My ancestor, Margaretha Elisabetha Koehler was born on April 30, 1772 in Ellerstadt, Germany to Johann Peter Koehler and Anna Elisabetha Scherer.
I wrote about the Kirsch and Koehler homes in neighboring Mutterstadt where Margaretha Elisabetha lived after her marriage, here.
Ellerstadt
The village of Ellerstadt is the heart of German wine country. The ideal location for an innkeeper. Johann Peter Koehler was just that, the innkeeper at The Lion, and an innkeeper with aspirations.
Ellerstadt was a small village in the 1700s when Peter Koehler lived there, although it had existed for hundreds of years, minus the years it was laid waste by invading armies. The first mention of Ellerstadt was in 783, nearly 1000 years before Peter took up residence.
Peter wasn’t born in Ellerstadt.
Rehutte
According to his death record, Peter was born on September 28, 1724. His parents were Johann Peter Theobald Koehler and Anna Elisabetha Ulzhofer and he was most likely born in the little village of Rehutte (Rehhutte), given that his father was the customs collector and innkeeper there. However, Rehutte was occupied by French troops from 1734-1745, so where the family might have lived during that time is open to speculation. Records from Rehutte would be very enlightening.
Peter spent his adult life in Ellerstadt.
We don’t know exactly when Peter took up residence there, but at age 22, on January 11, 1746, he married Charlotta Braun in Ellerstadt. He would have been a citizen by then, with a vocation sufficient to support a wife and family or he would not have been allowed to marry.
Ellerstadt
This map of Ellerstadt from the 1840s is probably very similar to life 50 years earlier, near the end of Peter’s time on earth. These are the streets that Peter would have walked, buttressed by the vineyards tended by the residents stretching long and narrow behind their homes.
Today, you can see the same roads embracing the beautiful “old,” village.
The lives of all of the villagers, their comings and goings, revolved around the center of the village where there was likely a communal well at one time and probably a marketplace too. You can easily see the Protestant church with the green roof near the old school on the corner.
There would have been a bakery nearby, the smell of freshly baked bread wafting down the street. Of course, every village had an inn that functioned as the local restaurant and pub, gathering place, and safe haven for travelers and their beasts.
The region’s fine wines would have been served at the tables there, and maybe some locally distilled fruit brandy too. Today there’s a generationally owned winery in Ellerstadt plus a few more in close proximity.
You have no idea how much I want to walk these streets.
The old white school, shown above on the corner, was likely something else before it served as a school. We know that during Peter’s day that the schoolmaster taught at the Lutheran church.
Kirchenstrasse runs alongside the church, north to south, and Ratstrasse, or city hall street, intersects in the center of town. The city hall would have been located there, as would the local inn. Peter would have lived and worked someplace in this long block. I’d bet that in the city’s dusty records, there is something that would tell us where the old Lion or Red Lion Inn was located, or where Peter lived, which might well have been the same building. His wife may well have cooked for the family and their guests.
Peter, his wives and some of his children are assuredly buried in the cemetery behind the church in long-lost graves. Many of his children married and moved away, to neighboring villages and eventually, some of his descendants sailed for America.
Ellerstadt History
Like the rest of the Palatinate, Ellerstadt was entirely abandoned during the Thirty Years War which began in 1618. While the war officially ended in 1648, families had either died or settled elsewhere and there was literally nothing to return to. Everythign was burned and gone, but some tried to return to their ancestral villages.
Repeated incursions lasted throughout the 1600s, with French troops once again ravaging the Palatinate from 1689-1697. Refugees fled across the Rhine, with some eventually returning after the French discovered that they needed people to work so they had someone to tax.
In 1707, Ellerstadt belonged to Casimir Kolb von Wartenberg and was part of the Imperial county that was of an Imperially immediate nature. An imperial immediate nature was a privileged political status rooted in feudal law under the Holy Roman Empire granting the holder a form of sovereignty, allowing them to extract taxes and tolls, among other forms of control. Often, they granted benefits to villagers such as allowing them to own some time of business, such as an inn. Of course, nothing was free – they would have selected a man they could depend on to pay their taxes.
We know that Peter was living in Ellerstadt by 1746 when he married and established himself as a citizen and innkeeper. A decade later in 1756 catastrophic weather conditions including hail destroyed the entire harvest.
Many people probably went hungry that year. Peter, then 32 years old and married for a decade had 6 children, including a babe in arms. What did they do? How did they survive? We’ll never know.
During almost the entire time that Peter lived in Ellerstadt, the village was owned by the Wartenbergs. However, in 1789, the impoverished Wartenbergs sold their rights to the Counts of Sickingen, another noble family who subsequently lost Ellerstadt, along with all of the Palatinate west of the Rhine to the French in 1794.
We don’t know exactly how many people lived in the village of Ellerstadt in the 1700s, but we do know that there were 24-30 families by 1548 and by 1614, that number had increased to 60-70. Of course, that was before the war.
The families who didn’t die left no later than 1620, and it’s unknown if any of the original families tried to return after 1650. A full generation had passed.
Regardless, Peter Koehler’s family was not from Ellerstadt, but Ellerstadt was probably a “young” village once again in the early and mid-1700s, in the process of rebuilding and reestablishing itself. If it was without an innkeeper, a newly established inn would have been quite welcome. Food, wine and travelers. More people and goods to tax, including luxuries like tea, coffee and chocolate.
By 1722, the population had not extended beyond the city center; Ratsstausse, Kirchenstrausse with Fliesstrasse bordering the south side of the village.
The 1840s map shows about 110 or so residences, but many are in the “newer” outskirts of town, outside the village center where the church would have been rebuilt. Perhaps there were 50 families when Peter lived in Ellerstadt, eventually serving as Mayor.
Peter died in 1791, before the French Revolution occurred in 1793 and 1794, once again ravaging Ellerstadt. Soldiers plundered homes and forced the inhabitants into labor if they did not flee across the Rhine River.
Peter’s home and the inn would have either been destroyed or at least repurposed – although soldiers like everyone else had to eat and likely enjoyed a drink. While Peter was gone, perhaps his inn survived due to its usefulness.
Reassembling Peter’s Life
Most of what we know about Peter came from the church records which of course reflect none of the turmoil taking place, at least not directly. Clearly, the family attended services regularly. All of Peter’s children were baptized in the church as was expected.
The church was the central, cohesive glue of the village, with the protestant religion a way of life in German Palatinate villages during this time. There was no Catholic church. The Thirty Years’ War had been about the differences between Catholicism and the Protestant faith and the protestants won.
Peter’s transcribed marriage record tells us that on the 11th of January, 1746, Johann Peter Koehler, legitimate son of the customs collector Mister Kohler was married to the local widow Braun’s daughter Charlotta, after 3 public announcements during open church services.
Charlotta died 16 years later, on March 6, 1762, in Ellerstadt.
Charlotta and Peter had 8 children between November of 1746 and March of 1761. There are two gaps of 4 years, suggesting that two children died, one in 1751 and one in 1759. Others might have died after they were christened during that timeframe.
Peter remarried shortly, just 3 months later, on June 29th, 1762 to Anna Elisabetha Scherer, 18 years his junior and the daughter of the innkeeper of the “Lion Inn” in Heuchelheim, about 20 miles away. Peter’s oldest child was only 5 years younger than his new wife who immediately acquired a family of 8 children, minus any who had died. The oldest was 16 and the youngest, an infant who would never have known any other mother other than Elisabetha.
The translation of their marriage record, courtesy of cousin Tom says:
The local innkeeper at the Löwenwirth (Lion’s Inn), Peter KÖHLER, widower with Anna Elisabetha SCHER(IN), the late Philipp SCHER(N) from Heuchelheim, surviving legitimate daughter were married after the reading of the three proclamation of the banns.
Their first child arrived in November of 1763.
In his daughter Christina Ottilia’s marriage record on August 4, 1763, Peter is referenced as “citizen and host of the Red Lion in Ellerstadt, of the reformed religion.”
In 1765, their child Anna Margaretha was christened with Peter’s brother, Tobias Kohler, citizen and resident of Zeiskem (Zeiskam) and his wife, Anna Margaretha, serving as godparents. Zeiskam is about 33 kilometers away, so not a trivial journey.
Until 1776, Peter was consistently referred to as the Innkeeper at the Lion’s Inn, but in September 1776 when a new daughter was christened, he was referred to as anwalt,” or “lawyer here”, meaning the person who checked the contracts for the village. Probably quite different than a lawyer today, but still a position of responsibility and one that required the trust of the residents. He was 52 years old.
Elisabetha had 11 children between 1763 and January 1784. She died on July 21, 1784, once again leaving Peter, then 60, a widower with young children ranging in age from 6 months to 19 years, plus his children from his first marriage who were all adults by that time.
Three of Peter and Elisabetha’s children had died, including young Johann Martin Koehler on January 22, 1784, just a few months before his mother. I wonder if something like typhoid, flu or maybe dysentery was affecting people in the village during that time.
After Elisabetha’s death, Peter waited nearly a year before remarrying on July 4, 1785 to the widow Anna Margaretha Volker of Assenheim, a neighbor village.
Elke translated the record as:
The 4th of July, Mister Peter Kohler, former mayor and widower and Anna Margarethe nee Volckerin, remaining widow of the former Johannes tock, former citizen and court cognant in Assenheim.
Former mayor suggests that in 1785, Peter was no longer mayor, but that may have changed.
Four years later, in 1789, when his son, Philip Jacob Kohler married, Peter was referenced once again as the village mayor.
Then Peter died, his demise recorded in the church record.
On August 11, 1791, Herr Johann Peter Kohler, village mayor and lowenwirth, Innkeeper at The Lion here, died. Age 67 years, less 1 month 2 weeks and 4 days.
This tells us that Peter was born on September 28, 1724, and that he was still both the mayor and an innkeeper at his death. The title Herr was used as a sign of respect.
Peter’s daughter Anna Elisabetha’s marriage record on August 18, 1801 says:
Anna Elisabetha Kohlerin of Ellerstadt, 21 years old born in Fussgoenheim the ? of Oct residing in Ellerstadt, daughter of the former Peter Koehler, former citizen and mayor in Ellerstadt and his wife anna Elisabetha nee Schererin.
She was born October 3, 1781.
Peter’s daughter’s August 13, 1793 marriage record says:
Philipp Jacob Rhodt, citizen in Freudenheim a widower to Maria Eva Kohlerin unmarried daughter of the former Peter Kohler, former mayor, from here and Anna Elisabetha, nee Scherin, both are no more.
In 1823, Peter’s daughter died, providing a final confirmation:
On the 21st of April 1823 died and on the 23rd was buried, Anna Margaretha Kirsch, widow of the late Andreas Kirsch, aged 49 years 11 months 22 days. Her parents: Peter Kohler from Ellerstadt and Anna Elisabetha Scherr.
The Lion Inn
It has been suggested that perhaps the Lion Inn has something to do with the Hallberg crest or coat of arms. It’s worth noting that the inn in Heuchelheim was also known as “The Lion.”
