René de Forest (born c 1670-1751), Hanging On by a Thread – 52 Ancestors #409

René de Forest was born in 1670 near Port Royal, Acadia, to Michel de Forest and Marie Hebert. Acadia had been at the heart of a dispute between the French and English for control of the region, and René was born into the middle of that conflict.

The 1671 census shows his father, Michel de Forest, age 33, wife Marie Hebert, age 20, and children Michel, age 4, Pierre, age 2, and René, age 1. They also had 12 cattle, 2 sheep, and 2 arpents of cultivated land.

An arpent of land was equal to either about 192 linear feet if measured along a riverbank, for example, or about .84 acres. A typical French practice, in Louisiana, arpents are long, narrow parcels of land along streams and waterways.

The entire 1671 census consisted of 67 Acadian families at Port Royal, which included the area up and down the rivière Dauphin, now the Annapolis River, from the confluence with the Bay of Fundy up to about Bridgetown today.

Forty-eight families had land listed, meaning 19 families had no cultivated land, even though they were listed as farmers. The most wealthy man had 30 arpents. Several had between 1 and 6 arpents. This means that René was by no means wealthy, but was in the normal range. He also had more cattle than most, so perhaps that made up for less cultivated land. I’d bet his cattle were grazing on uncultivated land.

Early Life

René’s actual birthday is reported as January 11, 1670, on WikiTree, with two sources provided that I cannot verify by original records. His birth was not listed at the Nova Scotia Archives in the church records because the remaining records did not begin until 1702. It would be interesting to know where earlier researchers obtained the date of January 11th. Regardless, based on the 1671 census, we know the year of his birth.

His father was listed as a widower in the 1678 census with 4 sons and 2 daughters. The youngest child listed was age 3, which tells us that Marie died sometime between 1675 and 1678. If they had another child in 1677, that child died too.

René’s mother died when he was young. He was between age 5 and age 8. That must have been devastating for a young child. I hope he had at least some memory of her.

Probably with help from his siblings and relatives, Michel raised those children and farmed for the next few years. Somehow, someplace in the midst of all this, René learned to read and write – well – at least he was able to write his own name.

In 1684, a new governor was appointed to serve in Acadia who complained that the Acadians never put anything away for a bad year and their dowries were small – a few francs and a cow in calf, a ewe, and a sow. This made me smile.

In 1686, another new governor reported that the Acadian people had scattered and lived far from each other, their homes being built behind the marshes along the river. Several families left the region a few years earlier to establish villages elsewhere, but René’s father was not one of them.

René’s father, Michel, remarried a decade or so later, about 1686, to Jacqueline Benoist.

In the 1686 census, listed along with other census years on the Acadian-home site, Michel, 47, is listed with Jacqueline, who is noted as age 13, along with his children by Marie. René is listed as age 16. I question both his age and his stepmother’s as well. Her parents were shown in the 1678 census as having two girls, one born in 1671 and one in 1677. If Jacqueline was born in 1671, she would have been age 17 in 1678. Much more reasonable than a 13-year-old married to a 47-year-old man. If she was born in 1677, she would have been 11 in 1678, clearly not old enough to marry. I’m betting that she was 17, not 13. Still, her stepsons were older than she was.

Michel seems to be doing fairly well, or at least reasonably, given that he has a gun, which was an absolute necessity both for hunting and defense, 5 arpents of land, 8 sheep and 4 hogs.

Michel and Jacqueline had their only child, a daughter, Marguerite, in about 1687.

Then, along came 1690, a red-letter year.

1690 Attack

In 1690, Acadia was again plundered and burned by the English out of Boston. The church and 28 homes were burned, but not the mills and upriver farms. This suggests that the Forest farm may have escaped being burned, although we certainly don’t know for sure.

The English were clearly in charge now. René would have been about 20. The Acadians had been preparing for this eventuality, amid lesser attacks, for years.

Michel died about 1690, or more specifically, between the 1686 census and May of 1690, and his widow remarried very shortly thereafter.

We don’t know exactly when or how Michel died, but he was 50ish – so he probably didn’t die of old age. His death certainly could have been related to the 1690 attack. His widow’s quick remarriage would have provided safety and security for herself and her children – and maybe Michel’s children from his first marriage, too.

Michel’s death made René an orphan by the age of 20. I wonder if the family stayed on the land Michel was farming. What happened to his younger siblings when his stepmother remarried? Who raised them? Where did they live?

At this point, René was an adult – whether he was ready to be or not.

1690 – The Loyalty Oath

The political situation in Acadia was extremely inflamed and very tense. In an attempt to diffuse the situation, the Acadians agreed to sign a limited loyalty oath. Essentially, they simply wanted to remain neutral in the warfare between France and England, not fighting “for” either side. Hence, their nickname of French Neutrals.

The Massachusetts State Archive holds the original oath with signatures because the priest, in possession of the oath document, was kidnapped in May of 1690 and taken to Massachusetts. I wrote about this oath, including a transcription with signatures, here. The title of the article is “1695 Loyalty Oath,” because that’s the year in the Massachusetts Archives. The oath document was physically in Massachusetts at that time, having been transported by the priest, but that’s not when or where it was signed.

Wee do swear and sincerely promise that wee will be faithfull and bear true allegiance to his Majesty King William King of England, Scotland, France and Ireland.

So helpe us God.

René signed his own signature on the May 1690 Oath of Allegiance in Port Royal. It’s worth noting that his father did NOT sign, so Michel was deceased by this time. And he may have been very recently deceased.

Mark Deutsch provided additional important information in a comment on the original article, as follows:

This oath was actually forced upon the residents of Port-Royal by William Phips, commander of a force from Massachusetts that captured Port-Royal in May 1690 without a fight. Phips had seven ships, 64 cannon and 736 men, more than the entire population of Acadia. This was during King William’s War, mostly fought in Europe, as usual, but with North American involvement. In his own words, Phips reported, “We cut down the cross, rifled the Church, pulled down the High-Altar, breaking their images”; and on 23 May, “kept gathering Plunder both by land and water, and also under ground in their Gardens”. see Dictionary of Canadian Biography. http://www.biographi.ca/en/bio/phips_william_1E.html

“An employee of the Compaignie d’Acadie had buried the cashbox, and Phips had him tortured until he revealed its location…The New Englanders also confiscated the 4,000 livres from the colonial treasury.” p. 89, “A Great and Noble Scheme” by John Mack Faragher.

“As the looting continued, Phips summoned the inhabitants hiding in the woods ‘forthwith to come in, and subject yourselves to the Crown of England…swearing allegiance to their Majesties, William and Mary of England, Scotland, France (sic) and Ireland, King and Queen’. Otherwise he declared, ‘you must expect no other Quarter, than what the Law of Arms will allow you. Fearing slaughter, the frightened residents cautiously returned to their homes. On 24 May, Phips administered the oath of allegiance to the adult males” p. 90, supra.

After giving orders to his men to impose this oath to everyone, both French and Native they could locate in Acadia, “and upon refusal hereof to burn, kill, and destroy them.”, he sailed back to Massachusetts. Later in 1690 Phips made an attempt to take Quebec with 34 ships and 2,300 men, but Governor Frontenac, familiar with Phips’ reputation of course refused surrender, and Quebec could not be captured. King William’s War ended in 1697 with the Treaty of Ryswick and Acadia was reaffirmed to be French, although the capture and pillaging of Prot-Royal had not resulted in any British government of the town and there was no attempt to exert control over the outlying villages or obtain oaths. The oath from the men of Port-Royal was promptly retracted as made under duress and fear for their lives.

Marriage

Around 1695, René married Françoise Dugas. The couple welcomed their first child, Marie, in 1696, the same year that the British attacked Acadian again. Once again, burning homes and slaughtering animals.

By the time the next census rolled around in 1698, René Forest was listed as 28 years of age, his wife, Françoise Dugas, age 20, Marie, age 2, Marguerite, age 1, with 18 cattle, 22 sheep, 2 hogs, 16 arpents of land, 40 fruit trees and 2 guns. The location is given as Port Royal. I wonder if René had a spare gun, or if the second one was his father’s. Comparatively speaking, 16 arpents of land is a lot. The fruit trees would have been very important and would have taken a few years to produce, so Rene was clearly invested here, and investing in the future as well.

In 1701, the census showed René Forest, 31, Françoise Dugas (wife), 22, Joseph, 3, Francois, 1, Marie, 5, Marguerite, 4; 1 gun, 12 cattle, 18 sheep, 3 hogs, 6 arpents of land. (Port Royal)

Now I wonder if the 16 arpents of land in 1698 was supposed to be 6, or the 6 in 1701 was supposed to be 16.

The next census is in 1703, where René Forest is listed with his wife, 4 boys, 4 girls, and 1 arms-bearer, which would have been him.

In 1707, we find René Forest and wife, 4 boys less than 14, 2 girls less than 12, 8 arpents of land, 14 cattle, 24 sheep, 15 hogs, and 1 gun.

We know where René lived, based on the 1707 census.

Fortunately, the location has been reconstructed by MapAnnapolis, here.

The red star marks this satellite view from Google Maps.

By 1708, the tension was reaching fever pitch again, and it was becoming evident that attacks would follow, probably sooner than later.

1710

This time, the English unquestionably meant business.

One Capt. Morris wrote that the channel south of Goat Island was shallow and rocky; north of the island, it was wide and deep, but there was a strong ebb and flow of the tides. The 5 miles from Goat Island to the fort had water, even in low tides. Small vessels could travel as far as 18 miles above the fort, near present-day Bridgetown. René lived about 12 miles upriver, but below Bridgeton. Large boats could go 9 miles further to “the falls” on the tide if they could stand being beached at low tide. But the bottom was “intolerably rocky and foul.”

On September 24, 1710, Port Royal was attacked again by the English who sent five ships and 3400 troops. That’s 3400 soldiers against about 1700 total Acadians, including women and children.

The 300 Acadian soldiers gathered in Fort Royal and made a valiant attempt to hold the fort, and with it, Acadia.

Par Charny — Travail personnel, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17854799

The Acadians, with their 300 soldiers, which would have included all able-bodied men, stood absolutely no chance, although they did manage to hold the fort for 19 days under siege. The episode became known as the Siege of Port Royal, or the Conquest of Acadia.

Here is what we know about the battle:

As the fleet sails north, it is joined by a dispatch ship sent by Thomas Matthews, captain of the Chester; it was carrying deserters from the French garrison, who reported that the morale of the French troops was extremely low. Nicholson sends the ship ahead with one of the transports; as they entered Digby Gully , they received fire from groups of Micmacs on the coast. The ships retaliate with their guns, with neither side taking any casualties. On October 5, the main British fleet arrived at Goat Island, about 10 kilometers (6.2 mi) south of Port-Royal. That afternoon, the Caesar transport runs aground while attempting to enter Annapolis, and is eventually swept away by the rocks. Her captain, part of her crew and 23 soldiers died, while a company commander and some 25 other people fought ashore.

The following day, October 6, British marines began landing north and south of the fortress and town. The northern force was joined by four New England regiments under the command of Colonel Vetch, while Nicholson led the remaining New England troops as part of the southern force. The landings were uneventful, with fire from the fort being countered by one of Fleet’s long-range bombers. Although later accounts of the siege state that Vetch’s detachment was part of a strategic plan to encircle the fort, contemporary accounts report that Vetch wanted to have command somewhat independent of Nicholson. These same accounts state that Vetch never came within range of the fort’s guns before the end of the siege; his attempts to erect a battery of mortars in a muddy area opposite the fort, across Allain Creek, were repulsed by the fire of cannon. The southern force encountered guerrilla-type resistance outside the fort, with Acadian and native defenders firing small arms from houses and wooded areas, in addition to taking fire from the fort. This fire caused three deaths among the British, but the defenders could not prevent the British on the south side from establishing a camp about 400 meters from the fort.

Over the next four days the British landed their guns and brought them to camp. Fire from the fort and its supporters outside continued, and British bombers wreaked havoc inside the fort with their fire each night. With the imminent opening of new British batteries, Subercase sent an officer with a flag of parliament on 10 October. The negotiations started badly, because the officer was not announced correctly by a beater. Each side ended up taking an officer from the other, mainly for reasons of military etiquette, and the British continued their siege work.

On October 12, the forward siege trenches and guns within 91 m (300 ft) of the fort opened fire. Nicholson sends Subercase a demand for surrender, and negotiations resume. At the end of the day, the parties reach an agreement on the terms of surrender, which is formally signed the next day. The garrison is permitted to leave the fort with all the honors of war, “their arms and baggage, drums beating and flags flying.”

René Forest, now 30 years old, would have marched out, head held high, one of those proud but defeated men.

This hurts my heart.

Conditions of Surrender

The requirement to leave must have pained the Acadians greatly, but they had no say in the matter.

The British were required to transport the garrison to France, and the capitulation carried specific protections to protect the inhabitants. The conditions provided that “inhabitants of the cannon firing range of the fort,” meaning 3 English miles, may remain on their properties for up to two years if they wish, provided they are prepared to take the oath to the British Crown.

There’s that oath issue again.

If they took the oath, they had two years to move their “moveable items” to a French territory which was any of the rest of Acadia, at least until the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713.

481 Acadians pledged allegiance to the Queen of England, and the French troops left Port Royal, now renamed by the English to Annapolis Royal. I bet the Acadians refused to call it that.

450 English soldiers remained, but they clearly didn’t want to be there. By June of 1711, only 100 were left – the rest having either deserted or died.

Then, there was Bloody Creek.

Bloody Creek

One of the reasons I suspect that René’s father, Michel, was killed in or as a result of the British attack of 1690 is René’s continued resistance. Not just resistance either, because all of the Acadians were resisting in one way or another. The attack at Bloody Creek probably illustrates the depths of René’s conviction and his hatred of the British.

In 1711, a detachment from Fort Anne went upriver and was ambushed by a band of Indians. Thirty soldiers, a major, and the fort engineer were killed at “Bloody Creek, 12 miles east of Annapolis Royal.” The Native people were closely allied and often intermarried with the Acadians.

Note the location of Bloody Creek, and the René Forest “village.” Who lived in that village anyway? I doubt that an ambush happened on the river in front of René’s home, and he knew nothing about it and did not participate.

Nope, I’m not buying that for a minute.

While there were 11 fewer soldiers, in the end, it made no difference in the outcome.

1713

On April 13, 1713, Acadia passed to England, with France ceding all of Nova Scotia or Acadia with its 2000 residents. One author reported that in the past century, France had sent less than 200 colonists to Acadia and, at that point, had focused on Louisiana.

Par John Thornton; annotations by User:Magicpiano — Boston Public Library digital map collection, Call Number: G3320 1713 .T56: http://maps.bpl.org/details_10062/, Domaine public, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=12188909

This 1713 map shows eastern New England and southern Nova Scotia, Port Royal is at point A, Boston at point B, and Casco Bay at point C.

The English pressured the Acadians from 1713-1730 to take an oath of allegiance and become British subjects. The Acadians refused, expressing three points of concern:

  • That they be able to continue their Catholic faith unimpeded
  • That the Indians (allies of the French) might attack an Acadian who fought against the French
  • That the English take the Acadians’ history into account

While in 1710, none of the Acadians wanted to leave, by 1713, they had accepted their fate and actually wanted to move to a French-controlled territory and away from the British.

In 1714, the last census was taken, and René is listed with his wife, 5 sons, and 5 daughters.

From the Acadians in Grey website, we discover that René received permission from the French in August 1714 to settle on Île Royal, but, like most of his brothers, he remained in British-controlled Acadia. However, records show that his brother Jean-Baptiste was in Beaubassin by 1726.

This is actually surprising, given a 1714 letter from the English Governor of Acadia.

Be Careful What You Wish For

Oh, the irony.

By sometime in 1714, the Acadians were ready and wanted to leave and join the other French families. However, Vetch, the English governor, reversed his position when he realized how strong that French settlement would be, and that he would have no farmers to govern.

  • Vetch noted that except for 2 families from New England, the Allens and Gourdays, all of the rest of the Acadians wanted to move to French-controlled areas. This would clearly have included René.
  • He notes that there are about 500 families in Acadia, which he calls “L’Accady and Nova Scotia” but that there are also 500 families in Louisbourg, plus 7 companies of soldiers. The French king had given them 18 months of provisions and helped them with ships and salt for the fishery to encourage Acadian settlement there.
  • He states that if the Acadians move from Nova Scotia to Isle Royale, it will empty the area of inhabitants. He’s concerned that the Indians who have intermarried with the Acadians and share their religion would follow, along with their trade, making Isle Royale the largest and most powerful French colony in the New World.
  • He says that 100 Acadians who know the woods, can use snowshoes and birch canoes, plus knowledge of the fishery, are more valuable than five times as many soldiers fresh from Europe.
  • He noted that some Acadians, mostly without many belongings, had already moved, and the rest planned on doing so in the summer of 1715 when the harvest was over and the grain was in.
  • The Acadians would take their 5000 cattle with them, plus many sheep and hogs. So, if the Acadians move, the colony would be reverted to a primitive state devoid of cattle. It would require a long time and 40,000 pounds to obtain that much livestock from New England.
  • Last, he noted that the treaty didn’t give the Acadians the right to sell the land.
  • He stated that the Acadians wouldn’t have wanted to go if the French officers (speaking for the French king) hadn’t threatened that they’d be treated as rebels if they didn’t move.

Based on the 1710 edict and the 1713 ceding of Acadia to the British, combined with the constant pestering to sign an oath, I somewhat doubt his last assertion. However, the fact that half the Acadians were in Louisbourg which was being subsidized by the French king, and was ruled by the French, must have made the unwelcome mandatory move edict of 1710 look pretty attractive by 1714.

I have to wonder why René declined to go before the governor changed his mind. Perhaps René maintained hope that things might still right themselves, right up until he didn’t anymore. Maybe he didn’t want to depart without his brothers, who were likely the other residents in the René Forest Village.

The Acadians truly believed they were leaving, though, because they didn’t plant crops. Now, what were they to do?

The Acadians tried any number of avenues to leave, including making their own boats, but they were seized, and the Acadians were essentially held hostage on their own lands with no crops or resources.

Still, they refused to take that bloody oath.

The next few years were a mess.

In 1715, the English shut the gates to the fort, and the Acadians were prevented from trading with either the English soldiers or the Native people.

By 1717, when some of the Acadians had planted their fields again and decided to remain on peaceful terms, the Indians were upset and threatened the Acadians, fearing they were defecting to the English side.

Everyone was upset with everyone else, and the situation was untenable. However, in the background, the Acadian families continued to marry, have, and baptize children. Life didn’t stop because life as they knew it might end. It also might not.

There is no remaining baptism record for René’s child born in 1710, the year of the siege, but children were born to René and Françoise in May of both 1713 and 1715. Then, in July of both 1717 and 1719.

For René, every child that was added to the family probably ratcheted up his anxiety level. He needed to protect and provide for his wife and children. He all-too-clearly would have remembered what happened to his parents, especially his father.

1720 – Another Ultimatum

The English didn’t want to lose their source of supplies, so they wanted the Acadians to stay, but on English terms. The Acadians were difficult, if not impossible, to control. It had been a decade since the English had taken control of the fort, told the Acadians they had to leave, and then reversed their position four years later. Everyone was weary, and the Acadian families had to be incredibly tired of the constant upheaval and uncertainty.

As for René and Françoise, 13 of their 14 children had been born, and their oldest was 24.

Late in 1720, General Philipps issued a proclamation that the Acadians must take the dreaded oath unconditionally or leave the country in 3 months. He also said they couldn’t sell or take any of their property with them, thinking that would pressure the Acadians into taking the oath. However, they still refused, saying that the Indians were threatening them.

When the Acadians requested, “let us harvest our crops and use vehicles to carry it,” Philipps figured that they were planning on taking their possessions with them and denied their request. He may have been right.

The Acadians felt that their only ” escape ” route was by land instead of the typical water route, so they began to create a road from Minas to Port Royal, about 70 miles.

In response, the governor issued an order that no one should move without his permission. He also sent an order to Minas to stop work on the road.

The English stated that the Acadians desired to take the Port Royal cattle to Beaubassin, about 215 miles today by road but not nearly as far by water. Beaubassin was a fortified French possession.

Exasperated, Philipps pronounced the Acadians ungovernable, stubborn, and added that bigoted priests directed them. The Acadians probably wore those badges with pride.

Philipps went on to say that the Acadians couldn’t be allowed to go because it would strengthen the population of their French neighbors. They were also needed to build fortifications and to produce supplies for the English forts.

He stated that the Acadians couldn’t leave until there were enough British subjects to be settled in their place, and he hoped that plans were being made to import British subjects. Furthermore, he expected problems from the Indians, who didn’t want the Acadians to leave, and rightfully blamed the British.

France started sending people to Ile Royal. The fort at Louisburg, destroyed in 1758, was begun in 1720. Other settlements in the region included St. Pierre near the Straight of Canso, which had slate mines, and Niganiche, further north on the Gulf of St. Lawrence, a fishing port. The French were strengthening their hold on the region.

No wonder those areas looked so attractive to the Acadian families. They would finally find peace among other French families – if they could just get there.

During this time, René’s last child was born and baptized in the fall of 1723, but there’s a suspicious lack of a child in 1721, which suggests that there might have been a child who was born and died, and the records went missing, if they existed at all.

A Wedding

The Port Royal church records are not indexed by witness name, so the only way to discover if your ancestor stood as a witness to a marriage or burial, or a godparent at a baptism, is to happen across the record.

On February 11, 1726, Jacques Forest, 26 years old and lived at Beaubassin, son of Jean Forest, habitant of Beaubassin, and mother Elizabeth La Barre married Marguerite Giroard, 21 years old, daughter of Jacques Giroard and Anne Petitpas, deceased. The witnesses were René Forest, uncle of the groom, and Francois Forest, son of René Forest, along with Jacques Giroard and Pierre Le Blanc, son of the late Pierre Le Blanc.

This Annapolis Royal church record tells us that René’s brother Jean did, in fact, move to Beaubassin. Jacques married a local girl, though, so he may not have been in Beaubassin for too many years. Clearly, there was some back and forth between the locations, even though it was a long way.

That Oath – AGAIN

In 1725, former Governor Armstrong, already familiar with the Acadians, returned. He was reported to be a violent man with a bad temper,

However, Armstrong realized he needed the Acadians and convinced the Port Royal Acadians, representing about one-fourth of the Acadian population, to take the oath by reminding them that England would not allow Catholics to serve in the Army. As they had stated many times, the Acadian concern was having to fight against their countrymen and family members, including the Native Americans.

Happy just to convince them to sign something, anything at all, Armstrong offered to allow them to take the following oath:

“I do sincerely promise and swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King George the Second, so help me God.”

This meant that they wouldn’t have to “take up arms” against the French or Indians, they could leave whenever they wanted, and they had the freedom to have priests and to practice the Catholic religion.

In 1729, that oath was considered too lenient and declared null and void. Everyone was unhappy, very unhappy.

That’s when a bit of trickery served everyone’s interest by buying peace for two decades.

Subterfuge

Philipps, who had replaced Armstrong again, reported that the Acadians took this oath:

“I sincerely promise and swear, as a Christian, that I will be utterly faithful and will truly obey His Majesty King George the Second, whom I acknowledge as the sovereign Lord of Nova Scotia and Acadia. So help me God.”

That’s what Philipps reported, but the actual oath continued on a second page, as follows:

“… that the inhabitants, when they have sworn hereto, will not be obliged to take up arms against France or against the Savages, and the said Inhabitants have further promised that they will not take up arms against the King of England or against its government.”

The priest and a notary signed as witnesses, but Phillips only sent the first part back to England, securing peace. No one on either side of the Atlantic was any the wiser. Only Philipps knew.

Everyone in Acadia must have heaved a sigh of relief. For the first time in memorable history, in more than three decades, everyone was relatively happy.

Acadian families continued to worship at the Catholic church in Annapolis Royal. Babies were born and baptized. Betrothals and weddings were celebrated. Another generation of Acadians would be buried in the cemetery adjacent the Catholic church, which was also adjacent the fort – the center of the Acadian community.

Family Life

We know from a combination of birth records that began in 1702, combined with later marriage records, that René and Françoise had at least 13 children, with four additional suspicious gaps of three or four years between children, which often signals a baby that died prior to existing church records, or a stillbirth, which would not be recorded in the church records. Of course, with all the upheaval, some events probably just never made it into the official register, or some portions of the register were missing.

Six girls and seven boys graced their lives.

Their last child arrived in October 1723 when René was 53 years old, and Françoise was 47.

René witnessed all of his children’s marriages except for Charles, the youngest, who reportedly married in 1745 in Beaubassin. In 1745, René would have been 75 years old, probably just too old to travel the distance from his home to Beaubassin, assuming he even knew his son was getting married. More than 100 miles by water for an old man, even under the best of circumstances, was just too much.

Several of René’s children’s marriage records include his signature which confirms that the 1690 signature is his. It does cause me to wonder where he learned to read and write. As I view the later parish records from Port Royal, fewer and fewer people can write their names, so literacy in Acadia wasn’t a priority. They were just too busy surviving, and the priests would read them whatever they needed to know.

René was the godfather of one of his grandchildren, the first child born to his son Francois in 1729. He may have been the godfather to some of his daughters’ children as well, but I did not view each of those records – only the Forest records.

René’s children married in the following order, with his signatures where available. Not all priests recorded any or all signatures. Others just had a big old signing party, and everyone signed!

Marie – 1718

Joseph – 1720

Marguerite – 1724

Francois – 1727 – the record exists, but no signature.

Mathieu – 1728 – the record exists, but no signature.

On January 10, 1730, son Joseph died and was buried the following day – in the deepest winter. I wonder how they managed to dig the grave, or maybe they pre-dug a few graves in the fall.

Joseph was only 32 years old and left behind three small children and a pregnant wife. His fourth child was born the following August and named for him. I hope that Joseph and his family lived in the René Forest Village so that René and the others could help them. Large, nearby families meant survival. Based on Joseph’s age, his death was assuredly some sort of accident or sudden illness.

It’s apparent, given the 3 and 4 year gaps in the census and other records that René and Françoise had lost babies or young children, but Joseph was his first older or adult child to perish. Without modern medicine, early deaths were more common than today, but the saying that parents aren’t supposed to bury their children still holds. 

A year and a few days later, daughter Marie would marry. I wonder if René quietly stopped by Joseph’s grave to say hello.

Marie – 1731

Jacques – 1734

Catherine – 1737

Elizabeth (Isabelle) – 1738

Anne – 1740

Jean – 1743 – the record exists, but no signature.

Pierre – 1744 – the record exists, but no signature.

Charles – probably married around 1745, but is missing in the Port Royal/Annapolis Royal marriage records.

Sadly, daughter Marguerite died on May 27, 1747, about 53 years of age, leaving behind six children and her husband. This would have been a sad day for René and Françoise, who were actually fortunate that “only” two of their adult children died – but I’m positive that “fortunate” is not how they felt.

I’ll include additional information about the children in their mother, Françoise Dugas’s article.

René’s Death and Burial

In 1750 and 1752, there is a René Forest shown in Menoudy, now Minudie, near Beaubassin, but we know this is not our René because our René died at Port-Royal on April 20, 1751.

Father Defenetaud dutifully recorded René’s death and burial. He states that René Forest was about 80 years old, died on April 20th, and was buried the following day, April 21, 1751.

The witnesses were Claude Godet, Mathieu Forest, and Francois Forest. Both of the Forest men who witnessed the burial were his sons.

René’s funeral would have been held in the Catholic church in the town he had known as Port Royal. I’d wager he forever refused to call it Annapolis Royal – the British name assigned to Port Royal after the humiliating 1710 defeat.

René’s life had been full of adventure – most of it unwanted. Born in Acadia, he had never known anything else, so maybe the never-ending drama just became normal at some point.

If the reports are accurate, in late 1714 or early 1715, René, along with the other Acadian families, had wanted to remove. Yet in August 1714, when he received permission to go to Ile (Isle) Royal, present-day Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia, where Louisbourg is located, he did not.

René spent the rest of his life right there on the Annapolis River, or as he called it, the rivière Dauphin, beside Bloody Creek, which he may well have named when those British soldiers had the bad judgement to travel upriver and were ambushed there in 1711. Perhaps that name served as a warning to others and as a small victory for the Acadians. I’d bet money René was all in on that, especially if his father died as a result of the 1790 British attack. The Acadians, it seems, were beaten, but their spirit was never defeated.

René spent his entire life trying to hang on to his life, culture, and his farm in Acadia – sometimes by nothing more than a thread. Often by sheer tenacity – refusal to surrender.

After the Priest said the final prayers, René’s family and neighbors would have lowered his casket and filled the hole with Nova Scotia’s dirt, each member dropping a handful at a time.

René’s grave was probably marked with a white wooden cross, perhaps made by his sons, plus maybe a small stone of some kind, but that didn’t last long. When the Expulsion began in 1755, the English burned everything, and as the final insult meant to erase the Acadians, the cemetery was destroyed.

Today, the Garrison Graveyard is being mapped and studied, hoping to identify the grave locations of the more than 500 Acadians buried here. The same location is also the site of English graves and post-Expulsion burials, with perhaps 2,000 graves in total.

Perhaps it was for the best that René died before the Acadian Expulsion began. He would have been about 85 years old in 1755, herded onto a ship with other suffering Acadians, only to see his beloved Acadia burn. It would have probably killed him, horribly, and his family would have had to endure watching, assuming they hadn’t been separated.

I’d much rather think of a stubborn, elderly, grey-haired French-speaking man living on his farm in the René Forest Village that he had protected with every ounce of his being for his entire life, surrounded by his loving wife and family who lived nearby, maybe singing songs of comfort to him as he peacefully slipped away to the land of his ancestors.

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Just a Scrap – 52 Ancestors #408

It’s a scrap. Just a scrap.

Buried at the bottom of my tub of fabric scraps, accumulated over decades of sewing and quilting.

But this scrap – oh, it’s different. So very different.

I plucked it from the pile where it had slept peacefully for decades, a smile playing at the edge of my lips. I recognized it like an old friend I hadn’t seen in an eternity. I ran my fingers across it, gently caressed its crinkled softness, and immediately had to sit down.

As the tears welled up in my eyes, the light in the room faded away as I was transported back in time…and back…and back.

Fall

It was cold outside. My child had celebrated with a birthday cake sporting two candles a few days earlier.

My husband and I both worked every minute of overtime we could possibly manage and picked up side jobs too. He was handy, and we made stereo entertainment cabinets for people that looked like bars. He did the construction and installed the burnt brick facade, and I did the finish work, including collage decoupage countertops. I wish I had a picture. They were beautiful. But pictures were a luxury back then.

Still, with a small child, two car payments, rent, utilities, daycare, and yes, college – we barely had time to breathe – and we had exactly no spare money. We knew exactly how many miles we drove each week, so we could budget for gasoline. Eating out was a dream that never happened. We accounted for every penny.

We were deliciously happy, though, and didn’t really notice the hardships. If anything, we thought we were incredibly fortunate to have successfully fit all those pieces together. College was our dream, and we were committed to achieving it. We both knew it was our only way “out.” We really didn’t want to live the rest of our lives not being able to afford a pizza and digging through the couch for change.

I was barely 20, not even old enough to vote. Far too young, especially by today’s standards, to carry that level of responsibility. My husband, slightly older, had already served in Vietnam, and returned, a beautiful but damaged soul.

We wouldn’t discover just how damaged until a few years later.

Our splurge for the year had been a sewing machine, purchased on sale in the late summer.

The Sewing Machine

We didn’t realize it at the time, of course, but we got tangled up in a classic “bait and switch” scenario. Advertising something very reasonably priced, except when you get to the store, they don’t have any left. However, they do have something just slightly more expensive that’s much better, and, oh, by the way, they’ll finance it too. There’s no reason NOT to purchase now, right?

I had been sewing for years when I lived at home, before I married. Sewing your own was much less costly than purchasing ready-made clothes, and I really, REALLY wanted a sewing machine. However, we knew what our budget would allow, and that more-expensive-but-better sewing machine simply was not in the budget.

As sad as I was to do it, we were literally walking out of the store. We agreed that the payments just didn’t fit our circumstances. However, they tried one more time, and their final offer included material. Fabric! Free! They had me. Then, as now, I loved fabric, and we really did need some new clothes. We’d use our clothing budget.

I picked out the softest, most wonderful purple velvety fabric along with a luscious coordinating polyester – enough to make all three of us a beautiful outfit. Well, almost enough. I already had a yellow blouse to wear. There just wasn’t enough of that fabric. How I wish I had a scrap of ANY of that!

I bought a pattern for my husband’s pants because a tailored zipper was complex, but I drafted patterns for the other pieces based on measurements from existing clothes.

Except for that skirt. That was my original design, and I was SOOO proud of it. I kept that skirt for years, long after it no longer fit.

These were our “good clothes” for a long time – at least for me and my husband. Of course, the baby outgrew that outfit shortly.

That meant, in addition to everything else, we had to make payments on that sewing machine, too. Regardless, I spent several weeks blissfully sewing, happy as a clam.

As the leaves began to transform themselves into a vibrant crayon box, we began thinking about the holidays.

The Holiday Season

In the north country, it begins to get nippy in October. Nights become crisp, Mums bloom, apples ripen, and crops are harvested. Families visit orchards on the weekends, buying pumpkins, Indian Corn, and squash, and Mother Nature begins to put herself to bed for the winter.

By Thanksgiving, it’s downright cold and usually has snowed at least once, even if it’s just a dusting. If you hadn’t begun thinking about Christmas gifts for the family by Halloween, it would probably be too late by Thanksgiving. Lots of gifts were handmade. Virtually nothing was last-minute or spur-of-the-moment.

We had to plan and save or figure out something wonderful to do for gifts. Anything extra required careful planning. Some employers gave Christmas bonuses and needed their employees to work extra hours during the holiday season. The best did both of those things, plus gifted a frozen turkey.

That particular year, there was simply no money to do much of anything. It seemed that in addition to everything else, someone’s car was always breaking and needing some kind of repair. It would be another decade before I purchased an actual never-used brand spanking new car, and even then, it was the cheapest one possible.

Yet, Christmas cometh…

Fortunately, we did get to work extra hours and received a turkey, which helped immensely. The overtime would be used for gifts, sewing machine payments, and gas to get to the Christmas festivities. The turkey would provide us many meals, including soup for lunches for some time. We had a freezer and made good use of it.

The Family

On my side of the family, we had Mom and Dad. Dad was actually my much-beloved stepfather, who I couldn’t have loved more had he been my biological father. Truth be told, maybe I loved him extra for picking me and loving me so much.

To be very clear, Mom and Dad ALWAYS said they didn’t want or need anything, and as an adult, now, I fully understand that. They truly meant it. But as a young mother, proud of my independence, I WANTED to do something for Mom and Dad. I loved them. It wasn’t an obligation.

We didn’t exchange gifts with my adult siblings. Maybe we’d bring a tin of home-baked cookies, fresh bread, or an applesauce cake rollup, but nothing was expected except showing up for the Christmas festivities and having a good time together.

On my husband’s side of the family, there were more people. His mother was raising his three younger siblings, at home, and while she said the same thing – that she didn’t need anything – we really had to do something for the children. Furthermore, she was not well and really did need things.

My husband’s father had been killed when he was young, and his stepfather came and went. I don’t remember if he was present or absent that year. We often didn’t know in advance.

We didn’t exchange gifts with his adult brother either, and his other brother had died just a couple of years earlier in a tragic accident. Christmas was always difficult for his family, and we did our best to be sure everyone was cared for in one way or another.

Then, of course, we had our own son. And what was I going to do for my husband?

That was nine people I needed to figure out a gift for.

By now, you’ve probably guessed, the answer had something to do with that sewing machine.

Off to the Mall

I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I did know that I could make something much less expensively than we could purchase anything similar. But what could I possibly make for my husband’s young siblings?

I needed inspiration, so off we went to the mall. We needed to visit Santa anyway.

Each of the two malls had a fabric store. Then, there was the discount store located elsewhere, House of Fabrics – that’s the store I preferred. They often had the best deals – but we needed to look everywhere first – just in case.

