look closely, you can see little rivulets running through the marsh towards the river that you can’t see in the distance.

The marsh is truly lush, green and beautiful.

I could feel them there.

It’s almost like I could touch them.

As we continued to walk, we caught a glimpse of a working field. Their field.

The foliage was a lot like it was where I grew up. Ferns, ragweed, scrub trees giving way to larger trees. It felt familiar.

We pressed deeper into the marsh, following what was probably a small animal trail beside the cane. Yes, the insects were beastly.

As if to remind us that we really weren’t the only humans ever to set foot here, a small makeshift bridge appeared. It’s a good thing too, because we were sinking more with every step.

Francois Savoie and his family probably had bridges like this, but hewn from trees, or maybe just felled trees. The kids probably ran across and jumped off.

We tread carefully.

I can’t even begin to imagine how miserably hot they would have been clearing this land with nothing but hand tools, and if they were lucky, maybe an ox.

While these trees are much too young to be “their” trees, it probably looked much like what Francois Savoie cleared at BelleIsle.

We had walked quite a way when the terrain began to get a little more difficult. How difficult can flat swampland get, you ask?

It wasn’t flat.

I didn’t realize that we had begun to climb the dykes that kept the saltwater out to protect their fields.

Acadian earthen dykes with sluices, called aboiteau, reclaimed the marshland. They allowed the fresh water to escape through drains into the river, but sealed with a type of hinged door clapper valve to prevent the salt water from backflowing and entering at high tide.

We were walking on Savoie dykes, but all the Acadian families would have helped everyone maintain their dykes. Many hands make light work.

Marshland was giving way to bushes and woodlands.

You can see that these dykes are the height of small houses. Amazingly, they still work, which speaks to the qualify of the Acadian workmanship.

Thankfully, Charlie knew exactly what he was doing and helped us along.

We had climbed the dyke, and now we were walking on top of it, looking down into the swamp. Just like Francois would have done as he kept his eye on things.

I was beginning to wonder how much further to get to their homestead. Or, at least, where it had been. How on earth had they ever gotten here?

The people in the front of the group stepped into a small clearing, and Charlie announced, “We’re here.”

Charlie explained that back in the 1980s there had been an archaeological dig, followed by another one 20 years ago, or so, and that this, as in right here where we were standing, was the first homestead site.

This is sacred land to me.

This is the second homestead foundation, beneath the overgrowth now.

There were actually three homesteads excavated, which isn’t surprising in the least.

We know a small village formed here, because it’s shown on the 1710 contemporaneous map – exactly where we were standing. There were also clearly more than three homesteads.

As your children married, they just built a small home a few feet away and everyone simply continued doing what needed to be done.

We can see that pattern in the census.

I asked Charlie how he knew EXACTLY where these homesteads were located, and he explained that about 20 years ago, during the second dig, three homesteads had been located. This plaque was nailed to the tree to mark the location.

Of COURSE I needed a picture.

But then, I returned to the mesmerizing fascination of the homesites. My family had stood in this very same place, for decades, beginning about least 375 years ago and continuing for the next century – another 4 or 5 generations.

They stood here, lived here, loved here, were born here, and yes, died here.

Tears of joy and grief. Lives filled with love and sunshine, but also fear, disaster, and finally, removal.

Blessed life given here, but also stolen away.

Charlie located the third homesite. The poison ivy and other vegetation takes over quickly, so he had marked the location previously with orange tape.

He mentioned that he had never been able to find the well, though.

You may or may not remember that I was very active some years back with many Lost Colony archaeology digs.

I know that in situations where homes are clustered together, there is one well, and it’s generally located in the center of the houses – for both convenience, safety, and the ability to protect your water source. That’s the same pattern in every European village too, both before the Acadians immigrated, and after their descendants found themselves back in France in the 1760s.

Voila! Here it is. Here’s the Savoie village well.

I was using my foot to dig into the vegetation, looking for telltale rocks. Foundations sometimes tend to sink, or be scattered, but wells don’t as much because the hand-placed rock casing often reaches many feet beneath the ground, giving support and structure to the rocks above the ground level of the well.

Normally, those casings stand about 3 or 4 feet off the ground and protect the well from runoff and contamination. Usually there is a flat surface on the top to sit buckets and such, like this Acadian well at Grand Pre.