This Hallberg crest is affixed to the pulpit in the Hallberg castle church in neighboring Fussgoenheim, less than 2 miles away. There are two lions on the crest, and one way to obtain the rights to open a local inn would be to sell Hallberg wine and name the establishment after the local noble’s crest animal.
A Confusing DNA Puzzle
Several years ago, my Koehler cousin was gracious enough to take an autosomal and Y DNA test to represent our Koehler line.
The results are very interesting.
The Renner family is also present in this part of Germany, primarily in Mutterstadt, but also found in neighboring Fussgoenheim, Schauernheim, Dannstadt and Assenheim. Perhaps even more interesting is that one Jacob Wilhelm Renner married Peter Koehler’s sister. The couple stood as godparents for one of Peter’s children.
The Renner and Koehler families were both in this part of Germany since before written records. It’s certainly possible that the Renner and Koehler families had a common paternal ancestor, before the advent of surnames. Celts and Germanic tribes settled along the Rhine River in prehistory, and Ceasar crossed the Rhine in 55 and 53 BCE. The Rhine River has always been Europe’s water superhighway, serving as both passageways and boundaries – and always worth fighting for.
In other words, families existed, as did armies, in the Palatinate long before surnames.
My Koehler cousin descends from Peter Koehler and Elisabetha through their son, Philip Jacob Koehler who married Maria Catharina Merck.
Today, my Koehler cousin’s Y DNA matches several Renner and Rennard men. So far, no Koehler surname matches on Y DNA, but, there’s more…
Autosomal matching shows a match to another descendant of Johann Peter Koehler and Anna Elisabetha Scherer through Philip Jacob Koehler and Maria Catharina Merck, through their daughter. Therefore, the path back to at least Philip Jacob Koehler seems to be clear and unbroken. If the Y DNA Koehler line of Ellerstadt had been broken between Philip Jacob Koehler and my Koehler cousin, he would NOT match anyone else descended from that couple autosomally, and he does.
In other words, if Peter Koehler and Elisabetha Scherer’s son, Philip Jacob Koehler had been their son, but his son was a Renner male, then the Y and autosomal link would both have been broken, so my cousin today could not match a descendant of either Philip Jacob Koehler or Peter Koehler.
There’s additional information to consider.
My cousin also matches another Koehler male on the Family Finder test, but that person has not taken the Y DNA test and hasn’t provided genealogical information.
Another interesting tidbit – we find another Koehler line autosomal match and a Renner Y DNA match both in Frederick County, Maryland in the 1700s. Is this important? I don’t know.
One of the Renner Y DNA test matches shows their ancestor, Johann Peter Renner in Oberschleichach, Hassberge, Bavaria and his father Adam Renner born in 1739 in Neuschleichach, Haßberge, Bavaria, Germany. His father, Johann Adam Renner was born in Oberschleichach in 1689. Given the Y DNA direct connection, this link between Koehler and Renner seems to reach back beyond the birth of Peter Koehler in 1724 in the Palatinate. This connection, 250 kilometers east of Ellerstadt and far from the Palatinate looks like it reaches back to or before the Thirty Years’ War.
I can’t help but think back to the devastation of the Thirty Years War in the early 1600s west of the Rhine in the Palatinate, and how many children were orphaned. Fighting continued throughout the 1600s and the 1700s weren’t exactly stable either. The French Revolution in the 1790s caused massive upheaval as well. Was an orphan child taken in and raised by another family? Did a Renner family take a Koehler child, or vice versa?
I would LOVE to test a Renner male from the Renner line that lived in Mutterstadt or nearby. I descend from Johann Peter Renner (1679-1746) there was well. If you’re a Renner male that fits this description, I have a DNA testing scholarship for you!
Were the paternal ancestors of both of these lines the same man prior to the adoption of surnames? Had their ancestors lived in this region since prehistory? The answer to this question is never going to be found in the records – and only shadows and hints exist in the Y and autosomal DNA of descendants.
Perhaps in time, enough other people will test both Y and autosomal DNA that we can refine our knowledge.
Until then, we can only piece tidbits together about how Johann Peter Koehler was related to the Renner family, and when.
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Darcus is reported in many trees to be the daughter of Peter Johnson (Johnston, Johnstone) and his wife Mary Polly Phillips. Peter reportedly lived in Pennsylvania and died in Allegheny County, PA. However, I am FAR from convinced that this couple was Darcus’s parents.
The distance from Shenandoah County, VA to Allegheny Co., PA is prohibitive for courting.
The Shenandoah County records need to be thoroughly researched with various Johnson families reconstructed. I’m hoping that perhaps someone has already done that and a Johnson family was living not terribly far from Jacob Dobkins father, John Dobkins. That would be the place to start.
Greg, Peter Johnson’s descendant through son James reached out to me.
Hi Roberta, I read your essay today on Dorcas Johnson. I wanted to write to you because I am a descendant of Dorcas’s brother James and have DNA matches to support our connection.
Clearly, I was very interested, but I learned long ago not to get too excited.
Then, Greg kindly shared his tree and DNA results with me. He was also generous enough to allow me to incorporate his information into this article. So yes, this article is possible entirely thanks to Greg.
I was guardedly excited about Greg’s communication, but I wasn’t prepared for the HUGE shock about to follow!
Whoa!!!
Greg has done his homework and stayed after school.
First, he tracked the descendants of Peter through all of his children, to present, where possible, and added them into his trees at the genealogy vendors. The vendors can do much better work for you with as much ammunition as you can provide.
Second, he has doggedly tracked matches at MyHeritage, FamilyTreeDNA, Ancestry and GEDmatch that descend through Peter Johnson and Mary Polly Phillips’s children. By doggedly, I mean he has spent hundreds to thousands of hours by his estimation – and based on what I see, I would certainly agree. In doing so, he pushed his own line back from his great-great-grandmother, Elizabeth Johnson, three generations to Peter Johnson and Mary Polly Phillips – and proved its accuracy using DNA.
Altogether, Greg has identified almost 250 matches that descend from Peter Johnson and Mary Polly Phillips, and mapped those segments across his chromosomes.
Greg made notes for each match by entering the number of matching cMs into their profile names as a suffix in his tree. For example, “David Johnson 10cM” instead of “David Johnson Jr.” or Sr. That way, it’s easy to quickly see who is a match and by how much. Brilliant! I’m adopting that strategy. It won’t affect what other people see, because no living people are shown in trees.
Of course, DNA is on top of traditional genealogical research that we are all familiar with that connects people via deeds, wills, and other records.
Additionally, Greg records research information for individuals as a word document or pdf file and attaches them as documents to the person’s profile in his tree. His tree is searchable and shareable, so this means those resources are available to other people too. We want other researchers to find us and our records for EXACTLY this reason.
One thing to note is that if you are using Ancestry and use the Notes function on profiles, the notes don’t show to people with whom you share your tree, but links, sources and attached documents do.
Greg has included both “Other Sources” and “Web Links” below.
Click images to enlarge
For example, if I click on Greg’s link to Historic Pittsburg, I see the land grant location for Peter Johnson. Wow, this was unexpected.
Ok, I love maps and I’m hooked. Notice the names of the neighbors too. You’ll see Applegate again. Also, note that Thomas Applegate sold his patent to Richard Johnson. Remember the FAN club – friends and neighbors.
Ok, back to DNA for now.
The Children
Ancestors with large families are the best for finding present-day DNA matches. Of course, that’s because there are more candidates. More descendants and that means more people who might test someplace. This is also why you want to be sure to have your DNA in all 4 major DNA vendors, FamilyTreeDNA, MyHeritage, Ancestry, and 23andMe, plus GEDmatch.
This is a portion of Greg’s tree that includes the children of Peter Johnson and Mary Polly Phillips. Note that two Johnson females married Dobkins men. I’ve always suspected that Margaret Johnson and Dorcas Johnson were sisters, but unless we could use mitochondrial DNA, or figure out who the parents of either Peter or Mary are, there’s no good way to prove it.
We’re gathering some very valuable evidence.
At Ancestry, Greg has 85 matches on his ThruLines for Peter Johnson and Mary Polly Phillips, respectively.
Of course, Greg has the most matches for his own line through Peter’s son James Johnson (1752-1826) who married Elizabeth Lindsay and died in Lawrence County, IL: 35 matches.
Next is Margaret Johnson (1780-1833) who married Evan Dobkins in Dunmore County, VA, brother of my ancestor, Jacob Dobkins. She probably died in Cocke County, TN: 25 matches. Dorcas named one of her children Margaret and Margaret may have named one of her children Dorcas.
Solomon Johnson (1765-1843) married Frances Warne and stayed in Allegheny County, PA: 8 matches. Notice one of Peter’s neighbors was a Warner family. Dorcas named one of her children Solomon, a fairly unusual name.
Mary Johnson (1770-1833) married Garrett Wall Applegate and died in Harrison County, IN: 7 matches. The Applegates were Peter Johnson’s neighbors and Garrett served in the Revolutionary War in the 8th VA Regiment. Clearly, some of these settlers came from or spent time in Virginia.
Dorcas Johnson (c1750-c1835) married Jacob Dobkins in Dunmore County, VA and died in Claiborne County, TN: 5 matches.
Peter Johnson (1753-1840) married Eleanor “Nellie” Peter and died in Jefferson County, KY: 4 matches.
Richard D. Johnson (1752-1818) married Hannah Dungan and Elizabeth Nash: 2 matches.
Unfortunately, since most of those matches are between 7 and 20 cM, and Ancestry does not display shared matches under 20 cM, we can’t use Ancestry’s comparison tool to see if these people also match each other. That’s VERY unfortunate and extremely frustrating.
Greg matches more people from this line at MyHeritage, GEDmatch and FamilyTreeDNA, and thankfully, those vendors all three provide segment information AND shared match information.
Cousins Are Critical
While Greg, unfortunately, does not match me, he does match several of my cousins whose tests I manage.
Two of those cousins both descend from Darcus Johnson through her daughter Jenny Dobkins, through her daughter Elizabeth Campbell, through her daughter Rutha Dodson, through her sons John Y. Estes and Lazarus Estes, respectively.
Another descends through Jenny Dobkins son, William Newton Campbell for another 5 generations. These individuals all match on a 17 cM segment of Chromosome 20.
Other known cousins match Greg on different chromosomes.
Looking at their shared matches at FamilyTreeDNA, we find more Dobkins, Dodson and Campbell cousins, some that were previously unknown to me. One of those cousins also descends through William Newton Campbell’s daughter for another 4 generations and matches on the same segment of chromosome 20.
DNAPainter
Emails have been flying back and forth between me and Greg, each one with some piece of information that one of us has found that we want to be sure the other has too. Having research buddies is wonderful!
Then, Greg sent a screenshot of a portion of his chromosome 20 from DNAPainter that includes the DNA of the cousins mentioned above. I didn’t realize Greg was using DNAPainter. It’s an understatement to say I’m thrilled because DNAPainter does the cross-vendor triangulation work automatically for you.