For years, I had been purchasing remnant fabrics to make clothes for me and Mother.  We worked with whatever remnant fabrics we could find, and often the resulting clothes turned out quite nicely. Here’s Mom in 1970 wearing a dress I made for her out of a remnant.

A remnant is the remaining fabric when most of that fabric is sold off the bolt. Most of the time, that meant less than a yard remained, but sometimes there was more, especially if they wanted to get rid of it for some reason. The good news was that remnants were and often still are significantly less than the original fabric, per yard.

If fabric at that time cost, say, $2.00 per yard, a remnant might cost a dollar per yard, or even less – especially when the store wanted to clear out the remnants. Sometimes the entire box of remnants was marked down another 50% or 75%, and trust me, when that happened, we dug through that box like hound dogs digging for a bone.

Sometimes, stores purchased large quantities of discounted fabric. Probably overstocks and mill-run ends with the explicit intention of running an ad and selling them cheaply.

While I don’t think this ad included the fabrics I bought, I very, very clearly remember that the fabric was 88 cents per yard, and because I was purchasing several yards and it was on sale, I could buy the fabric for 77 cents per yard. That was a great value!

But what could I make for everyone with this unusual knit fabric?

The colors were actually quite attractive – red, green, hot pink, blue, black, yellow and pumpkin. Sometimes, close-out or overstock fabric was strange, including weird colors, which is often why it was marked down – but this wasn’t.

I walked around the store, looking for ideas, when I spotted the pattern.

Bathrobes

Bathrobes! Something like this pattern – several sizes in one envelope, so you only had to purchase one pattern.

And the best thing was that I could modify the pattern for males or females, and any size. It didn’t include a child’s size, but I could do that myself.

Bathrobes would be personal, fun, and bright – and we could hide something fun in the pockets. Yes – bathrobes were the answer!!!

I needed between 3 and 6 yards for each bathrobe, depending on the size, which meant that I needed about 35 yards of fabric, more or less. That’s a HUGE amount of fabric, almost as long as a small house if you rolled it all out at once.

And I needed enough of any one color to make a bathrobe. Plus, a little extra just in case I made a mistake.

The really GREAT news was that I could purchase 35 yards of fabric for about $27, plus the pattern and some matching thread.

What a relief! I was going to get out the door for under $50!

And – I’d make matching bathrobes for my husband and toddler. They would both love that!

The bad news – it was already Thanksgiving-ish – so I had to make roughly three bathrobes a week, PLUS work and do everything else I had to do.

Whooboy!!!

December

We had recently moved into an apartment with two bedrooms and a basement. We thought we had died and gone to heaven.

We set my sewing machine up on an old table the previous tenants had left in the basement because it was too heavy to heft up those stairs. By basement, I’m not referring to a nicely finished walkout. Nosiree! Our basement was a cold, damp concrete block basement with a concrete floor and a small “garden window” for light, in addition to one lightbulb. I didn’t care, though, because it was SO MUCH better than anything I had before. It was roomy and quiet with a table. I could certainly make this work.

That was also the year I found plain, undecorated Christmas ornaments stacked beside the neighbor’s trash. They were in the original boxes – never used. I salvaged those and decorated them with glitter. Not only was everyone going to get a bathrobe, they were going to receive a customized ornament, too.

There was no stopping me now. I had a plan!

Never mind that everyone’s bathrobe managed to include some amount of bonus embedded glitter.

Each fabric had to be cut into specific lengths as designated in the pattern, then the pattern pieces were pinned to the fabric according to the layout. The largest bathrobes had to be made first because the pattern was cut down to a smaller size for each succeeding one.

After being pinned in place, the fabric pieces were then cut out around the pattern pieces with a pair of scissors. Seam allowances and certain locations were marked for matching to their companion pieces.

The pieces were then ready for the beginning of construction.

The bathrobe pieces were matched together, then pinned together and sewn. I always sewed double or French seams for clothing that was going to get heavy wear – and I expected these would. These bathrobes weren’t lined, but the edges needed to be finished. I made cuffs for the sleeves and a facing for the front, neck edges, collars, and bottom hem. This was one of those projects that got more complex as it progressed – in part because there was no pattern or instructions for that facing, collar, or edging.

This is why I always, always purchase extra fabric.

I finished the first bathrobe, but it took about a week, and I was in trouble. Of course, I could only work in the evenings and at night, after we ate supper, as it was called then, and after the very active toddler was in bed and safely asleep. I was now down to between two and three weeks with eight bathrobes to make, two of which had to remain secret until Christmas morning. Plus, we were both working more overtime than ever.

How was I possibly going to finish before Christmas?

Bless My Husband

Like the trooper he was, my husband decided to help – and unlike the two-year-old who also wanted to help – my husband really was a help.

His factory job began in the wee hours of the morning. If I recall, he had to be at work by 5:00 or 5:30, and his job was physically exhausting. Plus, we both had second jobs. So, by the time I was sitting down to sew – he really needed to be in bed.

However, he decided he could pin and cut fabric for me with some direction/instruction – and that’s exactly what he did. He worked on one side of the table, and I worked on the other.

I remember looking across the table at him working diligently. The scrunched-up face he made when he was concentrating – and the cat face he tried to make when he made a mistake and felt like he needed to ask for forgiveness.

That was so doggone cute – there was no way to ever be mad at him. I suspect he knew that. We both laughed out loud – sometimes until we cried. Plus, he tried so hard, and I was incredibly grateful for my partner – even a partner in sewing. Something he probably didn’t want to do – but he never complained or said a word.

So, in the evenings, after we ate and I packed his lunch box for the following day, I would modify the patterns to the next smaller size, if needed, lay the fabric out, and tell him where to pin the pieces. I’d sit down across from him and sew on the bathrobe already under construction.

I could hear the tissue paper patterns crinkling as he unfolded and smoothed them. Sometimes, those pins bit us, too.

When he finished pinning, he’d ask if that looked right, and when it did, he cut the pieces out with dressmaker shears and carefully labeled them for me.

Then, he’d go to bed for the night, and I’d sew for a few more hours. Often, I’d lay the bathrobe I was sewing aside and work on his and our son’s bathrobes after he went to bed. I had to keep those hidden.

In the mornings, after he had already left for work, I got myself and the toddler ready for the day, prepared breakfast and my lunch, drank a prodigious amount of coffee because I had stayed up way too late, did the daycare drop-off, and was at work by 7 or 8, depending on the schedule. By then, the sun was coming up, but our day had begun hours earlier.

Christmas

We finished in the nick of time and were so excited to wrap those gifts for Christmas that year. We had carefully chosen the fabric color for each person and included something small in the pocket of each bathrobe. Of course, everyone received their own ornament, too.

I still have the one I made for my husband with our wedding date on it. It’s put far away.

On Christmas morning, I gave my boys their blue bathrobes, and I almost couldn’t get them out of them in time to go to Christmas at his mother’s.

My family always celebrated Christmas on Christmas Eve at my mother’s house. I suspect that was a throwback to old German family traditions, but it also worked out quite well because my brother and his family, and my aunts on Dad’s side could all come on Christmas Eve.

I had selected pink for my mother’s bathrobe and pumpkin for Dad’s.

Yes, pumpkin. I knew when I first saw that fabric that whatever I made, the pumpkin fabric would be for him.

Pumpkins

Dad was the pumpkin man.

I won’t say he was known far and wide as the pumpkin man, but certainly up and down our road and in our family.

One of the first things Dad did, as a courtship offering to Mom, was to bring pumpkin blossoms as a gift. To cook, that is, not as a bouquet.

Mom had absolutely no idea what to do with them or how to cook them. Later, of course, this was a huge joke within the family. He was offering her a delicious delicacy, available for only a couple weeks each year, and we were certainly not properly appreciative. Hint: Dredge them in an egg wash, roll them in flower, and fry them crispy in hot oil in a cast-iron skillet. My mouth is watering just thinking about them.

Dad planted pumpkins in mounds in the garden in the spring; they flowered in the summer, and any flowers left on the vines would mature into pumpkins by fall. You removed extra blossoms, fried them up, and ate them.

And boy, come fall, did we have pumpkins in all shapes and sizes.

The neighbor kids came and got pumpkins. Eventually, grandkids did too. We made pumpkin everything, canned it, eventually froze it, and gave pumpkins away to anyone who would take them. Of course, Dad was the neighborhood supplier of jack-o-lanterns.

Everyone is remembered for something, a legacy, and I’m sure Dad was remembered for many years for his pumpkins.

So, Dad would get a pumpkin-colored bathrobe.

Even if Dad hadn’t liked his pumpkin bathrobe, he would never have told me or let on in any way.

As the years wore on, I never saw him wear any other bathrobe, ever again. So, I knew he truly loved it. Now, I appreciate that it was because we made it for him – but I didn’t realize that at the time.

Parts of it were eventually worn threadbare, but Dad insisted it was “just fine.” I offered to make him a new one. “Nope,” he said – he liked that one.

Two More Decades

By the time Dad no longer needed his bathrobe, Labor Day weekend in 1994, two decades later, there were places worn so thin you could see through them, the pockets were sagging from years of use, I had repaired it multiple times, and there were cigarette ash burns where the ashes had fallen off his cigarettes as he sat in his bathrobe every single evening in his chair.

I can close my eyes and still see him sitting there.

Such beautiful, warm, fond memories. And such exquisite pain.

I’m so incredibly glad that I made those bathrobes. Mom wore hers for years, too.

Not only is the memory of Dad in his bathrobe, and how much he loved it, near and dear to my heart – so are the memories that my husband and I weren’t aware we were making as we constructed them.

I would lose my husband to the demons of his military service in Vietnam not long after. Years before I lost my Dad in 1994. I would lose that child, too.

All those people are gone.

The Scrap

So, seeing that scrap, the last physical remnant of that Christmas, knocked the wind right out of me and made my knees weak.

So many visceral memories just came flooding back, like the dam gate had been opened. I had no idea the scrap was in that tub, of course.

And yes, I had to take some time this week to grieve the people who have since passed on – and the life, or lives, I thought I was going to live – but was robbed of that opportunity.

But you know what – it’s a spiritual sin to grieve happiness.

Joyfulness.

And we were happy. Exquisitely, soulfully happy.

No one wants to endure the pain of loss and departure, but I wouldn’t give up one day, not one minute of that poverty-stricken time. We all had each other – encompassed in a cocoon of love for that short time. It wouldn’t last long. And it was perfect.

No one, and nothing, could ever take that time away from us.

And in a strange way, I felt that Dad and my husband had come to visit me once again.

So here I am. Decades later, in a far-away place, living a completely different life than I could ever have imagined – with absolutely none of those people.

They are not dead – they have simply transitioned. Their energy and positive life forces are not diminished. Just distant, right? I accepted that and made peace with it long ago. Right?

Right?

Then, I dug in that scrap bin, and they came rushing back to life.

What do I do with this?

Scrappy Stars

Ironically, I was making a scrap quilt when I stumbled across this, my oldest scrap.

I’ve moved across the country, not once, not twice, but three times with this scrap unwittingly in tow and from house to house many times.

It was always with me, just as Dad is. I just didn’t realize it.

The scrap quilt I’m making is a star design. I knew, immediately, that Dad’s pumpkin fabric was meant to be included in my pumpkin star.

The individual blocks are made by sewing scrap strips together on a foundation block of fabric.

There was also some pumpkin fabric in the scrap bin as well. For some reason – no idea why – I’ve always been partial to pumpkins. 😊 They have always reminded me of Dad and evoked such fond memories.

So, now his pumpkin bathrobe fabric is permanently neighbors with other pumpkin fabric – as it should be.

My daughter, who my Dad utterly adored, selected sunflowers for her wedding theme long after he had transitioned to the other side. Above, at far right, his bathrobe fabric is paired with sunflower fabric from her wedding quilt.

The largest piece of the bathrobe fabric scrap is here, at lower right. The middle strip is dark, but is not the bathrobe fabric. The star beside the pumpkin fabric signifies Dad watching over us. The light peach fabric with blue flowers, against the pumpkin fabric is from something I made Mom, and is in her memory quilt too.

I’m assembling the individual blocks into groups. Here, I’m experimenting with laying them out together. I like the Halloween jack-o-lantern.

Each one of these scraps in this quilt remains from something else I made. It’s much like watching my life pass before my eyes, one scrap at a time. A trip right down memory lane.

The pieces aren’t sewn together yet, but the star will look something like this.

The finished star will be about 32 by 32 inches and will be joined by eight more stars in different colors – all from scraps.

Just a Scrap

Our lives are made up of scraps, pieces of who we were, combined with new circumstances, new jobs, new homes, and new people to create a new whole. We evolve.

After I finished cutting the pumpkin bathrobe scrap for the star quilt, I now have several smaller scraps instead of one larger one. Isn’t that the way of life, though?

I can’t help but think about DNA and recombination.

The pieces of what and who from the past recombine in us to become something vibrant and new.

Renewal.

Rebirth.

It’s how we survive.

So I took Dad’s leftover scraps and put them back in my now much-reduced orange scrap bin with their brethren.

But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t leave them there.

I wanted them and what they symbolize closer to me, so I gathered the small pieces and put them in my little “Far from the eyes, close to the heart” dish I bought overseas as a student in 1970, just a very few years before I made that bathrobe for Dad.

I will use the larger small pieces to make a mini-quilt to sit under this little dish, with pumpkin fabrics of course, and maybe a sunflower too.

Dad’s scraps, always reminding me of the goodness and love radiated by that man, will keep me company in my office now. He’d like that! I’m guessing it will someday sit on my daughter’s shelf or in her office, too.

When I finish my Scrappy Stars quilt, I’ll sleep beneath those pieces of Dad’s bathrobe and at least one piece of Mother’s clothing – their love still enveloping me.

Because, you see, it wasn’t, and isn’t just a scrap. It’s a piece of many people’s lives.

I never realized I would be the benefactor of Dad’s bathrobe made of inexpensive close-out fabric all those years ago. That it would live on for so long. That our creation constructed that cold, broke, winter in the basement would warm and comfort our loved ones, then me, and eventually, my daughter, who wasn’t even born yet then.

When life gives you scraps, build something beautiful. And, of course, give them new life in quilts.

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Jacques Forest aka Foret (born 1707), Life on Bloody Creek – 52 Ancestors #407

Jacques Foret, aka Forest, de Foret, de Forest, and similar spellings, was born on July 10, 1707, in Port Royal, Acadia, to  René Foret (Forest) and Françoise Dugas. He was officially baptized on July 19th in the St. John-Baptiste Catholic Church.

Click on any image to enlarge

This baptismal record is interesting because normally, children are baptized by the Catholic priest within a day or so of birth. Apparently, this wasn’t possible because Jacques was baptized the day after his birth “ondoye” by Emanuel Hebert. This is a provisional baptism given at home, “just in case.” Sometimes, it suggests that the child was weak or not expected to live, and sometimes, it just means that the priest wasn’t available, the parents didn’t live close to the church, or maybe bad weather interfered.

Snow wasn’t the culprit in July, so it had to be something else.

The priest who baptized Jacques officially on July 19th was “F. Justinien Durand missionnaire Recollet,” so perhaps he was traveling when the baby was born.

According to Stephen White, Jacques’ batismal sponsors are translated as “sieur de Teinville lieutenant de compagnie and Jeanne Dugas wife of La Forest.” The lieutenant is clearly associated with the fort, located beside the church, but I don’t know who Jeanne Dugas is or how she fits into the picture. She is clearly married to a La Forest man, but which one?

On this Early Acadian Settlements map based on the 1707 census, you can see that René Forest was located just around the bend in the Annapolis River from Emmanuel Hebert, probably his nearest neighbor – about half a mile away.

René probably jumped in his canoe and paddled to Emmanuel’s home, shouting, “Grab the Bible Emmanuel, we’ve got a baby to baptize!!!” Or maybe the message was more like, “Emmanuel, the baby isn’t doing so well. Can you please come and baptize him, just in case, of course?” Port Royal, where the church and priest were located, was downriver a good dozen miles, and that’s as the crow flies. The River was anything but straight, and roads were probably doubtful.

No need to risk that journey. Emmanual’s baptism would get baby Jacques into Heaven, should something bad happen. The priest would officially baptize him as soon as the child could make the trip eight days later.

The next actual record we have of Jacques is when he married in 1733 or 1734, but the intervening quarter century was anything but serene.

Acadia

The Acadians were chronically and constantly embroiled in warfare with the British. Sometimes France held what is present-day Nova Scotia, and sometimes, the British did. The Acadians tried to remain neutral. All they really wanted was to be left alone to raise their families, tend their farms, and practice their Catholic religion. That doesn’t seem like a lot to ask.

Jacques had never known anything else. His grandfather, Michel DeForest, was in Acadia by 1766 when he married Marie Hebert. These families had been closely allied for at least four decades by the time Jacques came along.

The Acadian families had been attempting to keep the peace with the British without capitulating to their every whim, which included provisions they found fundamentally unacceptable. In 1695, the Acadian men signed an oath to remain neutral, hoping to staunch the incessant requests to swear allegiance to the British monarch.

That didn’t work.

In 1696, the British attacked Acadia, again, burning homes and slaughtering animals. This had become a regular occurrence.

Acadia, essentially the peninsula of Nova Scotia, had about 2000 residents in 1700 and about 1700 residents in 1710.

Fortunately, a census was taken by the French periodically.

Skirmishes with the British occurred regularly, but by 1704, Acadia was under serious attack again. Families had clustered into settlements, and many settlements were burned. Churches were looted, and the dams holding back the sea so the salt wouldn’t poison the Acadian’s fields were “dug down” out of revenge, supposedly for Indian attacks in New England.

In 1706, a new French governor in Acadia encouraged Native Americans to raid English targets in New England. Furthermore, he befriended pirates, more gently known as “privateers,” and encouraged them to target English ships. They were all too glad to oblige and quickly reduced the English fishing fleet on the Grand Banks by 80%. The New England colonies were outraged!

In 1707, the year Jacques was born, a new French governor arrived with 160 soldiers, three-fourths of whom were reported to be directly “from the quays of Paris.” An attack by Massachusetts followed, unsuccessfully.

In 1708, Queen Anne’s War began, and the Acadians were preparing for conflict. Once again, the English and French were pitted against one another – not just in Acadia, but more broadly.

This map of the fort in Port Royal was drawn by a military engineer in 1702. In 1708, the fort’s store was added, and a new powder magazine and bombproof barracks were built. The riverbanks were cleared to remove cover for attackers.

All homes were close to the river, so each family would have been preparing.

Prisoners taken from English ships revealed that the English planned to attack in 1708 and 1709.

The residents must have constantly been on pins and needles. Jacque would have celebrated his first birthday under this shadow, then his second birthday, and finally, his third birthday, blissfully unaware.

That wouldn’t last.

On September 24, 1710, Port Royal was attacked again by the English who sent five ships and 3400 troops. This time, the English were well prepared. In addition to marines from England, Massachusetts provided 900 soldiers, Connecticut 300, and New Hampshire 100. Iroquois were recruited as scouts.

Yes, you read that right, 3400 troops. In the census, there were less than Acadian 2000 residents, in total, scattered across the peninsula, and most of them were women and children. The Acadians, with their 300 soldiers, which would have included all able-bodied men that could lift a gun, stood absolutely no chance, although they did manage to hold the fort for 19 days. The episode became known as the Siege of Port Royal or the Conquest of Acadia.

At least they were allowed to surrender in dignity and march out of the fort instead of being killed.

After 1710, the English soldiers were in charge of Port Royal and the fort.

Ambush

A critical historical event occurred on the river right in front of the Forest home in 1711.

Thirty soldiers, a major, and the fort engineer were ambushed and killed at “Bloody Creek, 12 miles east of Annapolis Royal.”

Where was Bloody Creek? So glad you asked.

The Nova Scotia archives show this historical map based on a 1733 survey.

You can see that Bloody Creek abutted René Forest’s land. The ambush occurred right in front of his house or village, literally. You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he was involved. I suspect I know how Bloody Creek got its name.

René successfully defended his wife and their nine children, including 4-year-old Jacques, against the soldiers who freely burned homesteads. I wonder if this might have been Jacques’ earliest memory.

Furthermore, the note at C on the map, at the mouth of Bloody Creek, states, “Captain and 16 men of the 43rd Regiment of Foot were killed in forcing the French from this pass on December 8, 1757. The Acadians were not going down without a fight, AND, they were willing to fight against all odds.

Depending on your perspective, these people were either extremely resilient and brave or incredibly stubborn. More than one governor said they were ungovernable.

Lastly, look who René Forest’s neighbor is. Jean Prince – Jacque’s future father-in-law. Jacques literally grew up and married the girl next door.

Despite the 1711 ambush, the Acadians were unquestionably outnumbered and outgunned, and on April 13, 1713, Acadia passed to England, with France ceding all of Acadia, the fort, the land, and her 1700 Acadian residents.

After this, many of the Acadians decided they would, in fact, leave, as the English had desired at one point, and relocate to friendlier regions of French-held Canada. But now, the English did not want them to remove because they became acutely aware of who was raising crops and feeding them. The English soldiers needed the Acadians, but they certainly didn’t want to need them.

I can imagine the heated discussions taking place at church and any other Acadian gathering about whether one should stay or go and under what circumstances.

By 1717, when Jacques was ten years old, the Acadians had tentatively decided to stay, except for several young couples who did not have land and struck out to begin their families.

By 1720, Port Royal had been renamed Annapolis Royal. The English had established an uneasy peace with the Acadians, offering them the ability to exercise their religion freely, along with other concessions. The Acadians could leave if they wanted, but they couldn’t take any possessions with them.

Jacques would have been 13 and was probably quite capable of using a firearm.

Then, a new ultimatum arrived with another new governor, Governor Phillips. The Acadians were required to take the dreaded oath of allegiance, or they HAD to leave with no possessions.

The situation escalated over the years, with new requirements and repeated refusals to comply.

The Oath

In 1725, when Jacques was 18, yet another new governor, Armstrong, arrived and offered to allow the Acadians to take the following oath: “I do sincerely promise and swear that I will be faithful and bear true allegiance to His Majesty King George the Second, so help me God.”  This meant that the Acadians wouldn’t have to “take up arms” against the French or Indians, which had been one of their primary concerns, because the English refused to allow Catholics to serve in the military. With this new oath, they could leave whenever they wanted, and they had the freedom to have priests and to practice the Catholic religion.

Jacques, at 18, may have been required to sign this oath along with his father and older brothers.

But wait…there’s more.

The Neutral French

At this point, the Acadians began to be called the Neutral French. Everything was hunky-dory for a few years, until 1729 when the English decided that oath was too lenient and declared it null and void.

Jacques was now 22, and I’m sure he was fully capable of forming his own opinions. However, until he married, he would have lived with his father and helped with the farm. His future bride, living on the next farm, was seven years younger, so she would have been about 14.

Perhaps they had begun courting, or maybe he hadn’t really “noticed” her yet. Maybe they were still just giving a friendly wave across the field.

Governor Phillips was sent back to replace the new governor, and he reached a clandestine compromise in 1730.

Phillips reported that the Acadians took this oath: “I sincerely promise and swear, as a Christian, that I will be utterly faithful and will truly obey His Majesty King George the Second, whom I acknowledge as the sovereign Lord of Nova Scotia and Acadia. So help me God.”

That’s what Phillips reported, but the actual oath continued, as follows: “… that the inhabitants, when they have sworn hereto, will not be obliged to take up arms against France or against the Savages, and the said Inhabitants have further promised that they will not take up arms against the King of England or against its government.”

The priest and a notary signed as witnesses, but Phillips only sent the first part back to England, securing peace. No one on either side of the Atlantic knew.

Everyone in Acadia must have heaved a sigh of relief. For the first time in memorable history, in more than three decades, everyone was relatively happy.

For the next 15 or 20 years, the Acadians were left alone, and life seemed peaceful as they tended their land and animals.

Marriage

Since Jacques Forest no longer had to focus on warfare and whether his family was going to be evicted, burned out, decide to leave with nothing, or stay and fight – his mind turned to something else – romance.

By 1730, Jacques was 23, and Marie Joseph Le Prince was about 15 years old. He would have known her well and probably helped her father with farm chores. Her brothers were probably his best friends. She might have woven, sewn, and quilted alongside his mother and sisters.

They assuredly saw each other regularly at church. They had always known each other.

At some point, Jacques woke up and realized that she was no longer a little girl but had blossomed into a lovely young woman. Perhaps another suitor took interest, and Jacques realized he had better get in line, or another beau would marry lovely Marie-Josephe – and soon. Whatever he did worked.

On January 25, 1734, at age 25, in the same church where he had been baptized, in the town that had been renamed Annapolis Royal, he married 18-year-old Marie-Josephe LePrince, the daughter of Jean LePrince and Jeanne Blanchard.

The priest wrote “dispense 3-3 consanguinity” and noted the signatures of Claude Granger, Pierre Lanoue, and René Forest. Additionally, both Antoine Belivenu and Pierre Granger signed with their marks.

Clearly, several people were present at their wedding. Probably most of the community, or at least the people who lived nearest to their farms. Given the size of their families, they were probably related in one way or another to almost everyone.

Their signatures are shown on the second page, including that of Jacques’ father, René de Forest.

Note that FamilySearch lists their marriage date as January 31, 1733, instead of 1734. I noticed that 1734 is penciled in on the page later, like someone was trying to figure out which year pertained to the entry. Their first child was born in April of 1735.

I suspect 1733 is the correct year. Jacques was born in July of 1707, and he would turn 26 in July of 1734, so in January, when they were married, he was 25, the age recorded by the priest. Conversely, she would have turned 18 a few months later in November, so the year is uncertain.

The dispensation for third-degree consanguinity is quite interesting, telling us that they share great-grandparents as common ancestors.

That’s accurate because they share Etienne Hebert and Marie Gaudet as great-grandparents. Those families had been allied for generations by this point.

We don’t know exactly where they settled after their marriage, but rest assured, it was probably between their parents on the Annapolis River. Acadian families remained close in order to share the burden of work and support each other.

It was there, along the river at the mouth of Bloody Creek that their first nine children were born.

Their life would have been happy and mundane – raising crops and children, interacting with generations of family, attending church, sharing meals. This painting of Acadians depicted their life in 1751.

Jacques would have worked alongside his brothers and father, farming, hunting and fishing to provide for the members of the Forest village.

Jacques’ father, René, was becoming quite elderly, so the boys, who weren’t really boys anymore, probably handled the majority of the work.

René passed away on April 20th of 1751, at roughly 80 years of age. The following day, his sons, daughters, and grandchildren would have made their way to the Catholic church in Annapolis Royal, where his funeral mass was held before he was laid to rest in the churchyard, his grave marked by a white wooden cross.

Jacques’ last child, or at least the last one we know about, arrived on June 5th, 1753.

Marie was 38 years old. If she became pregnant again, which was certainly possible, that child would likely have been born either during or after the horrific removal in 1755.

The 1755 Removal, Known as The Great Upheaval

The twenty-year peaceful reprieve that the Acadians enjoyed ended in about 1750.

Once again, as the situation escalated, another oath was requested, then demanded, and was just as quickly declined.

One demand followed another, and the situation spiraled out of control.

By mid-July of 1755, the British wanted the Acadians gone and sent troops to accomplish their goal, imprisoning the men as hostages to ensure the good behavior and compliance of the women and children.

The Acadians were still reported as being optimistic. After all, they had weathered these storms so many times before. Plus, they felt that God was on their side.

The English ordered transport ships. This time was not the same.

The Acadians in various locations would fight and did win a few battles, but they would lose the war.

In August, Lt. Colonel John Winslow arrived in Grand Pre with 315 troops, taking up residence in the church – and the imprisonments began.

By October, the transports were ready for their human cargo.

The capture of Acadians and burning of their farms and belongings commenced in the more distant villages. The English knew that without communications between the settlements, time was on their side, and they could clear out Annapolis Royal after they removed the residents from the remote settlements.

It was fall. The Acadians were busy harvesting crops from the fields when the soldiers arrived, summoned them into the church in Grand Pre, and read the deportation order in English, a language they did not understand.

418 men attended, and 418 men were trapped.

September 5, 1755

After the men entered, Winslow stood by a table set up in the middle of the church. Flanked by soldiers, he read the following:

Gentlemen, I have received from his Excellency, Governor Lawrence, the King’s Commission which I have in my hand, and by whose orders you are conveyed together, to Manifest to you His Majesty’s final resolution to the French inhabitants of this his Province of Nova Scotia, who for almost half a century have had more Indulgence Granted them than any of his Subjects in any part of his Dominions. What use you have made of them you yourself Best Know.

The Part of Duty I am now upon is what thoh Necessary is Very Disagreeable to my natural make and temper, as I Know it Must be Grievous to you who are of the Same Speciea.

But it is not my business to annimadvert, but to obey Such orders as I receive, and therefore without Hesitation Shall Deliver you his Majesty’s orders and Instructions, Vist:

That your Land & Tennements, Cattle of all Kinds and Livestocks of all Sorts are forfeited to the Crown with all other your effects Savings your money and Household Goods, and you yourselves to be removed form this Province.

Thus it is Preremtorily his Majesty’s orders That the whole French Inhabitants of these Districts be removed, and I am Throh his Majesty’s Goodness Directed to allow you Liberty to Carry of your money and Household Goods as Many as you Can without Discommoding the Vessels you Go in. I shall do Every thing in my Power that all those Goods be Secured to you and that you are Not Molested in Carrying of them of, and also that whole Family Shall go in the Same Vessel, and make this remove, which I am Sensable must give you a great Deal of Trouble, as Easey as his Majesty’s Service will admit, and hope that in what Ever part of the world you may Fall you may be Faithful Subjects, a Peasable & Happy People.

I Must also Inform you That it is his Majesty’s Pleasure that you remain in Security under the Inspection and Direction of the Troops that I have the Honr. to Command.

This edict essentially said, “you are prisoners, you are being removed, and your belongings are now ours.”

Winslow then went to the priest’s house. Some of the older Acadians followed and begged him to consider their families who had no idea what was happening.

Winslow allowed 20 men, ten on each side of the Cornwallis, to go back and inform the women and children that they wouldn’t be harmed. They were also to bring back any men who hadn’t shown up, with the men still in captivity held responsible for the others. In other words, there was an implied threat – or maybe it wasn’t just implied.

The families of those imprisoned had to provide their food. The prisoners could move about the enclosure, but couldn’t go beyond the officers’ quarters.

The deportation began five days later and progressed very quickly. It must have been mind-numbing, surreal, and head-spinning for the Acadians.

An Acadian woman who survived the ordeal told her story of the deportation. You can read a portion here on Lucie LeBlanc Consentino’s website. The full version is much more gut-wrenching, for lack of a better description, and I can’t even read it again. It gave me nightmares, and I’m not doing that to you. Just trust me that this unquestionably falls into the war crimes category.

As the Acadians were herded onto the ships and departed, their homes and barns were burned, and much of their livestock was killed after great suffering.

The last thing they saw on the horizon, the last of their homes and homeland, was smoke. How they must have despised the British.

Annapolis Royal

The scene was essentially repeated in Annapolis Royal, although the Acadians from this region proved exceedingly difficult to subdue and were apparently not trapped in the church.

On August 31st, a transport ship arrived in Annapolis Royal, and the following day, Winslow was informed that the Acadians had fled into the forest with their belongings. An order was previously given to burn any means of subsistence for any Acadian escaping. The ship was sent elsewhere, and the destruction of their property began.

On September 4th, the Acadians returned from the forest, stating that they would listen to the order of the King.

The expulsion had begun.

On October 27th, the first ship full of destitute, heartbroken Acadians left Annapolis Royal for Massachusetts. I can only imagine the grief, knowing they would probably never see those left behind again. Those left behind would be loaded up and shipped out in the following days – destination uncertain.

Finally, beginning at 5 in the morning on December 8th, the transport ships set sail from Goat Island, carrying most of the Port Royal area Acadians. A total of 8 ships were destined for Connecticut, North Carolina, New York, and South Carolina.

About 300 people living upstream escaped by fleeing into the woods and then to the St. John River across the Bay of Fundy, then into the mainland near the border of New Brunswick and Maine.

In a small victory, the passengers on the ship bound for North Carolina somehow wrested control of the ship away from the British and sailed it to the St. John River. Yay Acadians!!! They were reported to have decided to go or attempt to go to Quebec.

The British did their level best to round up every last one of the Acadians like so many cattle being sent off to slaughter. Some escaped to the mainland, some joined their Native families and disappeared, and a few secretly remained near Annapolis Royal. Exactly two years later, to the very day, December 8, 1757, Acadians killed 19 British soldiers in an ambush, once again at Bloody Creek. I wonder if they realized the significance of the date.

Jacques Forest, Marie-Josephe LePrince, and their children, including my ancestor, Marguerite de Forest, were among the families deported from Annapolis Royal, apparently to Connecticut where they were found a decade later.

Deportation

On Tim Hebert’s site, the history of the ships involved provides us with some hints.

The ship Mermaid left Annapolis Royal on October 13th, destined for Connecticut, but arrived in Massachusetts on November 17th.

The ship Elizabeth left on December 8th with 280 precious people on board. Three died en route, but the ship arrived in New London, Connecticut, on January 21, 1756.

The sloop Dove left Boudrot Point in Minas on December 18th but was also sent to Annapolis to take additional inhabitants on board. A total of 111 arrived on January 30th.

Let’s hope our family was on one of those ships, instead of the Edward, which left Annapolis Royal on December 8th with 278 Acadians on board. That ship encountered a severe storm that blew them off course, and they docked in Antiqua in the Caribbean. Several died there of smallpox, but it’s unclear whether they were infected on the ship or in Antigua. Finally, On May 22, 1756, the ship arrived in Connecticut with only 180 people. Another source says that almost 100 had died of Malaria.

Regardless of what they had, the death toll and suffering were brutal. Whatever possessions the passengers had left when they arrived were burned to prevent the spread of whatever disease they carried. Those poor people.

I rather doubt that Jacques and family were on this ship, because given the number of children listed for him in 1763, unless he had remarried to a younger wife, his children were accounted for. Surely, had they been unlucky enough to be forced upon this vessel, his family would have been smaller. Roughly one-third of the people on board died, which would equate to at least three family members.

The trip, though only a few hundred miles for some, was horrific. The Acadians were packed in like sardines and were required to remain below deck. Only six at a time were allowed to go up on deck for about 90 minutes each. The weather at the time of the deportation was reported to have been especially severe and even included an earthquake.

Arrival

The ships that arrived in Connecticut docked in New London, which looked like this 55 years later. It probably hadn’t changed much, and regardless of which ship Jacques Forest was forced onto, his future came into view from this bay.

Fortunately, Connecticut had been preparing to welcome and help the Acadians.

1763 to 1766

The New England Historical Society tells us that:

Under the Treaty of Paris of 1763, the Acadian exiles had 19 months to leave the British North American colonies for any French colony. They began petitioning to go home to Nova Scotia, to Quebec, to France, or to the French West Indies, specifically Saint-Domingue (Haiti).

However, they had to pay for their own transport.

In 1766, 900 Acadian exiles in Massachusetts gathered in Boston and decided to return to their native land. They marched 400 miles through the wilderness. Many died along the way. Then in Acadia they found the English had taken over their farms. They found new homes in the counties of Digby and Yarmouth.

Of course, our Jacques Forest family was in Connecticut, and we have proof based on the petition they signed.

On Lucie’s website, the Connecticut list of people desiring to go to France that was gathered between 1763 and 1766 (I cannot find an actual petition date) shows the family of Jacque Fourest consisting of ten persons. Beneath Jacque is Mathieu Forest with six persons.

Cousin Sylvie Lord posted this list of petitioners from a 1911 book in her Ancestry tree.

The surname is also spelled Fouret, Forest, Fourest, and occasionally Forais. Sometimes, it also has a preceding “le,” meaning “the,” or “de,” or “du,” meaning “of.”.

Listed on the petition, we also find a Victor Forest with five persons, and he is listed beside a Benoist (Benoit) Forest, also with five persons. Victor is the name of Jacques’ eldest child, born in 1735, so certainly old enough to have a wife and three children by 1763.