When well casings fall, after abandonment, they tend to fall either into the well, or around the well in a circle, or both. The scatter is generally between 3 and 5 feet across, unless it’s a VERY large well. Of course, wells can vary widely by size.

The collapsed well, above, is the Lore well just down the road, which collapsed into itself. Charlie found this well and was kind enough to show me.

Charlie was surprised that I had located the Savoie well again, took a look, and said, “Yep, sure is. How’d you find it?” I explained that I looked for rocks in a circular pattern, just beneath the soil, in the middle of the three homestead locations. I knew they had originally found the well, and we knew where they dug. Several wells had been found on earlier digs that I had participated in elsewhere, too. So I knew it had to be close by.

But there’s more to wells than meets the eye.

Wells are the life-givers.

I have always felt that wells and springs have to do with the sacred. You can’t live without water. You can live a lot longer without food than water.

In ancient times, wells and springs were considered to have spirits, and were blessed. People have dowsed for water for time immemorial and still do today. I grew up doing that. Humans are more tied to water than anything else in nature.

Maybe finding the well again was a wink and a nod from my ancestors. After all, were it not for this well, these Acadian wells, I wouldn’t be here today. This well nourished my ancestors for generations. Part of them remains in me today – and wouldn’t be without this well.

I realized that while I was communing with my ancestors, everyone else was just being very patient and waiting over by the trees.

I couldn’t help it – I can’t even begin to explain the energy and etherial connection I feel on their lands.

It’s like they are welcoming me home in a very real, absolutely timeless, way.

Had several people not been patiently waiting for me, I would have talked to the ancestors. I might or might not have whispered.😊

Sadly, it was time to go.

We left by walking on the top of the Savoie dyke again. I realized I was literally walking on their handiwork – and that it had survived for about 375 years, given that d’Aulnay had this land dyked before his death in 1650.

The Acadian founders, elderly, or many deceased by the 1671 census, would have worked together and then settled on this sundrenched plateau, smelling of sun, water, and wheat. They built their homes, dug their wells, and raised their children here. Clustered together for safety. My ancestors – several of them.

Planting the seeds of our family.

Perhaps Francois Savoie and Catherine LeJeune courted under the subshine here, holding hands as they walked along the dykes. Young love wouldn’t even notice the mosquitoes or oppressive heat!

It looked much the same walking out, but it felt different. So very different.

I had been transported into the past. My ancestors had welcomed us, spoken, and shared with us the sacred.

I needed to bring myself back to the present.

We reached the road, such as it was, once again, checked outselves for ticks, and headed for the cars. Mark probably thought I was awfully quiet on our drive back to the Center.

And Charlie – poor Charlie. Between the reunion, baking something in the hot oven, fixing whatever had been broken that caused him to crawl around on the ground, the unexpected Savoie visitors, me, Mark and Manny crashing the party, and the unplanned hike back to the Savoie homesteads – Charlie looked like like he desperately needed a VERY large, icy cold drink and some rest.

You will not find a more dedicated man – absolutely committed to our Acadian history and ancestors. Finding their homes and what physically remains of the original culture and their lives. Trying to stitch it all together to preserve for future generations – before it disappears beyond recovery.

That’s Charlie.

Rappie Pie!

Back at the Center, Jennifer had Rappie Pie waiting for us.

Rappie Pie isn’t a dessert and isn’t sweet. It’s a main dish made with shredded or grated potatoes, chicken, onions, and a few other ingredients. It takes all day, or maybe even two days, to make.

Rappie Pie is a traditional, or maybe THE traditional, Acadian dish. I can’t even begin to explain it, so I’m just linking here. I will also say that Rappie Pie can vary widely, and Jennifer’s was just HEAVEN. Other Rappie Pie, not so much after feasting on hers. I would have asked for the recipe, but I truly know that I would never take the full day to make a pan – and you can’t make just a little bit.

Although maybe I should try.

There are only two places you can get Rappie Pie now. In Nova Scotia and in Louisiana – Cajun country.

I’m so homesick for Nova Scotia. I feel them calling again.

Artifacts

You’re probably asking yourself about artifacts from the digs.

Back at the Hall, one of the things that Charlie and Jennifer do is to preserve history.

I’m sure I don’t need to explain the use of a copper pot for boiling outside. You can see a butter churn here too. Obviously, the churn did not come out of the dig but was donated by a local family.