Just look at all of those matches that carry this Johnson/Phillips segment of chromosome 20. Holy chimloda.
Greg also sent his DNAPainter sharing link, and it turns out that this is only a partial list, with one of my cousins highlighted, dead center in the list of Peter Johnson’s and Mary Polly Phillip’s descendants. Greg has even more not shown.
Trying Not to Jump to Conclusions
I’m trying so hard NOT to jump to conclusions, but this is just SOOOO EXCITING!
Little doubt remains that indeed, Peter Johnson and Mary Polly Phillips are the parents of Dorcas Johnson who married Jacob Dobkins and also of Margaret Johnson who married Evan Dobkins. I’ve eliminated the possibility of other common ancestors, as much as possible, and verified that the descent is through multiple children. This particular segment on chromosome 20 reaches across multiple children’s lines.
I say little doubt remains, because some doubt does remain. It’s possible that perhaps Dorcas and her sister weren’t actually daughters of Peter Johnson, but maybe children of his brother? Peter was reported to have a brother James, a sheriff in Cumberland County, PA. but again, we lack proof. If Dorcas is Peter Johnson’s niece, her descendants would still be expected to match some of the descendants of Peter and his wife.
Also complicating matters is the fact that Greg also has a Campbell brick wall with a James Campbell born about 1790 who lived in Fayette County, PA, in the far northwest corner of the state. Therefore, DNA matches through Dorcas Johnson Dobkins’s daughters Jenny and Elizabeth who married Campbell brothers need to be verified through her children’s lines that do NOT descend through her daughters who married Campbell men.
Nagging Questions
I know, I’m being a spoilsport, but I still have questions that need answers.
For example, I still need to account for how the Johnson girls managed to get to Shenandoah County, VA (Dunmore County at that time) to meet the Dobkins boys, spend enough time there to court, and then marry Evan and Jacob nine months apart in 1775. Surely they were living there. Young women simply did not travel, especially not great distances, and marriages occurred in the bride’s home county. Yet, they married in Shenandoah County, VA, not in PA.
What About the Records?
We are by no means done. In fact, I’ve just begun. I have some catching up to do. Greg has focused on Peter Johnson and Mary Polly Phillips in Pennsylvania. I need to focus on Virginia.
Was Peter Johnson ever in Dunmore County that became Shenandoah County, VA, and if so when and where? If not, how the heck did his two daughters marry the Dobkins boys in 1775? Was there another Johnson man in Dunmore during that time? Was it James?
Where was Peter Johnson in 1775 when Dorcas and Margaret were marrying? Can we positively account for him in Pennsylvania or elsewhere?
It appears that the Virginia Archives has a copy of the 1774-1776 rent rolls for Dunmore County, but they aren’t online. That’s the best place to start. Fingers crossed for one Peter Johnson living right beside John Dobkins, Jacob’s father. Now THAT would convince me.
Stay tuned!
Note – If you’d like to view Greg’s tree at Ancestry, its name is “MyHeritage Tree Simkins” and you can find it by searching for Maude Gertrude Wilson born in 1876 in Logan County, Illinois, died January 27, 1950 in Ramsey County, Minnesota, and married Harry A. Simkins. Elizabeth Ann Johnson (1830-1874) is Maude’s grandmother.
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Thank you so much.
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The People’s History of Claiborne County, Tennessee tells us that, “Darcus Johnson was the daughter of Peter Johnson and Mary “Polly” Phillips, was born in 1750 in the area of Augusta County, Virginia that became Dunmore County, then Shenandoah. Her father might have come from Pennsylvania. She died in 1831 in Claiborne County, TN.”
This may or may not be entirely accurate.
Bill Nevils, long-time family history researcher provided a great deal of information about his Claiborne County ancestors, some of which, fortunately, are mine too. Unfortunately, he’s gone now and I can’t ask him about his sources. I don’t know what data might be available now that was not available to him at that time.
First Things First
There is some question about the spelling of Dorcas, Dorcus or Darcus’s first name. It’s listed as Darcus in the Shenandoah County (transcribed) Marriage records. In the 1852 Greene County, TN will of Andrew Dobkins (wife Joanna), Darcus’s probable son, he listed a daughter named Darcas in his will.
I’ve also seen her name spelled Dorcas, several times, but never in an original document. That’s one of the problems, there is only one known contemporaneous document that is positively her and lists her name – her marriage. And even that misspells Jacob’s surname. So who knows.
I’m spelling her name in all three ways because I don’t know which one to choose. That way, no matter who is googling in the future, they’ll find this article😊.
Darcus married Jacob Dobkins, who I wrote about here, here and here.
The Shenandoah Co., VA marriage records don’t give a date for the marriage of Jacob Dobkins (spelled Dobbins) and Darcus Johnson, but they appear to have been transcribed in entry order. The marriage above theirs took place on September 6, 1775, and the following date, 7 couples later is October 2, 1775. I can’t help but wonder if “no date” means “ditto”, but regardless, they were married sometime between those two dates.
Jacob and Darcus were actually married in Dunmore County that became and was renamed on February 1, 1778, as Shenando, now Shenandoah. The Dunmore records have been incorporated into the Shenandoah County records since Dunmore wasn’t split, just renamed.
Parents
Darcus is reported in many trees to be the daughter of Peter Johnson (Johnston, Johnstone) and his wife Mary Polly Phillips. Peter reportedly lived in Pennsylvania and died in Allegheny County, PA. However, I am FAR from convinced that this couple was Darcus’s parents.
The distance from Shenandoah County, VA to Allegheny Co., PA is prohibitive for courting.
The Shenandoah County records need to be thoroughly researched with various Johnson families reconstructed. I’m hoping that perhaps someone has already done that and a Johnson family was living not terribly far from Jacob Dobkins father, John Dobkins. That would be the place to start.
What DO We Know?
We know that Jacob Dobkins was born about 1751 based on his Revolutionary War Pension application in 1832 where he said he was 81 years old. If Dorcas was 20 when she was married, then she would have been born about 1755, but later records place her birth about 1750 or perhaps even somewhat earlier.
In 1773, Jacob appears on the Fincastle Co., VA tax list as “not found.” Fincastle County was the parent of Dunmore which was the parent of Shenandoah. Not found means he had likely moved on. It’s somewhat unusual for a single man to be living alone, but we have no reason to think he was married before Darcus.
By 1774, Jacob was likely serving in the all-volunteer militia as Lord Dunmore’s War had commenced and one Jacob Dobler was listed as defending the frontier in a Fincastle Militia unit. Interestingly, so was one Patrick Johnston.
In January 1775, Jacob’s brother, Evan, married Margaret Johnson. Were Margaret and Darcas related? Sisters perhaps? We’ll likely never know, well, unless someone who descends from Margaret through all females to the current generation takes a full sequence mitochondrial DNA test. Darcus’s descendants have tested and their mitochondrial DNA would match, or nearly so, if Margaret and Darcus are sisters. If this applies to you and you descend through all females from Margaret (but a tester can be male in the current generation), please let me know because I have a DNA testing scholarship for you! We could solve a mystery together.
In May of 1775, Evin, also spelled Evan, Jacob, and another brother, Reuben, appear on a militia list of Dunmore County.
Children
Of course, children began arriving soon after their marriage. Unfortunately, we only have a reconstructed list of children based on proximity, inferences and some legal and other documents. Unfortunately, the 1835 deed where the “Heirs of Jacob Dobkins” deeded his property is recorded in the missing Claiborne County Deed Book L, and the index entry only says “The Heirs of Jacob Dobkins.” I swear, every deed I “really need” is in that AWOL book.
Assuming Andrew Dobkins was the child of Jacob and Darcus, and I know assume is a dangerous word in genealogy, he was born about 1775 according to the 1850 Greene Co., TN census. He did name a daughter Darcus, and Jacob Dobkins did live in this area about the time Andrew would have been marrying. Alternatively, Andrew could have been the child of a different Dobkins man, probably one of Jacob’s brothers.
Darcus’s first proven child, Elizabeth was born about 1776 and died sometime after 1850. Elizabeth would marry George Campbell, a near neighbor in Hawkins County, Tennessee. They named their daughter born about 1799 Dorcus/Dorcas.
John Dobkins was born about 1777, lived his adult life in Claiborne County, TN, and reportedly married Elizabeth Shaw. His children are unknown and I cannot confirm his birth year estimate. He first appeared in the court notes in 1808.
Another possible daughter named Dorcas Dobkins fits here. The Murphy family Bible record shows her birth as May 29, 1780. She married Malachi Murphy in 1796, according to the Bible, although neither a birth or marriage location is recorded. She could also have been the daughter of one of the other Dobkins men, brothers of Jacob, or someone else. I’m not convinced that Dorcas is the child of Jacob and Dorcas Dobkins, in part because of her birth date. Let’s set this aside for the moment.
There was a gap between John and the next child. Jacob was serving in the military far from Shenandoah County. Darcas nearly lost her young husband. Bullets ripped through his clothes during the Battle of Pickaway. If Jacob hadn’t survived, the course of history, at least my history and Darcas’s, would have been forever altered.
Jacob Dobkins Jr. was reportedly born about 1782. There has been a lot of confusion surrounding this man, and he is listed as having married Johanna Woolsey. However, Andrew Dobkins married Johanna Woolsey and was listed as early as 1819 in Greene County, TN where he died in 1852 with a will. Jacob Dobkins Jr., spent most of his adult life in Claiborne County, TN, first appeared in the records in 1803 and was on the tax list of 1833 as Jacob Jr. when Jacob Dobkins Sr. was still alive. He was still noted in records in 1839 and 1842, and probably died between then and 1850 where he is still listed on the agricultural census but NOT in the regular census.
Reuben Dobkins was born in 1783 in Shenandoah County, married Mary Polly, last name unknown, and died in Claiborne County in 1823. Some people show this Reuben as Jacob Dobkins’ brother, not his son. Reuben first appears in the Claiborne County court notes in 1815.
Margaret, known as Peggy Dobkins was born about 1785, married Elijah Jones, and died in March of 1852. They were divorced before 1844 when he remarried, according to his widow’s pension application. Peggy named her daughter born in 1811 Dorcas.
Solomon Dobkins was born in 1787 in what would become Tennessee, married Elizabeth, surname unknown, and died in 1852 in Kaufman County, TX.
The youngest daughter, Jane, known as Jenny Dobkins was born between 1778 and 1780, probably in Virginia, and died between 1850 and 1860 in Claiborne County, TN. She married John Campbell, believed to be the brother of George Campbell who married her sister.
George Dobkins was born between 1782 and 1788 in Virginia, married Nancy Parks, and died after 1840 in Claiborne County, TN.
This may be only a partial list of children.