Benoit is unknown to us.

Jacques’ brother, Jean-Pierre Forest, who married Anne Richard is on this list as well. They had several children baptized in Annapolis Royal before deportation.

Mathieu Forest may also be Mathieu- René Foret, Jacques’ other brother who married Marie-Madeleine Guilbault and had several children prior to deportation.

All of these people were denied transport to France, and we know little of what happened to Jacques’ children, except for my ancestor, Marguerite Forest (DeForest), who married Francois Lafay (Lafay, Lafaille) someplace in New England on November 10, 1767. Around 1787, Marguerite and Francois migrated to Quebec and settled in L’Acadie near other Acadian refugees. Actually, I should say twice refugees.

It’s possible that Jacques’ younger child, Charles Tranquille DeForest, who was born on February 15, 1750, in Annapolis Royal, died in St. Genevieve, near Montreal, on August 7, 1770. It’s noted that this person was about 20, but his parents are not listed. Witnesses were Joseph Lefebre and Joseph Hetier.

Tim Hebert notes that some of the 666 Acadians who were denied passage to France wound up in Santa Domingo, facing hard labor on coffee and sugar plantations along with brutally hot tropical weather. Some of those families and others made their way to Louisiana to become Cajuns.

The following year, in 1767, other Acadians chartered a boat and sailed north to the St. John River Valley.

And of course, we know that some Acadians remained in Connecticut because Jacques’ daughter, Marguerite de Forest, then 18 years old, married in New England in November of 1767 to Francois Lafay (Lafaille.) They did not migrate to Quebec for two more decades. Their daughter, Mary (Marie) Lafay, reported that one of the reasons they settled in L’Acadie, in Quebec, was that her grandmother, back wherever they lived in New England, was concerned that her grandchildren were losing their Catholic religion.

What Happened to Jacques Forest?

How I wish I knew what happened to either Jacques or his family.

The colonies weren’t peaceful either. The Revolutionary War was fought from 1776 to about 1780, although the Acadians certainly would have understood about wanting to extract oneself from the clutches of the British.

The first census in the US wasn’t taken until 1790, and with the surname variations, someone from this family could have been listed by various name spellings.

It’s also possible that Jacques and most of his male children had died. If his female children survived, and it certainly appears that they did until 1763-1766, they would have married unidentified men.

Furthermore, by the first census, it had been a quarter century since that removal petition in Connecticut. It seems likely that Jacques was deceased by 1790, especially given that his granddaughter when asked about why they moved to Quebec, referred only to her elderly grandmother. If Marie-Josephe was still alive, she would have been 75 and probably living with a family member. I didn’t find a census candidate for her.

In 1766, when he signed the petition requesting to go to France, Jacques would have been 59 years old, and that’s 59 extremely hard years. The Acadians in the colonies were mostly poor laborers, working on farms for others, although they fared better in Connecticut than most other locations.

By 1786, Jacques would have been 79 and likely deceased. His wife apparently was not, but perhaps she encouraged Marguerite and her family to relocate to Canada because she knew her time was limited. It’s also possible that she left with them or another child.

We do find people with the Foret or Forest or similar surnames in other locations, but of course, the family had lived in Acadia for three generations, and each of those ancestral families had many children. We may be scattered to the wind, but many descendants exist today.

Perhaps, eventually, enough Forest men will purchase or upgrade to the Big Y DNA test that we will be able to piece the Forest, Foret, de Forest family line back together again. If we are really, REALLY lucky, we’ll match a Forest man, by whatever spelling, from France, leading us back to our French origins.

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Silver Lake: Cherishing the Final Visit & Remembering Her Finest – 52 Ancestors #406

The beastly heat radiated off of the pavement in waves as we drove the back roads of Indiana in the last week of July. Summer heat is always brutal, but the blazing sun in the summer of 2023 ratcheted the intensity up several notches.

The sun resembled ripe peaches from time to time as the smoke in the upper atmosphere from Canadian wildfires painted the sun orange, but it didn’t lessen the torrid heat any.

Tall corn, taller than me, lined the road on both sides, making it feel like driving through a vibrant green tunnel. I’m still very leery of crossroads, considering what happened back in ‘74 when someone ran a stop sign directly in front of me. I had no idea – couldn’t see them coming because of the corn. I lived, and so did she, but not everyone is so lucky.

White crosses in the grass alongside the roads mark the locations of the unlucky ones – the earthbound legacy of fatal accidents. Technically, I don’t think they’re allowed, but nobody is coldhearted enough to remove them, and they remain, well, until they don’t.  Everyone local knows who each marker is for – each life cut short.

On country roads, it doesn’t matter what day of the week it is. You pass pickup trucks and an occasional tractor regardless of whether it’s Saturday, Sunday, or a weekday. And, of course, the chronic plague of orange barrels signals construction.

My mind drifted back to the years I lived in Hoosier farm country in the heartland of Indiana.

We got up before sunup to weed the garden behind the house in the morning dew, at the crack of dawn, before it got hot. We picked beans and ate fresh-picked tomatoes. Sometimes lunch was sliced still-warm tomatoes, salt, pepper, and mayonnaise slathered on white bread with sun-steeped tea or lemonade. Plus, sweet corn drenched in butter. Mmmmm – can’t get that anyplace except at home.

We sat out back, snapping green beans for supper.

Those were the days.

Life was a lot slower back then, and summer seemed like forever.

But it wasn’t.

The next day, Sunday, was the big day – cousin Cheryl Ferverda’s Celebration of Life in Fort Wayne. The purpose of my return.

I spent days preparing Cheryl’s eulogy, searching for photos, and perusing the old newspapers for tidbits about her life. It had to be just right. The perfect combination of respect, reverence, humor, and unadulterated joy. All things Cheryl.

Woven into all of that was Cheryl’s perseverance, her tenacity, and her willingness to simply step right out on the edge, without regard to the consequences, if that’s what was necessary. Cheryl was unafraid. In a time when women were supposed to be conservative, and dare I say it – obedient – she was anything but.

Cheryl left an incredible legacy, and I wanted her eulogy to reflect her spirit. The Cheryl we knew and loved. Sometimes, in spite of her stubborn self. I can hardly complain about that. We share that same Ferverda trait😊

Cheryl was my sister-cousin. We shared secrets, tears, a proclivity for NOT being well-behaved, irrepressible laughter, and much love.

And then, of course, there was that one Easter Sunday in Belgium eating chocolate…but I digress.

And that other time in the Netherlands where we went all out orange to celebrate our Dutch heritage, right along with the locals. On Sunday, I would wear an orange streak in my hair in honor of that day.

It wasn’t Belgium or the Netherlands I was thinking about that Saturday afternoon.

Nope, it was Silver Lake.

Silver Lake

Silver Lake, a tiny farm town of less than 1000 residents and about 200 families is nestled in Kosciusko County in northern Indiana.

Cheryl and I have deep roots there.

Probably half of the residents have either Amish, Mennonite, or Brethren heritage. You can still see horses and buggies regularly at the lonely 4-way stop in the center of town.

The town’s layout remains the same, but most of the old buildings are gone today, and more disappear every year.

The first fire, in 1883, burned an entire block of buildings, comprising one-fourth of the Silver Lake business district, which was much more vibrant then than now. Silver Lake grew up around the lake and, at one time, included (gasp) a dance hall and opera house.

Of course, the Ferverda family would have heard about those fires, even up in Leesburg where they lived. Everyone for miles around would have known about the fires.

Two Ferverda boys wouldn’t live in Silver Lake for another generation.

My grandfather John Ferverda was a year old, and Roscoe, his brother, Cheryl’s father, wouldn’t be born for another decade.

John and Roscoe both settled in Silver Lake in the nineteen-teens.

Back in the late 1800s, a hotel thrived in Silver Lake, although I’m entirely baffled as to why. It burned in 1899 and was never rebuilt. That entire block stood vacant for a decade and Kerlin Tractor Sales built on part of that land in 1909.

Of course, most of the buildings that replaced the buildings consumed in the fires have now met their maker, too.

Many activities took place in what was known as the public square, even though there was no square, so to speak, just a crossroads. Weekly band concerts and Fourth of July festivities such as pie-eating contests and climbing greased poles entertained the townfolk.

The picture above was probably nearly all of the residents, not just a few. Everyone turned out for community events.

A bandstand, the round structure shown above, balanced on a single massive cedar pillar, was built at the crossroads, the intersection of what is now 14 (Main) and 15 (Jefferson.) For many years, it served as a landmark, and people gave directions based on the bandstand. “Go to Silver Lake; turn right at the bandstand.”  Residents were quite unhappy, and people passing through were confused when it was torn down about 1915 when the “highway” (14) was built. However, the main roads, including 14 and 15, weren’t “blacktopped” until 1930, and an amazing number of roads are still gravel today.

Mom would have been 7 or 8 and would have remembered the road paving.

The local kids probably ran down to see what was going on. Both John and Roscoe’s homes faced Main Street and would have been MUCH less dusty afterward, although generally, oil was applied to the gravel roads in town “to keep the dust down.”

Today, the Lake City Bank is located on the southeast corner of the crossroads, behind where the old bandstand once stood on the corner.

Silver Lake, founded in 1859, was named after Silver Lake, the lake, located half a mile from the crossroads on the northwest corner of town. Even then, Silver Lake was a recreation area.

When Mother and Cheryl were growing up, the homes along the lake were summer cottages. No one stayed at the lake in the winter, so heat wasn’t needed, and the only AC anyplace was opening the windows.

Back in the 1940s, there were less than half as many residents as today. People lived in homes clustered around the crossroads – Jefferson, the north/south street, and Main, east and west.

This 1940 map shows that Silver Lake was just a block or so north and extended about three blocks south and east of the crossroads. The railroad was another three blocks east, and farms were located right behind the houses.

Mom’s father, John Ferverda, and Cheryl’s father, Roscoe Ferverda, were brothers, and both served as Station Agents at the train depot just east of town. John was the agent back in the nineteen-teens, leaving the railroad in 1916 to become a partner in the local hardware store.

That local hardware store building still stands today and was reportedly built around 1850, although that date might be a little early.

I think John Ferverda’s store was the middle “3” arches, or the leftmost segment of the red brick building, but I’m not positive, and anyone who might know is gone.

These buildings may not last much longer. The yellow building is abandoned, and there’s a top-to-bottom crack, roof to ground, on the far side of the red brick portion.

The west side isn’t in much better condition.

I remember the painted sign from decades ago.

This photo from an old 2010 real estate listing gives us a glimpse of the original brickwork. Of course, when John Ferverda’s business was located in these buildings, there would have been no running water, and they would have used outhouses.

In this early photo, about 1920, looking south on what is now Indiana 15, at the crossroads, you can see the building at left on the corner that was the side of the building where my grandfather’s hardware store was located. All of the buildings on the right side, across the street, are gone now but weren’t when I was a child. The store on the corner, under the awning, was an antique shop when I was young. The owner knew my grandparents and remembered them far better than I did.

My grandmother, Edith Lore Ferverda, died when I was 4, and my grandfather, John Ferverda, when I was 6.

Today, the corner where the antique shop was located hosts the local Subway, with the new Igloo Ice Cream shop within view on West on 15. Not to be confused with the old Igloo, owned by the Heckaman family, a few miles further north past the lake, when I was a kid.

On hot summer days, we swam in the lake, rolled all the windows down in the car, blowing our hair dry, and went for ice cream cones which were either a nickel or dime – when we could afford it.

The Silver Lake Centennial book published in 1959 included this donated photo of the hardware store building from 1910, a few years before my grandfather opened his business, and a dozen years before Mother came along.

Cheryl, shown here, cute as a button, in second grade, was born in 1946, 24 years after Mother, but the building outlasted both of them.

Few downtown businesses remain today, except for the obligatory post office, a bank branch, a new Subway, the requisite liquor store, and a tavern called the Silver Inn. Wages are low, and many people commute at least 45 minutes to someplace else, down those same steaming asphalt roads that beckon those who were born there, away.

The only other buildings remaining that the Ferverda brothers or their children would recognize are found on the west side of what is now Indiana 15, just south of the four-way stop.

The little house peeking through at the far left of this photo is the house where Mother was born, at least according to Mom.

I remember years ago, when Mom bought a brick in the neighboring Memory Park, she told me she was born here.

The quandary is whether or not I’ve misremembered and she was actually born where the Memory Park is located, or if this was the doctor’s office or his home at the time.

That seems somewhat unlikely since I know that Dr. Leckrone was a fairly wealthy man, and this home looks small.

And why wouldn’t he have delivered mother at my grandparents’ home?

Checking Mom’s birth certificate reveals that indeed, Dr. Ira Leckrone delivered her – but Mom told me that her mother wouldn’t even take her clothes off in front of the male doctor. Mom thought, as did I, that a midwife welcomed Mom into the world.

You can see my grandfather’s store from the sidewalk in front of the little grey house.

Silver Lake was a very small place.

This old photo is taken from almost the same perspective as standing in front of the little grey house today. The red building in the top photo that I took a few days ago is the same as the first building, at left, above. My grandfather’s hardware store building is visible, but the grandstand had not yet been built on the southeast corner, near the wagon at right.

Silver Lake probably looked a lot like this years later too, then, gradually, the first automobiles arrived.

Directly across 15 from the grey house is this home built around 1900 with rather unique stonework. I remember more of these from my childhood. Today, when driving through the older parts of Silver Lake, in the couple blocks north of the public square, I noticed several porches and chimneys on houses built between 1888 and 1934 that were clearly created by the same artistic stonemason with his signature style.

This sounds like many buildings and businesses, but the blocks were small. Today, the entire southwest corner is pictured above, beginning at the center of town and ending with the Memory Park.

So many memories.

The Memory Park

The Memory Park was created in 2002 on the corner beside the little grey house. At Cheryl’s Celebration of Life, I asked the defacto Silver Lake historian about what was located on this corner before the park. He said it was a gas station, but then that could have been built after a house was here, so I still don’t know if this might have been where Mom was born.

I thought I remembered Mom saying that she purchased a brick for her family when bricks were being sold to raise funds for the construction of the park. I had no idea where our brick was, but I managed to walk right up to the Ferverda family brick. I had to smile. Mom would have been very pleased.

I don’t think Mom ever got to see her brick in place.

I know she never saw the park completed.

The park is beautiful today, but it didn’t look like this initially.

Mom would love the way the park turned out and that it honors veterans in addition to local families.

Cars

Kitty corner across the street from the Memory Park is an old filling station that I remember from when I was a child.

Mom and Cheryl both would have purchased gas here. Today, caffeine and candy fuel the residents, when it’s actually open.

Gone today, but to the right of the gas station a few buildings was the old Kerlin Ford dealership.

This wasn’t the original Kerlin dealership though. Nope. The first one included tractor sales, chain saws, and other implements and was located downtown. Keep in mind that “downtown” only extended for a block in three directions. The fourth direction was already “out of town.”

Located at 109 East Main Street, today’s Indiana 14, just to the east of the hardware store, my grandfather sold tractors and then cars and trucks at Kerlin’s Tractor Sales. Kerlin’s was built where the old hotel had been and burned in 1899.

The building still stands today.

Mother used to walk the three blocks from home to the dealership, such as it was, and asked her father for a nickel for a Hershey’s chocolate bar on the way to school. On days when she was successful and he actually had a nickel to spare, she happily skipped the few steps to the drug store in the buildings where her Dad’s hardware store had been, made her purchase, and then hurried off to school with her prize.

Knowing how much she loved Hershey bars, it’s doubtful that any smidgen of chocolate ever made as far as the schoolhouse steps.

It’s not surprising that Mom had a special affinity for her father, and for Hershey bars too, for the rest of her life. This picture was taken on her last Christmas with us. I’m sure Mom and Cheryl are sharing chocolate right now and catching up!

I suspect Mom still loves chocolate in the afterlife, too. Two days later, on what is almost assuredly my last trip to visit her grave, once again, I took a chocolate gift to her.

Schools

Schools, of course, are the backbone of any community.

In Silver Lake, all children attended the same school and were taught by the same teacher. Mom (red arrow) is easy to recognize.

Mom started school in this building, long gone, located on Main Street, very close to where her Dad worked.

When Mom was in about second grade, the new school opened, just a block or two away.

The “new” school opened in 1930.

Mom graduated from this building in 1940, as did Cheryl and her husband-to-be in 1965.

Three years later, Cheryl would literally marry the boy next door, someone she had known her entire life.

The “new” school fell into disrepair after it was abandoned in 2006 and was demolished last year.

All that’s left of the school now are pieces of brick that I found in the dirt beside a newly paved parking lot in front of a playground that doesn’t even mention the old school where the lives of every Silver Lake child for more than 75 years were formed.

Every single one of them was educated here.

I hope someone erects a historical marker in Rambler Park to commemorate the old school.

The Silver Lake Alumni still meets yearly, although clearly not here.

Mom, second from right with the white collar, above, in 1995, attended the alumni events as long as she could, Cheryl and her brother Don attended, as did my brother and his wife.

Don was a member of the last graduating class, in 1966. After that, the building was used for younger students until 2006.

Each year, fewer alumni are left. Cheryl somehow managed to retrieve a brick from the old school for both of her sons. By 2022, when the school was demolished, Don had passed away, and Cheryl’s health was deteriorating, but in line with what I would expect from Cheryl, she denied it until she simply could not anymore.

I took a piece of brick from the parking lot where the school previously stood and decorated Mom’s grave two days later.

In Silver Lake, anyone wanting additional education had to travel.

Mom’s parents drove her to Fort Wayne for dance lessons to strengthen her heart for years after she had Rheumatic Fever.

Cheryl drove 10 or 11 miles to Manchester College, founded by the Brethren in 1860. I’m guessing it probably wouldn’t have been her first pick, but I suspect it was either Manchester or nothing. Back then, no one “wasted” money sending “girls” to college. My mother wanted to go, but couldn’t. A generation later, I had to fight for the opportunity.

Something very unexpected happened at Manchester College that literally changed Cheryl’s life – one of those synchronistic fork-in-the-road trajectory-altering life experiences.

Cheryl heard Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. speak, in person, about systemic discrimination and his dream. I don’t know what else he said, but it was powerful.

I Have a Dream

I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: “We hold these truths to be self-evident: that all men are created equal.“

I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.

Cheryl’s life changed in an extraordinarily meaningful way.

She adopted his vision, especially after his untimely death, as her own. She added women to his dream of all men being created equal, and as she matured, she added all groups of people, including those with disabilities, the vulnerable, LGBTQ+, and animals.

If you were a jerk or an abuser of either humans or furry souls, you absolutely did not get a pass and were held to account.

Cheryl strengthened my resolve the longer I knew her.

She was an incredibly brave woman who did not escape without scars.

But change the world she did, via her actions and steadfast example.

In 1968, Cheryl began balancing college and marriage.

She graduated as Valedictorian of the class of 1970 with her degree in elementary education.

Not only was Cheryl beautiful, she was hands-down brilliant and loved science. Born two decades later, she would have been a scientist.

Cheryl went on to Indiana University in Fort Wayne where she earned a master’s degree as well. Cheryl just might have been the first woman from Silver Lake to graduate from college.

She was being prepared for the challenges to come.

The North Side

After spending some time confirming that indeed, I was in the right location and the high school had been demolished, we drove north to Silver Lake, the lake itself, and the cemetery.

I had been back to Lakeview Cemetery many times. My grandparents are buried there, as is Cheryl’s father, Roscoe, and her brother, Don.

No one in Silver Lake ever calls it by name. It’s just “the cemetery,” and it’s pretty much where everyone is buried and has been since at least 1860.

The road to the cemetery holds landmarks that mean nothing to anyone but me and Cheryl.

This house in the second block north of the crossroads used to be the little local library.

There was no public library, so a lovely woman named Neva took it upon herself to create a library, stocked it with books for all ages, welcomed anyone, and loaned her books. All out of her own pocket and the goodness of her heart. I never knew her last name, but I think she was Neva Franks.

To enter the beautiful library in the room with the three-sided window was like entering a mystical portal to other worlds. It was slightly dark and cool, but not frightening. A notebook resided on the front porch where you recorded the books you were taking home. When you came back, you crossed those books off the list and either left them on the porch if Neva wasn’t home, or gave them to Neva. She had read every single book and loved to discuss each one, asking what you thought about them.

She was always encouraging.

Neva had a way with children, and so did Cheryl.

As a child, I was allowed to walk to Neva’s house and check out library books while we were visiting my grandparents in Silver Lake.

So did Cheryl.

It’s not lost upon me that Cheryl’s career was spent at the Allen County Public Library. Neva would be so pleased.

Silver Lake, the town, extends only about 6 blocks north of the crossroads.

Silver Lake’s small Town Office has recently been built across from a home built in 1885.

Next door, the old root beer stand from the 1950s has been rebirthed as a B&K, but the B&K has since closed too.

My grandfather loved root beer.

When my grandfather was able, we all climbed in his car, ate hotdogs and drank icy-cold root beer at the drive-in. What a treat! The carhop, a local gal, brought our food and root beer in frosty mugs, latching a tray to our window. I got to ride in the back seat. Hotdogs and root beer with Pawpaw was heaven.

He fell ill in 1960 or 1961 with Tuberculosis, then liver cancer. He was no longer hungry, but Mom and I would drive to the root beer stand and bring back root beer for him in a megaphone type of rootbeer cone.

It wouldn’t be long before he would be gone too, and Mom and I would drive to the root beer stand one last time. We sat there and cried. Back at the house, which was painfully silent and empty without him, we put the cone in the icebox one last time.

He, too, drove past one final time – on the way to the cemetery. He couldn’t have gotten much closer to his beloved root beer stand.

The root beer stand is marked with the red star at right, my grandparents’ graves at the middle red star, and the public swimming area at Silver Lake, at left.

Mom told me that the kids all used to cut through the cemetery when walking to the lake to swim. Sometimes, they ran through the scarry cemetery – probably if it was getting dark.

I’ve never needed directions to find my grandparent’s graves in the cemetery. I remember visiting with mother as a child, as an adult, and then…without her.

Four years ago, I found the original Ferverda farm belonging to John Ferverda’s grandfather. I was gifted a rock from that farm and found a rock from his parents’ farm as well. I placed both of them on my grandfather’s stone. I was both surprised and pleased to discover those memory stones remain, and I hope they do for a very long time.

Mary took my picture, as this is very likely the last time I’ll be in Indiana.

When visiting Mom’s grave the day after Cheryl’s Celebration of Life, I discovered that both of the Ferverda rocks remain beside her headstone, too.

Silver Lake, The Lake

I have only vague, fuzzy memories of Silver Lake, the lake itself. On the other hand, Mom and Cheryl loved to swim there, and both had wonderful memories.

Leaving the cemetery, we turned left on the tiny street that led past many of the same cottages pictured in this photo from more than half a century ago.

When Mom and Cheryl were growing up, refrigerators were literally ice boxes. Blocks of ice were cut on the lake in the winter, stored in the “ice house,” pictured here, in sawdust, then delivered twice a week to the ice box portion of the refrigerator by the iceman who just came in and placed the ice in the icebox that kept the food cold. No one needed to be home. Doors weren’t locked.

Summer on the lake was quite different of course. Water was the only way to cool off.

The landing or public swimming and boating area has been modernized, but it doesn’t really look a lot different.

Swans lived there, then as now.

I can close my eyes and hear the distant voices of mother and her brother, and Cheryl and her brother too. Children’s laughter and splashing.

They are all together once again.

Cheryl’s ashes will be scattered here soon – near so many of our family members who rest just up the hill in the cemetery.

The Ferverda Families

It was time to visit the last location in Silver Lake that Cheryl and I both held near and dear to our hearts.

Driving back through the center of town and turning left, or east, led to the Ferverda homes.

One block of businesses, then three more. Passing by the church where my grandparents and Mom attended, and so did I when we visited Silver Lake.

The side entrance, which led to the basement, was for the children.

I remember singing, or more like screeching, Jesus Loves Me at the top of our lungs. We were so proud of ourselves.

Of course, the church looks a lot different today.

John and Roscoe purchased homes across the street from each other. Cheryl and my mother were first cousins but were born 23 years and a few months apart. They shared a lot of the same DNA, not to mention mannerisms and characteristics. So did Cheryl and me. We just clicked and were bonded beyond any logical explanation.

John was the station agent at one time, followed a few years later by his brother, Roscoe.

Roscoe served as a telegrapher before his WWI service and became the Silver Lake station agent in 1919 after he got out of the Army. He worked for the railroad for decades and was transferred to Claypool in 1958 when the Silver Lake station closed. Goods were being shipped increasingly by truck, not train, and station agents were no longer needed.

Two catastrophic train wrecks occurred between the 1920s and the 1950s, and the local doctor, Ira Leckrone, who delivered mother was killed at the railroad crossing in 1939. His sons, who were also doctors, tried to save him, but could not.

Neither mother nor Cheryl ever mentioned those wrecks. Cheryl, born in 1946, said that her father rarely mentioned anything about the early railroad days.

Cheryl, shown here in 1961 in 8th grade, grew up where the whistle of the six daily passenger trains and innumerable freight trains reverberated through their home. Truth be told, they probably got so used to it that they didn’t even hear it anymore.

The earliest photo of Roscoe Ferverda’s house was long before he owned it. Taken in 1878, you can see the train in the background.

The train tracks were just a few hundred feet to the east, and Mom said you could set a clock by those trains.

It was here, in this house, that Cheryl developed the foundation of her personality. She found the lost boy, trapped in a doghouse, when she was just 14. And it was here that she developed an inseparable bond with her brother, Don, along with a deep appreciation for community.

Roscoe lived here until his death in 1978 in the midst of a once-in-a-century blizzard. In an incredible twist of fate, his body was taken to his brother John’s former home across the street. Let’s just say he rested in the garage for a few days because no one could get in or out of Silver Lake.

John, on the other hand, died in June of 1962. The house was then sold and became…are you ready for this…a funeral home.

I don’t know if John Ferverda built this house, or not. Zillow says it was built in 1919. He’s noted as renting in the 1920 census, but this is the only home that Mom, born in 1922, ever lived in.

The new owners made several changes to their new funeral home.

Mother was mortified and prayed that she never had to visit. She said she just didn’t know if she could get through the combination of the funeral and it being held in her childhood home.

The screened-in porch was boarded up with plywood and painted white. The original steps were replaced with much more friendly stairs, complete with railings.

Central heat was installed. There was no furnace nor chimney in the original home built in 1919. I suspect the funeral home added air conditioning too, at least eventually. Mom didn’t even want to think about where the bodies were embalmed.

It’s back to being a private residence today.

Looking back over the field, I realized that I was never aware of the field behind the house. It’s just so “Indiana.”

The music room, with the evil cactus that attacked me when I was 3 or 4, was the middle grouping of windows on the first floor. I vaguely remember my grandmother playing the piano. I would sit on the seat beside her.

The kitchen was to the rear, and the back porch where the hand pump was located is enclosed today.

The funeral home installed the handicapped ramp.

The garage is obviously newish and probably housed the hearse.

The rear of the property, back in the day, consisted of a chicken house surrounded by a hedge of impenetrable thorny raspberry bushes. I remember picking berries and eating them as fast as I picked them. My hands bled, but I didn’t care.

John Ferverda raised chickens. Mom’s brother’s job was to catch and decapitate them, and Mom’s job was to pluck and clean them. She earned a nickel for each one and absolutely HATED cleaning chickens. Chickens and vegetables from the garden got this family through the Depression. The only chicken she ever liked was fried, and not often.

Mom was thrilled when my grandfather sold the back half of the property to the Lion’s Club, which is the white building. The wooden fence was the original property line.

The Railroad

The railroad was the transportation hub of Silver Lake. Everything was shipped by train. Chickens, furniture, produce, groceries, manufactured goods, and more. If people were going very far, they too traveled by train. Automobiles were expensive and not terribly reliable.

The horse-drawn drey line transported goods and people to their destination from the train depot.

Train travel was a dress-up affair. In the summer, it was hot, and in the winter, it was cold, but that didn’t matter. Everyone dressed up anyway. This postcard is dated 1908.

As automobiles improved, trucking gradually began to replace trains for shipping goods. Trucks could go where trains didn’t and could deliver directly to warehouses, stores, or purchasers. The dray wagon and horse were becoming obsolete, as were station agents.

The train tracks, then as now, formed the eastern border of Silver Lake, although originally, there was a block or two of space between the last house and the tracks.

When I was young, the tracks were simply marked by crosses on posts. Everyone rolled down the window, stopped, looked, and listened for a train.

The crossings are marked much better today, complete with crossing gates and multiple flashers.

I don’t know if the original depot was on the left or right side of the road.

A curve in the tracks marks the left or north side. There is room by the road for a station.

The right or south side is now the Silver Lake Agri-Center.

Mary and I crossed the tracks once again. Just a couple of hours after we had crossed them the first time, headed into Silver Lake.

In those hours, I had traveled back in time to the beginning of my life. I was born just up the road and came home with my mother to my grandparents’ house.

I drifted further back in time and visited my grandparents, Cheryl’s parents, then Mom and Cheryl’s lives as well.

As we crossed the tracks and drove back down that hilly road, I remembered why I used to get carsick when we drove to Fort Wayne to visit my grandfather in the hospital.

On this final visit to Silver Lake, we passed the church that used to be Brethren, passed by working farms and farms that used to be owned by families I knew. I wonder if they are still in the family. We drove past curves and crossroads that looked familiar but I can’t quite remember why I turned there years ago. Memories fade with time into a lovely blur of color.

Silver Lake doesn’t make me sad like returning to many places of my youth.

Mother was happy here, and so was Cheryl until both of them left the confines of Silver Lake and learned that an entire world was waiting for them elsewhere.

Silver Lake was a good place to be from.

Fort Wayne

Cheryl spent most of her life after Silver Lake in Fort Wayne as the Communications Director for the Allen County Public Library. She sealed both her personal and professional legacy by securing the Lincoln Collection for the library – but more specifically and importantly – she led the charge to preserve Abraham Lincoln’s artifacts for the public and scholars alike.

When the Lincoln Museum closed and the artifacts were scheduled to be auctioned individually, Cheryl resolved, in the face of nearly insurmountable odds, to save the collection as a whole.

She didn’t want it to be piecemealed out and was concerned about what might happen if it fell into the wrong hands.

In true Cheryl fashion, she simply stepped up and figured out how to address this challenge, just like she did back in Silver Lake when she saved that lost child.

Cheryl not only obtained the funding for the Lincoln Collection, but she also established an endowment and coordinated the efforts of multiple stakeholders.

Our motto. As her life’s work, Cheryl both made and preserved history.

Cheryl’s Eulogy

The trip back to Silver Lake drew me closer to Cheryl and helped me prepare, both mentally and emotionally, for Cheryl’s eulogy on Sunday afternoon.

Cheryl and I were close. Very close. More like sisters than cousins.

We traveled back to our roots in the Netherlands together.

We shared many adventures, some of which I wrote about in Cheryl Ferverda (1946-2023), HighwayWoman.

I was honored to be able to provide a loving, yet lighthearted and humorous sendoff for my sister-cousin. It’s exactly what she would have wanted, and providing a loving sendoff for her helped me find at least a modicum of closure.

At her Celebration of Life, we shared chocolate, stories and yes, a few tears.

Cheryl requested that her paperweight collection be given away to her friends, which her sons did at her service. I saw several children selecting paperweights and talking about their memories of Cheryl, which would have pleased her to no end.

She was much loved by so many. She profoundly touched the lives of everyone she encountered. No one was ever ambivalent about Cheryl.

When I saw the paperweights that Phil had placed on the table, I knew immediately which paperweight was meant for me.

A Phoenix from the ashes? A double helix? Both are absolutely perfect descriptions for this beautiful orb.

Another much loved family member sees Cheryl giving me a hug, and someone else suggested that our shared DNA has been woven into a chorus of our combined life songs. I can’t tell you how much I love this.

Yea, I’m still crying.

Our Ferverda DNA continues to reveal a book of stories as yet untold, raising our ancestors from the ashes. It has already provided us with some surprises.

Cheryl’s immortality lives on – from our ancestors – passed to her sons, granddaughter, and future descendants. Our collective family history is not yet written, but Cheryl and Don’s irreplaceable and oh-so-valuable contributions live on in perpetuity. Combined with the genetic record of my mother and other relatives, we continue to raise the veil.

Such sweet tears of joy, boundless love, and equally deep sorrow. I am so incredibly grateful to have had her in my life and so incredibly grief-stricken at her sudden departure.

Her body could no longer serve her, and Cheryl decided it was time to sail away – into the misty distance – the land of the ancestors with windmills on the horizon. She did so on her own terms, just like she lived her life.

I wish her smooth sailing and calm seas – my Dutch version of RIP.

I hope Cheryl has found our stubbornly elusive ancestors and is asking lots of questions. Had I known she was going to depart, I’d have made her a list😊

I’m expecting a dispatch soon, Cheryl…just saying.

Cheryl will always be held close in the hearts of those who love her – never far away. She leaves a sparkling trail of light, joy, and inspiration that will never be forgotten.

Parting and driving away, especially for the last time, is such bittersweet sorrow.

Marguerite de Forest (1748-1819), Refugee Acadian Grandmother of 99 – 52 Ancestors #405

Marguerite Forest, Foret, Deforest, Deforet, de Foret/Forest or La Foret/Forest was born on January 16, 1748 in Port Royal, Acadia, the 7th of 9 children, to Jacques Forest and Marie Josephe LePrince.

She was baptized the same day at St. John Baptiste Catholic Church in Port Royal which is now Annapolis Royal in Nova Scotia. Sponsors were Gregoire, with no surname listed, and Marguerite Forest, neither of whom were able to sign their names. I’m presuming here that Gregoire’s surname was also Forest, and they were somehow related to her father, Jacques.

Marguerite was probably born someplace in or near the Rene Forest village, off of present-day Brickyard Road in Nova Scotia. Rene Forest was her grandfather.

We know nothing about Marguerite’s family between the time of her birth and the beginning of the 1755 deportation except that two siblings were added to the family. Marguerite became a “big sister” on February 14, 1750 and again on June 9, 1753.

Le Grand Dérangement

For decades, tensions flared between the Acadians, who had clearly established their neutrality and were known as the French Neutrals, and the British. The Acadians did not want to become involved in the war between two superpowers. Accordingly, they repeatedly declined the request to sign an oath of allegiance to the British crown who held Acadia. The British required such, and when the Acadians continued to refuse, the British took sweeping action.

On August 11, 1755, the British Lieutenant Governor signed the order to remove more than 6000 Acadians, descendants of the original French settlers, taking possession of their land and other property. Some managed to hide with the Mi’kmaq or made their way to other parts of Canada, but most did not. The Acadians had thwarted attempts to displace them before, so if they were even aware of the order, they may have felt that once again, they would survive this attempt. Unfortunately, they were wrong.

Le Grand Dérangement, known in English as the Great Upheaval, Great Expulsion, Great Deportation, or Acadian Removal are all terms for the same horrific event.

In the fall and early winter of 1755, Marguerite was 7, almost 8 years old. She was probably looking forward to Christmas, with its joyful hymns and pageantry. Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve was a big event for Acadian families. Various foods were, and still are, associated with Christmas. Naulet was a large cookie, shaped like a gingerbread man, given to children by their godparents and may have been their only gift. Christmas was a much simpler time. You can see an example here and read a description written by an Acadian historian.

That isn’t at all what happened in December of 1755. Instead, British soldiers arrived and herded the men together while the women and children were told to gather their things and prepare to leave their homes.

Marguerite’s oldest brother, Victor, was 20, and Joseph was 18, so they were probably held with the men. They were certainly old enough to know how to handle a gun and had assuredly been hunting for years.

Marguerite’s four other older siblings probably helped their mother and packed essentials as best they could, not really understanding what was about to happen. We don’t really know what instructions they were given, if any.

Marguerite’s younger siblings, Charles, who would have been five, and Michel, just two, would probably have been under the watchful eye of the older children while their mother, Marie Josephe, frantically scurried around.

No one had many clothes back then – maybe a change if they were lucky, but they probably tried to pack some kitchen items into a trunk. Maybe a Bible, too, and certainly their rosaries.