Many of the tools that were used by the Acadians were the same tools used by the English, who were given the Acadian lands around 1759 after the English forcibly removed and exiled the Acadians in 1755.

I didn’t realize it at the time, but Charlie and Jennifer had arranged with a museum curator to display some of the smaller artifacts from the Savoie homesteads at the reunions.

These photos are courtesy of Jennifer and Charlie.

The pottery pieces were reproduced so that the originals weren’t in jeopardy.

Inside the Hall, a few more items were on display and welcomed visitors.

These scissors from the dig stole my heart and took my breath away. I know that my ancestors made their clothes, the clothes for their children, who were also my ancestors, and probably bedclothes too. If they made them out of scraps, I’m calling them quilts!

The day was coming to a close. I knew it was time to leave, but I wanted to linger on the bridge between then and now, between them and me. I wasn’t ready to let go.

I had to pass by the Hall on my way to and from the places I was going, so I stopped every couple of days.

My Last Visit

Eventually, I knew it was my last visit.

I wanted to say goodbye to the land of my ancestors, so I slipped out behind the Hall alone.

While the Hall is relatively far from the river, at least as compared to other Acadian homesteads, there’s still a small stream draining the land. Hence the road name, Little Brook Lane.

It’s still sacred Savoie land. Land of so many ancestral families who formed one large family – the BelleIsle Community. Within a generation or two, everyone was related.

Charlie saw me and motioned for me to follow him. “I have something to show you,” he said.

Off we went.

There was yet one more adventure waiting for me.

We walked beside the brook.

I stood, staring into the water, pondering the past, and my umbilical connection to those who lived here, on this very brook. They stood here too.

Charlie had constructed a little bridge..

We crossed the gurgling creek and walked through the woods. I remember thinking that I’d never find my way in, or out, by myself.

I wondered what Charlie had to show me.

Then, the woods opened up into a beautiful, golden field, bathed in the warm sunshine.

“What’s this?” I asked, stunned that this breathtaking gem was hiding behind the Hall all along.

I thought there was only the type of terrain that led to the homesteads.

Charlie paused, gathering himself for a moment.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, lifting his face to the sky.

“It’s an unmarked cemetery.”

“What???,” I whispered. “You’re kidding?!”

Charlie looked off into the distance, and shook his head.

I stood, rooted in place, utterly speechless.

If you’ve ever heard someone say they could feel their ancestor’s presence – that’s exactly what happened.

Time was meaningless, and the veil was thin. I both was and wasn’t there at the same time.

I could feel their smiles that I had come back. Had found them.

Perhaps I was led back.

Perhaps Charlie has been called here, too.

Charlie had erected a cross in the field, an Acadian cross, to mark and honor where they rest.

Charlie clearly heard our ancestors voices.

Thank you, dearest Cousin Charlie, from both me and the ancestors, for everything you and Jennifer do. And for heeding that call.

You are one of a kind. A true unicorn.

To Support the BelleIsle Hall Acadian Cultural Center

The Center receives no funding other than donations and revenue from small items they sell. Their work is critically important. You can find and follow them here on Facebook.

Charlie retrieves wood from fallen trees or branches on the original Acadian homesite land, with the property owners’ permission of course, and crafts crosses to honor our Acadian families. Their religion was an incredibly important part of their lives, even on the literal frontier in the New France – and they were willing to die for the right to worship as Catholics.

I purchased several crosses – one for each of my Acadian families. Ironically, they were out of Savoie, but they have then back in stock now and l need to order one of those.

Here’s my Hebert family cross. It is about 2 inches tall and could be worn as a necklace, but I have mine hanging on a bookcase and on picture frames.

I ordered this stunning print of the Savoie village by Claude Picard, too.

Claude is deceased, but his family donated several prints to the Center (in 3 sizes), along with greeting cards. They depict the Savoie homesites excavated at BelleIsle, but it could just as easily represent any of the Acadian homes along the river.

Charlie and Jennifer had this absolutely AMAZING drone video made to sell as a fundraiser, but as Charlie graciously put it, “it escaped to the internet,” which essentially killed it as a fundraiser for them, before they even had the drone flight paid for.

Now, Charlie and Jennifer have posted it officially on Youtube for all to enjoy. They will still send you a thumb drive with a better quality video for $25. I’m just donating the $25, personally. So many of my family lands are shown here.