Inferred History
Most of what we know about Darcus Johnson Dobkins is extrapolated from the life of her husband and children. We’re taking it on faith that the woman who bore his children was the same woman Jacob married back in Virginia, and that she had not died along the way and he remarried. That’s probably a pretty safe bet at least through Margaret born about 1785 because she named a child Dorcas.
Darcus’s early married life was anything but settled.
In 1775, Jacob enlisted in the local militia in Shenandoah County and participated in Lord Dunmore’s War, a conflict between Virginia, which extended through present-day Kentucky and west without boundary, and the Shawnee and Mingo nations. In 1780, his unit was mustered out, but by then, Jacob was already in Kentucky, serving under the command of George Rogers Clark. Jacob marched from near Louisville to near Cincinnati, pursuing Shawnee Indians. For that matter, we don’t know if Jacob ever had a horse during these years. We do know the men were on foot most if not all of the time.
Jacob Dobkins had enlisted in the militia to fight specifically in the Revolutionary War in May of 1779 where he was already living – Harrod’s Fort that eventually became Harrodsburg, Kentucky, and served for at least two years. If you are counting on your 9 fingers, this means that if Jacob left before he enlisted and was already in Kentucky, he could not have fathered Dorcas Dobkins if she was born in May of 1780. Of course, sometimes birth years were recorded incorrectly, but this suggests that Dorcas Dobkins who married Malachi Murphy was not the child of Jacob and Dorcas Dobkins. Maybe she was named in honor of our Dorcas.
Why was Jacob Donkins already at Fort Harrod in 1779? Was he on a reconnaissance mission, thinking about moving west, when he needed to enlist because the war on the frontier had heated up? One John Dobbin filed for land on North Elkhorn Creek in 1778. John could have been his father or brother. Jacob would not have taken his wife on that type of expedition. By this time, she had small children at home and was probably pregnant again. The land claim was sold by 1780.
Jacob spent 1780 in Harrods Fortand Shawnee Springs, now in the state of Kentucky but then the western frontier of Virginia. Later that fall, he fought in the Battle of Pickaway in Ohio where the bullets flew fast and furious, shreddinging his clothes into tatters. It’s amazing that he escaped with his life. Many didn’t.
Home Again
In August of 1781, Jacob finally headed back to his bride in Shenandoah County who was waiting with at least two and possibly as many as four children. I’m using the word “waiting” loosely here, because she was certainly not sitting around waiting. Dorcas was doing the work of two people. Hers as the wife and mother, plus the tasks Jacob would have been doing too. Her tasks would have included childcare, cooking, cleaning, and doing everything by hand. Covering his responsibilities meant taking care of any animals, plowing, planting, weeding, harvesting, and obtaining food, generally by hunting – all with babies. I don’t know how she did it, but I hope fervently she had family nearby to help. I mean, think about it. How could you even plow, assuming you HAD a plow and an ox, with two babies in tow? And when you got done with all that – you still had all the inside traditional women’s work to do.
If she was pregnant when Jacob left, she gave birth without him nearby, and if the child died, she also buried her baby without her husband’s support.
Fortunately, Jacob did make it home and in 1782, 1783, and 1784 is recorded on the Shenandoah County, VA tax lists.
Their next child was born in 1783 as well.
The 1783 tax lists provided additional information and the family is shown with 8 whites, which would mean that they had 6 children or other people lived with them.
We don’t know exactly where they lived but we do know they were closely associated with the Holeman family. One of Jacob’s brothers married a Holeman woman and the men served in the militia together. The Holeman and Dobkins families both received land grants and settled along Holeman’s Creek near present-day Forestville, VA.
Holeman’s Creek runs between the two red arrows before dumping into the North Shenandoah River.
However, Jacob had caught an itch while he was away. And that itch was to move west.
Westward Ho
Jacob would have passed through Martin’s Station, located in Lee County, VA, just east of the Cumberland Gap on his way to and from Kentucky. That’s not far from where Jacob and Darcus would eventually settle permanently, but first, they tried a few other locations. Tennessee wasn’t yet a state, nor was that area open for settlement.
In 1785, the couple was not listed on the Virginia tax lists. The family had likely packed up and already started down the Great Wagon Road that eventually morphed into I81.
Jacob may have come and gone between two locations because in 1785, a Washington County, North Carolina document subpoenaed Jacob Dobkins of Shenandoah County to testify.
It appears that Jacob and Dorcas moved to the State of Franklin and likely became embroiled in early politics. The State of Franklin was not a state, but it wanted to be, seceding from North Carolina in 1784. Eventually, the area involved in the State of Franklin became the easternmost counties of Tennessee, but then, it was the wild west – the fringe of the frontier.
By 1786, the residents were negotiating with the state of North Carolina for readmission. “Oops, we’re sorry and had a moment.”
The State of Franklin had become a no man’s land meaning they weren’t a part of any government and had no rights or protections. Residents couldn’t file for land, for example, or vote, or hold court. The two sides were literally at war with one another. They had a mess on their hands and eventually, most people just wanted order to be restored.
In 1787 and 1788, Jacob and his brothers were living in Washington County, NC, the part that had been the state of Franklin and would become the counties of Washington, Sullivan, Greene, and Hawkins in eastern Tennessee after Tennessee was admitted to the union in 1796. Jacob bought land in Washington County in 1788, so apparently intended to stay.
In 1789, Jacob’s name appeared on a petition along with a group of men who were considered to be living on Indian land not purchased by the US government. They petitioned the NC government, begging for help.
Jacob may have given up and moved back to Shenandoah County, VA because his name appears there on the 1790 reconstructed census with 8 whites. However, the reconstructed census used tax lists, and we already know he was listed in 1783 with 8 people, so his whereabouts in 1790 are unclear.
You might have noticed that children continued to arrive during this time. Was Darcus exasperated beyond her limits? Someplace between 6 and 8 children and constant threats to their safety? Did she perhaps give Jacob a wifely ultimatum? I have to wonder, because even the staunchest of pioneer wives could certainly have reached their limit under those circumstances. Sometimes situations change, and something that at one time seemed like a really good idea, in reality, wasn’t. This turmoil wasn’t short-lived either. Darcus was now approaching 15 years of upheaval. Her entire married life.
Many families did move back to a safer and less stressful environment. Holeman’s Creek probably looked quite welcoming!
That arrangement, if they did move back, did not last long.
Retry – Back Again
In 1792, the family is living in newly formed Jefferson County where Jacob sued John Sevier – yes – the governor. Sevier had been involved with the State of Franklin too, and Jacob had been called to testify in a lawsuit against Sevier in 1785. Perhaps whatever was going on in 1785 was still unresolved in 1792.
I can just hear the gossip and drama, even across 230 years. Everyone but everyone would have been talking about that and assuredly had an opinion – probably a strong one. Tongues would have been wagging, that’s for sure!
The church was not only the religious center, but also the social center of the community, especially for women. I don’t know what church they attended in Virginia, but in later years in Tennessee, they were assuredly Baptists.
By 1792, Dorcas would have been about 40 years old. We don’t know of any children born this late, but there certainly could have been some that we aren’t aware of or that did not survive. Or, Dorcas could have been slightly older than we know. George was reportedly born between 1782 and 1788. If Dorcas was 43-45 when he was born, and he was born in 1788, that puts her birth possibly as early as 1743.
Jacob bought land again, this time in the area known as “The Territory of the United States South of the River Ohio” on Bent Creek in Hawkins County, near the main road between the ford of the Holston River and Bull’s Gap over the mountain.
Clearly, this part of the country, destined to become Tennessee, was having either birthing pains or an identity crisis, but that didn’t stop the settlers from arriving, clearing land, and staying.
By this time, Dorcas’s eldest children were of age to begin marrying. Elizabeth Dobkins married George Campbell and Jenny Dobkins married his (presumed) brother John Campbell, sons of Charles Campbell who lived near the Holston River.
In 1793 Jacob bought land in Jefferson County, and in 1796, Jacob sold at least some of that land. Around this time, the family likely migrated, probably with the Reverend Tidence Lane to what would become Claiborne County. We know that Jacob and Darcas were established in Claiborne County by October 1801 because Jacob is mentioned in the first court notes establishing the county. An entire group, including Jacob’s two Campbell sons-in-law, appear to have moved and settled together.
This was the last move for Jacob and Darcas. They packed up one last time, pulled out in a heavily loaded wagon, settled in Claiborne County, and stayed.
Now roughly 50 years old, I’d guess Darcas was VERY tired of packing everything into a wagon and moving. Their entire married life had been punctuated by instability. First, a war, then moving to “the west,” the State of Franklin, then not a state, then Washington County, NC, then the Territory South of the River Ohio, then Washington Co., TN, then Hawkins County, then Jefferson County, then finally Claiborne county which means they likely lived in Grainger County before Claiborne was formed. Oh yes, fighting Indians, clearing land and suing the governor sprinkled in there for good measure. I’m exhausted just thinking about this.
Darcus must have heaved a huge sigh of relief. By this time, they had older children and adult sons to help clear land and fell trees. They bought a tract large enough to entice all of their children to move with them. That was a brilliant strategy because that seems to be exactly what happened. Maybe that was what enticed Dorcas to move just one more time, into the peaceful little valley on the north side of Wallen Mountain.
Jacob and Dorcas built a log cabin, and their children built cabins nearby.
However, Darcus would be forced to deal with war once again, this time the War of 1812. Many local men joined or were drafted to fight, including her adult son, Solomon Dobkins, who was a Captain and fought in the Battle of Horseshoe Bend in 1814. Her son-in-law, Elijah Jones, fought alongside her son in Alabama.
Many Claiborne County men died, both of wounds and illness. Most men didn’t even have horses and walked to war, supplying their own armaments too.
Darcus certainly knew how close she came to losing Jacob all those years ago. I’m sure she wondered if she would lose Solomon and Elijah. She would have stepped up to help her daughter and daughter-in-law while the men were gone.
Court Martial
All was not well with the Dobkins family in Claiborne County. Some records are difficult to find and don’t show up for another generation or two. Solomon Dobkins died in 1852 in Fannin County, Texas. His son, Jake (Jacob) Dobkins was living in Gainesville, Cooke Co., Texas on July 5, 1856 when he made application for “anything the government may have to offer him as the heir of his father, Solomon Dobkins.” He states that his father served in the Creek Indian War in 1812 and 1813 under General Jackson. He further states that his father died in 1852 in Fannin County Texas.
Any benefits from the government to this heir were denied because Solomon Dobkins was Court Martialed and Cashiered.
Cashiering is a demotion as a result of a court martial. I always wondered why there was no pension application for Solomon. This answers that question.
Everyone would have known, and apparently, no one spoke of it. I can’t help but wonder what happened, when, and where. A court martial is very severe.
This situation must have caused Dorcas both pain and embarrassment.
I continue to find Solomon in the Claiborne County court records in positions of responsibility, so whatever happened seems to have been largely forgotten, although he was prosecuted by the state at one time.