It’s certainly possible that Marguerite’s mother, just 40 years old, was pregnant again, and due for the next baby. If indeed she was, we have no idea what happened to that child.

Having said that, we don’t actually know what happened to any of Marguerite’s siblings, although we know at least “some” survived for at least a few years.

We know that Marguerite, along with her family, were deported –  because all Acadians who didn’t escape into the woods on the mainland were forcibly loaded onto ships and sent someplace else. The British wanted their land and farms, and simply took them.

Families were rounded up, livestock killed, and farms burned. A brutal message to the Acadians as they sailed away that there was nothing to return to, so don’t try.

The “lucky” families were deported together on the same ship – not separated. Some people never found their family members again. Ships sailed to various British colonies, as well as to the West Indies, England, and France. Some ships sank, some were turned away from their destination ports, and many passengers, living in squalid conditions below deck, died of disease onboard.

The Forest family wound up in Connecticut. As horrible as their fate was, Connecticut was as good as it got.

Researcher Tim Hebert wrote that a total of 731 Acadians were supposed to have been deported to Connecticut, but it’s unclear that all of them made it.

  • One ship with 280 people wound up in Massachusetts.
  • On December 8th, the ship Elizabeth sailed for New London and arrived on January 21, 1756 with 277 people aboard. Three had died on the way.
  • The next day, another 173 people arrived on another ship from Pisiquid, Grand Pre, and Mines. There’s no reason to believe the Forest family was on this ship, given that we know due to baptismal records that they were living in close proximity to Port Royal.
  • The Connecticut Gazette mentioned another ship that left Minas on November 30 and arrived in January with another 173 people.
  • On December 18, 1755, the Dove set sail with 114 Acadians who arrived on January 30, 1756.
  • Yet another group of 278 from Port Royal arrived in May. This group fared horribly, having encountered a violent storm that blew the ship off course, to Antiqua. Many died of smallpox, but the ship Edward eventually arrived in Connecticut on May 22nd with only 180 Acadians. After arrival, their meager belongings were burned so that smallpox wouldn’t spread. It’s doubtful that the Forest family was on this schooner, because in 1763, in the census of families in Connecticut wishing transportation to France, the Jacques Forest family is listed with ten people, which would mean Jacques Forest and Marie Joseph LePrince, plus eight children. We know that at least one of Marguerite’s older siblings is listed separately. If roughly half the people on that ill-fated ship died, and they had been on that ship, it’s unlikely that Marguerite’s family would still have that many members.

Connecticut was at least slightly prepared for the beleaguered refugees and treated the Acadians with respect, not the revulsion that greeted others elsewhere. Connecticut notified their citizens of the impending arrival of the “French People from Nova Scotia” and the legislature provided that the Acadians were “to be taken care of and supported” as though they were residing citizens.

Connecticut towns were designated to receive about 14 people per town and a reception committee was created. A list of towns receiving refugees can be seen here. One of these was assuredly the home of our Forest family.

Unfortunately, we don’t know where Marguerite’s family spent those years, but they were probably as comfortable as unexpectedly destitute refugees could be, given the circumstances.

The End of the War

In August 1763, after the Treaty of Paris was signed granting Great Britain possession of North America, 666 Connecticut Acadians petitioned to be sent to France. Their petition was denied, but some either migrated willingly or otherwise to Saint Domingue, where they were subjected to hard labor. Many died, but some of those settlers eventually made it to Louisiana, founding the Cajun families there. Several Foret/Forest family members are recorded in Acadians in Grey, here, although none appear to be Jacques’ children or descendants.

Marguerite’s Forest family also was not among the 240 people who chartered a boat in 1767 and sailed to the St. John River, nor did Marguerite remain permanently in Connecticut. Other family members may have.

I would wager a guess that the families who settled inland were less likely to have sailed for either St. Johns or Dominique.

Many kind-hearted Connecticut families financed the return journey of the Acadians to Quebec when that became an option after 1766. For example, the Hebert family who lived in Guilford, CT departed for Laprairie in 1771, funded by Guilford residents. The Acadian-Home website has a postcard showing the Acadian home in Guilford.

However, Marguerite and her family didn’t leave then. They remained wherever they were for another 15+ years.

Where did they go?

Quebec, Eventually

We know that on November 10, 1767, Marguerite married French sailor Francois Lafay in the colonies before a justice of the peace due to the lack of a priest. Francois was reported to have left his ship in Boston, but we actually don’t know where they were married, other than in the colonies. I strongly suspect they were in Connecticut based on the 1763 list of families requesting transport to France.

You can see that the route from Connecticut to L’Acadie was almost due north. From Albany, one could follow the rivers through Lake Champlain and then on up the Richelieu River.

The family arrived in L’Acadie, Quebec between 1786 when their last child was born in the colonies and July 1788 when their first children were baptized in L’Acadie.

They rented a farm that September.

Their marriage was rehabilitated in the same church, Ste-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie on June 23, 1792.

Translation from Father John:

Marriage of François Lafay and Marguerite Foret , Ste Marguerite de Blairfindie, L’Acadie, St-Jean, Quebec

On the twenty-third of June, Seventeen Hundred Ninety Two, I, undersigned, received the mutual consent of François Lafay and of Marguerite Foret, who pledged their troth (promis ensemble) before a justice of the peace in the Colonies, for lack of a priest, on the year Seventeen Hundred Sixty Seven*, this in the presence and in the form prescribed by Our Holy Mother the Church of Rome.  The groom signed along with me; the bride declared that she was unable to sign.  /s/ N. J. Lancto, priest   /s/ François Lafay

*On the tenth of November of the said year.

Marguerite and Francois had most of their children in the colonies. Not only that, but they survived the Revolutionary War wherever they lived. Did they support the war in one way or another, harboring deep resentment towards the British and what they did to their family?

Is that why they stayed after 1775?

Why did they leave, probably in early 1788?

One hint was reported by Marguerite’s daughter, Marie Lafay or Lafaille.

Marie told Baptist Missionaries that her elderly grandmother, Marie Josèphe Le Prince, became upset in 1787 that her children were losing their Catholic religion and culture and made the decision to send the family back to Canada. This makes sense, given that her daughter, Marie, had been educated in Protestant schools and clearly was leaning towards the Protestant religion.

Catholicism could not be practiced in the colonies.

Assuming this information is accurate, this tells us that Marie Josèphe Le Prince was still alive in 1787. She would have been 77 years old. Why didn’t she accompany her daughter to Quebec? Did she die before she could?

The 1790 census might hold a few clues.

There are no Foret nor Forest, but there are some de Forest families in Connecticut, specifically in Huntington.

However, none of these names are represented in the Jacques Forest family, and the Dutch De Forest family of New England is well known. These De Forest men don’t appear to be remnants of the Acadian family, but part of the Dutch De Forest branch. Having said that, both lines originated with the same French Huguenot refugee family in the Netherlands. I have to wonder if they knew about each other. They would have been roughly second cousins. Would the Connecticut branch have helped their Acadian cousins?

What happened to Marguerite’s family, and where were they?

I wish we knew.

Life in Quebec

When Marguerite arrived in Quebec, she and Francois had been married for 21 years and she had birthed at least 10 children. Her last child would be born on January 11th, 1789 and baptized in L’Acadie.

Her oldest daughter, Marie Lafay, married Honore Lore on August 10, 1789. Marguerite attended that wedding carrying her youngest child, a babe in arms who was just 7 months old. Her first grandchild was born in March of 1790, just 14 months younger than her youngest child. Those two children, aunt and nephew, probably grew up close – closer than siblings perhaps.

When Francois rented the farm in 1788, he claimed that he was a farmer, so it’s likely they had been farming someplace in New England.

Marguerite’s entire life had consisted of going from one crisis to another. First the Expulsion when she was 7. Living in exile for the next decade. Her father petitioned for transport to France in 1763 when she was 15, which was denied. She married in 1767 when she was 19, then the Revolutionary War erupted when she was about 27 years old. Following the war, the economy collapsed in New England. Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln, how did you like the play?

By the time the family made their way to Quebec a decade later, they were probably hoping for a peaceful life among their Acadian kin, in a culturally French community, along with the ability to practice their Catholic religion.

After all, Catholicism had been a big part of what they had fought for, why they resisted the British so steadfastly, and their faith had sustained them during the darkest hours. Even after three decades in exile, they were still unquestionably Catholic.

Unfortunately, a few years later, the War of 1812 would intrude into that hoped-for peaceful existence. In fact, the troops marched right up the Richelieu River, through L’Acadie, on their way from Lake Champlain to Montreal.

Marguerite’s son, Francois Lafay, born in 1776 in the midst of the Revolutionary War, served as a Lieutenant in the War of 1812.

Conflict seemed never far away, and this family had seen far more than their fair share.

Children

Marguerite and Francois had at least 11 children and possibly more. The only children we know about are those who were either baptized in L’Acadie some years after their birth, whose marriage or death records we have or, in one case, who witnessed a marriage for their sibling. If children were born and died in Connecticut or wherever the family lived for 30+ years, we have no record other than a hint represented by a suspiciously long stretch between the births of known children. It would be very unusual for a couple not to lose a few children in that time and place.

  • Marie (Mary) Lafay was born in 1767 in New England, married Honore Lore (born 1768) on August 10, 1789, died August 9, 1836, and had 15 children, three of whom died before their grandmother, Marguerite.
  • Marguerite Lafay was born in 1769 in New England, married Joseph Duphaut, died May 10, 1824, and had 12 children, at least one of whom died before her grandmother.
  • Suzanne Lafay was born March 6, 1772 in New England, married Honore Lore (born 1742), died August 7, 1803, and had 7 children, two of whom died before their grandmother. The youngest child died a month after her birth and just a couple weeks before her mother, Suzanne.
  • Julie Lafay was born in 1774 in New England, married Ignace LaPorte Denis on February 9, 1801, died after 1813, and had 8 children, including twins on August 26, 1813, both of whom died before their grandmother. We don’t have Julie’s death record, but I’d wager that she died not long after the birth of her twins.
  • Francois Lafay was born on September 5, 1776 in New England, married Marie Mercier on February 10, 1800, died on September 5, 1849, and had 11 children, at least one of whom died before her grandmother.
  • Bridget Lafay was born in 1778 in New England, married Pierre Gamache on February 5, 1798, died after 1861, and had 12 children.
  • Angelique Lafay was born about 1780 in New England and signed her sister’s marriage record in 1798. We lose track of her after that.
  • Marie Anne Lafay was born about 1782 in New England, married Francois Lore on June 9, 1806, died on June 4, 1849, and had 7 children, two of whom died before their grandmother.
  • Antoine Hylaire Lafay was born about 1784 in New England, married on February 18, 1811 to Francoise Archange Moleur, and had 4 children, one of whom died before his grandmother.
  • Pierre Clement Lafay was born in 1786 in New England, was married on November 19, 1810 to Archange Tremblai, and had 13 children.
  • Francoise Lafay was born on January 11, 1789, married on October 25, 1813 to Pierre Granger, died December 15, 1829, and had 10 children, two of whom died before their grandmother.

Marguerite had a total of 99 grandchildren, 78 of whom were born before she passed away. I can’t help but wonder how she kept them all straight.

Total children Children born before 1819 Died before 1819 Unknown death date before 1819
Marie 15 15 2 1
Marguerite 12 12 1 6
Suzanne 7 7 2 0
Julie 8 8 2 0
Francois 11 6 1 1
Bridget 12 11 0 10
Angelique ?
Marie Ann 7 6 2 1
Antoine 4 3 1 0
Pierre Clement 13 7 0 3
Francoise 10 3 2 1
Totals 99 78 13 23

Marguerite stood at the side of small graves with their tiny wooden caskets and buried at least 13 grandbabies. I don’t have death dates for 23 grandchildren who were born before 1819, so I suspect that some of those also died before Marguerite.

Additionally, Marguerite lived to know 18 of her great-grandchildren as well, although I don’t have death dates for those children either.

If you total the births and deaths beginning with the first grandchild’s birth, Marguerite was in church for a baptism or a funeral of her adult child, grandchildren, or great-grandchildren about once every 7 weeks. That doesn’t include regular church services, marriages or similar events for friends or other family members. It would be safe to say that Marguerite probably attended church for one reason or another every day or two.

Marguerite’s Death

Marguerite died at 71 years of age on February 16, 1819 in L’Acadie and was buried two days later.

Translation by Father John:

Burial of Marguerite Laforet

On the eighteenth of February Eighteen Hundred Nineteen, I, priest undersigned, buried in the cemetery of this parish the body of Marguerite Laforet, who died two days ago (avant hier) at the age of seventy one years, having received the sacraments of the Church. Spouse of François Lafaille, Present were Eliz Caisse and Michel Tremblay, who declared they were unable to sign, upon inquiry.  /s/ B. Paquin, priest

Marguerite was interred in the cemetery beside the church she attended for 31 years. The church where she would have oh-so-gratefully fallen to her knees in 1788, thankful to be able to worship freely and receive the sacraments once again. She saw her children and grandchildren baptized and married there, and wept at many funerals.

Eventually, the funerals of her children and grandchildren were held inside the familiar sanctuary, and they would be buried in the churchyard, someplace near Marguerite.

_____________________________________________________________

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New Information About Philip Jacob Miller (c1726-1799) and Magdalena Possibly Rochette (c1730-1800/1808) – 52 Ancestors #404

I’ve written about Philip Jacob Miller and his wife, Magdalena, whose birth surname has been reported forever as Rochette.

One of the reasons I publish such extensive articles, including literally everything I know or can find about each ancestor, is to cast a trail of breadcrumbs. There’s always a chance that a future researcher will come across something new. I may or may not be here, but I really do want accurate information to outlive me.

Recently, that’s exactly what happened. Christine Berwanger, Ph. D., a descendant of Philip Jacob Miller and Magdalena through daughters Christena who married Henry Snell, and Hannah who married Arnold Snider, contacted me with information I did not previously have. I’m very grateful to both Christine and Doris Sullivan Bache, who Christine credits with doing a great deal of the original research back in the 1980s.

Doris, an avid researcher and descendant of Philip Jacob Miller and Magdalena through the Snider line passed away in 2009 and is memorialized here.

Thankfully, Doris shared with Christine, who shared with me and has graciously granted me permission to share with you.

Let’s start with Philip Jacob Miller’s estate packet.

Philip Jacob Miller’s Estate Packet

Christine said that Doris ordered Philip Jacob’s entire estate packet and sent her copies of receipts along with a letter in 1989.

From Christine’s May 2023 email to me:

An ancestor’s estate file provides perhaps the most complete picture we will have of his life. Hence, I include the transcribed inventory and settlement of Philip Jacob Miller’s worldly possessions, in addition to his generous bequeaths of land to his children and their families. Note the Bible. Also of interest, the descriptions of the animals, the smoothbore gun, and the coffee mill.

Note the large sum due from Col. Thomas Hart to the estate. Thomas Hart was a prominent merchant in Hagerstown, Maryland, and an associate of Daniel Boone, who removed to Lexington, Kentucky in 1794. He was the father-in-law of Henry Clay. Henry Snell purchased his Fleming County land from Hart[i] There was clearly a relationship with this prominent person and the Miller/Snell family.

Receipt No. 54, 22 Nov 1795[ii], includes payment for a trip to Annapolis, and a payment of 9.15.1 to Nathaniel Rochester – who was a close associate and partner of Col. Hart, Hagerstown Postmaster 1793-1803, Washington County Maryland Sheriff 1804-1806, the first president of the Hagerstown Bank founded in 1807, and founder of Rochester, New York.[iii]

Other prominent persons are named in the estate. Martin Baum, born in Hagerstown in 1765 and later mayor of Cincinnati, was a witness to:

Receipt No. 33, 20 Sep 1808[iv]

Received at Cincinnati Septr 20th 1808 of Abraham Miller one of the Administrators of Philip Jacob Millers Estate Twenty Dollars being part of my legacy of the said Estate In witness whereof I hereunto set my hand

                                               his

Martin Baum            Arnold      x    Snider

                                             Mark

The estate was a complex one: the inventory was conducted in Sep 1799, but the settlement was not completed until Sep 1808. Abraham, as Administrator, documented thirty-nine days travel back to Hagerstown, Maryland, three trips to Lexington, Kentucky, four days travel to Chillicothe, Ohio (state Capitol and location of a land office), four days to the Court in Newport, Kentucky, and four days showing the land to appraisers. He charged the estate $88.50 for travel and expenses. David Miller, as Administrator, spent eighteen days travelling to Lexington, eight days to Fleming County, fifteen days going to Court, two days to the Sheriff of Campbell County, recording a deed in Williamsburg, four days to Chillicothe, for expenses of $58.18 ¾. He also credited himself with $8 paid to his mother.[v] Abraham and David had families and farms and were active in their Brethren Church. These duties must have been onerous, yet they persisted.

Collecting debts owed to the estate involved several transactions. The estate paid Nicholas Rochester 5.7.6 for collecting $699 2/100. (The image clearly reads Nicholas; I have been unable to match a Nicholas Rochester. Nathaniel did not have a son or a brother by that name. If Nathaniel was meant, this is a different transaction than the one in 1795.) Surveyor General of the Virginia Military District and prominent landowner William Lytle signed a receipt pertaining to the debt owed the estate by Col Thomas Hart. Witness James Taylor was a prominent resident of Newport, Kentucky.

Receipt No. 55, 14 Apr 1800[vi]

Received of Daniel Miller by the hands of David Miller an order for Two hundred dollars on Colo Thomas Hart of Lexington Kentucky, which if accepted, is to be in full for the one hundred acres of land on which the said Daniel now lives as witness my hand this 14th of April 1800

Teste James Taylor                   Wm. Lytle

Summary, Life and Estate of Philip Jacob Miller:

Philip Jacob Miller was devoted to his family, his religion, his land, his community, and his country. He, in accordance with the principles of the German Baptist Brethren and other sects such as the Amish and Mennonites, chose to live a simple life. His estate inventory attests to that. Yet, he accrued wealth. He loaned money rather than spent it. He accrued enough to bequest each of his ten children 200 acres and further distributions from his estate.

He moved in the circles of the merchants and landowners of his time as well as the circles of his neighbors and co-religionists. His simple lifestyle did not mean he did not participate in the life of the broader community. Records attest that he did. We use our understanding of history to understand the context of the lives our ancestors lived; yet our ancestor’s lives influenced that history.

Mary Christine Berwanger

[1] Editor James F. Hopkins and Associate Editor Mary W. M. Hargreaves, editor, The Papers of Henry Clay. 2, The Rising statesman, 1815-1820 (Lexington, Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky, 1961).

2 Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller, Campbell County KY Estate Administration, Settlement Drawer 1817-1836, envelope 1828 (should be 1808), Alexandria, Kentucky. 22 Feb 1989, Doris S. Bache mailed to me a transcript of receipts No. 27 through No. 66, typed pages 7 through 13, mostly distributions from the estate to family beneficiaries. Pages 1 through 6 were not included, presumably because they did not pertain to family members. This was in the day of taking handwritten notes, typing them up, and going to the library to make copies to mail to other researchers.

3 Biography at Sheriff Nathaniel Rochester’s Records, Washington County, 1804-1806

http://www.whilbr.org/rochester/index.aspx

4 Receipt No. 33, Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller.

5 Receipt No. 66, Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller.

6 Receipt No. 55, Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller.

[i] Editor James F. Hopkins and Associate Editor Mary W. M. Hargreaves, editor, The Papers of Henry Clay. 2, The Rising statesman, 1815-1820 (Lexington, Kentucky: University Press of Kentucky, 1961).

[ii] Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller, Campbell County KY Estate Administration, Settlement Drawer 1817-1836, envelope 1828 (should be 1808), Alexandria, Kentucky. 22 Feb 1989, Doris S. Bache mailed to me a transcript of receipts No. 27 through No. 66, typed pages 7 through 13, mostly distributions from the estate to family beneficiaries. Pages 1 through 6 were not included, presumably because they did not pertain to family members. This was in the day of taking handwritten notes, typing them up, and going to the library to make copies to mail to other researchers.

[iii] Biography at Sheriff Nathaniel Rochester’s Records, Washington County, 1804-1806

http://www.whilbr.org/rochester/index.aspx

[iv] Receipt No. 33, Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller.

[v] Receipt No. 66, Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller.

[vi] Receipt No. 55, Receipts, Estate of Philip Jacob Miller.

Rochette

The source of Magdalena’s oft-reported surname as Rochette has baffled me and many other researchers for decades.

Christine, thanks to Doris, has been able to provide what is probably the original source for that surname. I’m saying it now, and I’ll say it again – this by no means proves that Magdalena’s surname was Rochette. It does, however, provide one more piece of evidence and an answer to the question of where that name came from.

From Christine:

Rochette – from a “loose paper in a family bible”

Click on the image to enlarge

This may be a copy of the “loose paper in a family bible.”

Doris S. Bache mentioned in her letter of 22 Feb 1989: “When I heard from Sharon Biggs in reference to the maiden name of Magdalena Miller, the name “Rochette” had come from a loose paper in a family bible. Author unknown, also. I am accepting the maiden name, but as you will note, most of the earlier information is incorrect, with the alternating of Phillip and Jacob in the generations before 1729. Of course, the name Morgan has been proven to be Maugens.” Doris is referring to the two pages above, taped together, which was included with her letter. She received this from Sharon Biggs.

Philip Jacob Miller married Magdalena Rochette, born in Sedan, France. Their children are listed (pencil checkmarks) with Abraham underlined. Both the name Rochette and the place Sedan, France are specific. If this is a copy of the loose paper from the bible, the (presumably) descendent who wrote it, knew the names of Philip and Magdalen’s children, so might indeed have known Magdalena’s surname and place of birth.

Sedan, France was a source of Huguenot refugees following the revocation of the Edict of Nantes in 1685.

French Huguenots relocated throughout Europe and to the Americas. It is possible that Magdalen’s family fled to Germany or America.

Philip Jacob Miller and Magdalena Rochette are apparently the Miller ancestors of the author. Listed below their names are the Maugans / Morgan ancestors: Conrad Morgan, said to be born in Virginia, and wife. Listed are some of their known children, with Katherine underlined. The wife named, “Margaret Mynne or Marie” does not match other sources, who give his wife as Anna Rebecca Hoffman (1739–1810).

Next, Abraham Miller, son of Philip Jacob and Magdalena, married Katherine Morgan, daughter of Conrad and wife. Their son Matthias Miller is underlined. He married Elizabeth Gorman. Their daughter Emma Miller (1849-1925) is underlined. She married Elihu T. Hedrick.

The paper comprises a direct line Ahnentafel from Emma Miller to her great-grandparents. The author of the paper is likely Emma herself or one of her children. It is certainly possible for a person to know from family history the names and origins of his or her great-grandparents. It is also possible for confusion on the part of the person writing down notes from memory.

Abraham Miller’s entry gives his birthdate and place as 28 Apr 1764 in Frederick County, Maryland, which agrees with the entry in Philip Jacob Miller’s Bible: “My son Abraham was born April 28, 1764.” Katherine Morgan his wife, was born 16 Jul 1767 in Frederick County. The note further states, “Their children were born in Clermont Co. Ohio, on bounty land given to Abraham Miller’s father by King George 2.” This statement is a confusion of time and place, but as with most oral history, there is some truth in it.

Abraham’s father, Philip Jacob Miller, intended each of his children to have a 200-acre parcel. Sons Abraham and David, as administrators of his estate, purchased 2000 acres, most in Virginia Military Survey 3790. The Virginia Military District was established as bounty land for Virginia Revolutionary soldiers. Often, they did not occupy the land but sold it to someone else. “Survey 3790, for Taylor, James et. al for Jacob Miller, C. C. [chain carrier], Jacob Snyder, C. C. [chain carrier], and Abraham Miller, M [marker]. With William Lytle, D. S. [Deputy Surveyor], and dates February 20, 1880 and June 9, 1802. These survey crews were comprised of: The D. S. Deputy Surveyor, C. C. chain carriers, and M. marker. The crews were often early settlers in the area.”  Hence Survey of 3790, from which Philip Jacob’s estate subsequently purchased 2000 acres of William Lytle, was in the Virginia Military District, hence bounty land. Abraham sold his 200-acre lot from his father’s estate to William Spence for $400, 22 Apr 1805. He instead resided in Clermont County, but I have not tracked his deeds.

In 1808, Abraham and David surveyed part of the Virginia Military District in Goshen Township, Clermont County, Survey 5959. “Abraham Miller was marker, David Miller was Chain Carrier.”

Perhaps land that Philip Jacob Miller’s father Michael Miller bought in Pennsylvania was originally granted by George the Second. I have not seen his Chester County deeds. Stinchcomb’s deed was in 1725, sold to Michael Miller et al in 1744. George II reigned from 1727-1760.

Summary, Questions, and Coincidences: This document records family history, and most of the information is verified by other sources.

The name Rochette and origin in Sedan, France is too specific to disregard out of hand, especially since this document existed prior to the Internet, when one could search a name and connect it to a person with no other evidence than the surname.

Coincidence?

There was a French Huguenot Rochet family from Sedan, France, and daughter Suzanne was smuggled out, married, and settled in Virginia.

“The most interesting story relating to the Huguenots of Manakin Town [Virginia] is that of Suzanne Rochet. After Revocation of Edict of Nantes in 1658, the refugee daughters of Moses Rochet wrote from Amsterdam to their father in France to send them their youngest sister, Suzanne. Since the French government was keeping strict watch to prevent the escape of Huguenots from the country, the Rochets always referred to Suzanne as “the Little Nightcap.” After several unsuccessful attempts to send his daughter past the Guards, Rochet finally smuggled her out of the country to Holland with the aid of a friendly ship-captain. In the French Church Amsterdam, Suzanne married July 1692 Abraham Michaux, a Huguenot refugee from Sedan. By 1705 they and their children had joined the colony at Manakin Town” [Virginia].

Source: “The Little Nightcap” by the Rev. W. Twyman Williams recorded here.

“At the same time, her sisters in Holland became very much concerned about her. They had found refuge in Amsterdam and wished to have her in safety there with them. So they wrote to their father, but for fear that the letter might be read by spies and informers, they did not refer to Suzanne. Instead, they asked their father to make every effort to send them “the little nightcap” they had left behind when they made their escape. But how? At last, Jean Rochet hit upon a plan. He found a ship’s captain.” “This man, though not a Huguenot, was kindly enough disposed to help. So Jean Rochet had his daughter set into a hogshead marked “merchandise,” fastened down the head of the large barrel, and hauled it to the ship. The captain had it taken aboard and stowed away. The ship was searched, but the hidden girl was not discovered. As soon as the danger of further search was over, the captain let her out of her uncomfortable hiding place and got her safely to Holland.”

This paper says Conrad Maugans / Morgan was born in Virginia. Some ancestry trees claim Magdalena Rochette was his sister. Is there any evidence that the Maugans were Huguenot? Or that they were in Virginia?

The name Rochette is sometimes given as LaRoche, which broadens the search possibilities.

French Huguenots went to Germany, and went to Pennsylvania, where they married into German families. It is possible that Philip Jacob Miller married a French woman, known to the family in Germany or met in Pennsylvania. “The French Element among the Pennsylvania Germans” should be understood before concluding that Philip Jacob Miller did not marry a French woman.

There is a German site dedicated to Huguenot genealogy, which contains the name Rochette.

Sources:

Alma A. Smith, The Virginia Military Surveys of Clermont and Hamilton Counties, Ohio 1787-1849 (Cincinnati, Ohio: A.A. Smith, 1985), p. 141, 20 Feb 1800.

 Alma A. Smith, The Virginia Military Surveys of Clermont and Hamilton Counties, Ohio 1787-1849, p. 174, 19 May 1808.

Excellent description of the connections and intermarriages of the French and Germans. George G. Struble, “The French Element among the Pennsylvania Germans” Pennsylvania History: A Journal of Mid-Atlantic Studies, Vol 22 (July 1955)pp, 267–76,  https://journals.psu.edu/phj/article/view/22432/22201.

Deutsche Hugenotten-Gesellschaft e.V., https://www.hugenotten.de/genealogie/arbeitsgemeinschaft-datenbank.php

Click to access 2018-08-namensliste-pro-gen.pdf

My Analysis

I’m incredibly grateful to Christine, Doris, and Sharon Biggs. I’m especially impressed that Christine can actually find a letter from 1989!

Let’s take a look at this information.

The analysis of Philip Jacob Miller’s estate packet brings his life into perspective in a new and different light. The information I had previously was a list of inventory items and a list of bills. Doris clearly possessed the entire packet that included receipts with additional information, not to mention the additional research into the identities of the various people mentioned in the estate settlement.

It appears that Philip Jacob was quite well-off later in his life. I can’t help but wonder if the fact that he reluctantly served in the Revolutionary War may have opened doors that allowed him to purchase the 2000 acres, providing a 200-acre farm to each of his children.

Let’s look at the information in that unsourced but clearly authentic Bible record.

Philip Jacob’s birth location is likely incorrect. Philip Jacob Miller’s parents were living in Krotelbach, Germany, when they were married in 1714, with their first child baptized the following year. In April of 1719, another son was baptized in Kallstadt. A third son was born on the farm by the name of Weilach near Bad Durkheim in April of 1721. There is absolutely nothing to indicate that the family settled in the Netherlands before immigrating to the US. Therefore, it’s highly unlikely that Philip Jacob was born in the Netherlands between 1723 and 1727.

The second questionable item from that Bible record involves Conrad Maugans, sometimes referred to as Morgan. This man was born around 1735 and was clearly German. It’s unlikely, but not impossible, that he was born in Virginia. It’s also very unlikely that Magdalena was his sister. Three of her children married Conrad’s children. David Miller married Conrad’s daughter Magdalene Maugans.  Additionally, her son Abraham Miller married Catherine Maugans. A third child, Esther Miller, married Gabriel Maugans. First-cousin marriages did occur in Brethren families so that alone does not rule out Magdalena and Conrad being siblings. However, it is interesting that she has no child named Conrad, nor do her children who did not marry his children.

I have found no evidence whatsoever to indicate that Philip Jacob’s wife, Magdalena, was a Maugans. I’ve seen that rumor for years as well.

I strongly suspect the confusion arose because Conrad’s daughter, Magdalene married a Miller and was therefore Magdalene Miller. Conrad’s will was written in German, but has been translated by an anonymous researcher.

Next, let’s do some math. We know that Magdalena Miller was born sometime around 1730, and that she and Philip Jacob Miller likely married in York County, PA, around 1750 but no later than July of 1751 based on the birth date of their first child. It’s also possible that they married in Lancaster Co., PA or Frederick Co., MD. Unfortunately, Brethren did not register their marriages.

Philip Jacob was Brethren, so she would have to have been Brethren too, or converted, in order for them to be married and remain within the church. What I do know, absolutely, positively, is that there is no Rochette surname of any family in any of these three counties in a relevant timeframe. Women in that time and place did NOT travel around without their family. If Magdalena was a Rochette, then where was her father or other family members?

Furthermore, if Magdalena was indeed the Suzanne Rochet, Huguenot from Sedan, she was born sometime around 1658 and married Abraham Michaux in 1692, so she clearly is not the Magdalena born around 1730. The “little nightcap” story, however, is lovely and excellent history all by itself.

There is some discussion that the Magdalena in question is Suzanne’s daughter, but then her surname would be Michaux, not Rochette.

I’m highly skeptical based on that, in addition to the fact that the Magdalena who married Philip Jacob had to have been Brethren, either before or certainly at the time of their marriage.

I’d feel a lot better about the Rochette surname and the Sedan location if the rest of that Bible information was accurate. Doris mentioned that she had found additional discrepancies.

Having said that, the information is very specific, including the Sedan location. Perhaps this information is not entirely wrong, just a generation or two offset?

If Magdalena’s surname was Rochette or something similar, I would expect to have at least a few DNA matches. I have MANY Miller matches from Philip Jacob’s father, Michael Miller, through is other children.

However, I don’t have matches to someone with the surname of Rochette, or similar, with two exceptions.

Unfortunately, at Ancestry, I can’t search by ancestor, so while I do have matches to people with Rochette in their trees, the ones I reviewed are Magdalena listed as Rochette. What I really need to do is be able to filter by Rochette matches not=Magdalena Rochette who is married to Philip Jacob Miller.

I did find a Rochette match at MyHeritage, but the match to this person could be through a different line. Another French match that could be helpful has a private tree, so no cigar there, either.

At FamilyTreeDNA, my mother’s matches to Rochette are only trees reflecting Magdalena as a Rochette.

I checked Filae and found nothing for a Magdalena Rochette of the right age, but Christine jumped right into serious research.

Christine’s French Huguenot Research

From Christine:

Note: Madeleine or Magdeleine are French versions of Magdalena.

The Huguenots were Calvinist Protestants, and their Reformed Churches recorded sacramental records.

“On October 18, 1685, the Edict of Nantes was revoked and French Huguenots could either convert to Catholicism, face life in a prison or convent, or flee the country. At this time, there were about 800,000 Huguenots in France, and nearly one-fourth of them left the country.”

French Reformed sacramental records are available from Sedan, Ardennes, France, from the 1500s and 1600s, indexed on FamilySearch (link here) but not (on FamilySearch) after the Edict of Nantes when the French Reformed Churches were suppressed. The baptism records which documented “the Little Nightcap” family are amazingly easy to read.

From these records and online ancestry or FamilySearch trees, this Sedan Rochette family included men who did not marry or die in Sedan (from these records) who might have moved elsewhere to become the grand-father, father, uncle of Magdalena / Madeleine. [Chart below is incomplete, not verified with original sources.]

Little Night Cap had a daughter Anne Madeleine. [I did not record all her children. Daughter Olive Judith married an Anthony Morgan, who does not seem to be related to the Maugans/ Morgans of the Miller lines.]

Little Night Cap is not the only Rochette woman to come to the New World [see Susanna daughter of Isaac] and it is likely some of the Rochette men came also. Having their baptismal dates and relationships from the Sedan records makes it more likely to match them to other men of the same name and age.

Did Magdalena/Madeleine’s family also leave before 1685? Did the Huguenots who remained in France continue to record their sacramental records? If so, where might those be?

They migrated to Protestant Countries, so in those places their later sacraments would have been recorded, such as in the Netherlands (cited in Little Night Cap’s family), parts of Germany, etc., and their churches in the New World. They did end up assimilating.

Descendancy Narrative of Moses Thiery Rochet

From Christine:

Moses Thiery1 ROCHET was born in 1615. He married Suzanne RONDEAU on 7 Feb 1638 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.1 He died on 31 Dec 1649.

Jean2 ROCHET was born in 1641 at Sedan, Ardennes, France. He married Marie TRUFET on 21 Dec 1664 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.2

Susan3 “Little Night Cap” ROCHET. Her married name was MICHAUX. She was baptized on 13 Apr 1667 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.3 She married Abraham MICHAUX on 13 Jul 1692 at Amsterdam, Netherlands. She immigrated on 8 May 1701 to London, England. She died on 18 Dec 1744 at Virginia at age 77.4

      1. Olive Judi4 MICHAUX married Anthony MORGAN. Her married name was MORGAN. She was born in 1706 at Virginia.5 She died on 27 Oct 1760 at Virginiia.6
      2. Anne Madeline4 MICHAUX was born in 1706 at Virginia. She died in 1796 at Virginia.

Isaac3 ROCHET died in 1672. He was baptized on 30 Aug 1672 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.7

Louis3 ROCHET was baptized on 5 May 1676 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.8 He died on 1 Oct 1726 at age 50.9

Daniel3 ROCHET was baptized on 5 Jan 1679 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.10

Jacques2 ROCHET was born in 1642. He died in 1647.

Isaac2 ROCHET was also known as Isaac DE LA ROQUET. He was born in 1641 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.11 He was baptized on 10 Jan 1644 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.12 He married Jeanne DUFRAY on 16 May 1666 at Reformed Protestant Church, Sedan, Ardennes, France. He married Jeanne DUFRAY on 16 May 1666 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.2 He died in Nov 1695 at age 51.