Right now, the Center is also having a quilt raffle fundraiser. This quilt was donated by the Savoie family to honor Wilbert Savoie who located the Savoie land decades ago. Wilbert’s daughter bought the original hall, even in its poor condition, in order to preserve it. Charlie and Jennifer purchased the Hall from them and operate on a shoestring.

Tickets for the quilt raffle are $5 each or 3 for $12, and the drawing for the quilt takes place on Acadian Day, August 15^th. I’m going to be sitting here with my fingers crossed.

For tickets or to donate or purchase something, you can contact Jennifer by phone or text at (902) 247-2019, or e-mail at charlieandjennifer@hotmail.com for more information and payment details.

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I wasn’t going to write about Mother’s Day this year, because some Mother’s Days are harder for me than others. And no, I don’t exactly know why.

Grief, even decades later, is still some flavor of grief. Grief ebbs and flows. However, it’s also possible to smile into the face of grief – and that’s where legacies, plural, enter the picture.

Legacies

Everyone has a legacy. Not just one legacy, but a separate legacy in the mind of everyone who knows, or knew, them. We tend to think about legacies in the context of someone who has passed, but in reality, legacies are living, dynamic definitions, and they aren’t just in the past.

The most common time to think about legacies is when we need to write an obituary or prepare for the funeral of someone we love. And it’s also the most difficult time.

I can give you two examples of exactly what I DON’T want for my legacy.

1. I attended a funeral where the best the family could come up with was that the deceased had graduated from high school and had two children. That was literally it. I knew this person well, and let’s just say he struggled. He also had an unspoken legacy that needed to remain unspoken in that setting. Still, I could have contributed something that sounded like I at least tried.
2. An obituary written by the husband of a friend proclaimed that her legacy was that she had once colored the mashed potatoes green for St. Patrick’s Day. That saddened me immensely, because while that may have been true, and funny, I could have provided several examples her kindness and charity work. How she had founded and then became president of a local nonprofit – and how long-suffering and brave she had been in the face of adversity.

Was that REALLY all there was to say about either of those people? Couldn’t someone have come up with something that was both true and more profound? Was there absolutely nothing else about my friend, other than green potatoes, that could be said “in polite company”?

What would these people have said about their own legacy? How would they want to be remembered?

If you had asked them, without pondering or overthinking, to quickly list the three most important things about themselves, their life and their own legacy – what would they have said?

I absolutely guarantee you that it would NOT have been about green potatoes – although if you added another question about something funny, humorous, or that would make people smile – green potatoes might have been included.

A green potatoes equivalent is just not “the thing” I want to be remembered for.

Mom’s Legacy

Mother’s Day caused me to think about my mother’s legacy.

I participated in writing Mom’s obituary (which was finally correct with the THIRD printing) and provided the minister with fodder for Mom’s funeral service, but both of those things are focused on a specific audience. That’s a nice way of saying the information wasn’t “all-inclusive.”

Not to mention, the cumulative memory of others may not be either complete or entirely accurate. Everyone remembers a person within the context of how they knew them. Your family and colleagues will remember your legacy differently.

Obituaries are very limited and generally fit a specific pattern, with little opportunity for customization. Fit your life, as others remember it, into a paragraph. Here’s your template.

Today, many people have no obituary or a funeral as we used to know them.

What is said in obituaries or at funeral services may not be the way the person would have expressed their own legacy, if they had that opportunity.

Get out a piece of paper.

Whether your mother, or the person or people who function in that capacity in your life are living or not, write down the first three things that come to mind when you think of them. No editing. You can add or edit later – right now, just get your first thoughts onto paper.

If you can’t narrow it to just three, that’s fine. Just start the list without thinking – write what pops into your mind.

Mom’s Legacy

Here’s my non-obituary, non-funeral version of Mom’s legacy based on the exercise above.

• Mom survived the Great Depression as a child in the 1930s by cleaning chickens in Silver Lake, Indiana for a nickel each. She hated cleaning chickens for the rest of her life. Her father lost his hardware store. Her mother’s income from working for the Welfare Department, plus the money earned by raising chickens, growing berries, and a small truck patch is what saved the family.

• Mom survived rheumatic fever as a child, which left her with a lifelong heart murmur. She learned resiliency the hard way, and experienced crushing heartbreak a few years later when her fiancé was killed in WWII.