A Fireside Chat Heralds Changes
Jacob and Darcus probably sat beside the fireplace one night, or maybe on the porch in rocking chairs, and had a talk. I’m guessing that they had many serious talks over the years. Whether to leave, or not. Whether to return, or not. Whether to move back, or not. Whether to move on, or not.
This talk was a bit different. They were aging, approaching 65 which was beyond “retirement age” back then. Well, I guess you never really got to “retire,” but you did get to stop paying taxes at some point when you were either infirm or old. That’s what retirement looked like in that era. You worked until you couldn’t anymore, then you died or lived with your children.
Jacob and Dorcas decided to begin distributing their land. In 1814, about the time Solomon and Elijah returned from the war, Jacob sold land to two sons-in-law, Elijah Jones and George Campbell. Nothing like a wake-up call to realize tomorrow simply isn’t guaranteed.
In about 1817, Jacob suffered a disabling shoulder and collarbone break in some type of accident. He stated in court in 1832 when he applied for his pension that he had not been able to attend court since that time and suffered greatly from “phrumatic pains.” This also means that Dorcas was probably caring for Jacob and once again had to pick up more chores, even though she assuredly had aches and pains herself by this time. Thankfully, she had children and grandchildren nearby to help.
In 1823, their (presumed) son, Reuben died. I wish we had more information. Was he ill or was there an accident? Without antibiotics, any farm injury could quickly become septic, and something like a ruptured appendix meant sure and certain death. Was Reuben actually their son, or was that Reuben Jacob’s brother?
The 1830s
The 1830 Claiborne County census shows columns for ages, with Jacob Dobkins listed as 70-80 and the female living in the household as 80-90. Of course, it’s easy to mismark a column or misunderstand an age, but if Dorcas was in fact 80-90 in 1830, that means she was actually born between 1740-1750. If she was born in 1750, she would have been slightly older than Jacob. That might also explain why we find no children born after roughly 1788 and possibly no later than 1782.
The 1830s are fuzzy for Dorcas. We know that Jacob died in 1835, but we don’t know if she died before or after Jacob. Some show her death in 1831, but I don’t know why.
There is, however, one very intriguing record.
Say What?
This March 27, 1833 survey is quite interesting.
Dorcas Dobkins is listed as a chain carrier. Say what?
Yes, a chain carrier, shown just beneath the drawing as, “Sworn Chainers.”
I’m not sure who else this could have been, unless it was a granddaughter. The problem is, other than the Dorcas Dobkins born in 1808 and who lived in Greene County, I don’t know who else this could have been, other than Dorcas, the wife of Jacob. It’s also fair to say that I only have two known children for Darcus’s son John, and no documented children for Reuben who died in 1823, assuming he was their son, nor for son Jacob who died or disappeared from the records between 1840-1850. Of course, there are questions about the identity of some of those men, and some of them may not have been old enough to have daughters serving as chain carriers in 1833.
Neither sons Solomon nor George have known children named Dorcas.
This survey is for Lorenzo Dow Dobkins, the son of John Dobkins. His brother was also named John, the name of the other chain carrier, so it’s possible that he had a sister by the name of Dorcas. Or, his grandmother wanted to help out.
Personally, I’m voting for an irreverent grandmother who was itching to get out of the house on a beautiful spring day.
Let’s eavesdrop…
“We don’t have another person as the chain carrier. We can’t do the survey today.”
Dorcas: “Oh yes you do!”
“Who?”
Dorcas, pointing to herself: “Me.”
With a slight smile, “Maam, with all respect, you can’t do that.”
Dorcas, more determined than ever: “Hrummph, watch me!” as she wipes her hands, takes off her apron and pins up a stray hair or two.
Men, looking at each other, shrugging, “OK.”
I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen a female chain carrier in a record. A chain carrier needed to be of age and able to testify as to the fairness and accuracy of the survey process if called upon. Not only that, chains were heavy and the terrain was sometimes rough.
I can’t help but wonder if Dorcas was a chain carrier because she wanted to keep her eye on what was occurring. After all, this survey did abut her son John’s land. If that was the case, she was clearly not dead at this time. And being a chain carrier, in spite of what someone might have thought, wasn’t likely to kill her😊.
We know from Jacob’s 1832 pension application and testimony that he was disabled and therefore he would not have been able to be a chain carrier. Dorcas would have been at least in her late 70s if not her 80s.
Jacob’s Pension Payments
Jacob’s pension payment records don’t say anything about Dorcas. One record, from 1835, shows the list of pensioners and does not indicate a death date for Jacob, although there are death dates in 1833 for others. That means that either he hadn’t died when this list was compiled in 1835, or the death date wasn’t entered. Since the legislation was to compile a list of pensioners being paid, it’s very unlikely that he died before 1835, but not impossible. He was also on the Claiborne County tax list in 1833.
A second record indicates the last pension payment was made in September of 1835. I was unclear whether that payment could have been to Dorcas as his surviving spouse, or, it would only have been paid to Jacob directly.
As it turns out, widows were not eligible to receive payments until an act of July 4, 1836. This confirms that Jacob was last paid, himself, in September of 1835. He died sometime between September of 1835 and the next payment date in March of 1836.
All we can surmise from this is that Dorcas did not apply for his pension beginning in 1836, so my presumption would be that she had died before July of 1836.
In 1835, Jacob’s heirs quitclaimed his land to Betsy Campbell, their daughter who had married George Campbell. Of course, that’s the deed in the book that’s missing, so I’ll never know if Dorcas signed, or who all of their heirs were.
I don’t find a woman of Dorcas’s age living with one of her children in the 1840 census, so I’d feel safe in saying she had died by then, and most likely by the end of 1835 when the land was conveyed.
Burial
For all that I don’t know, what I do know is where Jacob and Dorcas are buried. Of course, they established a graveyard on their land, behind the house and up the hill towards the Powell River. According to cousin Bill Nevils, when we visited some years ago, the family lore states that Jacob is buried beneath the huge tree in the center. That would make sense.
Jacob would have spared that tree when he cleared the land. Maybe he said to Dorcas one day, “That’s where we’ll be buried, with our kin, looking over our land.”
Maybe Dorcas figured if he established a burying ground, they were finally someplace to stay.
Jacob and Dorcas certainly weren’t the first to be buried there three decades after they purchased the land. Nor were they the last.
No stone marks their resting place, save for the beautiful tree of course.
I don’t know where all of Dorcas’s children are buried, but I’d wager that Elizabeth, called Betsy, is buried right there. Her son Barney wound up owning the land and last I knew, his descendants still do.
Son John is probably buried in the cemetery too, assuming he didn’t move away. He died sometime after 1834.
Darcus probably buried Reuben, throwing clods of dirt on top of his casket as her final act of motherhood. That had to be an incredibly sad day, but he was always nearby, up on the hill.
Peggy joined her mother in March of 1852. In the 1850 census, she was living with an unknown family. As a divorced elderly woman, she may have been supported by the court and placed with a family who would care for her. We don’t know when she divorced, but it was before 1844 when Elijah Jones remarried, according to his widow’s pension application after his death. I wonder if Peggy was able to retain any of her parent’s land that Jacob and Darcus sold to her husband, Elijah, in 1814. Divorce was virtually unheard of at that time and required the approval of the state assembly. It’s unknown when the divorce occurred, but it certainly could have been prior to Dorcas’s death.
Jane known as Jenny died between 1850 and 1860 and is either buried with her mother or on the Campbell land across the ridge.
George died in 1837, just a couple of years after Jacob, and would rest near his mother as well.
Jacob Jr. died sometime between 1840 and 1850 and likely rests in the family cemetery.
Solomon made his way to Texas, and of course, Andrew died in Greene County.
Of the 9 children believed to be hers, 7 are either buried with her or nearby. That idea of purchasing a large tract of land to share seemed to have worked. Solomon, while he did die in Texas, didn’t leave until after his mother had passed on. At least she didn’t have to wave goodbye to that wagon carrying her son and 11 of her grandchildren.
This beautiful, peaceful cemetery is populated with Dorcas’s descendants. The first person buried there would probably have been either Dorcas’s child or grandchild in one of the many unmarked graves.
Some of her 35 known grandchildren are buried here as well, as are a dozen generations of her descendants scattered across the sundrenched field.
DNA
I have more than 100 autosomal DNA matches with Dorcas’s descendants through 5 of her children. There is no question that she’s my ancestor.
However, what I really need is to discover more about her parents. Ancestry’s ThruLines only reach back 7 generations before you hit a hard stop, meaning Ancestry does not calculate ThruLines beyond 7 generations. Ancestry also does not provide segment information, so you have little to work with.
To find her parents, I need to be able to track specific segments that I’ve been able to confirm to Jacob Dobkins and Darcus Johnson back to people who have Johnson ancestors in their tree, hopefully in a timeframe that could be Dorcas’s parents.
Using segments from vendors who provide segment information, meaning FamilyTreeDNA, MyHeritage, 23andMe, and GedMatch, I’ve identified several segments that I know descend from Jacob and Dorcas and painted them at DNAPainter.
I can’t associate segments with (my unknown) ancestors any further back than either Jacob or Dorcas without matching segments from people who descend from their parents, respectively.
What I DESPERATELY need is the ability to use these segments to focus on all of my matches and their trees that triangulate on these specific paternal segments assigned to Jacob and Dorcas. I need the ability to work with the trees of people who carry those segments but aren’t descended from Jacob and Dorcas in order to unravel the identity of their ancestors.
That feature isn’t offered anyplace, at least not yet. I’m hopeful though.
However, that’s not the end of the DNA resources. We can utilize mitochondrial DNA that is passed from women to their children – but only women pass it on. That means both men and women can test today. Mitochondrial DNA testing represents a special DNA unique to their direct matrilineal line.
Dorcas’s Mitochondrial DNA
I’m fortunate enough to have Dorcas’s mitochondrial DNA results through two different daughters of Jane “Jenny” Dobkins. They match exactly, which is a good thing because I want to be able to depend on an exact match to be able to help identify other people’s trees that may hold the key to Dorcas’s parents.
Our testers have 9 full sequence exact matches at FamilyTreeDNA, the only vendor that does full mitochondrial DNA testing.
Of those matches, some have listed an EKA, Earliest Known Ancestor, from this line, some have provided trees, some both, and some neither.
Tracking the information back through their trees I’ve discovered:
One EKA is Matilda Holt 1830-1889 from Monroe Co., TN. Matilda Holt married James Willis in Claiborne County. Her mother was Rutha Campbell whose mother was Jane Dobkins, daughter of Dorcas.
Now we have three of Dorcas’s descendants.
Another match shows their EKA as Margaret Ida Hamilton born in 1877 in Plattsmouth, Nebraska, died in 1947, and married John Lincoln Brown 1864-1942. She was the daughter of Margaret Adaline Jones (1849-1910) whose mother was Susan Caroline Terrell born about 1820 in Obion County, TN and married Paul Guy Jones (1823-1970). I lost the trail there.