    1. Susanna3 ROCHET. Her married name was GARRIGUES. She was born in 1686 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.13 She married Matthieu GARRIGUES on 28 May 1702 at Netherlands. She died on 30 Sep 1746 at Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.14

Marie2 ROCHET was born on 22 Aug 1645.15 She died in 1763 at Sedan, Ardennes, France.

Vincent2 ROCHET was born on 18 Sep 1646.

Charles2 ROCHET was born on 29 Dec 1647.16 He died on 12 Jul 1670 at Sedan, Ardennes, France, at age 22.17

Printed on: 13 May 2023

Prepared by: Mary Christine Berwanger, Ph.D.

Endnotes:

  1. Ardennes: Sedan – Tables alphabétique des mariages, Ms 664/index, 1573-1682 family search.
  2. Ardennes: Sedan – Tables alphabétique des mariages, Ms 664/index, 1573-1682 familysearch.
  3. Name Susane Rochet
    Sex     Female
    Father’s Name     Jean Rochet
    Mother’s Name     Marie Trufet
    Event Baptism, 13 Apr 1667, Sedan, Ardennes, France
    “France, registres protestants, 1536-1897,” database with images, FamilySearch (https://familysearch.org/ark:/61903/1:1:QVN3-4BVH : 19 February 2021), Susane Rochet, 13 Apr 1667; citing Baptism, Societe de L’histoire du Protestantisme Francais (Society of the History of French Protestantism), Paris.
  4. Suzanne Laroche ROCHETTE (1667–1744)
    Birth 13 APR 1667 • Sedan, Ardennes, Champagne-Ardenne, France
    Death 18 DEC 1744 • Manakin Sabot, Goochland, Virginia, USA.
  5. Olive Judi Morgan (1706–1760) Birth 1706 • Manakin, Goochland County, Virginia, USA.
  6. Death 27 OCTOBER 1760 • Cumberland County, Virginia, USA.
  7. Name Isaac Rochet
    Sex     Male
    Father’s Name     Jean Rochet
    Mother’s Name     Marie Trufet
    Event    Baptism, 30 Aug 1672, Sedan, Ardennes, France.
  8. Name Louis Rochet
    Sex     Male
    Father’s Name     Jean Rochet
    Mother’s Name     Marie Truffet
    Event  Baptism 05 May 1676, Sedan, Ardennes, France.
  9. 1 October 1726.
  10. Christening • 1 Source 5 January 1679Sedan, Ardennes, Champagne-Ardenne, France.
  11. Isaac De La Roquet (Rochet) (1641–1695)
    Birth 1641 • Sedan, Ardennes, Champagne-Ardenne, France
    Death NOV 1695.
  12. 10 January 1644, familysearch.
  13. Birth 1686 • Sedan, Ardennes, Champagne-Ardenne, France.
  14. Death 30 SEP 1746 • Christ Church, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, Colonial America.
  15. Birth 22 August 1645 Sedan, Ardennes, Champagne-Ardenne, France
    Death 1763 Sedan, France.
  16. 29 December 1647.
  17. 12 July 1670 Sedan, Ardennes, Champagne-Ardenne, France.

Rochette, or Not?

Combining the information provided by Christine and Doris along with additional research provides additional information but no smoking gun. The jury is still out. However, we now have additional information, including the probable source of the surname, Rochette.

At this point, I’m no more convinced that her surname was Rochette than I was before. I am, however, very grateful to have solved the mystery of where the Rochette rumor originated.

I’m hoping that some of the Miller researchers will be able to provide additional information about the source of the Bible or maybe even more about the source of Rochette.

I’m also VERY hopeful that someone will discover information about Magdalena’s origins. Or, perhaps someone has additional Rochette information that might be helpful. I was unable to find Rochette information in the relevant counties, but maybe other researchers have or can.

Just putting this out there and hoping that this update finds its way to the right researcher and that one day, we can actually solve the mystery of Magdalena’s parents.

However, we do have another clue…

Can DNA Help?

We have the mitochondrial DNA of Magdalena. Mitochondrial DNA is inherited from your mother through a direct line of females – so her mother, and her mother, on up the tree.

We know that Magdalena’s mitochondrial DNA is an exact match with a descendant of Mary Myers born February 8, 1775, in Pennsylvania and who died on September 28, 1849, in Montgomery County, Ohio. Unfortunately, we don’t know who Mary Myer’s parents were. Maybe one of you descends from this line or has information about the Myers family. Also spelled Meyers, Moyers.

Of course, mitochondrial DNA can reach far back in time, but the migration path from Pennsylvania to Montgomery County, Ohio, is the path the Brethren took to settle that region, and is where Magdalena’s descendant lives who tested. Montgomery County was the dispersion point for the Brethren North into Indiana and westward as well.

Another mitochondrial match also connects to the Zircle/Meyer family in Rockingham/Augusta County, VA where several Brethren families settled about the time of the Revolutionary War. These families originated in the Lancaster/York County, PA region or the Frederick County, MD region.

Tracking a match back to the earliest ancestor, I found that Peter Zirkle (c1745-c1818)’s wife’s name was “Fanny” and she is reported to be Frene “Fannie” Meyer. I have found several attributions, but no place can I find how the Meyer surname was attributed to her, or who here parents were. Assuming Fanny was born about 1745 as well, Magdalena born about 1730 could have been her sister or maybe a cousin.

Meyer/Moyer is noted as one of the founding Brethren families in York County, PA where Philip Jacob Miller was living when he married. It’s VERY likely that he married within the Brethren families.

The History of York Co, PA, written in 1907 tells us that the first Brethren congregation in York (now Adams) County was the Conewago Church which was established in 1738, “20 miles west from the town of York, on the Little Conewago,” which was in the vicinity of Hanover.

Surnames of the families who were among the early church members were Eldrick, Dierdorff, Bigler, Gripe (Cripe), Studsman (Stutzman) and others.

Prominent members include Jacob Moyer, James Henrick, preachers; Hans Adam Snyder, George Wine, Daniel Woods, Henry Geing, Joseph Moyer, Nicholas Hostetter, Christian Hostetter, Rudy Brown, Dobis Brother, Jacob Miller, Michael Koutz, Stephen Peter, Henry Tanner, Michael Tanner, John Moyer, Jacob Souder, Henry Hoff, John Swartz.  The wives of these persons named were also members of the church.

Unmarried members were Barbara Snyder John Geing, Maud Bowser, George Peter, Hester Wise, Christian Etter, John Peter Weaver, Barbara Bear, Elizabeth Boering, Grace Hymen. Their first preacher was Daniel Leatherman, Sr, followed by Nicholas Martin, Jacob Moyer (Meyers) and James Hendrich (Henry.)

In 1741, a new church was founded “on the Great Conewago, about 14 miles west from the new town of York.”  Founding members there include John Neagley, Adam Sower, Jacob Sweigard, Peter Neiper and Joseph Latshaw. The first elder was George Adam Martin followed by Daniel Leatherman Jr. and Nicholas Martin. In 1770 members included George Brown, John Heiner, Peter Fox, Anthony Dierdorff, Nicholas Moyer, Manasseh Brough, Michael Bosserman, David Ehrhard, Daniel Baker, Abraham Stauffer, Henry Dierdorff, John Burkholder, Andrew Trimmer, Eastace Rensel, Peter Dierdorff, Barnett Augenbaugh, John Neagley, Michael Brissel, Welty Brissel, Matthias Bouser, Laurence Baker, Philip Snell, Nicholas Baker Jr., Adam Sower, Adam Dick, Henry Brissel, David Brissel, Henry Radibush, George Wagner and George Reeson.  Unmarried members were Peter Wertz, Ann Mummert, Christian Fray, Samuel Arnold, Mary Latshaw, Catharine Studabaker, Nicholas Baker, Marillas Baker, Sarah Brissel, Jacob Miller, Rudolph Brown.

Can anyone tell me what happened to the Moyer men listed above?

  • Jacob Moyer
  • Joseph Moyer
  • John Moyer
  • Nicholas Moyer

Are they related? Who is their father? Who were their wives?  And perhaps more importantly, did they have a sibling or child, Magdalena, born about 1730?

Does anyone know if any of these men wound up in Rockingham County, VA by 1773 or so?

Please reach out if you descend from these families, and especially if you descend from these families through all females to the current generation, which can be male or female. If you do, you carry the mitochondrial DNA of their wife and daughters. Please reach out to me.

Do You Descend from a Brethren Female Line?

Do you descend matrilineally from a Brethren female line, meaning through all females beginning with your mother? If so, your mitochondrial DNA descends from a Brethren family.

If you have already taken the mitochondrial DNA test at FamilyTreeDNA, please join the Miller-Brethren DNA project. If you have not tested, please order a mitochondrial DNA test, here, and join the Miller Brethren DNA Project.

Based on the Brethren cultural handicap of not registering marriages, mitochondrial DNA testing is critically important. It provides the tools to identify and place Brethren females with their families. DNA, in this case, promises to do what traditional genealogy cannot.

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François Lafaye or Lafaille (1744-1824), Literate French Sailor – 52 Ancestors #403

François Lafay, Lafaye or Lafaille is a mystery man.

Let’s start out with what we absolutely, positively know about his history, which isn’t much.

He was the father of my ancestor, Marie Lafay or Lafaille. Marie’s mother was Acadian, but from everything we find, including records we don’t find, François was not. He nor anyone by that surname, or even a similar surname, was listed on any of the Acadian census rolls or other resources from the time the Acadians spent in either Nova Scotia (Acadia) or in exile.

He did, however, meet Marie’s mother, Marie DeForest (Foret, Forest, LaForet, LaForest), in New England, someplace in the colonies, after the Acadians were abruptly expelled in 1755 from their maritime homes in Nova Scotia.

The Acadians spent about a decade in forced exile, but some remained longer in their new homeland. Of course, the problem is that we don’t know, except in generalities, where that homeland was. Nor did they consider it a homeland. They were a displaced people, forced into poverty and sometimes servitude, deported against their will by the English who forcibly took their lands. They were French, spoke French, and were Catholic. The English who rounded them up and herded them onto ships after burning their farms often irrecoverably split families. The Acadians did not settle in a single group. Different ships carrying heartbroken refugees arrived in different locations along the eastern seaboard and elsewhere. None of those places were welcoming, although some tried their best to accommodate the now-destitute families.

If François was French, and with a name like François, he most certainly was – it would have been natural for him to be drawn to other French-speaking people.

Is there anything else we can discern from his name?

Lafay

Per FamilySearch, LaFay is a French metonymic occupational name for someone who caught and sold quails, a variant of Caille with a fused feminine definite article la. So, in essence, his patronymic ancestor may have been a man involved with quails.

It can also be a topographic name for a person living on a patch of pebbly or stony soil,; or a habitational name from La Caille, the name of several places in various parts of France.

In the book, Les Canadiens-Français: origine des familles émigrées de France, d’Espagne, de Suisse, etc., pour venir se fixer au Canada, a book about the origins of French-Canadian families by specific names, La Faye is shown as a commune of Charente, arr. by Ruffec. It also states, translated, “Fay, bundled hoops or circles and faye, forest place, forest, ewe.”

Ruffec, Charente is a stopover town on the road from Paris to Spain (Route National 10) between Poitiers and Angouleme.

This was an interesting exercise but not much help.

Who He’s Not

Before going any further, I’d like to eliminate one erroneous identity.

There is one François Faille, born in November 1741, in LaPrairie, Quebec to François Faille and Marie Anne Brosseau. He married Marie Joillet in 1783, in LaPrairie, Quebec. This man and our François Lafay are two different people with similar names.

We know this because the marriage rehabilitation of our François states that he and Marie LeForest married in New England in 1767, and he had children contiguously with Marie before and after his arrival in L’Acadie, in Southern Quebec. He was married to her until her death in 1819, and we know that their children born prior to 1788 were born in the colonies. Therefore, this man born in 1741 in Quebec and who lived and married in 1783 there cannot be our François LaFay/LaFaye.

Another record sometimes confused with our François LaFay or Lafaille is this 1766 notarial record in Quebec.

This is possibly the François Faille who was married to Marie Anne Brosseau, or his son, François Faille who was born in November of 1741.

We know our François was in New England a year later, and he always signed his name LaFaye, never Lafaille, although later records in Quebec sometimes spelled it phonetically. It’s clear though, that this list was not made by the people involved, because the handwriting is all the same. So surnames could have been spelled any which way.

The Notarial Seigneur, Antoine Crispin Sr. served in Chateau-Richer, north of Quebec City.

French Sailor

One piece of information about our François is revealed through his daughter, Marie Lafay who, amid much conflict, converted to Protestantism late in life. Henrietta Feller was one of the missionaries who befriended Marie, also known as Mary.

In Henrietta Feller’s diary, quoted in A Lower Canada Baptist Beginning, she wrote about Marie/Mary Lafay/Lafaille Lord’s conversion to Protestantism saying that Marie’s father, François was a French sailor who settled in Boston.

Mary was reportedly born Marie Lafay to an Acadian mother and French father, although we don’t actually know if she was born in Boston or elsewhere. Her 1767 birth occurred at a time when many Massachusetts Acadians traveled to Boston to petition for transport to return to Canada.

Some Acadians, however, were considering staying in the colonies, taking into account:

…the dangers of sea travel, which included storms, sinking, contagions and even piracy, recently illustrated by the fate of 80 young Acadians taken and pressed into the service of privateers. They knew that they retained no place or residual rights in Nova Scotia. Moreover, old age, the very ache of their 50-year-old bones, reminded them how difficult it would be to scratch out a new place on leftover and, thus difficult, lands. Just perhaps, they still resisted taking an oath to the throne…Just possibly they and their children began to envision rural Massachusetts as home…children had no doubt learned English and accustomed themselves to the ways of these strangers. Time had not resulted in their isolation, and familiarity with Protestants and colonial law had not bred contempt.

Marie Lafay, according to various reports, had in fact, been exposed to Protestant teaching while in exile.

Perhaps Mary’s mother’s family had settled in and became somewhat established over the 11 years since the expulsion from Nova Scotia began. After their 1767 marriage, maybe there was no driving motivation for Mary’s parents to leave. By the time they did, nearly 20 years later, many children had been born, and others were nearly raised. Mary was educated in a Protestant school and learned to read the Bible there.

Was François Lafay Protestant, at least initially, and not Catholic?

According to what François’s daughter, Mary Lafay Lore, told the Baptist missionaries, her elderly maternal grandmother, Marie Josèphe Le Prince, became upset in 1787 that her children were losing their Catholic religion and culture and made the decision to send the family back to Canada.

Mary also revealed that she had encouraged her father, François Lafay, to make the 1788 trip to Canada after something she recalled as “a fearful disappointment.” Clearly, they were close.

I wonder if Mary’s disappointment was personal in nature, perhaps a suitor, or was it something more widespread? It is interesting to note that Pliny Moore, Mary’s close friend, was married in January of 1787 in Vermont. It may or may not be relevant, but it is a possibility.

We don’t know what Mary’s disappointment was, but according to historian Joseph Amato’s research into one Acadian family, Marie’s family’s experience may have been similar.

The Revolutionary War magnified federal and state debts, leaving the majority with useless currency and no means to repay debts, turning newly ordained national citizens into ordinary migrants and squatters. The battle raged between creditors and debtors. Between the financial and mercantile coast against the farmers of the inland countryside. Shay’s Rebellion, an intense revolt of the indebted in Massachusetts, resulted in a terrible shock to the new nation. It ended in 1787, having accomplished little. Many migrated back to the larger coastal cities where there was a chance to find work and make money or initiated the great trek inward toward the frontiers.

Regardless of what event or combination of events caused the Lafay/Lafaille family to join other Acadian families in Quebec, they made that journey by the summer of 1788.

Where Did François Come From?

What can we discover about François’s early years, if anything?

I found an undated paper written by Bernard H. Doray from Montreal, Canada, who, unfortunately, appears to be deceased. His paper titled “History of François Lafaye and Marguerite Foret” provides sourced information I have not found elsewhere, for which I’m extremely grateful.

Based on Henrietta Feller’s recollection of what Mary Lafay told her about François in Boston, Bernard questioned how a French man would be able to settle in Boston, given that England and France were at war until the Treaty of Paris in 1763, which ended the conflict between France and Great Britain over control of North America. I had wondered the same thing.

Bernard then states that his nephew discovered a muster roll of a warship, the Grand St-Jean-Baptiste, in the French Naval Archives.

The ship sailed on February 2, 1757, from Bordeaux with an apprentice sailor, “mousse” in French, François Lafaye, age 13, from Puy-Paulin, which is the name of both a Castle and Parish in Bordeaux, France.

François is listed at the bottom of the first column, with a reference number which is found on the following pages.

An age of 13 places this François’s birth in 1743 or 1744 which correlates with our François’s birth year based on his death entry in 1824 where he was stated to be 80 years old.

Click to enlarge images

François was paid 10 somethings, probably livres – the currency of the time. He and three other apprentices were the lowest paid on the ship. There is only one younger boy, age 12. All five of the mousses, apprentice sailors, were between the ages of 12 and 15 and paid either 10 or 12 of whatever.

I can’t help but wonder if these youngest boys were orphans. Most parents would be very reluctant to allow a boy of that age to go to sea, possibly never to return.

It’s worth noting that there is another Guillaume La Faye, a 35-year-old cooper, but he is not from the same location, or even close.

Guillaume was older, from Saint-Remy, finished the campaign, and was discharged at Port-Louis on April 29, 1758.

Saint Remy to Puy-Paulin is quite distant. The commonality is that they are both located very near to major coastal cities. Many men on the ship’s roster were from Bordeaux.

Puy-Paulin

Today, it’s difficult to find the Puy-Paulin castle, at least by that name.

Par Jefunky — Travail personnel, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=112192024

That’s because today, the castle has been converted into the Hotel de l’Intendance.

Here’s the fortified Chateau Puy-Paulin in the city of Bordeaux in 1550.

The view across the rooftops of one of three Roman castle towers in 1638.

In 1743, the castle consisted of several buildings from different periods, joined together in 1744 by a large carriage entrance flanked by two pavilions.

This 1755 map shows the concert hall at the top, which burned, the grove, and the French garden in the center, with the inner courtyard and porte-cochere, where coaches deposited their passengers, at the bottom.

In 1755 or 1756, a fire started from the rooftops. Much was destroyed, but the castle was eventually rebuilt.

I’m unclear whether there was one fire or two, with a second following in 1756. In 1755, François would have been 11, and 12 in 1756. A devastating fire would have affected many people, and François would have been a wide-eyed, possibly terrified, witness.

This 1705 map of Bordeaux shows the plan of the castles and suburbs with surrounding areas.

Assuming that this François Lafaye on the ship’s roster is our guy, this would have been his stomping ground, and he would have witnessed that fire. He may also have been orphaned by it.

This might have been why he signed on, or was signed on, to the ship as an apprentice sailor in 1757. Bordeaux’s bustling Port of The Moon was right there, and assuredly ships were always looking for crew.

In the 1700s, Bordeaux’s Port of the Moon was France’s busiest port, importing coffee, cocoa, sugar, cotton, and indigo, and the second busiest port in the world.

The Port of the Moon on the River Garonne in 1899 shows the “Old Town,” at right, along the river.

The Port of the Moon as seen from the top of the spire of the Saint-Michel church.

Escape!

But that’s not all. Back to Bernard’s article with images I’ve added.

On the same muster roll we read that François escapes from his ship on April 10, 1757, at Cap Français, St-Domingue which is now Cap-Haitien, Haiti.

Cap Francais, at that time a French trading stronghold for both agriculture and slaves, is nestled between the bay and the mountains.

By Andrew Wiseman – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=27240803

Remnants of the French colonial architecture can still be seen today. Perhaps François passed by this very building.

The location in Haiti, today.

Bernard continues:

Why does François escape?

He was not alone. About a third of the crew escaped. The role of a young sailor was a dangerous one: they had to run down to the hold of the ship, carry bags of powder up to the cannons and fill them for the gunners to fire them, and to cool the cannons between the firings by the gunners. That was related by the historians at the Museum of Restigouche (a museum to show an excavated war ship sunk in 1760; officially called “Battle of the Restigouche National Historic Site of Canada” at Pointe-à-la-Croix QC). So, they employed young sailors instead of gunners for that dangerous work.

Possibly they sought young sailors with no families to miss them if they didn’t return from that dangerous mission. What happened to those other four young boys on the ship?

According to the roster:

  • The youngest, François Tourete, age 12, “passed on le Greenwich July 12, 1757,” which I presume means he died. He apparently chose not to escape in April. Maybe he should have. If he died on the Greenwich Meridian, it would have been on the return trip because the Greenwich Meridian is nowhere near the Caribbean or the Americas.
  • Jean Paillat, age 15, finished the campaign and was released on April 27, 1758, at Port-Louis.
  • Joseph Lierte, age 15, deserted on April 10, 1757, at Cap-Francais, the same day as François Lafaille and much of the rest of the crew.
  • The record for Andre Micouleau, age 15, says that he embarked at Bordeaux, but then that he never embarked.

Maybe that crossing where one of their young mates died, combined with the reality of warfare, made this less of an adventure and very real. Of the five apprentices, apparently one backed out before leaving, and only one completed the voyage.

Back to Bernard:

An unsettled problem: what happened to François after April 1757? Did he stay in Haiti or did he sail to Boston? How did he live? How did he move from Haiti to Boston?

Note that some Acadians, deported in 1755 from Acadia (Nova Scotia) to the British colonies as the Carolinas, were allowed to leave in 1763 and removed to Haiti.

Those Acadians settled at Mole St-Nicolas which is about 178 km by road from Cap-Haitien, or perhaps an easier journey by boat. Did François somehow meet them? Or, did he catch a ride back on the same ship headed back north?

Unfortunately, the Acadian settlement on Mole Saint-Nicholas was highly unsuccessful, and many of those who survived left with Joseph Broussard in January of 1765 when his ship stopped by on the way to Louisiana. IF, and it’s a big IF, François Lafaye who jumped ship in 1757 managed to make his way to Mole Saint-Nicolas, this might explain his arrival in Louisiana, but that’s not where he surfaced. This does nothing to explain his arrival in Boston or any location on the eastern seaboard.

There might be another explanation, however.

In 1763, Acadians began petitioning the Massachusetts General Court for permission to leave the province with the intention of either returning to Nova Scotia, going to France, St. Domingue (now Haiti,) or Quebec, areas with people who shared their language and culture. On November 28, 1764, the governor declined their petition, but it does show us that the people in Massachusetts were keenly aware of French-speaking Haiti.

With Cap-Francais being the center of Caribbean French maritime trade, it’s certainly within the realm of possibility that François signed on again as a crew member from Haiti to Boston, and remained in Boston, perhaps jumping ship again. Sailing was a dangerous profession, and every ship would have been seeking to replace crew who had died or failed to return to the ship during their most recent voyage.

In 1763, Françoise’s soon-to-be-wife’s family was in Connecticut, not Massachusetts.

Of course, just because Françoise arrived in Boston, assuming that is accurate, which it may not be, doesn’t mean he stayed in Boston. Connecticut has a long shoreline too, and by land, is only about 50 miles or so.

By 1763, François would have been 19 and clearly able to fend for himself. By this time, he had been on his own for six long years and was probably very street savvy.

Back to Bordeaux

Bernard was a persistent researcher and continued his story.

With information on the approximate year and place of birth and the wonderful help of Cercle de Genéalogie du Sud-Ouest (Bordeaux, France), I obtained François’ birth and baptism registration.

On this map, you can see the location of the castle, with the red pin, then the Sainte-Eulalie Catholic church, followed by the Pariosse Saint-Nicholas Catholic church at the bottom. Clearly all within walking distance.

François was born on January 7, 1744, and baptized the next day at St-Nicolas church in Bordeaux. It is not far from Puy-Paulin that he gives as his residence when he joined the navy in 1757. His father is Joseph Lafay, coachman .and his mother is Françoise Germon from Ste-Eulalie parish (next parish).

Sylvie Lord translates his baptism as:

On the 7th of June 1744, was born between 9 and 10 AM, a child of Joseph Lafaye, coachman and Françoise Germon, from Ste-Eulalie parish, was baptised on the 8th of the said month, given the name of François…

Note that St. Nicolas is a Catholic church, which tells us that François was indeed Catholic.

Joseph Lafay(e) and Françoise Germon were married at St. Nicolas on February 11, 1738, in Bordeaux, Gironde, France. The two churches are slightly over half a mile (900 meters) apart, but of course the families may have lived closer.

It’s difficult to get a good picture of this church today because the medieval street is quite narrow and the area densely built. This building, constructed between 1821-1823 is apparently not the original church at this location. I wonder if part of the original church remains within the current one.

The church is beautiful, although I wonder where the cemetery was located. It’s clearly gone today.

The cemetery assuredly existed adjacent to the church at some time. Perhaps beneath the school to the right, or within the walls of the Ministere des Armees to the left, above.

The lettering above the entry gate translates to ancient or old hospital of St. Nicolas which was or is a military hospital.

Is this the street where François lived? Education at that time was under the auspices of the church, so this must have been where he learned to read and write, at least well enough to sign his name, assuming he is our François.

La Rue St. Nicolas is quite narrow, testifying to its antiquity.

The François Lafaye onboard the ship was assuredly this boy who would have been baptized and worshipped in an earlier church in this location.

Did he say his last prayer here before climbing aboard the Grand St-Jean-Baptiste to sail away – a boy in a man’s war?

Was this church damaged or destroyed in the fires? Could he even have worshipped here then, if he had wanted? Or did he attend his maternal grandparent’s church, at least from time to time. Were any of his parents or grandparents still living in 1757?

Did he attend his parents’ funerals here before boarding the ship and embarking on the journey of a lifetime?

Is he “our” François Lafaye?

If so, his mother was probably baptized in the Saint-Eulalie Church just a few blocks away.

You can view several photos of St. Eulalie, one of the oldest churches in Bordeaux, both interior and exterior, here.

This church appears to have had several additions, but the original church was here when Francois’s mother lived.

Today, a tree blooms in the beautiful French springtime.

At some point, the cemetery would have been located beside or to the rear of this church, or perhaps both. Today, it’s gone, but perhaps a few graves remain, tucked into the cloistered arches visible from the side streets.

François’s mother’s ancestors are likely buried someplace here in unmarked graves.

Both churches are mapped in Bordeaux with the Puy-Paulin castle slightly to the north – all easily a 20-25 minute walk end to end. Young boys tend to run. One way or another, that young man’s childhood ended in the late winter or early spring of 1757 when he walked up the ramp to that ship with probably nothing more than a change of clothes – if that.

By Jefunky – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=84352874

Today, this entire area is protected as a UNESCO World Heritage site.

Where Do We First Find Our Proven François Lafay?

François Lafay witnessed the marriage of Jean Dupuis and Marie Hébert in 1773 in New England and signed the registration, as stated in the validation of that marriage at St-Jacques – L’Achigan Quebec in 1775. This tells us that François lived in New England, probably in Connecticut, at least until 1773. I surely wish the priest had said where in New England.

Who were the parents of Jean Dupuis and Marie Hebert, and where were they living in 1773? I have been unable to find specific location information, so if anyone knows, please let me know. That would tell us where François was in 1773 too.

Jean-Marie Dupuis died on April 30, 1796, in L’Acadie and was buried at Ste-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie. His parents were Germain Dupuis and Marie Angelique Leblanc. Marie Hebert died on March 12, 1798, and was buried two days later in the same place. Her parents were Joseph Hebert and Madeleine Dupuis.

Interestingly, François Lafay must have been close to this couple because they signed in 1788 as godparents for his son Antoine Hilarie Lafay, and in 1790 as witnesses at the marriage of his daughter, Suzanne Lafay and Honore Lord (the elder) in L’Acadie.

Jean-Marie’s father was Germain Dupuis, and the family was deported to Massachusetts. His father, also Germain, was present in the 1758 census in Nantucket, an island off the shore of Massachusetts. By 1776, they were in Quebec, but François Lafay and his family wouldn’t follow for another dozen years.

Marie Hebert’s father, Joseph Hebert, was found in the Connecticut census on August 14, 1763. This family was in Laprairie, Quebec by 1780.

Somehow, the children of these two families, Jean-Marie Dupuis and Marie Hebert were in the same location in order to court and marry by 1773.

Why did the François Lafay family wait another decade or two after many of the other Acadian families returned to Quebec, beginning in 1766 or so? Why did they return when they did? Marie told the missionary, Henrietta Feller, that her grandparents were upset that they were falling away from the Catholic faith.

Clearly, based on this 1773 marriage record, there was a cluster of Acadians living in close proximity someplace in New England, and François Lafay, with his family, was among them.

If we can find one of them, we find all of them.

Arrival in Quebec

François Lafay and Marguerite Forest’s first nine children were born “in the colonies,” as stated in their baptism records when they were baptized many years later at Sainte-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie.

Françoise, the youngest, was the only child born in the Province of Québec in 1789, and she was baptized the same day. This suggests that François and Marguerite emigrated to the province of Québec between 1786, the last birth in the colonies, and July 9, 1788, the first baptism in Quebec. I’d say it was probably in early 1788, simply because another child should have been born in early 1788, and there is no record of a baptism. Sadly, this suggests the child was born and died before they arrived in Quebec, with their next child, Françoise, being born on January 11, 1789.

They settled at Sainte-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie, where many Acadians found refuge upon return from exile.

The first actual record of François LaFay in Quebec is the baptism of three of his children on the same day, July 9, 1788 at the Ste-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie church in L’Acadie.

His youngest child was Pierre Clement Lafay, age 2, so born before July 9th in 1786 or after that date in 1785.

He signed all three of his children’s baptisms as François Lafay.

Bernard reveals that the next record of François Lafay is on September 29, 1788 in the presence of Notaire Jean-Baptiste Grisé. François rented a farm in L’Acadie from James Waite and is described as a resident of L’Acadie, Quebec. Clearly they were setting up housekeeping.

I sure wish I knew where that farm was.

In 1789, three more of François’s older children were baptized. I wonder why those three weren’t baptized with the others in 1788. Was there a cost to the family or donation required for these baptisms?

On January sixth Seventeen Hundred Eighty Nine, I, priest undersigned, baptized conditionally Marie, age twenty-one, Marguerite, age nineteen, and Suzanne, age sixteen and ten months, daughters of François La Faye and of Marguerite Foret. The godfather and godmother of Marie were Laurent Roy and Isabelle Bro, his wife, undersigned. The godfather and godmother of Marguerite were Pierre Lavoie and Marie Anne Melanson, his wife. The godfather and godmother of Suzanne were Pierre Trahant and Euphrosine Leroux. [These last] godfathers and godmothers declared that they were unable to sign. The baptized girls signed with us.

/s Lamité, priest, Laurent Roy, Isabelle bro, Marie Lafay, Margit Lafay, Suzanne Lafay, Françoise Lafay.

Again, he signs as François Lafay. Based on their signatures, his daughters had been educated too.

On August 10th, 1789, Marie Lafay married Honore Lore, of the Acadian Lore/Lord family. Again, he signed as François Lafay. His son, also named Francois, then 13, signed with them and can be distinguished from his father because the F in François is fancy, and the signature is different. All of his children signed as Lafay.

The next record we have of François Lafay is his own marriage rehabilitation that occurred in Ste.-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie in Quebec in 1792. It’s like the family was catching up on all the loose ends from exile.

This record states that they were married on November 10, 1767 in New England before a justice of the peace because of the lack of availability of a priest.

We know that Marie’s parents were in Connecticut in 1763, and there’s no evidence to suggest they were elsewhere four years later. There’s very little evidence from this time period for the Acadians.

Translation from Father John:

Marriage of François Lafay and Marguerite Foret , Ste Marguerite de Blairfindie, L’Acadie, St-Jean, Quebec

On the twenty-third of June, Seventeen Hundred Ninety Two, I, undersigned, received the mutual consent of François Lafay and of Marguerite Foret, who pledged their troth (promis ensemble) before a justice of the peace in the Colonies, for lack of a priest, on the year Seventeen Hundred Sixty Seven*, this in the presence and in the form prescribed by Our Holy Mother the Church of Rome.  The groom signed along with me; the bride declared that she was unable to sign.  /s/ N. J. Lancto, priest   /s/ François Lafay

*On the tenth of November of the said year.

We know that François was educated because he could sign his name and so could at least some of his children. They always signed Lafay. The name Lafaille appears in his 2nd marriage record in 1819, which he did not sign, and in subsequent notarial records, but not earlier records.

I take this as evidence, combined with the French records, assuming they are for him, that his surname really was Lafay, with Lafaille evolving later. I originally presumed that Lafay was anglicized, but I obviously assumed wrong.

Farmer

François was a farmer, as noted in several records, and a laborer, as noted in his daughter Julie’s 1801 marriage record.

However in his daughter Marie-Anne’s 1806 marriage record he was listed as a “huissier” which Bernard, a native French speaker, translated as a Captain and wonders if he was a Captain in the militia.

We know Françoise lived in L’Acadie along the Richelieu River for three+ decades beginning in 1788, based on what happened in 1819.

But first, he would witness and possibly participate in the War of 1812, at 68 years of age. If he was a captain, the only other option would have been the Revolutionary War, but he was not living in Canada then, and I find no records of any similar name at Fold3 for either war.

War of 1812

Bernard first reported that François Lafay or Lafaille might have been a Captain in the Militia based on his daughter’s 1806 marriage record. He states that conditions were deteriorating between Canada and USA, and the war would start in 1812. At Pierre-Clément’s wedding in 1810, the same priest officiating does not give that title to François. Another translator who was not a native French-speaker questioned whether huissier was actually “bailiff.” Google translate as well as DeepL says the same thing.

I’m not quite sure what a bailiff did in Quebec at that time.

At the outset of the War of 1812, Quebec City was fortified with 2,300 regulars. Engagements occurred elsewhere, much closer to home. In 1812, the war raged along the Niagara frontier, but by 1813, 5,000 men had gathered between Lake Champlain and Montreal, right in the L’Acadie region along the Richelieu River. This would certainly give François ample reason to be concerned and potentially involved.

At this time, remember that Great Britain held Canada and the US was fighting against the British.

A letter from a US Infantry Officer dated November 16, 1813, explains their battle plans:

This is perhaps the last time you will hear from me at this place, if ever. We are preparing for a march, which will take place in a few days. It is intended to make an attack on Lower Canada [Quebec] immediately. We march without baggage or tents, and everything we carry will be on our backs, and the Heavens and a blanket our only covering, till we take winter quarters by force of arms. Our force is very respectable, say 6 or 7 thousand, and all in high spirits. The fatigues we expect to undergo will be equal to those experienced by our revolutionary heroes, till we arrive at Montreal.

Several years ago, cousin Paul posted on RootsWeb about Bernard, as follows:

I was directed by Bernard Doray to the marriage record for Marie Anne Lafay who married François Lord, June 6, 1806, St. Marguerite de Blairfindie. In this record François Lafay is listed as an officer. I then found through a google book search a book that listed François Lafay as being an officer who served in the Canadian militia (at L’Acadie) for Britain in the war of 1812 (he would have been in his early 70’s). So two differnet sources refer to him being an officer.

This likely confirmed for me what Prof. Stephen White had written to me that François Lafay was most likely educated as François signed his name “François Lafay” as someone educated in English would have signed. If François was an officer, he most likely would have then been educated.

I’m still searching for more background on François Lafay. Quebec records indicate a Boston connection (area of Boston could mean the whole of New England). Prof. White suspects a Connecticut connection, as that was the location Marguerite and her family had been exiled in the deportation. I have tried searching various records here in Massachusetts and in Connecticut but have had no success.

If I have missed anything, please let me know,

Paul Drainville

I found the book, Officers of the British Forces in Canada During the War of 1812-1815 where François Lafay is in fact mentioned as a Lieutenant, not a Captain, in the L’Acadie Battalion.

While this certainly could be our François, it’s more likely to be his son, François, born in 1776. The younger man would be 36 years old, not 68, which would make much more sense, but is still inconclusive.

I was unable to find additional information about François Lafay and the War of 1812, but you can read more about what transpired in that area here and here.

Whether he fought or was a militia member, that warfare near his home and potentially on his land would have clearly affected him.

The American forces mustered in Lake Champlain and prepared for the Battle of Chateauguay, shown above. That battle was followed a few days later by the Battle of Crysler’s farm.