• Mom became a successful tap and ballet dancer, in spite of growing up in a strict, extremely conservative region of northern Indiana. Her father’s family was Brethren. Mom overcame discrimination and pushback at every turn, studying with the world-renowned Philadelphia Ballet Company and then dancing professionally in Chicago with the Dorothy Hild Company during and after WWII.

• My entry into the world ended that career, enabling Mother to finally become a bookkeeper, something she had always wanted to do.

• Mom was an accidental pioneer in women’s equality and rights, even though she never meant to be. Abandoned by undeserving men for other women or a liquor bottle, she persevered as a single mother and raised two children in a day and age when women were not afforded equal pay for equal work, many jobs or careers simply weren’t available to women, and a woman couldn’t even get a credit card or buy a car or home in her own name. Mom did it anyway, being the first single woman in Kokomo, Indiana to purchase a home with a mortgage in her own name.

• Mom moved to the farm a dozen years later when she married my wonderful step-father. She began her third career when the company she had worked for as a bookkeeper for years shut its doors.

• Mom became an Avon Lady for the next quarter century, more as her own personal mission to check on her neighbors than to earn money. She spent far more than she ever made – although she denied that till her dying day – but I saw the books after her death. She would take food to people, listen to their problems, check on anyone who was sick, take people to town to do errands or for appointments, deliver “sermons on tape” to shut-ins, and so forth. Every single day for more than a quarter century, she quietly solved every problem that she could, until she had to retire at 82 due to her own health issues. The photo, above, was taken by one of her favorite customers on her last “Avon” day.

I can’t even begin to count how many humans and animals Mom rescued or saved in one way or another as “just an Avon Lady.” Unfortunately, from time to time, people took advantage of her big heart and generosity.

Mom would never, in a hundred years, have said any of these things about herself. She was far too humble, and even in later years, having been a dancer carried a certain stigma in rural Indiana – land of the Baptist Church, in which she was a Deacon.

I don’t know what Mom’s personal legacy list about herself would have been. Of course, she loved her family. She even saved Dad’s life – not once – but twice.

I know she was proud of her Avon awards, and she received several. It wasn’t until years later that I realized how much of what she purchased was given away to people who couldn’t afford it. Mom would tell them it was “extra” or “overstock” or “on sale” for a pittance. She also preserved their dignity by approaching her missionary work that way – and no one ever knew until after she was gone.

The example she set by her silent actions, not her words, was absolutely incredible.

Mom received the Spriit of Avon Award in 1989 and several other years. But I only have these few photos.

The “Spirit of Avon” award, specifically the Spirit of Albee award, is given to Avon representatives who embody the entrepreneurial spirit of Mrs. P.F.E. Albee, the first Avon Lady. This award recognizes individuals who strive to build better lives for themselves and others.

Mom tended to downplay her own achievements.

She loved the Albee awards, what they meant and why they were awarded.

This is the 1992 Albee. Several more of hers sit on my shelf.

I’m still so proud of Mom for so many reasons. Yet, I’m sitting here crying because I couldn’t, or didn’t, go with her to the banquet(s) to receive those awards. Yes, I lived in a different state and was busy with my family and career, but now I greatly regret that choice. Of course, she understood. She didn’t even ask because she wouldn’t have wanted to impose. On the other hand, I know full well she would have been utterly thrilled if I had asked to go with her.

I didn’t, and I get to live with that now.

Smile Memories

There are several “Mom memories” that make me smile.

• Everyone received Avon products for Christmas, birthday, and any other “gift event.” Even the Easter Bunny was hooked up with the Avon Lady. We enjoyed those thoughtful gifts, and Mom knew everyone’s favorites – bath oil, bubble bath, makeup and lip balm. I remember Mom walking around my car with a rag and a bottle of Skin-So-Soft, scrubbing the bugs off my windshield and tar off my fenders.

Swear to God – I still have a bottle of Skin-So-Soft and half a bottle of bubble bath from Mom. I tried to help boost her sales, especially in the last year or so when she knew she was going to have to retire and she wanted to leave on a high note.

Mom was widely loved in the community, and we had to reserve an entire restaurant for her retirement party.

She was so surprised and honored that so many people came and many brought gifts for her.