A third match descends from the wife of Elias Harrison (1769-1836) who died in 1836 in Claiborne County, TN. With that same location, this match is VERY interesting. Elias Harrison’s wife is purported to be Martha Hedgepith or Hedgepath (1772-1820), although documentation points elsewhere. One record suggests Martha was the daughter of Richard Beasley whose will was probated on October 5, 1800, in Stokes County, NC leaving his estate to his wife Martha but named a daughter, Patty Harrison. Martha and Patsy are common names for each other. The first two daughters of Elias and Martha were reported to have been born in NC. On March 3, 1792, one Jonathan Harrison sold 100 acres on Marshal’s Creek, a branch of Big River in Stokes County to Richard Beasley. You can read more about this couple here and here.
The fascinating thing about this record is that given the dates and locations, the wife of Elias Harrison is clearly not a daughter of Jacob Dobkins and Dorcas Johnson because one of Elias and Martha’s children was born in 1791 and another in 1792. Therefore, Martha’s connection to Dorcas reaches back into earlier generations.
The next logical step would be to research Richard Beasley’s wife who would have contributed Martha’s mitochondrial DNA through her mother’s line. A quick search shows that Richard Beasley was born in Essex County about 1730, reportedly married in Caroline County, and was in Stokes by 1790 where he died in 1800.
I do wonder if there is a reason that these families wound up in the same area of Claiborne County – did they previously know each other?
Haplogroup
Darcas’s mitochondrial haplogroup is H2a1.
Her Matches Map shows some matches in the UK, but many clustered in Sweden and Finland. You might also note that only one exact (red) match is shown on the map meaning that 8 people didn’t enter their geographic information. Just think how much more useful this tool could be with tree and location information included.
On the FamilyTreeDNA dashboard, at the bottom under “Other Tools,” you will find both “Advanced Matches” and “Public Haplotrees.”
Advanced matches provide you with the ability to see if any of your mitochondrial DNA matches also match you autosomally, assuming both people have taken both tests.
The public haplotree link allows you to view the countries where your haplogroup is found.
I selected “mtDNA Haplotree”, then “View by Country,” then haplogroup H, then entered the branch name. The requested haplogroup is displayed with the grey bar along with how many times a specific country has been selected by testers. You can mouse over each flag or click on the three dots at right to view the country report.
Just as a note, the “23” means that H2a1 has 23 subgroups, and Darcus’s DNA is not in any of them, just H2a1.
The takeaway with this report is that the deep ancestry of Darcus Johnson is found in Scandinavia, in Sweden, and Finland. How far back is deep? We don’t know exactly. Her more immediate ancestors’ most likely source of origin would be from the British Isles, or Scandinavia.
Haplogroup information alone may or may not be helpful genealogically – only time will tell. It can rule out a great number of possibilities – like Native American and other world regions in this case.
However, the Beasley line information is the most promising. Perhaps a proven daughter of Richard Beasley has a descendant through all females who will DNA test to either confirm or lay to rest that possibility.
Additionally, I’ll be contacting the matches who have not provided either earliest ancestor or pedigree information. Who knows what gems might still be hiding there.
Summary
Our trail has taken us far afield from Dorcas herself. She would be amazed or maybe amused to know that we are searching for the information that was familiar to her from birth. She would also be amazed to think we could connect her with her ancestors using something called DNA that her descendants carry inside of them, from her. That would have seemed a lot like magic, but then so would computers, phones, and automobiles.
Ironic, with all of our technology, we still have to search for what our ancestors knew.
Like, for example, the names of their children, grandchildren, and where they went. Who were her parents and where did they live? Where did they attend church and what were their religious beliefs? What was their life like?
When did Darcus die? What did she like to do? Did she sit on the porch of the old Dobkins home, when it was brand spanking new, and make quilts for her family? I like to think of her that way.
Darcus learned to be self-sufficient and independent early in her marriage when Jacob was gone not for days, weeks, or months, but for years during the Revolutionary War. She probably had no idea if he was alive or dead. She simply did what needed to be done, and prayed that one day he would ride or walk up the path to their house – wherever that was.
Given her resiliency, it’s no surprise then that the last record Darcus may have left us was a surprising one documenting a very non-traditional role for a southern pioneer woman – that of a chain carrier.
What a legacy she left, even though much of her life is revealed peeking through the shadows of her husband, children, and history that was unfolding around her.
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Before you read any further – I’m fine. Now. But I wasn’t.
I’ve been really debating about whether or not I should write this article. After it was written, I debated about whether I should publish it. It’s one of those all-or-nothing propositions.
Obviously, because you’re reading this, I decided to share this chapter in my life’s journey.
Thankfully, it was not the closing chapter but was far too close for comfort.
You might want a nice cup of tea, coffee, or maybe something stronger for this one😊.
Shift Happens
You might have noticed over the past few months that my 52 Ancestor stories have changed a bit. They’re a lot more like this one with fewer historical articles. Don’t worry – they will shift back soon.
They changed because I’ve been making some significant changes in my life and I just didn’t have the time for the required research to do each ancestor justice. I’m almost through that knothole now.
Pushed
Sometimes we decide, of our own free will to make changes in our lives. We decide to go to college, or get married, or maybe not.
We make decisions about our jobs and careers. We decide where to live. Our ancestors decided to migrate or remain in their home village. So do we.
Many of the significant changes in my life have been the result of a rather rude push. Off of something that looked a lot like a cliff at the time.
For example, I received a “shove” to leave Indiana that came in the form of life-threatening domestic abuse. At the time, I was utterly terrified, alone with my young children, two pets that survived, (he killed one), and heartbroken. That chapter shaped who I’ve become a great deal.
In hindsight, it was one of the best “shoves” I ever received and absolutely for the best. Not the abuse of course, but the fact that I had to leave to escape. I learned courage, resilience, tenacity, and to advocate for myself when there was no one else. In other words – survival skills – baptism by fire.
Back then, there weren’t domestic violence shelters and women were often blamed when their husbands were abusive.
In leaving and beginning anew, doors I never could have imagined opened. I established a new, abuse-free life and found the perfect career.
A few years later, another unexpected push off that cliff came when I had to find a new job. The company I worked for, and loved, was acquired. I was very unhappy at the time, but now, looking back, I realize that I took extremely important life-lessons about problem-solving and thinking outside the box with me, along with a bright shiny college degree. I didn’t want to, but it really was time to move on. The next door was opening. I just didn’t see it that way – at least not yet!
Life is what happens when we’re making other plans. I don’t know who said that first, but it’s oh so true. All of life’s events are strung together like a chain, every single one essential to getting us to where we are today. Changing one thing changes everything.
I’m sure every single one of you can relate similar experiences.
Near Death
I’m one of those extremely fortunate people who is alive because of medical advances, specifically antibiotics. Had I been born just a generation earlier, I assuredly wouldn’t have survived.
Aside from my difficult birth, my first much-too-close encounter with death was when I was 10 years old and critically ill with meningismus, a close relative of meningitis. By all rights, I should have died, and I very nearly did. I recall an event vividly, although I was in an oxygen tent and my mother assured me that I was NOT conscious when I told her about this “memory” later. She did, however, confirm that what I saw happened exactly as I described, which simply confused both of us.
The doctor asked my mother to step out of my hospital room with him and I decided to “go with them.” They walked quite a way to the end of the hall. I was “floating along,” slightly above and behind them, but it didn’t seem at all odd. I realize it sounds odd now.
They sat at the end of the hall, alone, in a small waiting area. The doctor asked my mother if there was anyone she needed to call. She didn’t understand what he meant. He explained that it was unlikely that I would recover, and he wondered if there were grandparents, siblings, my father, etc. that would like to come to the hospital to see me while they still could. He offered to help her make the necessary calls.
My mother was clearly shocked, stood up, looked at him, and declared emphatically, “My daughter is NOT going to die!” With that, she left him sitting there and walked resolutely back to my room. In my floating state, I returned with her, and I saw myself lying in bed beneath the plastic oxygen tent zipped around most of me, apparently “sleeping.” I remember thinking that I looked small.
I remember nothing else.
I’ve had a few other brushes with death – close calls – but perhaps not THAT close.
Accident
In the 1970s, I was involved in an automobile accident where my car flipped end-over-end in a field several times after broadsiding a vehicle that ran a stop sign in front of me. I couldn’t see the vehicle approaching because the corn was above car height.
Thankfully, my vehicle, a much-disparaged Ford Pinto, ironically for safety issues, literally collapsed around me like a protective cocoon, leaving me with injuries that warranted hospitalization, but that didn’t leave me in critical condition.
Yes, events do “slow down” in the seconds when a crisis like that is occurring. The seconds between seeing that car pull in front of me, slamming on the brakes while throwing the transmission into reverse to slow my speed, crashing into the car, feeling the jolting impact, then spinning over and over with my vehicle finally coming to rest on its roof seemed like a slow-motion eternity.
I’ll spare you the rest of the details, but suffice it to say I was trapped in the car and bleeding badly. The important thing is that my child was not in the car with me, and I survived, as did the other driver.
One of the supreme ironies is that after a fatal accident a couple of years earlier, my step-father had been part of organizing a local fundraiser to purchase jaws-of-life for the volunteer fire department, and a new ambulance to cover that part of the county. Little did he know they would both be used to save his daughter’s life.
Pain Medication
In the early 2000s, I either became or always had been allergic to morphine and never knew it.
In the wee hours of the morning, I awoke in the hospital, following surgery earlier in the day, and observed an entire circle of doctors and nurses, along with a crash cart, surrounding my bed. Apparently, I had a reaction to morphine that involved my blood pressure and respirations dropping to a critically low level.
A few years later, my dentist prescribed Tylenol with codeine after a procedure. It never occurred to me that my years-earlier morphine issue might also extend to codeine. I took one pill before bed. Thankfully, only one, which was half the prescribed dose. Otherwise, I would probably have died on the floor where I spent the night flat on my back.
That experience was quite interesting.
I felt ill in bed, got up and attempted to reach the kitchen for something to settle my stomach. On the way, I felt faint, leaned over the couch, realized I was losing consciousness and wondered if I was dying just before everything went black.
I recall rousing slightly during the night on the floor. I couldn’t move, but I realized I was cold before slipping away again. Sometime a little later, I struggled to consciousness again amid the realization that I literally could not die because I wasn’t “finished.”
To this day, I don’t know if I “thought” that or “someone” was speaking to me from the other side.
Near morning, around dawn, I finally roused enough to crawl back into the bedroom and awaken my husband. I realized that I had gone to bed more than 6 hours earlier.
No more morphine, codeine or opioid-based pain meds for me – ever.
Unfinished Business
Regardless of where that message “came from,” it arrived nonetheless, and I heard it loud and clear. I knew exactly what business was unfinished, and that’s where I’ve been focused on a daily basis since that epiphany. You might have surmised by this point that my unfinished business was and is genetic genealogy, and specifically one aspect of my research work.
I have always felt that I was guided, or pushed, to where I needed to be and this is no exception.