The American troops marched up the Richelieu River beginning on September 19th, 1813, right through L’Acadie at St-Jean-sur-Richelieu, headed for Montreal.

Soldiers marched by day and passed in boats by night, fully intending to take what they needed from any source they could find – striking terror into the hearts of the residents. François was 69 years old and had spent much of his life surrounded by one conflict or another.

We don’t know what happened to the family during this time, other than they survived. He dodged this bullet, but another one wasn’t too far in the future.

François Loses His Wife

Sadly, François’s wife, Marguerite passed away on February 16, 1819, at 71 years of age. They had been married more than 51 years and brought at least 11 and probably 13 children into the world together.

All of their children who survived to adulthood had married, except one. We don’t know what happened to Angelique who was born about 1789 after she signed as a witness to her sister Brigitte’s marriage in 1798. The other possibility is that Angelique was a middle name of a different child.

Marriage Times Two

Nine months later, on November 22nd, François married Madeleine Lépine, daughter of Adrien Legris Lépine and Marie Thibodeau and widow of Antoine Jacques Paquet. If this was like most farming communities, everyone involved had known each other “forever,” so there wasn’t much getting to know each other that needed to happen.

But this wasn’t destined to be just any plain vanilla wedding – but a very special one.

François’s granddaughter, Marie Elizabeth Lore, through daughter Marie Lafay who married Honore Lore, was married on the same day, in the same church, to Jean-Baptiste Leveque at the Ste-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie church in L’Acadie.

This just couldn’t be any sweeter.

François was 75, and his bride, Madeleine, was 30 years younger.

His granddaughter, Marie Elizabeth Lore was 26 years old – almost half a century difference, yet marrying under the adoring eye of her grandfather, perhaps at the same altar.

Did grandfather and granddaughter have one ceremony, a double wedding, together, or did they have two separate weddings, one after the other?

I can close my eyes and see François walking his beaming granddaughter down the aisle towards the front of the church where they both stood beside their betrothed who would soon become their spouses.

The priest would then begin the Celebration of Matrimony.

Just look at this beautiful church where this family baptized their children, married, worshipped and yes, buried their dearly departed.

Generations of François’s extended family would probably have filled the entire sanctuary that glorious Monday.

November 22 of 1819 was certainly a day of celebration for four generations of the Lafaille family. If everyone was in attendance, François would have had more than 118 descendants wishing him well. Many of his grandchildren would have attended with babes in arms. Just four days later, his next great-grandchild would join the flock. I haven’t been able to trace all of his descendants, especially families who moved, so there could certainly have been even more, and that number of descendants swells significantly in the years to come, and in future generations.

Not bad for a man who arrived on these shores as a functional, if not an actual, orphan sometime in the late 1750s or early 1760s.

François Passes Over

François continued farming until his death on June 16, 1824

Father John’s translation:

Burial #44 François Lafaille

On the sixteenth of June, Eighteen Hundred Twenty Four, I, priest undersigned, buried in the cemetery of this parish the body of François Lafaille, farmer, who died the day before yesterday (avant hier) having received the sacraments of the Church. He was eighty years of age, the husband of Magdeleine Lépine. Present Jean Baptiste Dubé, and three others who declared that they were unable to sign, upon inquiry.

A. Brais, priest

Was Jean-Baptiste Dube perhaps the son of Jean-Baptiste Dupuis, François’s very long-time friend from back in the colonies?

Of course, the priests didn’t give the cause of death then, although how I wish they had. However, I wonder if something was going on in the Acadian community. François’ adult daughter Marguerite had died just a month earlier, on May 10th. Maybe cholera or dysentery, both of which are more pronounced in hot weather. Or perhaps his daughter’s untimely death just pushed him over the edge.

Inventory

François’s belongings were inventoried the following year, probably after the crops were in. I wonder why that process took so long – 14 months. His last crops would have been harvested in the fall of 1824.

Madeleine didn’t pass away until April 14, 1833. If she had an inventory, would it reflect his things?

This notarial record dated August 3, 1825, in Iberville, Quebec corresponds with the actual inventory, here.

I cannot translate this document, so if anyone else has a translated version, I’d be very grateful if you would post it in the comments or reach out, even if it’s in French. My issue is the script combined with a language I’m unfamiliar with. I can do a typed French to English translation.

Someone on WikiTree posted a brief summary:

On 3 August 1825, an inventory of the deceased’s property was drawn up by notary Laurent Archambault. His modest possessions included tools, books, a cow, and 28 sheep.

I can’t help but wonder which books François owned. Would I possibly be lucky to find an actual list? The fact that he owned books further confirms that he didn’t just learn to write his name, but was literate and read. What we read says so much about us.

The bottom of the third page of the inventory includes signatures.

These were difficult for me to decipher. I find it strange that all of his children and his wife signed with a mark. We know that at least some of them signed their names to earlier documents.

You can tell that the names are spelled phonetically too. Lafaille vs Lafay.

Column 1

  • François Lafaille
  • Antoine Hilaire Lafaille
  • Marie Anne Lafaille (who was married to François Lore who died on December 13, 1824)
  • Dufaula who is probably Joseph Duphaut who married daughter Marguerite Lafay who died May 11, 1824.

Column 2

  • Magdeleine LePine – his widow
  • Honore Lord – married to daughter Marie/Mary Lafay
  • Marie Lafaille – who is married to Honore Lord – but why did they both sign?

This begs the question of the rest of the children.

I’m not familiar with the legal requirements in Quebec at this time, but several questions come to mind.

  • Were all the heirs required to sign?
  • Were only the people inheriting something required to sign?
  • Why did Honore Lore/Lord and his wife, Marie Lafaille both sign when both people of other married couples didn’t sign? Does that tell us something important?
  • What does it tell us about the children or their spouses that didn’t sign?

What About the Others?

Three living children are missing from this document.

  • Bridget married Pierre Gamache, and by mid-1825, the family’s baptisms and marriages were being carried out at St-Cyprien-de-Lery in Napierville, Quebec. They moved sometime after 1822, but why didn’t they come back to sign this document? Is there something in this document, written in French, that addresses this question? Both Bridget and Pierre were both living in 1825.
  • We only find one record of Angelique as a witness on her sister Bridget’s 1798 marriage, so it’s possible that she had passed away or Angelique was actually someone else who used a middle or other name.
  • However, we know that the youngest child, Françoise Lafay married Pierre Granger and died in 1866. Both people were alive in 1825 and their children were being baptized at Ste-Marguerite-de-Blairfindie, so they were clearly still in the area. Why didn’t they sign?

Two other children were missing. One had died, but it’s unknown if the second child was living. But both had living descendants. Would their descendants be entitled to anything and therefore need to sign?

Were the signers simply attesting to the accuracy of the inventory – or are they attesting to an inherited share of those assets?

  • Daughter Suzanne Lafay died in 1803, and her husband died in 1818. Were any of her five living children entitled to or received anything?
  • We don’t know if daughter Julie Lafay who married Ignace Laporte Denis was living or not, nor if he was. We do know that at least two of her daughters were living in 1825, because they married later, and one son was possibly living as well. What about those children?

In Summary

We do have some direct evidence of François’s life.

It appears certain, based on his own signature many times that his surname was originally Lafay or Lafaye, not Lafaille as it was later spelled in Quebec. I had assumed it was Lafaille, but I now believe it was Lafay based on François’s signatures.

He spelled his surname consistently throughout his life. It was only others, meaning various priests and the notarial record that spelled it Lafaille, although some descendants in later generations adopted that spelling.

We know that François married in the colonies in 1767, probably in Connecticut, where his wife’s family lived, and that he died in Quebec in 1824. Thanks to that record that says he was 80 years old, we know he was born in or at least about 1744. Given that he died in the middle of June, he would have been born either after June 14, 1743 or before June 14, 1744. That meshes perfectly with the January 7, 1744 birth in Bordeaux, France, of the child sailor François Lafaye.

We know that our François had arrived in Quebec by the summer of 1788, but probably not much earlier.

Most of his children were born in “New England,” and frustratingly, not one single record anyplace says WHERE in New England.

We have the information from missionary Henrietta Feller, who tells us François was a French sailor who somehow wound up in Boston. That’s a rather unusual story, so I’d tend to believe at least the sailor portion is accurate, and perhaps Boston as well. If he was a sailor, it’s likely he lived in relatively close proximity to the sea in France.

Thanks to Bernard’s work, we know there’s one François Lafay, spelled exactly the way François repeatedly signed his own name, who was born in Bordeaux on January 7, 1744. That young man’s father’s name was Joseph and his mother was Françoise. Our  François did have a daughter named François, but no son named Joseph, although that would have been one of the children that died in New England.

The François in Bordeaux signed onto a French ship as a young apprentice sailor in 1757, apparently only to discover that sailing life wasn’t for him. Of course, being the youngest with the least experience, he had the worst possible job combined with the lowest pay.

He deserted, or probably more aptly, ran away, in a French port in what is now Haiti as soon as the ship reached shore, along with about one-third of the rest of the crew. He very probably saved his own life.

If that young man is our François Lafay and somehow reached Boston, or someplace else along the eastern seaboard to find kinship with the Acadians is still a matter of conjecture.

We simply don’t know.

What we do know is the few facts we have do fit the profile for the young French sailor, but don’t constitute proof. Would there be church or notarial records in France that would shine light on that François Lafay? How would we go about finding those records?

There are other Lafaille or Lafay men in France, but none born in 1743 or 1744, and none in close proximity to a port. Of course, not all records are available online, and many were destroyed due to fires or war.

Clearly, there are blanks in our François’s life begging to be filled in, but we have nothing with which to patch those holes today.

Our best bet would be to have a Y-DNA match to a Lafay man, or even a man of any surname in Bordeaux.

Need Lafay or Lafaille Man for Y-DNA Test

For that to happen, I need a Lafay or Lafaille man who descends from François to take a Y-DNA test. François had three sons, two of whom had male descendants.

If that’s you, or one of your male relatives descends from François through an unbroken line of all males, I have a fully paid Y-DNA testing scholarship for you at FamilyTreeDNA. Please reach out, and maybe we can resolve another piece of François’s ancestry.

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Fixing the Tractor on Father’s Day – 52 Ancestors #402

The thunder is rumbling as I pen this, awash in memories, thinking of Dad and all those humid summer storms down on the farm. The liquid sunshine, as my Dad used to call rain, is running down the outside of my windows, and the skies are rumbling like Thor is arriving for a visit any moment.

BOOM!!!

The lights flicker off and on.

Back at home, on the farm, we’d lose power with storms often, and it might just stay off for days. That was just kind of normal.

We had the old hand pump outside for water for the house, and one at the barn, too, to water the livestock, plus the stream, of course.

We usually kept the lights off anyway because they generated heat, and Heaven knows, we certainly didn’t need any more of that.

By the time Father’s Day rolled around, we had celebrated our romance with the arrival of summer three weeks earlier, over Memorial Day, and it had probably been over 90 and maybe over 100 degrees at least once.

Worse yet, it had probably not dropped below 80 with someplace around 110% humidity for several nights in a row. You woke up sweating.

Yea, we were tired of the heat of summer already, and summer was just beginning. Actually, technically, it wasn’t even summer yet.

On Father’s Day morning, just like every other morning, Dad would get up at the crack of dawn – and I mean exactly that. The earlier you went out to do chores, the cooler it was, but you couldn’t do chores in the dark.

Every farmer wore overalls and muck boots, no matter how hot it was, along with a farm cap from the seed store or grain mill to keep the sweat from running into their eyes.

I’m sure air conditioning had been invented, but we didn’t know anyone who had AC. Our version of AC was going to the basement, barefoot, so your feet could touch the cool concrete.

Maybe we’d fill up the bucket with water from the pump that was cool coming out of the ground and stick our feet in there. That always felt good too. So did a cold shower or just a shower from the hose outside.

The guys always shaved their heads, and us females, we either had very short hair or hair long enough to pull up in a ponytail. I think my hair still has permanent rubber band lines.

Mom always tried to drag us to church on Father’s Day Sunday, but the only thing hotter than staying home was dressing up and going to church.

She’d always say that it was “cool enough” because we could roll the windows in the car down on the way home, but not on the way because you didn’t want to mess your hair up. We used to call that 455 air conditioning, a pun on a Chevy 455 engine. Roll all four windows down and drive 55. Mom just rolled her eyes at us.

Mom wasn’t terribly pleased that I loved to work on cars and, um, race them. Not pleased at all, actually. It wasn’t “ladylike.” Truth be told, I could outrun and outdrive my brother and pretty much anyone else too, but that’s a different story. My Dad, on the other hand, was always quite helpful and glad that at least ONE of his children was useful with tools. I loved working at the barn with my Dad on anything that needed fixing.

And that’s what saved us from those sweltering Sundays praying for church to be over because it was literally as hot as Hades in there with no windows open.

The church came equipped with those “funeral fans” as we called them.

We called them funeral fans because the funeral homes would print ads on one side about how lovingly they would treat your dearly departed family members, like anyone was going to say – “Hey someone, run up to the church and see whose ad is on the back of that fan.” I guess they hoped that if you waved it in front of your face for an hour every week, you might remember their name. Generally, the church required a religious picture on the other side and of course the funeral homes paid for the fans and all the printing for the privilege of placing them in the pews.

Truthfully, no one cared what was on them, on either side, and when it was hot, there were enough fans whirring to power a spaceship.

Dad hated to dress up, and so did I, but I think Mom thought we’d be eternally damned to Hell if we missed one Sunday. Occasionally though, the farm and earning a living took precedence. We’d just have to ask forgiveness.

You know, sometimes that pesky old, antiquated tractor we had broke on Father’s Day. Dad needed help fixing it. I know just how much Dad hated to miss church, and of course, being the good daughter that I was, I sacrificed and stayed home to help him.

Generally, after Mom left, we’d have a cup of coffee to prepare ourselves for the ordeal.

Well, officially, he had a cup of coffee because I was not supposed to have coffee. I wasn’t old enough. Mom’s rules. So my “coffee” was mostly milk and sugar – pretty much what we call a Latte today.

But you know, since it was Father’s Day and all, I couldn’t let Dad drink coffee alone😊

Mom was never as hot as we were either, so we’d adjust the fan and turn it on full speed if we stayed inside for our coffee.

Often, especially when it was really hot, we went outside and sat in the peaceful shade of the old tree on the glider and matching metal chair.

Well, if you count rust as a matching decorative element.

I think we communed more with God on the farm, under the tree, watching the corn, soybeans, ferns, and iris grow than we ever did in church, but that’s just me.

As the sun rose halfway up the sky, we’d comment about how hot it was getting to be. One of us would squint and try to see the thermometer nailed to the side of the house by the window. We’d wonder out loud if one or the other of us thought it was going to rain.

If so, it wouldn’t be in the morning and generally not at noon either.

We often had violent storms in the afternoon and evening. No weather forecasts back then. We just expected that it might happen.

Tornados. Those were nothing to mess with. I remember watching those wall clouds approach from the west and the worried look on Dad’s brow. Every now and again, he’d be staring at the west sky and quietly say, “Bobbi, get the dog,” and I knew EXACTLY what that meant. He didn’t want to panic Mom just yet, but we were preparing, just in case.

Farm families welcomed soft, gentle morning summertime rains. Those violent drenchers, not so much. They washed out seeds, ruined crops, sometimes laying them flat, and the hail associated with those storm cells stripped the leaves right off the plants.

Sometime around 10:30 or 11 on Father’s Day morning, Dad would say, “Well, Bobbi, let’s go work on that tractor.” We’d both grin at each other, then get up and wander down the path to the barn.

The tractor was wherever it broke, so Dad would get some tools out of his old toolbox that he made out of scrap lumber and a wrench or two, and we’d go out and pound and twist on some things. I’d climb up in the seat and pull on a couple of handles, one of which was the choke.

Sometimes the tractor needed a tune-up.

Dad would tell me to try to start it. Then he’d pound on something else, trying not to smash a finger.

“Try again,” he’d say.

Sometimes adding extra fuel helped too.

Eventually, we’d get old Bessie running again, and I’d drive that temperamental old red tractor with almost no paint into the barn. Dad had been making his own parts and patching that tractor together for so many years that it was old when I was young, and it was just as old after Dad passed away. It never seemed to get any older, nor did it ever really run right.

Dad never saw any benefit to buying a newfangled tractor because he knew how to fix the old one, and besides, he had me to help him.

After the tractor was fixed, Dad and I would head up to the house and start the charcoal grill. That’s back in the days when you had to light the charcoal and let it burn down for at least half an hour or 45 minutes. It was true charcoal, not propane, and you wanted it to be hot but not actually burning. Hot enough to have a grey ash coating.

We always asked Dad what he wanted for Father’s Day dinner, since he didn’t get to have any of whatever they were serving at church, and his answer was always the same.

Hamburgers.

And he meant on the grill. That was a given.

We grilled a lot in the summer to keep the kitchen cool. Hamburgers weren’t nearly as good in the winter.

So, Dad started the charcoal, and I went inside to wash up and make nice thick hamburger patties by rolling hamburger into balls, then smooshing it between the palms of my hands. I often chopped some onion first, and Dad would slice about a quarter inch of butter off the stick – we only ever had real butter back then – and stuck it inside the hamburger patty in the center.

“Don’t tell your Mom,” he’d say, and we’d chuckle. It was always our secret, even when Mom wondered aloud why his burgers were always better than hers. She wouldn’t have wanted the extra fat. The only time we ever had extra butter in our burgers was when the tractor broke on Sunday.

That’s why we always started dinner, as lunch was called on the farm, while she was at church on Sundays when that old tractor broke, needed fixing, and we had to work on it.

By the time Mom got home, the patties were prepared and ready to go on the grill, the fire was ready, and as soon as we heard the car slow down on the road and the crunch of gravel in the driveway, we’d start them grilling.

Mom would tell us how hot it was at church, and how miserable it had been, then go inside to change out of those sweaty clothes, including “nylons.” You never went to church back then without wearing a nice dress, makeup, and nylon stockings. Some Sundays you also wore white gloves but not in the summer because you were sweating too much to get them off and on.

Dad and I were still in our work clothes.

When Mom came out after changing clothes, she said she hoped it wasn’t too hot and miserable down in the barn where we had to work.

Nope, Mom, it was wonderful, actually.

Just the perfect Father’s Day, helping Dad on the farm.

We grilled the burgers, sliced fresh tomatoes from the garden, made iced tea, ate, and laughed together. Then we gave Dad his gifts which were usually handmade and sometimes humorous. He always told us we shouldn’t. We did anyway, of course.

Later, we made ice cream in the old crank ice-cream maker.

After dinner, Dad, the dog, and his rescued three-legged cat, Frosty, would take a nap while Mom and I redded up the dishes.

Sometimes, looking out the kitchen window over the fields as I methodically washed the dishes, my mind wandered, and I wondered what the future held. It never occurred to me, at least not yet, that my life would one day be very different someplace else, and very far away. I couldn’t imagine leaving Dad, the tractor, and the farm, but he could. He saw a horizon that I couldn’t see. He was preparing me, even though I didn’t realize it.

I knew how much I loved Dad – probably even extra because he was my stepfather and chose me as his daughter – but I didn’t understand the depths of his love for me.

On those Father’s Days, we honored and appreciated Dad, but not nearly enough. I wouldn’t realize quite how wise and wonderful he was until after those storm clouds had gathered, descended upon us, and whisked him away.

When you’re making memories, you often don’t realize it in the moment. You’re just doing what you’re doing. The memories make themselves.

The sweaty summer days fixing tractors and the mundane life of yesterday became the precious memories we long to touch just one more time.

Just one more Sunday.

One more Father’s Day.

One more broken tractor to fix.

One more cup of coffee.

One more smile, Dad.

Just one more.

Just a few more minutes.

I love and miss you, Dad.

I always will.

It was only decades later, with those early days having faded into long-ago misty memories, that I realized just how exquisitely perfect they were.

And that Dad got EXACTLY what he wanted for Father’s Day, which had absolutely nothing to do with a broken tractor.

Jullien Lor (c1752-1724); La Montagne, A Mountain of a Man – 52 Ancestors #401

Jullien signed his own name as Jullien Lor on a list of men taking a Loyalty oath in 1690. Interestingly, that given name is normally spelled Julien, with one l, but he signed his name with two. Spelling generally, including names, was not standardized at that time. I’ve normalized it to Julien for this article since that’s how you’ll see it spelled in most places.

In following generations, his surname is spelled Lord, among other ways, but there is no official parish record of the Lord surname at all in Port Royal, Acadia. The surname is found in various records for Julien and his sons as L’Or, Lor, Laure, Lore, and his dit name, La Montagne. L’or translates to “gold” in English.

Much about Julien’s life remains a mystery.

What Do We Actually Know About Julien Lor?

Julien was obviously literate, which means he had some level of education in France. He was not an impoverished street urchin and probably learned to read and write in a Catholic school instructed by priests.

According to the Encyclopedia Britannica:

In Catholic countries, such as France, the Roman church retained control of education. Indeed, as monarchy became more absolute, so largely did the authority of the church in matters of education. In France, practically all schools and universities were controlled by so-called teaching congregations or societies, the most famous and powerful of which during the first half of the 17th century was the Society of Jesus. By mid-century, the Jesuits had 14,000 pupils under instruction in Paris alone; their colleges (not including universities) all over the land numbered 612.

We don’t know where Julien was born, although his signature on the petition required of the French Acadians by the British strongly suggests that he is French. In fact, I’d go so far as to say we’ve confirms it.

Not only is his name spelled with the Aigu accent over the e, which is common in French names, but had he NOT been French, he would not have been required to sign that document.

He may well have been named after the Catholic Saint Julian the Hospitaller.

I checked Filae, a site that contains a plethora of French records. There are no Lor, L’or, Lore, or Laur, but there are Laurent and Laurens. Without a subscription, I can’t see more.

MyHeritage records reflect either trees or non-relevant records. Maybe someday!

We don’t know where Julien was from in France or exactly when he was born, but we do have some idea about his birth year.

Bless the Census Takers, For They Have Saved My Sanity

The first actual record we find that includes Julien is the Port Royal 1686 census which was recorded by “Monsieur De Meulles, Intendant of New France and All the People of Beaubassin, Rivière St-Jean, Port-Royal, Isle Persée and other Colonies of Acadia where he himself visited all of the Habitations at the beginning of the year 1686.”

In this census, Julien is shown as age 33, married to Charlotte Girouard, who is 26, with four children. Alexander is 10, Jacques 8, Pierre 5, and Marie, age 1.

This tells us that Julien was born about 1653. It also tells us that he was in Port Royal at least 11 years earlier, by 1675, because he has a 10-year-old son. Assuming that Charlotte’s age is accurate, that means either she was not his first wife, or she was 16 when Alexander was born. Charlotte Anne Girouard is listed as Anne, age 12, in the 1671 census with her family, so he did not marry her in France.

Unfortunately, Julien and Anne are missing from the 1678 census. They are not with her parents, nor are they listed separately. Some things never change about census takers.

When Did Julien Arrive?

That’s a great question.

On a website no longer available, but that I accessed using the Wayback Machine, here, auto-translated by Google from French, Julien Lord is listed by that author as a soldier in the Carnigan company of soldiers. He’s noted as being born in Normandy in 1652, probably based on the regiment’s history. The website states that they reconstructed Julien’s life using the census and his children’s records.

What they don’t say directly is whether they actually found something to suggest Julien was a soldier, or it’s presumed.

Based on a list of the San Sebastian’s crew in 1665, here, Julien is not listed, but there is one person listed under the nickname, La Montagne, that translates as “mountain.” The dit part of the name translates to “said.” In other words, that person is called “mountain.”

Julien and his sons are all listed by the name of “La Montagne” in the 1707 and 1714 censuses. In case there’s doubt about him actually being known by that name, his wife Anne Charlotte’s death record clears that up.

It’s still a leap of faith equating a man listed only as “La Montagne” on a roster as Julien, although it is possible, and he clearly was listed by that name, without a first name, at least twice in the census.

According to information cousin Mark unearthed, several different men over time have been listed by that dit nickname.

What does the website say about Julien?

He was born in Normandy in 1652; He married Anne-Charlotte Girouard (1660/1741) in 1675 in Port-Royal, Acadia, daughter of François Girouard, dit Lavaranne and Jeanne Aucoin. In 1686, he was on the land of François Girouard, his father-in-law. In August 1695, he was among the 47 heads of families of Port-Royal who took an oath of loyalty to William of Orange, King of England. In 1714, the home of Julien Lord was located very close to the fort. He died between February 17 and May 3, 1724. The act of burial remains unfinished.

They do note that Julien, at age 13, seems young for a soldier, but also state that a boy could marry at age 13, boys were found on board fishing and warships by age 9, and the English army included 12-year-olds.

If he actually was 13, he sailed away, never to see any of his family again. How heartbreaking for him.

Information provided about the ship, auto-translated to English:

Embarked on board the ship Le Saint-Sébastien from La Rochelle on May 24, 1665 Arrived in Quebec on September 12, 1665

(117 days of crossing, embarcation included)

According to a letter from Jean Talon au Roy, it would also seem that he made a stopover near Tadoussac and it was only from there that the disease would have fallen on the ship, there are up to 80 patients.

(Sources: Relationship, Talon, Register.)

Return of the Laubias company in 1670:

This company will return with new soldiers and a few old ones, some of whom will settle in New France. According to Colbert de Terron, the soldiers of Laubias’ company embarked on the ship Hirondelle around mid-April 1670 (letter from Colbert de Terron dated May 1, 1670). Moreover, according to the “Report of François Baudry, captain of the Hirondelle, belonging to the king, on fishing on Percée Island and Newfoundland”, p. 25, L’Hirondelle is said to have gone “fishing for dry fish on the isle percée in the new land and would have arrived there quite happily on the seventeenth of June.”

Moreover, Colbert de Terron (in this same letter dated May 1, 1670) affirms that the ship New France would have left towards the end of April (“two days ago” compared to the writing of his letter of May 1, 1670). Moreover, if I believe the “Report of Alain Durand, captain of New France, on his trip to Quebec”, p. 28, New France is said to have left at the end of April 1670 and “would have been to the island breakthrough by order of His Majesty to take soldiers who were there in the name of the island. of two hundred men to lead them to d. place of quebec where they would have arrived on xxj. July “.

After a quick analysis of these sources (attached), it seems to me that the company of Laubias would probably have embarked on the Hirondelle in mid-April 1670 bound for “Isle Percée” and would have docked there towards June 22, 1670. From there, the company of Laubias would have embarked on board New France in destination of Quebec and would have arrived there on July 20, 1670.

Laubias’ company would then have established itself in Nicolet. See Histoire de Nicolet, pp 35 to 50, from Abbé Bellemare:

Research by Mr. Martin L’Epine whom we thank.

Based on the other soldiers, specifically the soldiers who remained, they were in Three Rivers in Quebec, not in Port Royal. How would Julien have gotten to Port Royal?

From the book One Hundred French-Canadian Family Histories by Phillip James Moore, using Google Books, we find the following excerpt.

Moore suggests Julien may have arrived in 1668 when he was 14 or in 1670 when he would have been 18.

If he arrived with any of these groups, he would clearly have been a soldier at Fort Anne.

Seaward view from the ramparts of the Fort Anne National Historic site where Julien likely began life in Acadia.

Karen Theriot Reader weighs in as follows:

Could he be the Julien Lord la Montagne among the names of soldiers in the Carignan-Salieres Regiment? They served between 1665 and 1668. Did he come to Acadia after that?

Residences: While some soldiers and officers of the Carignan regiment did settle in Acadia, they are not included in the soldier-settler list, because little factual information is known about them or their descendants, for lack of records from this area at that time.

From cousin Mark regarding Julien arriving with Carignan:

The list Sylvain (another cousin) referenced and the source cited is the French website. Even if one accepts that a 13-year-old can be a soldier that traveled by ship to Quebec, there is no evidence nor any proffered detail that he later journeyed somehow to Port-Royal. Moreover, I still see no Julien Lord with any similar surname on any of the lists I’ve checked. This includes Peter Gagné’s list at La Société des Filles du roi et soldats du Carignan, as well as from Jack Verney’s book that I have, “The Good Regiment.” Verney lists a soldier identified only by the dit name Lamontagne as with the Loubias company. As Peter Gagné pointed out in his excellent master’s thesis on the Regiment, “Nicknames were not exclusive to one individual” and lists, among other dit names that of Lamontagne for six soldiers across different companies.

Where I think there exists some confusion between what Sylvain wrote and WikiTree, is that Le Saint-Sébastien was also the name of the ship, and possibly the same one from 1665, that carried Hector d’Andigné de Grandfontaine first to Boston and then to Pentagöuet, now Penobscot, Maine, to take possession of the forts the English had previously captured. He sent his second-in-command to Port Royal which surrendered on September 2, 1670. He had been appointed the new governor of Acadia, and there were soldiers onboard with him, possibly including Julien Lord. But again, from what I can determine, and otherwise it would have been of great news for Acadian genealogists, there was no roster or passenger list for that voyage. Sylvain wrote that he arrived with the ship on September 2, so it is this voyage that Sylvain refers to not that of the 1665 voyage of the Carignan Regiment to Québec. Maybe he was familiar with a roster I’m not aware of.

This, from the Dictionary of Canadian Biography on d’Andigné,

In addition to the soldiers and indentured employees who had arrived with the governor, the Oranger brought 60 passengers the following year, among them one woman and four girls, and the court paid 100 livres each for their passage and their setting-up. The soldiers seemed to like the country, for in the following years some 15 thought of settling there. It is impossible to determine exactly how many new settlers took up residence in Acadia at that time, but it was certainly the greatest number to arrive since the time of Razilly and d’Aulnay.

The 1671 Census of Acadia is incomplete as it only listed habitants, not others, including the soldiers stationed there. I do suspect Julien Lord may have been among them. An outstanding researcher of La Rochelle sailings to New France is Guy Perron who writes up his research in a blog that is a gold mine for this type of information.

I’ve quickly searched for the 1670 sailing of the Saint-Sébastien and did not find it, but will continue to look, through his 355 articles and elsewhere.

What Was Happening?

Mark’s comment about the 1671 census omitting soldiers at the Fort is quite important. Julien is NOT found in that census, nor the 1678 census, but we know he was already married by 1675 and had a son in 1676.

So, what was going on in Acadia, the land where Julien arrived, somehow, adopted as his own and lived the rest of his life?

We already know that Acadia was the land of a few French settlers and a few French soldiers, but not many. The British also wanted Acadia. Skirmishes and outright warfare regularly occurred on this maritime frontier, and control shifted back and forth for 150 years or so until the British deported the Acadian families a century later, in 1755.

In 1666, France reportedly stopped sending colonists to Canada, including Acadia, for fear of depopulating the mother country.

In 1667, France regained Acadia through treaty, but the English didn’t actually leave  until 1670 when the English forts at Port Royal and Jemseg surrendered. The French were finally back in control of Acadia.

By 1670, Acadia had about 400 people. That’s not very many. By comparison, Massachusetts had about 40,000.

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

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. A century later, long-established family relationships may have helped save their descendants when the English deported them in 1755.

Thankfully, in 1671, the new French governor requested a census that provides us with the first, even somewhat comprehensive, view of Acadia, although some inhabitants were missed.

The official census of 1671 recorded 392 people, mostly in Port Royal. Scholars estimate the real count was probably someplace around 500. That census did not include the soldiers at the fort. This is probably why Julien is not recorded in either 1671 when he was (probably) not yet married, or in 1678. By 1678, he was not only married, he had one child born in 1676, another in 1678 or 1679, and his wife was probably expecting another child. Julien had clearly settled in.

Reconstructing Julien’s Life

Fortunately, we can reconstruct part of Julien’s life through the census. Those records are particularly important prior to the church records that remain dating from May of 1702. Earlier records were destroyed in some warfare event.

The early census documents include the names and ages of children with their families.

I need to stress that I’m using transcribed records, mostly but not exclusively from acadian-home.org, not the originals that would have been recorded in French script. Some of these records are quite confusing, so I resorted to my old standby – a spreadsheet.

Based on that 1686 census, we know that Julien was married to Charlotte Anne or Anne Charlotte Girouard about 1675. While the ages of some people vary widely, her birth year universally resolves to 1660.

The church records don’t exist from the 1600s, so we don’t have their marriage record, nor do we know positively that she was Julien’s first wife. However, their second child, Jacques’s marriage record specifies that Anne Girouard is his mother. Jacques was born in 1678 or 1679.

Julien had at least nine known children and probably several more. I’ve attempted to reconstruct the family as follows, interweaving historical events for a peek into their lives.

  • Alexander Lore was born in 1676 and died on October 5, 1740. He married Marie Francoise Barrieau before May of 1702 when existing parish records begin, and probably before the 1701 census. His death record does not show his parents but states his age as 64, so confirms his birth in 1676 which is consistent with the census.
  • Possibly a child that died.
  • Jacques Lor was probably born in 1679 and died sometime after 1742. He married twice, first to Angelique Comeau on November 19, 1708, and secondly to Marie Charlotte Bonnevie on August 18, 1721.
  • Possibly a child that died.
  • Pierre Lore was born in 1681 or 1682 and died on January 17, 1738, in or near Port Royal. He married Jeanne Doucet on June 17, 1715.

In 1684, a new governor was appointed, which seemed to be a regular occurrence. He described the Acadians as living simply and pastorally. He claimed they lived better than Canadians, never lacking meat or bread, but weren’t as industrious. He said they never put anything away for a bad year and their dowries were small – a few francs and a cow in calf, a ewe and a sow. Some wealthy families had a feather bed.

This paints a picture of what Julien and Charlotte’s wedding might have been like. Starting life with a pregnant cow, a ewe and a sow. I’m sure the newlyweds didn’t care where they slept.

Another new governor in 1686 reported that the people had scattered and lived far from each other. The homes were built behind the marshes, which were along the river.

  • Marie Lore was probably born between 1684 and 1687. One Marie Lore witnesses a baptism record in 1733. We will discuss her records in the next section.
  • Probably a child that died.
  • Anne Lore was born in 1687 and died on May 21, 1770 in Trois Rivieres, Quebec. She married Mathieu Doucet on June 15, 1712.

A 1688 report states that there was a labor shortage and a shortage of manure necessary for developing the uplands. I never considered manure as a commodity in this way. The report also stated that there was a shortage of tidelands that would be easy to dyke. As a result, 25-30 (mostly) younger people had moved to Minas in the last six years.

The settlers were described as “scattered apart from each other in the space of six or seven leagues, above and below along the banks of the Port Royal river.”

  • Probably 2 children that died.

In 1689, Vincent de Saccard said that “there weren’t any settlers below Goat Island, but 29 on the shores of the basin above it. Each settler has frontage of about one and a half to two miles, but not much depth. The largest areas of marsh that could be dyked had more farms. Farms had maybe 100-200 acres.”

I suspect that these families would have been very vulnerable to attack. However, the Mi’kmaq were their friends and sometimes family, so the Acadians were certainly not as vulnerable as they would have been without that liaison.

Photos of repairing dykes at Grand Pre about 1900 can be viewed here, and the labor-intensive Acadian aboiteau dike and sluice gate system, here, including special shoes for horses to keep them from sinking.

Antoine Cadillac, who lived in Acadia in the 1680s as an explorer, trapper and trader wrote, “This place is surrounded by steep mountains, at the bottom of which there is a small valley one league wide and seven leagues long, where there are only prairies on each side of the river, which are flooded by the tides, the inhabitants have made levees, dykes and causeways, so that the dirty water cannot enter.”

Of course, this means that Julien would have known Cadillac who traded in both furs and liquor.

Click to enlarge

This is where Julien lived, at location #12, according to this 1733 survey.

The Fires

On May 9, 1690, Acadia was again attacked, plundered, and burned by the English out of Boston.

English forces under Sir William Phipps attacked Port Royal with a fleet of seven vessels and 700 men. French pirate Pierre Baptiste was among only 85 men defending the unfinished fortification at Port Royal.