• Avon lip balm was always in the toe of every Christmas stocking (that she crocheted for every family member) and taped to each package. When Mom died, after the funeral, as we were saying our final goodbyes, my sister-in-law and I decided we were going to be sure Mom had a lip balm with her in the hereafter – so I dug one out of my purse and we tucked it in her hand, in the casket. On the way to the cemetery, the hearse had to brake unexpectedly, and I vividly remember thinking, “I hope the lip gloss didn’t fall out of Mom’s hand.”
• Mom also loved her “pretty shoes,” as she called them, but the funeral director couldn’t get her favorite pair of high heels on her feet. We knew she absolutely wouldn’t want to leave them behind – so they were tucked in the bottom of her casket too.

• When I was a teenager, I got caught up in an altercation after a football game at a rival school. Not knowing what else to do, I headed for the police station where I knew I’d be safe and could call Mom to pick me up. When I told Mom I was at the police station, she was rattled and hung up before I had a chance to explain, jumped in the car, and hurried right down to the station. She ran into the lobby where I was waiting with a friend, saw that we were alright, and suddenly realized that she had put her hair up in those pink foam rollers – and there was a handsome officer on duty who was trying not to laugh. Mom turned beet red. She was mad at us, not for calling her – that was the absolute right thing to do – but because she came to the police station with her hair in rollers, and without a scarf. Go figure:)
• We always feasted on corn on the cob in the summer. Mom had a partial set of false teeth. We had company over for Sunday dinner, and Mom took a bite of corn on the cob, only to realize her top teeth were embedded in the cob. The teeth had broken off from the rest of the dentures. The look on Mom’s face was priceless. She didn’t exactly know what to do – and the rest of us couldn’t help but laugh. We tried to stifle our laughter though, which made the entire episode funnier and funnier until everyone, including Mom, was laughing so hard we were crying. “Mom, you have teeth in your corn. Most of us just get corn in our teeth!”
• Some years later, a grandchild had made their way to the state track finals and was “up at the university” for the events. Mom was proud as punch, and wild horses couldn’t have kept her away. She was leaning over the railing waving and cheering the grandchild on as they circled the inside track – only for those pesky false teeth to fall out of her mouth – straight down onto the track. She had a horrified look on her face as she tried to tell me, “my teef” and pointed at the track below. Thankfully, that race was over, and no one had stepped on them. I had to make my way down, out of the bleachers, and find someone to explain why I needed to go onto the track – all quickly – before the next event. The grandchild saw me, was very confused, looked quite irritated, was assuredly embarrassed, and came over to see what I was doing. Fortunately, the grandchild, as a contestant, had permission to be on the track. They found and recovered Mom’s “teef,” ran them over to us, waving them over their head in a victory lap of sorts. We laughed about this forever – just not at the time.

• At a family celebration some years later at an event center, my daughter, Mom and I were hamming it up outside and took this photo. I think we were comparing ourselves to Mom’s dancing photos from decades earlier and trying not to fall over. We were having so much fun together.

• At my wedding, I have no idea what Mom and I were laughing at, but we were. What a joyful day, just a couple years before she passed.

That was after she walked me down the aisle. Well, truth be told, I walked her up the aisle to her seat in order to steady her – but that’s not the story we told.

What I remember best are the times with smiles and laughter.

It’s those smiles and laughter that soothe the grief of her passing. The grief of Mother’s Day without her. We buried Mom 19 years ago this week, and I cleaned out her apartment on Mother’s Day.

Yep, I need those smiles and to remember Mom’s wonderful legacy.

Your Legacy

Now, it’s your turn.

What is your legacy?

What three things, off the top of your head, have you done that made the biggest difference, or maybe were the most important to you?

What do you want your legacy to be? Accomplishments? Achievements? Family? Service work? Hobbies? Career? Personality traits?

How do you want your life to be remembered?

Does that align with the legacy that those you care about would pen for you?

Is there something you need to do?

Is some aspiration unfulfilled? Can you do something about that?

Are there amends that you’d like to make? If so, do them now, because amends don’t make themselves.

Don’t wait. Do something a little crazy with someone you love.

You truly never know when you’re going to take that last photo, or smile that last smile, together.

Like mother, like daughter – my beautiful daughter has my mother’s beautiful smile.

Take that trip, wear the funky ill-fitting hats, laugh at yourselves out loud, make those memories, and watch that sunset while you can.

Say “I love you,” and create your legacy.