2020 & 2021
These last two years have been incredibly challenging for everyone in a myriad of ways. Literally, let me count those ways. I’ll need my fingers and toes and maybe yours too😊
I’ve been fortunate because my income and my husband’s have both been mostly spared and we have escaped the worst aspects of Covid. That’s to say, neither of us or our immediate family, meaning spouse, child, or parent has died from it.
However, I’ve lost many friends and close relatives and the deaths continue to mount. My husband’s best friend died. One of my close friends has lost either 5 or 6 close family members to Covid, one just today. Two others have lost both parents, just days apart. Sadly, there are so many that I’ve lost count.
Even more friends and family members have Covid right now, residual long-Covid, or are suffering from Covid repercussions. Families are irrecoverably fractured by differences in both politics and Covid beliefs.
And by fractured, I do NOT mean a disagreement. I mean a forever rift that cannot be repaired. Polarizing politics, Covid, fear, abandonment, betrayal, and sometimes death all thrown together in the most toxic of stews.
Some people have managed to survive all that but have suffered from and are still experiencing the effects of being physically isolated from family members and friends. And of course, for many, the employment landscape has changed dramatically.
After two years, there is no longer a “normal” to go back to.
I thought 2020 was the worst.
I made countless masks and quilts for people in need or suffering.
We mask-makers viewed ourselves as “can do” Rosie the Riveter, 2020 version, all pulling together with what we had on hand to help others out, especially those in medical, public safety, and public-facing jobs who had to work to care for others.
We were all terrified, especially as people began to sicken and die and Covid progressed from the abstract happening someplace else to the grim-reaper stealthily moving among us and our family members.
I made myself a quilt from just a few of the mask scraps that I named Black and Blue, because that’s how I felt in the spring of 2020. Beaten, bruised and isolated as we attended Zoom funerals.
We made the best of things, hoping for an end soon.
I was so hopeful for 2021, especially with the vaccine becoming available. Unfortunately, things haven’t turned out exactly as I expected, and here we are, still struggling and embattled in January of 2022, enduring the worse surge yet.
Restless
By spring and summer of 2021, after a year of being locked down, people became very restless. Covid fatigue. Zoom just wasn’t cutting it anymore. We had spent months trying to find things to do separately but together.
Me, right along with them. I began focusing on outside activities as the weather warmed.
I was never so glad to see spring arrive in my life. Green leaves, flowers, and release from the houses that held us hostage yet at the same time protected and sheltered us during 2020 and the following cold, grey Covid winter.
May 2021
Gardening was in full swing by May. Colorful blooming flowers everyplace soothed my battered soul, even though I still couldn’t see friends and family members in our normal settings. We were finally beginning to see family members outsdoors, still masked. I was so grateful and that felt SOOOooo very good. I had missed them incredibly.
The garden had come to life, insects were buzzing and I was spending lots of time outside.
One morning, I felt something brush my face, by my eye. I didn’t know what it was, but I reflexively fanned it away with my hand. A second or so later, I felt a sting, then another one.
Both stings on my face near my nose.
Within seconds, I felt intense burning rise to my eye, through my nose, and the palate of my mouth begin to swell. The swelling was moving swiftly towards the back of the roof of my mouth.
I suddenly realized what was happening. I was having a severe, intense reaction, and if my throat swelled like my face and the roof of my mouth were doing – I was going to be in extreme trouble in about a minute.
My husband was nearby and I somehow managed to find my way to him. I distantly heard him say to someone on the phone, after glancing at me, “Uh, I have to go. I have a really big problem here.”
We made it to the hospital where all I could do was attempt to choke out the word, “bee” and motion to my throat as I gasped, but I don’t know that they could hear or understand me.
Except, it wasn’t a bee. The culprit was a hornet, the most toxic and life-threatening of stinging insects.
Emergency Room
The lobby of the Emergency Room was full of coughing patients.
The staff pointed to the seating area, wanted me to “take a seat and wait,” but I was frantically trying to gesture that I couldn’t breathe. They summoned a nurse who was quite alarmed.
We were immediately hustled into a triage room where a flurry of people were scrambling around me, cutting my shirt off, asking questions and starting IVs.
I remember little, except a sense of relief that someone understood just how much trouble I was in.
A few hours later, hooked up to what seemed like every electronic monitoring device possible, I was drifting in and out of sleep with Jim sitting in the chair at the foot of the gurney. I heard the nurse step behind the curtain of the person in the area beside me and tell that patient that he was Covid positive and that they were going to transport him “someplace” as soon as they could stabilize him and find a bed.
Still quite groggy, I asked Jim if I heard what I thought I heard. He slowly shook his head in the affirmative. We stared at each other in wide-eyed shock and disbelief, combined with fear. We had both tried so hard to avoid Covid, yet, here it was, right beside us with no precautions taken to separate people with Covid symptoms from the rest of us.
We had all been there for hours, just feet apart – and my neighbor was positive. I was trapped.
I asked the nurse and while she could not confirm that the man next to me had Covid, she said that they did in fact “have Covid in here.”
We had all shared a lobby, the triage room (he was already there when I arrived,) restrooms, and hallways – for hours. Wonderful. Just wonderful. We spent several more hours side by side too until he was transported.
There was no hospital room available, so we remained in the ER until they were sure I could breathe, my vitals stabilized, and the swelling had abated somewhat.
I was sent home on high doses of anti-inflammatory drugs. And to wait…
You Know What’s Coming…
I was home, but I was not “OK.” Anaphylaxis is an immense shock to the system and your body is literally flooded with chemicals. You become very ill. And you don’t just get over it as soon as the meds take effect.
I had never experienced an anaphylactic reaction before, but went to bed and expected to feel better soon. However, I continued to feel very crummy. Extremely tired, weak and dizzy. For many days.
I finally called my doctor who instructed me to go and get both a Covid PCR test and a Covid serologic antibody test. She wanted to know if I was positive for Covid at that point, hence the PCR test, and if my system was having a reaction to the Covid exposure, meaning I had had Covid. You can read about the various types of tests, here.
I was not positive for Covid at that time, but my antibody numbers were literally off the chart.
You can see on my results above that 8 is the top end of the chart, and my results were 8.11.
Yes, my body was fighting both that double hornet sting AND Covid, at the same time. No wonder recovery took a long time and I felt miserable.
I knew I had come perilously close to dying.
Something Changed
I don’t exactly know how to explain this, but something changed. A paradigm shift.
Maybe something had been changing all along and this life-threatening event just cinched it. Pushed me over another cliff of sorts following a whole lot of cumulative smaller shoves.
Covid has made us all think about and reconsider things. Lots of things.
What is important?
Who is important?
Some people have come to view their career and employer in a different light.
Jobs have changed too with many people now enjoying a work-at-home or hybrid position that shifted from an in-the-office job.
Other people left the workforce and have not rejoined.
We were somehow more restricted but less tied.
Numbers vary by age group and location, but more than 20% of Americans have moved during this time.
Relationships have morphed and changed too – sometimes for the better, and sometimes not. Many ended. Some began.
We have been conflicted – both grateful to be working at home, which is both more convenient and productive, but also lonely for in-person human contact.
We have more social media and electronic connections than ever, although many of those platforms have become hateful and toxic. Yet, it has been the only way for us to keep track of friends, family, and acquaintances, so we’ve tried to sidestep the increasing toxicity.
Somehow, whether we intended or wanted to or not, we’ve all taken stock of what is important as a result of living with the constant threat of a miserable death.
Not one person that I know has been untouched by this threat. All of us have family members who have died. Some of us nearly died.
Trauma changes you, especially sustained trauma. Some people have developed PTSD, but we aren’t exactly into the “post” part of post-traumatic just yet, because this trauma continues.
Life has changed in big ways and small.
June 2021
I knew that I was done. I knew that somehow a chapter had ended and another had already begun. That cliff might have been invisible, but I was already over the edge and there was no return.
I had been delaying several changes – some through procrastination pure and simple.
I had been reluctant to make other changes due to restrictions and factors that had shifted in subtle and not-so-subtle ways over the previous 18 months, and longer.
The hornet stings, Covid exposure, resulting reactions, plus Covid-induced lifestyle and relationship changes all morphed together to create an avalanche thundering downhill.
It was time to clean out.
It was time to downsize our surroundings and upsize our life.
It was time to stop procrastinating, even if the reasons had been “good” and were justified.
“Someday” is not a day of the week and doesn’t just happen without focused effort.
We thought we had “forever” left – but forever nearly turned out to be minutes and not years or decades.
It is time to fully live for us and enjoy the fruits of our labors.
And no, in case you’re wondering, I’m not retiring.
I absolutely LOVE what I do. That epiphany on the floor all those years ago still holds true. I’m not done. I just needed to reprioritize, shift to a different environment, simplify things and eliminate some dead weight.
With the summer solstice arrived the season of change. Soul-searching walks in the labyrinth confirmed what I needed to do.
I won’t tell you I wasn’t fearful and apprehensive, because I was. But I also knew. The path existed and I was on it, even though I couldn’t yet see through the mists where it led. This journey hadn’t yet been unveiled, but there was no turning back.
I was headed into the darkness of uncertainly as a result of escaping the darkness of death.
Swedish Death Cleaning
I wrote about Swedish Death Cleaning a few weeks ago. Suffice it to say I really had no concept of HOW MUCH STUFF I had accumulated.
Sifting through all that was both cathartic and incredibly painful.
I found things I had entirely forgotten about – until I saw them again. I was reminded how blessed I had been to have been forced over those cliffs of uncertainty all those times in the past.
Yes, that’s a much younger me at Twentieth Century-Fox – a landmark opportunity in my career.
My life passed before my eyes one piece of paper, one found photo and one item at a time. I found the bear I made my mother for Mother’s Day as a child. It resided on her bed all the days of her life.
Some treasures made me smile, some cry, and some, both.
Many family photos are minus many or even most of the other people.
Yet, they are also some of life’s most joyful moments.
I relived the great joys, and the great sorrows of my life, one after another, all in the space of a few weeks.
Some were unspeakably bittersweet.
Mom’s last birthday card to me as her health was failing
I never knew what the next box or envelope I opened would hold.
In many ways, I had to say goodbye all over again to family members, both human and animal.
We spread the ashes of our long-departed fur-family members as we prepared to move on.
I found this gravestone rubbing made by my daughter when we visited Aurora, Indiana with Mom back in the 1980s.
They are gone, not forgotten, and will live in our hearts forever. We don’t need the stuff to take the memories.
The future was once again a blank slate in front of us, waiting to be filled with our new life.
Discovery
During this time, I made an unexpected discovery. I received a great deal of satisfaction by gifting things that I had always cherished to others. Things near and dear to my heart.
I gifted my grandmother’s china to my 1C1R (first cousin once removed), who is also my grandmother’s descendant.
My cousin’s mother was my Mom’s niece who she absolutely adored.
My cousin is relaying the china to a different 1C1R. My family already has what they want and I’m thrilled to find a way to keep Grandmother’s china in the family.