After spending 12 days pillaging Port Royal, Phipps’ troops pillaged the rest of Acadia, including Castine, La Hève, Chedabucto, and the settlements at the head of the Bay of Fundy which would have included Julien’s home.

The church and 28 homes were burned, but not the mills and upriver farms. The English were now in charge. Baptiste was taken prisoner along with other Acadians whose names we don’t know, but shortly thereafter, escaped.

Julien clearly knew Baptiste and probably knew him well.

The Acadians in the fort at Port Royal swore an oath of allegiance, hoping to de-escalate the situation. Later, two English pirates, then called privateers, took advantage of the opportunity and burned homes again, killing people and slaughtering livestock. Some people just take pleasure in other people’s misery and being cruel.

A year later, Baptiste, our friendly French pirate who had attempted unsuccessfully to defend Port Royal in 1690, was successfully recruiting men in Acadia.

During this timeframe, Antoine de Lamothe Cadillac explored up the St. Lawrence River, through New France. He wrote about the Acadians, reporting that, “the creolles…travel most of the time by bark canoes. Their wives do the same, and are very bold on the water.” Another man stated that the Acadians used “bark canoes, like the savages, or other small canoes that they themselves make from a hollow tree hole.”

By Billy Hathorn – Own work, CC BY 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=34087679

A beautiful birchbark canoe from the Abbe Museum in Bar Harbour, Maine. The rivers were their roads, and Julien’s family lived on what was the Rivière du Dauphin, now renamed the Annapolis River.

In 1590, a century earlier, Theodore de Bry produced this engraving of a John White watercolor, stating this is how the Native people made their dugout canoes, by hollowing logs out using fire. The Acadians learned from the Mi’kmaq and probably did the same.

In 1690, when the houses were burned, Julien had a wife and at least five children to care for. Based on the documentation available, we know that he lived “above” the fort along the river.

The oath Julien signed in 1690 was forced upon the residents in May when the fort was captured. In his own words, the Massachusetts commander reported, “We cut down the cross, rifled the Church, pulled down the High-Altar, breaking their images”; and on 23 May, “kept gathering Plunder both by land and water, and also under ground in their Gardens.”

Julien would have been a strapping man of 38. And probably hellishly angry.

I would guess that Julien sent his wife and boys, ages 14, 11, and 9, and two daughters about 3 and 6, someplace into hiding, perhaps in the mountain range above their home, marked with the red star above. He may have needed to keep his wife’s elderly parents safe too. His father-in-law died sometime during this period.

Perhaps the nearby mountains had something to do with rekindling his nickname, La Montagne.

There would have been safety in the mountains among their allies, the Mi’kmaq people. Julien would have been one of those 85 men defending the fort.

After giving orders to his men to impose the loyalty oath to everyone they could locate, both French and Native, “and upon refusal hereof to burn, kill, and destroy them,” Phipps sailed back to Massachusetts.

No wonder Julien and the others signed.

There are gaps between the known children of Julien and Charlotte. Based on what we know, one child was probably born in 1690, possibly in the midst of the attack. So, Charlotte was either pregnant or had a baby with her during this time. That child died.

  • Magdelaine Lore was born in 1692 and married Francois Amiraut on January 16, 1714.

In the 1693 census, Julien is 41 years old, so born in 1652, and is listed with his wife, Charlotte, age 33, so born in 1660, living in the home of his mother-in-law, Jean Aucoin, age 60, widow of Francois Girouard. Julien’s children are Alexandre, 16, Jacques, 14, Pierre, 12, Marie, 6, and Magdeleine, 1, along with 20 cattle, 40 sheep, 10 hogs, 20 arpents (of land), and 2 guns. An arpent of land can either be about 192 linear feet or about .84 acres.

Julien seems to be providing well for his family with an abundance of livestock.

  • Probably a child that died, or the age of one of another child is recorded incorrectly.
  • Based on the various census records, Louis Lore and Jean-Baptiste Lore appear to be the same person who was born in 1695 and died sometime after 1714.
  • Probably a child that died.
  • Marguerite Lore was born in-between 1695 and 1698 and died before November 5, 1770. She married Joseph Amiraux on January 30, 1718.

For a relatively small area with few residents, Acadia was a lightning rod of conflict.

In 1696, the English attacked again. By this time, it was a common occurrence, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t devastating to the colonists who had to keep rebuilding over and over. Germain Bourgeois told the English that they had sworn loyalty to the English King. The English pretended it mattered, but it didn’t. Buildings were burned again, animals slaughtered, and apparently not just for food, but sport. This time, the dykes were ruined too, meaning it would be another three years before they could plant again.

In 1697, Acadia was returned to the French in the Treaty of Ryswick.

The 1698 census provides additional information about the family, with the transcribed version recording Julien Lord as 46, so born in 1652, Charlotte as 38, born in 1660, Jacques as 20, Marie as 18 (born 1680), Pierre as 16, Anne as 11 (born 1687), Jean-Baptiste 3, 20 cattle, 20 sheep, 12 hogs, 21 arpents of land, 6 fruit trees and one gun. Location is given as Port Royal.

The fruit trees made me smile. Fruit, probably apples, must have been a wonderful treat. Only people with long-term aspirations and intentions plant trees.

I initially thought that daughters Marie and Anne were the same person called by different names, but on two different censuses, both are recorded, so clearly not one individual.

By 1700 when another census was taken, there were about 2000 Acadians, but they no longer considered themselves “Pure French.”

In the 1700 census, Julien was age 48, so born in 1652, and Charlotte, age 40, born in 1660, are living with her mother, Jeanne Aucoin, age 87 (which is probably actually 67.) Their children are Alexandre, 24, Jacques, 21, Pierre, 18, Marie, 13, Madelaine, 8, Louis, 5, and Marguerite, 2, plus 15 cattle, 34 sheep, 20 arpents of land, and 2 guns (Port Royal)

The 1701 census shows Julien Lord, 50, so born 1651, Anne Girouard (wife,) 41, so born 1660; Jacques, 23, Pierre, 20, Marie, 17, Anne, 14, Louis, 8, Marguerite, 6; 2 guns, 17 cattle, 15 sheep, 12 hogs, 10 arpents of land. (Port Royal). Why is Julien shown with less land?

  • Possibly a female child died after 1703
  • Possibly a male child born 1701/1702 and died before 1707
  • Charles Lore was born in 1703 or 1704 and died on November 21, 1775 in Varennes, Quebec. He married Marie-Josephte Doucet on February 19, 1726.
  • Possibly one final daughter according to the 1714 census

By 1702, both sides were preparing for conflict again. The Acadian governor had begun construction of a stone and earth fort the year before which was largely complete by 1704.

The 1703 census shows Julien Lors, wife, 4 boys and 4 girls. Alexander had married but is not listed separately. However, his wife is not listed here. The four boys would be Jacque, Pierre, Jean-Baptiste/Louis, and Charles if he was born by 1703. If Charles was not yet born by the 1703 census, Julien and Charlotte had a male child in 1701 or 1702 that died before 1707. The girls would be Marie, Anne, Magdaleine, and Marguerite.

Julien’s children are VERY difficult to unravel.

Sorting the Children

If Charlotte was born in 1660, she would have been 43 in 1703 when Charles was born, or 44 if he was born in 1704. It’s possible that she had another child or two. If she did, we don’t have any definitive records.

I created a spreadsheet attempting to correlate family information.

I compiled the children and their ages from each census. I calculated their birth year from their age.

In their cell, you’ll see something like 33-1653 which means that Julien was age 33 in 1686, which subtracts to a birth year of 1653.

Some years are confusing. For example, Alexander is missing in 1698 when he would have been about 22, but he’s present in 1700, then missing in 1701 and 1703. He’s enumerated separately in 1714. He clearly lived because we have his death record in 1740.

Click to enlarge

I’ve listed Jean-Baptiste and Louis, colored blue, separately, but if you look at the entries, it’s clear that’s actually one person.

The most confusing entries are for daughters Marie and Anne, colored yellow. I originally thought they were two names for the same person, but they aren’t. In both 1698 and 1701, both names are listed with different birth years. So, there are clearly two people. Sometimes when a child dies, the parents name another child with the same name. However, that’s not the case here either.

If I had the original census documents, I’d check the ages. There is probably one Marie, but the ages vary so widely that I listed them separately. I just don’t know. The last record we have for any Marie is a 1733 record where some Marie Lor is a witness for a baptism. Then, nothing.

Anne, on the other hand, is listed in 1698 but should have been listed in 1693 if she was born in 1687. She was also missing in 1700, but present with Marie in both 1698 and 1701.

Anne married in 1712, but in the 1714 census, her husband is not listed as a head of household.

The 1703, 1707, and 1714 censuses do not list the children by name or age. They list the head of household with the number of children.

In 1703, the number of arms bearers is listed too.

In 1703, Julien had 4 boys, 4 girls and 4 arms bearers. I’ve colored the boys blue and the girls apricot who can be reasonably identified in 1703, 1707, and 1714.

In 1703, by process of elimination, we know Julien was an arms bearer, and so was Jacques, who would have been 25, and Pierre, who would have been 22. Who was the fourth male that was an arms bearer? The youngest males would have been Jean-Baptists/Louis, who would have been 10 and Charles who was an infant. Both were too young to bear arms. Is the other male Alexandre? If so, then where is his wife? Was she not counted because she was an adult and not Julien’s child?

Julien has 4 girls. One would have been Marie, one Anne, one Magdeleine, and one Marguerite, so that works.

In 1707, Julien was listed simply as LaMoutagne (probably actually LaMontagne,) with his wife, 2 boys age 14 or older, 2 younger boys, 3 girls 12 or older, 1 younger girl, 6 arpents of land, 16 cattle, 28 sheep, 18 hogs, and 2 guns. His son, Alexandre, listed as Androu LaMoutagne, wife, 2 girls less than 12, 7 cattle, 15 sheep, 8 hogs and a gun. Notice that Julien now only has 6 arpents of land, and Alexandre has none. Alexandre is listed beside Julien, so they are clearly sharing one farm, so he’s probably the fourth arms-bearer in 1703.

The 1707 census was used to create this wonderful interactive map, here, which is also available in print at the O’Dell House Museum.

In 1714, seven years later, several of Julien’s children had married. Julien himself is again listed as LaMontagne with no first name. This is clearly what he was called. Beside him are both Alexandre LaMontagne and Jacques LaMontagne, both listed in their own households.

Julien is listed with 3 sons and 3 daughters. One son is Pierre who didn’t marry until the next year, and probably Jean-Baptiste/Louis, although we have no records of him beyond 1701. The third son would be Charles was born in 1703 or 1704.

Julien is also shown with 3 daughters. One definitely would be Marguerite. Either Marie, Anne, or Magdeleine could be the other daughters. Neither Anne nor Magdeleine’s husbands are listed as heads of household. It’s very unlikely that Charlotte had another child after 1707, but that’s not impossible either. I justs don’t know.

Lastly, in both 1693 and 1700, Julien and family are living with his mother-in-law, or she is living with them. They are shown with 20 arpents of land.  In 1686, Charlotte’s father was still living, but he died before the 1793 census.

So, what do we actually know about Julien’s children?

We know positively that Julien and Charlotte had nine children, assuming Marie is only one person. Seven married. Two disappeared entirely from the records. This could mean that there were either marriage or death records, and the records are missing, or that they never married and were deported in 1755. If so, they never emerged elsewhere, so probably died in exile.

We also know that Julien and Charlotte probably had between another 8 and 10 children that died young. Unfortunately, this occurred often in the 1600s, and the existing church records don’t begin until mid-1703 and are incomplete.

There are reports of two churches, but I’m unclear whether both parish church records survived. Perhaps both churches were actually served by the same Priest, and there was only one register. I don’t know, but I do know that some records are missing and others are incomplete.

More War

By 1704, Acadia was under attack again by the English. Settlements and one of two churches were looted, and the dams were “dug down” supposedly as revenge for Indian attacks in New England, instigated by the French.

When Daniel d’Auger de Subercase became governor of Acadia in 1706, he went on the offensive, encouraging native raids against English targets in New England. He also encouraged the corsairs of Port-Royal, including Baptiste, in their attacks against the English colonial ships. Privateers were very effective. The English fishing fleet on the Grand Banks was reduced by 80% between 1702 and 1707, and certain English coastal communities were attacked.

In 1707, a new French governor arrived with 160 soldiers, three-quarters of whom were young men from the “quays of Paris.”

The next attack, also in 1707, was led by Massachusetts and joined by men from Rhode Island and New Hampshire, but failed. Baptiste, the Acadian’s favorite pirate, fought valiantly alongside the Acadians, successfully foiling the English in their attempted Siege of Port Royal.

Hostilities were clearly still simmering and sometimes reached a boil.

In 1708, Queen Anne’s war began, and the temperature ramped up again between the English and French.

In 1708, Fort Anne’s store was built. Additionally, the Acadians were shoring up their defenses. A new powder magazine and bombproof barracks were built, and the riverbanks were cleared to remove cover for attackers. An additional ship was built, and relationships were established with privateers who welcomed the opportunity to take English ships.

Yea, the privateers loved the Acadians too. Symbiosis.

The Big Guns!

On September 24, 1710, Port Royal was attacked again by the English who had sent five ships carrying 3400 troops. This time, the English were well prepared. In addition to 400 marines from England, Massachusetts provided 900 soldiers, Connecticut 300, and New Hampshire 100. The Iroquois were recruited as scouts.

The Province Galley, above, was one of the vessels that attacked Port Royal.

A dispatch vessel, the Chester, carried deserters from the French garrison who reported that morale was extremely low.

I wonder if the Acadiana had some idea of what was coming.

The Acadians, with their 300 troops, many of whom were poorly trained recruits from France augmenting all local able-bodied men, stood absolutely no chance, although they did manage to hold the fort for ten days before the fort fell into English hands. The Mi’kmaq and Acadians attempted to defend the settlement by firing from homes and the woods, but they were simply outgunned by warships and massively outnumbered. The soldiers were allowed to exit the fort with their dignity and their life before the British celebrated their victory will full pomp and circumstance on October 16, 1710.

That must have been an incredibly humiliating and gut-wrenching day for the Acadians. They had no idea what they would be subjected to.

The episode became known as the Siege of Port Royal and the Conquest of Acadia.

The life story of Julien’s son, Jacques Lor holds a great deal of information about this time period and the life of Julien Lor after 1700.

Confusion Reigns

After the fort and this portion of Acadia fell to the English, again, confusion reigned during the next three or four years. At first, the British required the Acadians to leave, which would have included Julien’s family. Then, after the English realized that they needed the Acadian farmers to feed them, they refused to let them leave.

The Acadians were not only confused, they were furious and characteristically stubborn. I’m sure they also realized that while they “lost,” at some level, they still had some degree of residual power which must have galled the British immensely.

In 1714, the British, thankfully, ordered a census, probably for the purpose of taxation. However, the Acadians refused to pay taxes. Now that they couldn’t leave, they wanted to and had prepared accordingly, not planting their fields. Now what were they to do?

The 1714 census shows “La Montagne” with no first name, and wife, 3 sons and 3 daughters near Port Royal. Julien’s two oldest sons Alexandre and Jacques had married and are shown next to him with their first names and LaMontagne as a last name.

In 1714 Julien’s three sons at home were Pierre, Jean-Baptiste/Louis, and Charles. Magdelaine had married Francois Amiraut and Francois Tourangeau, which could be Amiraut, with a wife was listed beside the three Montagne listings. Julien’s three daughters would be Marie, Marguerite, and another. Perhaps Anne or Magdeleine whose husbands are not shown separately were included? Or had Charlotte borne one last child around 1707 at 47 years of age?

The British also decided that the 1690 loyalty oath was inadequate, but the Acadians refused to sign a new one.

Once again, relationships were deteriorating.

In 1715, the English closed the Fort gates and the Acadians were prevented from trading with the Fort as well as with the Indians. Now, the Acadians wanted to leave, but they couldn’t.

In 1717, Captain John Doucette became the Lieutenant Governor. Doucet is a French name, but Captain Doucette did not speak French and was a career military man from England.

By this time, some Acadians had decided to stay put on peaceful terms. When the Indians learned about this, they threatened the Acadians. Though they had always been friends and many were related, the Indians didn’t want the Acadians defecting to the English side.

Doucette demanded that the Acadians take a new loyalty oath, but they thought doing so would tie them down, and they still wanted to move. They said if they were to stay, they wanted protection from the Indians, and the oath would have to be constructed so that they would not be required to fight their own countrymen. But Doucette demanded an unconditional oath. The Acadians refused.

Julien, now 65 years old, must have been chronically exhausted by this continuous conflict. And it wasn’t going to get better anytime soon.

Playing Chess

General Phillips arrived in 1720 and issued a proclamation that the Acadians must take the loyalty oath unconditionally or leave the country in three months. He also said they couldn’t sell or take any of their property with them, thinking that would force the Acadians to sign the oath. But they still refused, saying that the Indians were threatening them. When the Acadians said, “let us harvest our crops and use vehicles to carry it,” Philipps figured they were planning to take their possessions with them and denied their request.

In response, the Acadians began creating a road northeast to Minas in order to escape by land, but the governor ordered the road stopped. He was convinced that the Acadians wanted to remove their cattle which the English needed. He may well have been right. Furthermore, if all the Acadians left and made their way to Beaubassin, then a fortified French possession, it would strengthen a French colony, giving them an advantage while at the same time stripping the English colony of needed resources.

Phillips said the Acadians were stubborn and ungovernable, directed by bigoted priests. This made me laugh because I suspect that’s exactly what the Acadians wanted. If they couldn’t leave, they would make themselves a HUGE thorn in his side.

The Abenaki and Mi’kmaq continued to defend Acadia, refusing to recognize the treaty with the British, essentially handing over their lands. In 1722, they became heavily involved when Governor Doucette took 22 Mi’kmaq hostage at Annapolis Royal to prevent the capital from being attacked. In July, the Abenaki and Mi’kmaq created a blockade with the intent of starving the British in the capital. They captured 18 fishing vessels and took prisoners. Shortly thereafter, the Governor of Massachusetts officially declared war, launching Father Rale’s War. Raids continued back and forth through 1723 and 1724, when in July, 60 Mi’kmaq and Maliseets raided Annapolis Royal.

Julien would not live to see that, though, or the resolution, such as it was, in 1725.

What Happened to Julien?

Worse yet, we don’t know what happened to Julien, but clearly, something did.

Based on this entry in the parish book, Julien died between February 17th and May 3rd, 1724. It’s confounding why he had no death entry other than his name scribed in the margin as recorded in the Nova Scotia Archive.

He would have been 72 years old. Certainly not aged by today’s standards, but without modern medicine, not to mention constant strife and warfare, 72 is rather remarkable. Having said that, his death entry is baffling.

Perhaps Julien drowned, or something befell him, and there was no body recovered, so no funeral and, of course, no burial. Was he caught up in the warfare?

Why was this entry never completed? Did he die someplace on the road to Minas, or someplace else? Was he attempting to remove his family? Or, did he die someplace in the woods, his body not found, which might be why there’s no death date?

If the entry above his was made on February 17th, and the one below was made on May 3rd, surely someone knew something. They clearly knew he was dead, or his name would not have been written in the margin before the following entry. Furthermore, there is adequate space left for his entry, like someone expected it to be completed.

Why didn’t the priest who made the May 3rd entry complete Julien’s death entry? The handwriting does appear to be different. Who wrote his name in the margin?

This is an assumption, but I’d wager that this means Julien didn’t have a proper Catholic funeral, and he was not buried in consecrated ground in the churchyard. If he had been, surely the priest who performed the service would have completed the entry.

Father’s Rale’s War was underway, but the spring campaigns were taking place in New England and in Minas. If Julien was in Minas, he might have died there. In July, sixty Mi’kmaw and Maliseets raided Annapolis Royal, killing, scalping, and terrorizing the population. Three houses were burned, but Julien had been gone for at least two months by this time.

Did Julien somehow get caught in the wake of the warfare? Or did he simply die in the woods hunting? Or disappear? If so, then how did they know he was dead to make an entry in the church book?

This skeletal entry leaves so many unanswered questions.

Julien’s Y-DNA

Two men from different sons of Julien Lor have taken the Big Y-500 and Big Y-700 tests, respectively.

At the Big Y-500 level, those men were assigned to Haplogroup R-BY93943, or rather, it was assigned to them as a result of testing.

One man has already upgraded to the Big Y-700, and a test has been ordered for the second man. They will probably receive a brand-spanking-new haplogroup when the second man receives his Big Y-700 results.

This haplogroup was born when the mutation R-BY93943 occurred about 1700 CE, which correlates nicely with given the birth years of Julien’s two sons in 1675 and 1678/1679.

The incredible thing is that this haplogroup, to date, is shared ONLY by the descendants of the sons of Julien Lore, so it could well be exclusive to Julien. I live for the day when a man with a similar surname from France tests and matches Julien’s descendants. That’s how we may be able to find Julien’s family in France. It may be the only way.

The next earlier haplogroup, upstream of R-BY93943, R-CTS9881, originated about 100 BCE. Generally, we find haplogroups between a more recent and a fairly distant haplogroup, but given the restrictions against DNA testing in France, I’m not surprised.

Legacy

We will never know when, how, or why Julien obtained the nickname of LaMontagne, the mountain. It could have been because of where he lived, beneath the mountain along the river. That’s certainly possible.

It could have reflected upon his character.

It could have been a commentary on his size, especially if he was a large soldier.

It could have been a family nickname reminiscent of his mother and carried on by his comrades on that tall ship that transported him to Acadia.

Or it could simply have been a nickname conferred by his military buddies – and he’s laughing now at all this speculation.

I admire Julien’s tenacity, audacity, and spunk. I’m incredibly grateful that he signed his name for us that single time in 1690, even if it was under duress. His signature, written by his own hand, is uniquely his, incredibly personal and remains today as the only tangible item of his from his journey upon this Earth. That, and his DNA, are gifts for his descendant in generations yet to come.

I will remember Julien not only as the founder of our Lore/Lord line in Acadia, Canada, and the United States, but also as a mountain of a man carving a life for his family out of a wild, marshy, and unforgiving maritime frontier, constantly under threat, along the banks of the Rivière du Dauphin.

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Cheryl Ferverda (1946-2023), HighwayWoman – 52 Ancestors #400

It was a stifling August day in 1994.

I was visiting the Allen County Public Library in Fort Wayne, Indiana to fulfill a promise – a contract actually – that the Embroiderers’ Guild Chapter in the city where I lived had signed with the library more than a year earlier.

As often happens in groups, the best intentions and commitments of others fell away, leaving almost no needleart pieces for the upcoming exhibit. What was I to do? As the Program Chair, I had been the one to initiate contact because the guild was looking for a display venue, and I knew that the (previous) library building had a wonderful display atrium.

I remember being quite salty and thinking to myself something about good deeds never going unpunished.

My life was literally falling apart around me. My relatively young husband had a massive stroke in June of 1993, and my step-father wasn’t doing well, but I’m a stickler about commitments, and I had given my word. Between that, working, and a family, including a disabled husband to care for, I far had less time that the other guild members who had petered out, but somehow, I had to make this work.

I called Richard, my contact at the library, and explained that the guild was unable to, ahem, participate (trying not to grit my teeth audibly,) but I had an idea.

As almost any genealogist reading this will know, the Allen County Public Library (ACPL) is one of the premier genealogy libraries in the country, the second largest, I believe.

While I had “only” been doing genealogy off and on for about 15 years, I had been visiting the library in Fort Wayne for much of that time – cranking on those microfilm machines. The library was about halfway between where I lived in Michigan and where my folks lived in Indiana.

My Mom grew up just half an hour or so outside of Fort Wayne and had a lot of history in Fort Wayne itself – having performed tap and ballet in the Masonic Theater in Fort Wayne before turning pro in the 1940s.

I talked to Mom, then called Richard.

I asked Richard what he thought of hosting an exhibit titled “Seven Generations of Hoosier Needlewomen”? If you counted my daughter, we had needlework of one form or another from a full seven generations, including quilts from a 1933 World’s Fair Winner (Nora Kirsch, my great-grandmother,) several Best of Shows from the Indiana State Fair for three family members over the years, and so forth.

Mom and I, between us, could fill in any cracks with our handiwork.

I would, of course, prepare the genealogy information to round out the exhibit.

Richard loved the idea of both the display and the tie to genealogy.

I spent several weeks compiling the information about each piece we would submit, taking measurements, preparing the quilts for hanging, and sending descriptions to Richard so he could make display cards and plan the exhibit space in advance.

At some point during our regular Sunday planning phone calls, Mom said she hoped that maybe we could see her cousin Cheryl who worked at the library.

“Cheryl. Cheryl who?”

I didn’t remember any cousin Cheryl in Fort Wayne.

“Cheryl Hackworth,” Mom replied.

“Who’s that?”

“Roscoe Ferverda’s daughter.”

Roscoe was my grandfather’s brother, making Cheryl my mother’s first cousin.

“Oh, Mom, you mean Cheryl Ferverda.”

“No, Cheryl Hackworth – she’s married.”

Me laughing, “Whatever, Mom.”

To a genealogist, she was Cheryl Ferverda or maybe Cheryl Ferverda Hackworth.

I knew of Cheryl but didn’t know Cheryl and didn’t realize she worked at the library.

Who’s That???

I arranged to meet Mother at the library that August day. She was bringing her own items and most of the pieces from the earlier generations. I had prepared the vintage quilts for hanging, so I brought those along with my own pieces and those of my daughter.

No, this isn’t about my quilts and needlework. That story will have to wait for another time.

When Mom arrived, carrying her pieces, I immediately knew something was very wrong. She was a nervous wreck.

Dad was in the hospital again. Visiting hours were pretty strict, and I think it did Mom good to be with me and my daughter that day. She would head home in time to see him in the evening.

The four of us, Richard, me, my daughter, and Mom were arranging the display items when someone walked across the open atrium. This was a public area, and people had been coming and going all day long, watching what we were doing as they passed by, so we didn’t really notice.

The footsteps stopped.

I can hear that throaty voice yet today.

“Who are you and what are you doing with my Aunt Edith’s things?”

Mom and I whipped around at the mention of Edith, my grandmother. Who could that possibly be?

Richard said, “Oh, hello Cheryl. Do you know Jean and Roberta?”

Cheryl’s frown turned into an immediate smile of recognition. “Why, Barbara Jean, why didn’t you tell me you were coming? This is BEAUTIFUL! Let me help!”

Mom was so glad to see Cheryl. They hugged like they had known each other forever, because they had.

I knew who Cheryl was; I had just never met her as an adult. I expected her to be older, like Mom’s age. Instead, she appeared to be just slightly older than me.

I immediately noticed that Cheryl, Mom, and I looked alike.

Cheryl’s Spirit Animal

If Cheryl had a spirit animal, it would be a Magpie, as in chattering. Cheryl never met a stranger and could talk to anyone – and did. Everyone was immediately at ease with Cheryl. Perfect strangers came up to her and began talking – about anything.

Cheryl was the Communications Director for the Allen County Public Library, and if anyone ever found the absolutely ideal career, it was Cheryl.

Cheryl was perfect. Well, maybe except for answering emails in a timely manner which is hugely ironic for a Communications Director.

I once sent this email to her, which caused us both to laugh. No malice meant. Just a little family shade.

To my dearest cousin Cheryl who may now be deceased or retired because I haven’t heard from her in months:) I’m hoping it’s just my e-mail acting up and that she hasn’t expired or isn’t unhappy with me for some reason:) Actually, I know you haven’t expired as I’ve been working with Curt Witcher on the May program and he says we’re going to work together on PR.

Part of the reason Cheryl got so behind on personal correspondence is that she had a difficult time saying no to requests. She thought everything sounded interesting and was doable, both at the library and her other volunteer activities. She always had time to fit “just one more thing” into her schedule for someone.

Cheryl was kind and generous, to a fault. Every single person Cheryl ever met is better for having known her.

And, now, Cheryl actually IS gone. She passed over to the ancestor realm unexpectedly last Sunday, May 20th, leaving me grief-stricken and ugly crying.

I want to share with you the Cheryl I knew. And you know the great thing – Cheryl can’t even argue with me about it now😉

We didn’t meet, officially, as adults until that August day in 1994, but it was like we had always and forever known each other. We just clicked, immediately. Fate had apparently been waiting for us to get our collective acts together and actually meet. I couldn’t believe how many times we had been in that library together and probably walked right past each other.

I can just see Fate shrugging and saying, “Dang, they did it AGAIN.”

That 1994 exhibit went from something I felt obligated to do and was quite irritated about – to something I was EXTREMELY grateful for.

Not only was I granted the opportunity by fate to be Cheryl’s cousin, we had many common interests, too – like genealogy, for one thing. And travel. And science. And animal rescue. And avidly, cats. And space exploration, particularly meteor showers, one of which we got to experience together overseas.

We discovered that our favorite colors were purple, blue and magenta and we both collected turtles. Her, at one time, and me still.

Oh, and chocolate. How could I forget that?

We wound up working on several professional events together too. Presentations, recording a series on the cable television channel, special events at Science Central, and other things.

As if that wasn’t enough, Cheryl had a wicked, wicked sharp sense of humor. We laughed and laughed.

We had some strange other-worldly form of communication between us too.

Strange things would happen. One time I shared a photo of me standing in a particular place at Cambridge University, on a side street by the Cavendish lab, and she replied: “you’re not going to believe this, but I have a photo of me in EXACTLY THE SAME LOCATION.”

It had been taken years before. What are the chances?

My reply to her: “OMG – we really are geeky cousins of heart:) I could just hardly contain myself at the Cavendish lab.”

We often knew what each other was thinking, and all we had to do was look at each other. Sometimes that meant we’d bust out laughing. Generally, we knew NOT to look at each other if we sensed an inappropriate laugh was going to emerge.

Generally.

Sisters

When my brothers John and Dave passed away in the same year, I was crushed and out of siblings. I still have Cheryl’s lovely, loving note to me.

After reading your pieces about your brother, Dave, the long-haul trucker with millions of accident-free miles behind him, sopping up the tears with a Kleenex, I thought, Wow, much of that is Don and me!  We’re double the months apart you and your brother were, 14, but so much else the same. It made me experience, to a certain extent, what it might be like to not have Don around anymore, something we’ve had to face many, many times.

You really helped everyone connected to him, though, with your insight and thoughtful words, in spite of the hurt you were feeling yourself. It was a true “Bobbi thing” if ever I’ve heard of one. And of course, you know, your brother would be, and is, so proud of you and full of love for you for what you did for everybody else! The best part of all of this is you both really did get to know and love each other.

Thank you for letting me know about John and especially about Dave. You really must feel some solace for what you brought to his life. He was lucky to have ever known you, at all. Again, it was what you did to bring that about. You are a really good egg, as my dad would have said. You probably know you’re doing good things, but I bet you don’t get told enough that you are really appreciated and loved.

Just know that Don and I are your stand-in brother and sister now.

From your “Cuz” who appreciates and loves you!

You can see why I loved Cheryl. What a good heart she had.

Cheryl was already my “sister,” or “sisten” as my quilt-sister puts it, short for sister-cousin, by that time.

In the Doghouse

I want to share a short story that just sums Cheryl up to a T.

In Silver Lake, when Cheryl was 14 years old, a local boy went missing. The next morning, Cheryl decided to do something about it. I don’t know what the adults were doing, but Cheryl analyzed the situation, where he lived, was last seen, and then headed for that area which turned out to be someplace behind the Ferverda property.

She spotted an old doghouse in the woods, investigated, and sure enough, there he was. The boy had apparently crawled in the doghouse after being late getting home the evening before, figuring he would be in trouble. He decided to hide out in the doghouse, never thinking that once he got inside and slid the door shut, he might not be able to get out again without assistance.

So, that’s Cheryl in a nutshell, even at 14. Insanely logical, cool, calm and collected, and just fixing whatever problem presents itself while others are busy doing who-knows-what.

Quintessential Cheryl. She never changed.

The Family

Although they were first cousins, Mom was 23 when Cheryl was born, fairly late in her father, Roscoe Ferverda’s life.

John Ferverda was my mother’s father, and Roscoe and John were brothers.

Not only that, but John and Roscoe purchased houses literally right across the street from each other in tiny Silver Lake, Indiana, where they both lived for half a century, more or less. Nobody ever locked their doors in Silver Lake because how would your family and neighbors get in if they needed something if you locked the door? What a crazy idea.

Both John and Roscoe worked for the railroad, just another block or so down this road.

Cheryl said:

“Dad didn’t talk much about what went on at the depot before we were kids. He did talk about the time a train stopped for a potty break and he started to talk to this one guy who gave him some small bottles of an amber fluid he called battery oil he said he’d invented. Dad asked him his name………………Thomas Edison! I have two of those bottles and they have Edison’s name on them.”

John and Roscoe were very close their entire lives. Thick as thieves is how the family put it. They might or might not have gotten into some mischief together. What they both did, however, was marry non-Brethren women. They didn’t get thrown out of the family, but many disproving glances were aimed in their direction. Those rebels!

Given their proximity, Cheryl was quite familiar with her Aunt Edith and Uncle John’s things. She was in and out of their house, at left in the photo above, far more than I ever was. They died, respectively, when I was 4 and 6. Cheryl was in her early/mid-teens.

Cheryl knew my older brother, John, who lived with my grandparents well. She laughed and referred to him as a “pistol” and a “handful.” I think there might be stories she neglected to share with me😊

We didn’t see each other after my grandparents passed away except for an occasional chance meeting at a heavily-attended funeral. We didn’t live locally, and Cheryl moved on too.

After Cheryl graduated from high school, just 3 or 4 years after my grandparents died, she attended Manchester College, now Manchester University, obtaining her degree in education, followed later by a Master’s Degree.

I think Cheryl taught for a short while before joining the library staff. She spent the majority of her career at the Allen County Public Library, where she retired in 2016 with around 35 years of service.

Cheryl Ferverda, Tenet Collection, 2001

Cheryl’s considerable contribution to education would be through the library and expanding services to library patrons in both conventional brick-and-mortar ways along with outreach utilizing new electronic methodologies.

Cheryl was known to stir the pot a bit from time to time, dissatisfied with complacency and leaving the status quo in place simply because it was. She became a trailblazer, urging the organization forward.

While probably occasionally irritating to her colleagues, I viewed her actively questioning mind as one of her most endearing qualities. Cheryl moved things off dead-center and got things done.

I should have gifted her one of my “Well Behaved Women Seldom Make History” t-shirts. She earned it.

Professional Legacy

Cheryl was a history-lover and stickler for preserving history, especially through documents. She drove efforts to obtain rare books and manuscripts for the library, as well as spearheading the Library’s efforts to obtain Abraham Lincoln’s family belongings, manuscripts, books, and other memorabilia when the Lincoln Museum closed. Lincoln lived in Indiana for several years during his childhood.

Her years-long efforts were successful, culminating in the Allen County Public Library’s Lincoln Collection, which you can view here.

Not only was this a crowning professional achievement for Cheryl, it was also a personal statement about her respect for the man, the human, who freed the slaves. She felt it was an incredible honor to work with Lincoln’s artifacts and help preserve his life by making these resources available for scholars and the public alike.

Cheryl was also instrumental in the library’s program to record oral family stories and histories. However, like many carpenters whose children have no shoes, I know Cheryl always meant to record her own memories, but I don’t think she ever got it done after she retired.

Cheryl was also responsible for the library’s cable TV content. When genetic genealogy was in its infancy, Cheryl, a history, science, and genealogy lover wanted to know all about it, of course.

As genetic genealogy developed as a field, Cheryl worked collaboratively with the local science center, Science Central, and the Genealogy Department at the library to facilitate and promote topic-specific presentations.

Cheryl told me she was at a lunch meeting with Science Central personnel once, and someone said they wished they knew someone to do a series of presentations, including a reveal, about DNA. Cheryl wasted no time explaining that she knew the perfect resource, her cousin, and she would see about twisting my arm to make me available. She didn’t have to twist very hard. I was excited to collaborate with Cheryl, the library, and Science Central.

DNA Presentations

The first time I visited the library for a genetic genealogy presentation, Cheryl’s brother, Don, attended the presentation, as did my brother, John, and his wife. My brother’s health was deteriorating, and it would be the only presentation of mine that he would ever be able to attend.

Cheryl adored her slightly younger brother, Don. Don had always been willing to DNA test for us, but wasn’t personally interested in genealogy and was always busy. However, he loved his sister. Don was such a good sport, swabbing publicly for his Y-DNA to represent our Ferverda family line.

When we received the results of Don’s test, Cheryl sent this:

I know you doubted this would ever happen and it wouldn’t have if it weren’t for two fabulous women in that booger’s life, that would be you and me!

My reply:

Your brother is just a doll. What a sweetie he is. Not just because he swabbed either.

Don’s DNA wasn’t the only gift that occurred during that presentation.

At that time, I was still writing “Sunday Stories,” recording events and memories for my children. Here’s what I wrote the following Sunday.

There was a second gift for me. Cheryl’s neighbors came to the seminar, a very nice older couple. The lady came up between sessions to visit with Cheryl who was standing by me. She asked me if I was a Ferverda too. Cheryl explained that my grandfather and her father were brothers, so yes, I’m a Ferverda but that’s not my surname.

This lady said, “Barbara Jean Ferverda was my good friend.” I stood there speechless for a minute, looked at Cheryl who was looking at me, then we both looked back to the lady as she was by now looking a bit confused, so she added, “We used to dance together.”

I somehow found my voice and croaked out, “Barbara Jean Ferverda from Silver Lake?”, like there could be two, and she said “yes.” I found my voice again and said, “That’s my mother!!!”

This lady explained about dancing with Mom and then went on to say that she thinks she might have one of her costumes yet. She shared with me how my mother had made dance costumes for her when she couldn’t afford them, and how kind my mother had been to her. I had a really difficult time controlling the tears.

This lady still has a dance studio in Fort Wayne, and she is in her 80s, although you would never know it from looking at her. I was so thrilled to find this lady, and what are the chances??? Infinitesimal. Truly a gift from the other side. I wonder if Mom was watching. Surely, she might have been. Both of her children were there, in one place together, and so were her cousins and a friend.

The session went very well, although I felt somewhat jumbled by my unexpected gift. They taped the session for later playback on their cable access channel and their local PBS station. Hopefully I didn’t say anything stupid. Always a concern of speakers and tape just preserves whatever you say for posterity, bad or good.

All in all, a great weekend, both relative to DNA, presentations and spending some time with the family.

Over the years, I visited the library multiple times for extensive presentations, some of which were recorded in a series of PBS broadcasts provided to the community through Access Fort Wayne TV.

One time, my brother, who lived the next county over, was randomly flipping through channels when he suddenly saw his sister. My sister-in-law called me, laughing.

Curt Witcher, the library’s Genealogy Department Manager was involved with these programs, of course.

During one of those visits, Cheryl, me, Curt and my husband, Jim, were all enjoying a meal together. Cheryl and I were sitting side by side, with the men across from us on the other side of the table. Cheryl and I were rather engrossed in our own conversation, which I should probably be embarrassed about, when we suddenly realized that both Jim and Curt had stopped eating and were staring at us.

Cheryl and I, together, at exactly the same time, with identical inflection, looked at them quizzically and said, “What?” Curt said, “I can’t believe how much you two look alike.” Jim said, “I can’t believe how much you two act alike. You even hold your knife and fork that same way.” We all laughed. If I’m going to look and act like someone, let it be Cheryl.

Most people who saw the two of us together assumed we were siblings or close relatives and had been raised together, yet we didn’t know each other until we were well into adulthood.

Our DNA might have something to do with that.

Cheryl actually matches Mom in red, and me in blue, at a very high level for first cousins to my mother. Ranges vary, but they are in the high first cousin to low half-sibling range thanks to the random nature of recombination.

This might have something to do with our similarity, although I know lots of siblings who are more different than Cheryl and me.

Since we didn’t grow up together, we shared our childhood stories.

Since Cheryl didn’t record her stories for posterity, I’m going to share one of her favorite stories with you.

Cheryl’s Favorite Story

When my brother, Dave, passed away, I gave his eulogy, sharing a copy with Cheryl via email. She replied:

Thanks for sending this to me. It underscores what we often don’t think about until we’re “older,” the importance of sharing specific memories about specific people in our lives with our children in detail. Both of my sons have just recently begun to ask questions about my childhood and the various experiences and people that were of great importance. They do, however, know of how your grandfather saved my life. I’m not sure I ever told you about it.

When I was six or seven, I was a part of the neighborhood group of kids who went trick-or-treating together. In those times in Silver Lake kids didn’t do this only on Halloween, but for several days prior because it took so long to canvas the whole huge town of Silver Lake. Another difference in the customs of the time was that you didn’t just say, “Trick or treat!”, open your goodie bag, collect your loot and leave. Noooooo! You traipsed into the house and the occupants “guessed” who you were before handing you a homemade treat.

Our group consisting of three of the four Jagger kids, Mike Gaylo and Phil, and two Ferverdas, Don and me, visited Uncle John and Aunt Edith Ferverda’s house to take part in the ritual.

The oldest Jagger, Larry, felt he was too old to do that kid stuff anymore, he was going to soap windows instead.

We had to climb those steep steps up to the door of the screened-in porch and wait to be invited on into the living room. The five of us, dressed as farmers, bums, fancy ladies or whatever we could conjure up from clothes found at home, all lined up so that we could be identified. Once one of us was unmasked, the rest were really obvious and went quickly. We collected our treats and back out the front door we went. I was the first one down the steps into the dark where I was stopped by the sight of both barrels of a shot gun pointed directly at my face! I recognized the person aiming the gun at me, Uncle John’s next-door neighbor, Mildred Meredith!

Mildred wanted to know which one of us soaped her windows. “I didn’t do it, Larry did!” were the only words I could muster. Well, she wasn’t having any of that. She wanted her windows cleaned and NOW!  About that time we hear Uncle John’s voice calmly saying, “Mildred, what are you doing?, Put that gun down!” She told him we soaped her windows and were going to have to clean them right now. He told her we had been in his house, not out soaping anyone’s windows and that was that. He made her go back to her house. Thus, my life was saved!

It wasn’t until I was an adult that I found out about, as Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story.” At one of my high school class reunions while talking about the good ol’ days back in Silver Lake, I told this whole story. Upon finishing it and the laughter died down, classmate Larry Puls shook his head and said, “So that’s why Mildred came over to our house (located on the other side of Mildred’s house from the Ferverdas) and told my mom I’d soaped her windows!!! Larry’s mom made him clean them!

I had the pleasure of telling the culprit, Larry Jagger, the story this past summer.

If you’ve already heard that story, I’m sorry for repeating it, but it is one of my favorites.

Perhaps I should put my pen, or computer, where my mouth is and write some of these gems down. Ha!

Not only was Cheryl wonderful company, she was amazingly intelligent and told a wickedly good story.

2010 Ferverda Reunion

Cheryl emailed me in the summer of 2010 that she and Don were working on coordinating a Ferverda family reunion that would take place that fall in the social center of a local church.

While Cheryl didn’t actually want to research genealogy in the same way I do, she was incredibly interested from the historical and personal aspects. What was going on in the lives of our ancestors, where, and why.

One time in the early years when I visited her at the library, she took me back to the stacks and, without even having to look at the reference number, walked up and selected some random book she knew about that held the only known family picture of the Hiram Ferverda family. It included both of their sons, her father and my grandfather. I was thrilled and so impressed.

Cheryl would be responsible for unearthing even more photos a few years later.

What Bible?

Prior to the reunion, Cheryl and I were corresponding back and forth, and she mentioned that during one of her planning trips that:

Bob brought out the Ferverda Bible. I didn’t even know it existed!

My reply:

WHAT FERVERDA BIBLE??????  Whose Bible is it? I don’t mean the current owners, but whose was it originally and what records are in it?  If they are going to be there, I’ll bring my computer and scanner and we can scan away.

Hot diggity dog – what a wonderful discovery you have made cousin.

The gentleman kindly brought the Bible to the Ferverda reunion and allowed Cheryl to take the Bible to the library to have it both professionally scanned and repaired before returning it to him.

The Bible had belonged to Eva Miller, Cheryl’s grandmother, presented to her by husband, Hiram B. Ferverda in 1895.

Like many Bibles, the pages were chock full of genealogically relevant information. Photos, newspaper articles, and handwritten notes tucked between the pages provided information we knew absolutely nothing about.

I wrote about the Bible and its contents, here.

In retrospect, I was really mad at myself that I didn’t take more photos at that reunion.

Aside from the Bible and documents, which I was scrambling to photograph, I managed to take one photo of Cheryl above, and one photo of Don, below, talking across the table to each other.

This was before cameras in phones were popular, and before you could easily get photos off of phones. Let this be a lesson. Take lots of pictures and ask someone to take photos with your phone.

We actually put disposable cameras on the tables, but if anyone actually used and contributed them, I never saw the photos.

Today we have social media sharing of course, but not then.

Travel

Cheryl and I were both rebels in our own way. Both Indiana born and bred, but not confined there.

Case in point – we both “recovered” our birth surnames. So yes, her last name really was Ferverda. She said, “Once a Ferverda, always a Ferverda. That’s who I am.” Amazing for a woman raised in such a small, conservative community and graduating from a Brethren college.

My eyes were opened when I was a teenager living overseas. That experience revealed what could be and that the rest of the world was not the same as Indiana.

Europe was in many ways more progressive, especially where women’s rights and opportunities were concerned.

Cheryl experienced the same epiphany when traveling. She spent time driving the breadth and depth of England, Scotland, Wales, and Ireland. She visited Greece, and perhaps her most memorable trip, at least before the Netherlands, was to China in 2011 on a sister-cities trip. Although I must say, some of those China tales were utterly hair-raising.

Cheryl felt travel and cultural experiences were quite important and, as long as she could, took her granddaughter, whom she completely adored, on driving trips across the US each summer.

I asked Cheryl how she would describe herself once. She paused briefly and said, “I’m curious and not intimidated by much.”

That’s so understated. I laughed right out loud!

This photo, in Belgium, represents Cheryl and the crowd. The crowd might be doing something, following along, and Cheryl would be standing apart, her quizzical mind trying to figure out how something worked.

I don’t think Cheryl ever declined a travel adventure. She loved new experiences and sought to understand different cultures and what drove and inspired people.

She fully believed that we are all related, are truly each other’s keepers, and should be kind to one another, and animals. She lived those words.

Soon, Cheryl and I began to travel together. Our children were grown, and Cheryl had amassed enough vacation time that she could take extended trips.

So, that’s exactly what we did.

The Netherlands Opportunity

In the fall of 2012, I began working with professional Dutch genealogist, Yvette Hoitink. I truly thought I was at a dead end on the Dutch Ferverda line, but nothing could have been further from the truth.

In 2013, Yvette sent this:

I was working on your Ferwerda line and just found something exciting: a photograph of your relative Salomon Ferwerda (1792-1863), the brother of your ancestor Hendrik Ferwerda. I found it at the website of Tresoar, in their photo collection. It is very unusual to find a photo that early in the Netherlands. Most people only started having their photo taken after 1900. To have a picture of somebody who died in 1863 is very extraordinary. Salomon was clerk/recorder at the provincial court, a well-respected occupation that probably earned him a nice paycheck as well. He must have been quite well-off to have his picture taken.

This photo was attached.

I don’t know if Salomon looked like his brother Hendrik Jan or not, but since we don’t have any photos of our immigrant ancestor, this is as close as we’ll get.

Salomon is Hendrik Jan Ferwerda’s brother, meaning Cheryl’s great-great-grandfather’s brother. We have a few photos of Hiram born in 1894, but none of Bauke who immigrated.

In May of 2013, Yvette was approached by the director of the Tresoar Archives while in the reading room working on our family history. They were inquiring whether or not we might be interested in working with them on a pilot project for genealogical tourism.

WERE WE INTERESTED???? Is the Pope Catholic?

Cheryl and I were beyond excited to discover what else might be held at Tresoar, the archives in Leeuwarden where the Ferwerda family originated. And, of course, for Cheryl, there was the added excitement of collaborating with another library.

This trip would take a year of planning, on our part, on Yvette’s part and with Tresoar’s staff. It was truly the opportunity of a lifetime and would take place in the spring of 2014.

We had won the genealogy lottery!

We made many discoveries before, during, and after this trip. Left to right, Yvette, Sietske, an archivist in Leeuwarden, me and Cheryl enjoying our discovery.

That original document still had its wax seal. Just amazing.

Here, Cheryl is showing Leeuwarden archivist Jelle where the Ferwerda family settled in Elkhart County, Indiana.

Our ancestors in the Netherlands were Mennonites. Jelle was kind enough to take us on Sunday to see the Menno Simons Memorial and historical museum.

This would turn out to be such a joyful trip.

Tulips and Windmills

Cheryl and I discussed the trip further and kicked around the option of also doing a Tulips and Windmills river cruise out of Amsterdam.

We figured this was our one and only opportunity, and we wanted to be sure that we included everything, maximizing every minute.

Jim, my husband, decided to take his life in his hands and join us.

Cheryl’s comments:

“Let’s do it!!!”

Jim’s going along, huh? Does he realize what he’s opting into?!?!?! It’s really fine with me, but he might want to have a physch eval before taking off with us. Ha!

This is going to be so amazing!  Woohoo!

Thank you for all you have already done and what else you’ll do to make this happen. And, most of all, for letting me come along!  A trip to the Netherlands, including visiting the hometown of our ancestors, has been a dream of mine forever! You are the best!

Jim fit right in, and had he not decided to be brave and join us, we would not have these amazing pictures of Cheryl and me together.

The Ferverda’s are practical jokers, and Jim was a willing participant.

We did embark upon the river cruise which, of course, included lovely meals. Cheryl loved dessert, especially anything chocolate – like any true Ferverda.

We might have picked on her at our table slightly by pushing all of the glasses from the mousses that had already been consumed to look like she ate them.

Of course, she played right along by asking our server for another mousse, then eating two at the same time, or pretending to.

Trust me, no mousse at our table went uneaten. No chocolate was wasted.

The next night the server remembered us. I can’t imagine why. Without asking, he brought Cheryl a tray of five mousses all of her own, packaged decoratively with cling wrap so she could take them to her cabin.

I’m not sure if the server realized that we had punked her the night before or not.

We offered to help Cheryl with her mousse overload problem, but she told us in no uncertain terms to keep our mitts off of her mousses, and took them to her room.

The next morning, she proudly set all five empty glasses outside as we all left for breakfast together. She just grinned at us, a Cheshire cat grin.

I quipped that I didn’t think they served mousse for breakfast, and we all cracked up.

Traveling with Cheryl was never, ever dull.

Our Dream Trip

This is so us – acting goofy. Cheryl grinning ear to ear, and my eyes closed. I can’t tell you how MANY photos I have just like this. Jim took 4 or 5, and every one of them is this bad or worse, with one or both of us looking ridiculous. We laughed about that too.

Two wind-blown Ferverda cousins in front of the tulip fields, having returned to the Netherlands to find our bulbs and watery roots.

Writing about this today makes me teary. Not only do I miss her agonizingly, but we had so much fun. I felt like our ancestors were both accompanying us and also having a bit of a chuckle, in a kindhearted way.

Solidifying our unusual connection, we had a strange situation occur on the way over. Cheryl’s flights got messed up somehow, and she wound up in an airport she didn’t expect her to be in, where we happened to be connecting.

I looked at the escalators, and there was Cheryl, standing at the top, across an open area. Was that really Cheryl, and if so, what the heck was she doing there?

I made my way over to her through the crowds. Thankfully, she stood still, because I might never have found her again.

Sure enough, it was her. I asked what she was doing, and she nonchalantly said, “waiting for you.” I asked how she could possibly have known, given that neither of us knew we were going to be there. She said she just knew. These things happened to her with me, her sons, and Don. She often “just knew.”

We spent time in the airport together, but we couldn’t get the same flights to Amsterdam, so we continued on separately, meeting up again in the airport there to begin our great adventure.

Windmills and Tulips

Much of the Netherlands is below sea level, so the Netherlands is a land of dikes, canals, water, and boats.

Windmills drain the land, both then and now, except many of today’s windmills are turbines that are also used for electricity generation.

At Kinderdijk, a UNESCO World Heritage site, we saw working, historic windmills. The ones that would have been draining the land when our ancestors lived there.

At Kinderkijk, we climbed the inside of the windmill, just like the family who lived there would have done.

Cheryl was gloriously happy.

We didn’t yet know that the archivists and Yvette had a wonderful surprise in store for us. They had discovered that one of our ancestors owned a windmill. Most of the historic mills are gone now, too expensive to maintain, their work performed by electric motors and pumps, but miraculously, not “our windmill.”

Our beautiful windmill near Huns. Cheryl and I were ecstatic.

If Cheryl was happy at Kinderdijk, she was over the moon here, standing on our ancestor’s land.

Courtesy Yvette Hoitink

They lived, worked, slept, and farmed here not so very long ago.

Yvette took this photo of Cheryl as we approached our windmill. She says it’s her favorite picture of Cheryl.

I don’t think the word gobsmacked appropriately describes our surprise. We were overjoyed to share this part of Dutch history in such a personal way.

Tulips

Of course, there were tulips too, everyplace.

We had timed our trip exactly right.

We saw strips of brightly colored tulips from the air as we were landing. They looked like a beautiful quilt. Take a look, here.

Brilliant patchwork tulip fields were everyplace.

The Keukenhof gardens were utterly stunning.

We enjoyed that garden tour immensely. Cheryl ordered some tulip bulbs to be shipped home. I hope her sons think to transplant them from her garden.

Of course, tulips and windmills aren’t the only things that the Netherlands (and Belgium) is famous for.

Chocolate

Our river cruise took us to Belgium. Cheryl and my mother LOVED chocolate, and I come in a close third to both of them.

The cases were full of beautiful, luscious chocolates. You could purchase pre-boxed chocolates or select your own.

Cheryl emerged from the chocolate shop with a small bag. We were each eating a chocolate. I said I liked mine. She said she really couldn’t taste the mint in hers.

None of the chocolates had English labels, so I asked how she knew it was supposed to be mint. She said from the picture on top, and showed me her chocolate.

I blurted out, “Cheryl, that’s not a mint.”

“What is it.”

“It’s marijuana, Cheryl.”

“Get out of here!!!”

“It is Cheryl. It’s legal over here.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I’ll go see.”

I had to go back inside the chocolate shop and take a picture to convince her.

Cheryl said that she didn’t taste anything, but it was strangely crunchy inside. She didn’t feel anything either.

She did go back inside and purchase a few more and she might or might not have shared one with me – and Jim.

Cheryl’s concern in the states with cannabis was legality, not morality. We told her that she had to be sure to eat them before returning so she didn’t get herself into hot water in customs.

I couldn’t help but think about what her Brethren grandparents would have thought. They wouldn’t have known what Cannabis was either, but they were assuredly opposed to drinking, so I’m sure their opposition would apply to any similar substance.

Cheryl loved anything chocolate, especially dark chocolate. We tried one of pretty much everything, visiting several chocolate shops.

Even white chocolate strawberries.

We had a picnic in the park with a small obligatory token sandwich accompanied by a chocolate smorgasbord on Easter Sunday.

Genealogy Tourists

While many places we visited were historic in nature, there was still a wink and a nod to tourism.

Cheryl left some mighty big shoes to fill.

Just hamming it up and laughing. We couldn’t both fit, but we tried.

After the cruise, one of the places that Yvette took us was Harlingen, where our ancestors had lived. I think there are more boats in the Netherlands than automobiles, and I know there are more bicycles.

We visited several churches in various villages. Our deJong ancestors are buried in this churchyard in Baerd, but their individual graves no longer remain. Burial plots in the Netherlands are reused due to a lack of available land.

Cheryl reading gravestones in the traditional genealogist posture.

Our ancestors sailed boats like this up and down the canals, which were the roads of the day.

One of our Ferverda ancestors, a teacher, even got trapped because there was too much ice to sail but not enough to skate, so he had to stay where he was until the canals froze.

Fog is common in the Netherlands, as is rain. You can always see the next village, identified by the church steeple above the trees in Huins, as viewed from our windmill. The churches were built on small mounds called terps, so the church and cemetery did not flood.

Our immigrant ancestor, Bauke Hendrik Ferwerda (1830-1911), served as an apprentice in a tiny village called Fiifhus – Five Houses.

Yes, it literally had/has five houses, one of which was the baker, who was his uncle.

We walked to the end of the bricked road, if you can call it that, to reach all five houses.

The canal paralleled the road, which would not have existed when Bauke lived there. The residents still use boats in the canal. Cheryl looks out over the canal and field to the next village, Wolsum, where Bauke would have delivered bread by boat each morning.

An Orange Holiday

We just happened to be there for the first-ever birthday of then recently installed King William.

Traditionally in the Netherlands, the monarch’s birthday is a holiday, widely celebrated with a nationwide party.

We were invited to participate, being Dutch descendants, so we did.

The monarchy descends from the House of Orange, so everything is orange for King’s Day. And I mean everything.

At first, I was unhappy that we lost a day of genealogy tourism, but I quickly changed my mind, realizing that this cultural experience was quite unique and something we had just accidentally stumbled into.

Orange everything was for sale, so we bought t-shirts and other paraphernalia and became honorary Dutch citizens for a day.

Cheryl and I prepared each other with our best cosmetologist attempt, then held Jim down while we prepared him. He took a little convincing but was a great sport about all of this, even the very happy drunk guy who ran up on the sidewalk and kissed him. I’m speculating there was a bet involved, and that guy won.

Jim was in shock, wondering what had just happened to him, and Cheryl and I were laughing so hard we were crying and trying to catch our breath. We quickly spirited Jim away from that rowdy bar, just in case anyone else cared to place a bet.

We had the best time, joining the Dutch citizens, eating and merry-making.

The residents of Leeuwarden participate in a form of busking on King’s Day, laying blankets out with things to sell. They have a massive, miles-long blanket sale along the canal that runs through the city center. Just Google “Netherlands King’s Day” and select images.

We were EXCEPTIONALLY refined by comparison and stone-cold sober, I swear.

The archives were closed of course, but we needed a souvenir photo of our magnificent day, dressed to the hilt in Dutch Orange, out front.

We managed to get ourselves in the local paper the following day, although by comparison we were very, very tame. The paper liked the idea that we had returned to visit the land of our ancestors and jumped right into the celebratory spirit, adopting a Dutch custom.  And yes, the reason they knew that is because one of our party talked to everyone – not naming names or anything:)

The Ferwerdas

Our genealogy adventures resumed the following day when we met a Ferwerda cousin.

Our family line emigrated, but most remained, and some still live in the area.

Our cousin had heard about the family members who had immigrated in the 1860s, although he couldn’t remember details.

He shared some of his family photos and stories with us through a translator. We were oh so grateful and truly felt connected.

Next, we visited where our ancestors had lived.

Land is at a premium, and many homes are only a few feet apart if not actually touching and connected. This alleyway led to our ancestor’s home and backyard. The current residents were exceptionally kind and invited us in to see the interior, part of which is unchanged from when our ancestors lived there.

Another ancestral location was Bolsward.

Photo courtesy of Yvette Hoitink.

Cheryl and me standing on the steps at the City Hall building in Bolsward where our ancestors lived.

I looked awfully serious, but Cheryl was smiling contentedly. While we both enjoyed this trip immensely, it gave us both a lot to consider. Our ancestors survived trials and tribulations that we knew nothing about, and some didn’t.

Early death was common. Our immigrant Ferverda ancestor’s first wife, our de Jong ancestor, died before immigrating, and he had remarried. Children died often.

What could be more Dutch than Delft? We visited the Delft factory.

We shopped for bulbs so that each spring, we would be reminded of our wonderful trip. We also shopped for Starbucks wherever we could find one. Coffee is a very Dutch thing.

We probably didn’t, but it felt like we walked hundreds of miles.

What we did do is eat our way across the Netherlands. Here, Cheryl is enjoying hot chocolate and a shared snack in an outdoor café. It was a mite chilly, but that didn’t matter. We had so much fun and immersed ourselves in Dutch everything.

It was downright cold on or near the water, but that didn’t matter either.

We followed our ancestors’ footsteps, or maybe their oar strokes, with a boat ride up the canal just as our ancestors would have done, beginning at Dokkum.

Being on the water provides a completely different perspective than today’s roads.

Photo courtesy of Yvette Hoitink.

Scrumptious Dutch treats, including stroopwafels, coffee, and tea accompanied our wonderful time on the water.

We sailed by the farms and homes where our ancestors would have lived. This was certainly their waterway home, to and from everyplace, just like our roads.

At the end of the day, we had dinner together with our friends from the archives in a traditional Dutch farmhouse turned exquisite restaurant.

We set out the next day for one last adventure.

It’s not historically relevant from a genealogy perspective, but it’s one of my favorite spontaneous escapades with Cheryl.

The Fountain

Jim did it.

He told us to behave because he wasn’t going to bail us out of Dutch jail.

Then, he had the bad judgement to leave us alone. I think he was lingering on the tour inside, and we got done ahead of him.

Our playful episode has to do with the fountain of Neptune. You can see us posing in front of it, below. I think this photo was taken on the way in. The way out was, well, a mite different.

We confided in another tour guest who was also finished and asked them to take pictures.

Our co-conspirator was all too glad to assist.

For some reason that I can’t now recall, it seemed like a really good idea to emulate the Neptune fish fountain with water from our water bottles.

We tried to synchronize, but every time one of us managed to get a representative stream going, the other was laughing uncontrollably.

Then we were both laughing uncontrollably. And so were other people around the fountain.

Ok, compose yourselves and try again.

Almost, but not quite.

Now, we’re getting wet.

We never did get our fountains synchronized. One of us, not saying who, ran out of water.

Then, we stood inside the fence, had our friend take our picture, and messaged Jim to come and bail us out.

Jim claimed he didn’t get the message, but when we showed him our photos, he said, “I can’t leave you guys together without supervision for one minute, can I?” We feigned innocence.

He said he knew we weren’t really in trouble because we were smiling.

Maybe he did get that message after all and decided to let us stew in our own juices for a bit😊

We were always smiling.

Returning Home

When we returned home, Cheryl and I resumed our jobs and regularly scheduled lives.

As we had always done, we kept in touch. I visited Fort Wayne from time to time.

Cheryl began to experience what I thought were minor health problems.

More concerning was the rapid deterioration of Don’s health.

I knew that Cheryl couldn’t consider another trip until Don either recovered or passed away, but he seemed to go from one crisis to the next like a roller-coaster.

At the end of 2016, Cheryl retired. Don needed more help, and all things considered, it seemed like it was time.

I decided to make Cheryl a retirement quilt.

While in the Netherlands, I purchased fabrics. Always a quilter at heart.

In July 2017, I planned a research trip to Fort Wayne and took Cheryl her retirement quilt. We visited our favorite restaurant, Casa, ordered our favorite foods, and I managed to surprise her with a gift bag. Surprising ever-vigilant Cheryl was no small feat.

Every single fabric in this quilt is either Dutch, from Holland, chocolate, or orange. I made myself a similar quilt with the same fabrics, as well as one for Yvette. The three Dutch musketeers.

Cheryl was thrilled and hugged me an extra long time, right before we left in a horrific storm and drenching rain that resulting in flooding. Good thing we had dinner when we did.

Cheryl later told me that her youngest son had looked the quilt over closely with her and asked about some funny-shaped leaves. He mentioned that they looked like “hemp leaves.” I explained to Cheryl how difficult it was to find fabric with those “hemp leaves” and that the entire local quilt shop was now talking about me.

Once again, we had a hearty laugh.

Laughing and smiling is how I’ll always remember Cheryl.

After my visit, I received this note:

It was so good seeing you again, and I’ve made up my mind not to let over a year pass without seeing you again!  Be warned!

I loved her for this, but when I saw her, I realized that her health had been deteriorating somewhat too.

Not much later, I called to ask if she wanted to take a trip overseas with me for a presentation, but she was in cardiac rehab.

Not surprisingly, the thing she found the most difficult about retirement was the isolation. She went from talking to people every day, all day long, to dealing with medical staff and her volunteer work. She had begun volunteering where her son is an Eagle rehabilitator, but her health issues interfered.

What none of us knew is that we were headed into Covid.

Cheryl knew that with her accumulating health challenges that she had to be especially careful. Nothing she had was terminal, but Covid certainly could be. She also didn’t want to expose Don.

Don worsened, and Cheryl moved temporarily to Silver Lake to help care for him. After a long illness, he passed away in the spring of 2021, exactly two years and one day before Cheryl. His illness and death had taken a lot out of her. They were a tightly bonded pair.

About that time, Cheryl told me that she had begun having kidney dialysis. I had no idea her condition had become so severe. She was not a candidate for a kidney transplant, so we knew at that point that she was done traveling.

Cheryl decided to move to an assisted living facility, primarily because she was no longer able to drive.

Also, about that same time, Jim and I made the decision to move to a distant state. No more driving to the Fort Wayne library. I needed to see Cheryl before we left and I’m so incredibly glad I did.

I made Cheryl a smaller quilt, just the right size to take to dialysis with her. Her son picked her up faithfully, three times a week, and dropped her off. I guess I should also mention that he also picked her up from dialysis and took her home😊

In preparation for our visit, Cheryl and I both isolated as best we could, masked always, and took Covid tests before we saw each other. We were so incredibly glad to be in each other’s company again. It had been two years, thanks to Covid.

I picked her up, and we went to our favorite restaurant which was nearly vacant, thankfully. We had chosen to go in the middle of the afternoon and sat in a corner, away from everyone.

I could tell she didn’t feel well and tired easily, but she still had her sense of humor, and we so enjoyed our visit.

I gave her the Dutch tulip quilt that reminded me so of the Keukenhof Gardens which is why I selected those fabrics. I told her it was the perfect size for dialysis.

We lingered over our meal, never wanting it to end. We talked and laughed, just like old times, except this time, we knew it wasn’t.

I drove her home, something I had never done before because she had always driven. I could tell that losing her independence bothered her. Always the optimist, she told me how grateful she was for her two sons and their unwavering loyalty.

We sat in her driveway and talked for a few more minutes, not wanting our visit to end. Then silence fell. We both knew she had to get out of the car, and I had to leave.

I was struggling mightily not to cry because I knew that if I cried, she would know that I knew how bad her health really was. Then she would cry. Then we would both be a crying mess. We needed to maintain the illusion of normalcy. We didn’t want to talk about the elephant in the car. Plus, I know we both wanted to be wrong.

I told her I hoped to return the following year, depending on Covid. I actually wanted to return that fall, but that wasn’t to be.

Cheryl climbed out of the car and walked slowly towards the house. No spring in her step anymore.

I backed up and out into the street, then put the car in drive.

I pulled ahead a few feet, then, for some reason, stopped and looked at her.

She had turned around and was watching me, standing in the middle of the driveway, hugging her quilt to her chest, both arms wrapped around it, and smiling. Not a huge laughing smile, but a contented, loving, accepting smile.

It both warmed and broke my heart.

We both knew in that moment that we would never see each other again in this lifetime.

I didn’t want to believe that, though. We both needed hope. Neither of us was ready. I’m still not.

A few days later, her son texted me this picture of Cheryl holding her quilt when he picked her up for dialysis.

She told me that she loved her quilt because it was a conversation starter. People asked her about it, and she told them the whole story. As bad as Covid had been due to isolation for a woman who loved to talk to people, dialysis was good for her in more than one way.

I was so glad I had given her this gift of love, warmth, and human interaction.

The Final Days

Cheryl had what she expected to be an outpatient medical procedure on Friday, but wound up having to be admitted. Her son who picked her up and took her to the hospital that morning told me she was waiting and covered with her quilt when he arrived.

Once again, it both warmed and broke my heart. I am so very glad she used it and knew how much I loved her when she did.

A couple of weeks earlier, on Mother’s Day, I had texted this picture to Cheryl and her sons.

It had popped up in my Facebook memories, and I figured it would make her smile, if she could see it.

I seldom heard from her because she could no longer see well, plus, as ironic as it seems, personal communication wasn’t her strong suit. Unfortunately, she never signed up for Facebook, which I think would have gone a long way, especially during Covid, toward helping her feel less isolated. For all its faults, Facebook helps us stay connected to those we love.

On Sunday, one of her sons messaged me and said he had somehow missed this photo on his phone on Mother’s Day. He told me that Cheryl was hospitalized and not doing well.

I didn’t even see that message initially and probably wouldn’t have grasped the gravity of what “Not doing well” meant, but I would surely have asked.

Then, the next message arrived. I saw that one immediately, meaning I saw both of them at the same time.

Cheryl was gone. Closed her eyes and slipped away. I was utterly dumbstruck. And so crushed that I had missed one final opportunity to talk to her on the phone. That four-hour window. Maybe she preferred it that way.

Her son thanked me for giving her a final laugh before she passed over.

I was so glad I could do that but felt just gutted at the same time. I still do.

Like she and Don, we were a bonded pair. The wind had been jerked right out of my sails.

How could Cheryl, the woman who could handle anything, be gone?

Left Unsaid

I’ve left a few things, like names, left unsaid in order to protect the privacy of her sons and granddaughter whom she loved more than life itself.

Cheryl was incredibly proud of her children. Her son who was interested in sustainable farming, her son who served in the military and now in law enforcement, her son who rehabilitates raptors, her son who creates marvelous meals and cooks for holidays, her son who has a special talent for finding travel deals, her son who raised a wonderful daughter, her son who cared for his ill father, her son who took her, and picked her up from dialysis, and so forth. And no, she doesn’t have that many sons. They just have multiple endearing qualities.

She sent this a few years ago:

On Sunday, I’ll be travelling with my son to Shipshewana, Indiana, so that the adult female eagle he’s been rehabbing can be released back out into the wild! It’s such a breath-taking experience to see one of these giant birds take wing. He’s the main handler of this eagle so he’s really proud of her progress. I already have goosebumps!

I’m so lucky they both live close by and get to see them often. They love family gatherings and lots of talking!

She also told me one time in great detail how much she respected and admired her sons for how they cared for their disabled father before his death.

She hoped to join her son in a specialized farming endeavor and was so proud of his education.

She was extremely grateful, as well, that her son that blessed her with a granddaughter made sure she got to spend quality time with that child.

She said her granddaughter chattered a lot. Geeze, I wonder where she got that. I bet they were quite a pair on their cross-country journeys.

I hope that Cheryl had the opportunity to express whatever she felt she needed or wanted to say to her sons and granddaughter before she literally flew the coop.

In case she didn’t, I’m telling them that she said they had turned out to be “fine men,” men she was immensely proud of having as her sons.

Flying Free

Cheryl and I talked about pretty much everything.

We both believe that the body is but a temporary vessel for the spirit, however you define that.

The connection and love we feel are not disconnected because the vessel was broken and no longer served the spirit.

Her spirit flew free, no longer hampered and confined by her broken body.

That’s incredibly, indescribably difficult to remember in the midst of agonizing grief for those who she left behind. But she reminds us.

She is still here.

Love is eternal.

An hour or so after she passed, I was simply sitting, stunned, crying, when I noticed a tiny hummingbird fly up to the bottom corner of my window. No flowers, nothing there to attract it. It fluttered for a long minute or so, looking in directly at me, then turned and flew away. I have never had that happen before.

Cheryl is here in the wind that lifts the Eagle’s wings.

In the joyful laughter of those she loved.

In our very breath.

When my sister died unexpectedly in 1990, I felt this same level of grief. The poem we read at her service ended with:

Your soul in everlasting life has found a better way,

But you will always be, for me,

A little step away.

A day or so after Cheryl’s passing, my friend sent me this YouTube link to the Highwayman. I needed to hear this.

Indeed, Cheryl is a HighwayWoman,

HighwayWoman

Off on another amazing adventure

In another dimension

Yet still here.

Here in the vibrant colors of the spring.

In the tulips.

Here as an inspiration from afar.

Ever vigilant.

Watching over us.

Her loving spirit lives on.

And on.

And on.

And on.

Until all of those she loves

Escape our Earthly bonds

Rising on the wings of eagles

And join her

Flying free.

Save a place for me.

See you when I catch up, Cheryl.

I love you.