My grandmother, her sisters, aunts and mother painted the gold edging in the early 1900s. One is initialed by my grandmother’s aunt and dated 1905.
Here’s the sad part. My mother never used that china. Neither had I. Everyone was terrified of breaking it, so it sat forever in the cabinet, revered but unused. I hope my cousin uses that china that belonged to both my grandmother and her mother, my great-grandmother, as well. My cousin is at least the fifth generation, if not the 6th.
Regardless of whether she uses it, or simply loves it, the china is still in the family and I’m not carting it around only to have it wind up in a rummage sale someday, or worse. At least now it has the opportunity of remaining in the family for more generations.
Gifts
When my cousin came to pick up the china, she looked so much like her mother and my grandparents. That was startling and made me weepy. Even weepier than I already was. She didn’t know it, but she was visiting on what would have been my Mom’s 99th birthday.
My cousin brought me a lovely gift as well – my grandfather’s masonic apron, shown below on a table cover that I hand-quilted, for his daughter, my mother, years ago.
I am thrilled beyond words – and I enjoyed visiting with my cousin immensely. I have several things from my grandmother, but nothing from my grandfather – until now.
Additionally, my mother had crocheted shawls for all the females in the family, plus a few extras. Her shawls were extraordinarily delicate and beautiful, winning many ribbons at fairs and exhibitions over the years.
There was one shawl left. I offered it to my cousin who, of course, had known my mother. She was thrilled, saying THAT was the highlight of her visit.
She adopted Mom’s last afghan too.
I’ve enjoyed sharing the love so very much – and I know Mom would approve as well. I felt her with us.
In fact, I’ve felt her with me many times during this process.
Use the Crystal
As I sifted through what to sell and gift, and what to keep, I had to weigh the importance of each item to me, combined with the possibilities of where it would go in a new chapter of its life. How I felt about where it would go, and with whom, made a big difference in my decision.
Mom had some crystal that was also my grandmother’s. She used the crystal bowls from time to time, unlike the china. I remember various crystal pieces on the table.
I decided to keep those, and as I was wondering exactly what to DO with them, I heard this voice in my mind. Mom said, “Use the crystal.”
Use the crystal. Now that I think about it, I think the fact that I could remember those dishes being used created a bond I didn’t have with the much-loved but unused china. The crystal was actually a part of our life.
It doesn’t matter if I use the crystal for its original intended purpose or something else. I can feel close to Mom by simply using it in my life.
Right now, I’m using one bowl for tangerines and another for chocolate.
Chocolate was Mom’s perennial favorite, so no matter what I did with anything else, her unwavering gaze would be affixed on that chocolate in her dish😊
Yep, Mom surely approves.
I think I’ll use her water pitcher as a vase when I’m not using it to pour iced tea. My hubby already used one of her crystal glasses for a sip of wine last night.
Regardless, the crystal pieces are no longer going to reside, unused, on the shelf in the cabinet.
We are already using her crystal.
Reshaping Life
I’ve utilized this reshaping opportunity to decide what is, and is not, important.
I’ve donated and donated and donated.
If something doesn’t bring me peace, joy, or happiness, it’s off to bring that to someone else. Money already spent is a sunk cost and not a good reason to keep something that no longer meets that criteria.
And really, who needs a dozen pairs of shoes. Now genealogy books, well, that’s another matter altogether😊!
Realignment
I’ve realigned my life with what’s important at this stage. I’ve focused on what I want and less on “should” based on what I think is expected of me.
I realized that I wasn’t important to everyone who I thought was important to me. Investing in relationships and people who don’t care and aren’t appreciative is a vicious cycle of pain and disappointment. I stopped. As Dad used to say, “let go or get dragged.”
I’m less tolerant of BS. Life is just too short.
Yes, it truly does take a village. I don’t mean just to raise children, but for all of us. You truly know who the people who love you are when you need help, or nearly die, and they show up, or don’t.
Whoever it was that said, “We are just walking each other home,” had that exactly right.
Family of heart is our family of choice, and I would be truly lost without them. Choose wisely, Grasshopper, because those people are your “village” residents. Those who will share their food with you in a drought or masks and TP in plague times, or who will shrug and let you perish as collateral damage.
I care less about other’s people’s opinions of me.
I’ve removed negative and toxic people from my periphery.
I’m not allowing the key to my happiness to live in someone else’s pocket.
I’m focused on spending time and resources on people who are positive and kind.
Love and loyalty are not simply words and concepts, they hinge on actions. Without corresponding actions, they are nothing but deceptive, manipulative, hollow words, or worse. Like my mother used to say, “Actions speak louder than words.” Believe the behavior.
Legacy
I’ve thought a lot about the first few words of my obituary.
In other words – what do I want my legacy to be? We are the only people who can make that happen. Our legacy isn’t so much what happens TO us, but what we do about it. We write our legacy every day, every minute, of our lives.
She was…
She will be remembered for…
She loved…
We miss her because…
She left…
The best thing about her life was or is…
Every single one of these things has to do with people, and how we make them feel. Not a single one of those things has to do with “stuff,” unless it’s making sure that others have their needs met.
It’s not at all what we have or accumulate that matters, but the legacy we leave behind.
I can’t help but think of Betty White who died just days shy of her 100th birthday and we STILL thought that was too soon. Be like Betty.
I’ve tied up as many loose ends as possible so that my daughter doesn’t have to make (as many) difficult decisions.
I’ve reaffirmed and acknowledged, again, how important genetic research is to both me and others. Not just individual others, but the genealogy community and world at large, now and in the future.
I’m thinking about the Million Mito Project which will benefit mankind (and womankind) as well as individual genealogists. Tracing our way back in time and lighting those dark crevices with knowledge one step at a time. Eventually, those tiny steps evolve into a journey.
I’ve recommitted to my 52 Ancestors series. I’m not writing for me, but for them, and for the future. For people probably not yet born. There are stories and tidbits that will be gone, forever, when I am. I’m trying my best to make sure they aren’t!
I’m doing what I love and will continue as long as I manage to avoid those pesky hornets.
I’ve hired someone to help with the outside home maintenance. Not only do I not care for that task, I’m making it as difficult as possible for those hornets to kill me😊.
And speaking of those evil flying assassins, in case you’re wondering, I now carry an EpiPen in the bottom of my purse and in a drawer by the back door at all times. I’ve already needed it once too – not for me – for someone else.
Had that hornet NOT stung me, I would not have had the pen on hand for a young man who was stung and also had no idea he was severely allergic. Speaking of a worthy legacy, a huge thank you to Sheldon Kaplan who invented the EpiPen and thereby saved and continues to save countless lives. HE made a huge difference. Be like Sheldon too!
Oh, and the back door is now located elsewhere, meaning I relocated, and the new patio is screened.
Migration
I’ve made the same journey my ancestors did. Migration. I’ve thought so much about them, their choices and sacrifices these past few weeks and months – and their legacies.
Their lives have passed before my eyes as I embarked and walked along that same pathway. In some cases, I’ve revisited those locations, such as Aurora, Indiana, on the Ohio River where a Christmas wreath adorns a boat.
I’m glad to see the home belonging to my ancestors, Jacob Kirsch and Barbara Drechsel is getting a much-needed facelift. It was here that the Haviland China was painted more than a century ago, probably in the parlor. My great-grandmother, Nora Kirsch Lore was born and raised here. My grandmother, Edith Lore spent a great deal of time with her grandparents and that Haviland china was probably painted by three if not four generations of women chatting and painting happily together. I’ve always wondered if it was my grandmother’s wedding china. I can’t help but wonder if my ancestors know I’m here, visiting, passing through on my own migration journey exactly a century after Barbara Drechsel Kirsch sold the Kirsch House to live with her widowed daughter.
I’ve gained a new and much greater appreciation for their lives and the challenges they faced. Although modern travel is much easier for me, well, except for the 3 Mad Cat thing😊.
I don’t dare complain one whimper, because compared to those months-long transatlantic ship voyages that were dependent on the wind and weather, my headaches were nothing. Jacob Lentz and his wife, Fredericka Ruhle, lost a child and possibly her parents, were shipwrecked, set adrift in the Atlantic, nearly starved, then stranded for a year in another country before having to indenture themselves and their family to pay for passage a second time where they encountered a hurricane. Nope, my trip was NOTHING in comparison.
Once again, I’m following in the collective footsteps of my ancestors. They paved the way and have sheltered me on this journey. I feel their presence. Every journey is different, and mine, especially recent decisions, has been challenging in many ways that I never anticipated.
So yes, I am using the crystal, Mom’s silverware, and the heirloom quilts! I hope you will too. If not now, when? Tomorrow is not guaranteed.
No Regrets
My goal at the end of my life is to have no regrets.
I can tell you as I’ve gotten older, I do wish I had done some things differently, but my major regrets are things that I DID NOT do, not things I did.
Most often, what prevented me from doing something was fear, disguised as lots of other emotions. Responsibility, especially for my children, guilt, and focusing on what I “should” do instead. What might happen if…
What I wanted to do was all but suffocated for a long time under that weight – for so long that I didn’t even know how to figure out what it was that I wanted – until I almost didn’t have that opportunity anymore.
Lacasa
Like I said, nearly dying changes you.
I’ve decided to live more boldly now. I’m lighter, both in terms of stuff and emotional baggage.
I have donated more than I kept – and I do mean that literally – to Lacasa, our local woman’s shelter that helps women escape domestic abuse by providing safety, protection, and whatever else they need. Many women leave with absolutely nothing except what they are wearing, their children, and if they are lucky, their pets.
There was a time in my life that I needed that type of assistance, but it wasn’t available. I left with the clothes on my back, a clunker car that he burned, my children, and 2 cats. He killed one pet and tried to kill us, including the children, and promised he would succeed if I left him. He nearly succeeded.
I was utterly terrified, young and alone, but left anyway, knowing instinctively that escape was my only prayer of survival.
I discovered that restraining orders are completely and utterly useless.
Scars
I still carry multiple scars, but I’ve come to realize that scars are the marks of warriors that won their battles. Reminders of valor and courage. Beauty marks – perhaps my best attire, as someone once said, made of hellfire itself.
These are not the permanent marks of suffering, but of bravery and survival. They are my secret source of strength, my superpower because they remind me that if I can survive that, I can survive just about anything. I wear them with pride and dignity. It’s not the scars themselves I want you to see, but how they transformed me, and through me, others.
Most women don’t talk about abuse and their abusers. It’s degrading, embarrassing, humiliating, and often involves rape and other unspeakable, horrific violations.
Worse yet, many people still blame the victims one way or another. A lot of second-guessing, “well, why didn’t you…” or “you should have…” goes on. There’s implied judgment and blame FOR THE VICTIM in every one of those words.
Every woman who finds herself in an abusive relationship situation knows she made a poor choice initially, but the question becomes one of survival. Women can’t go back in time and request a redo and other people back away. Men don’t advertise themselves as abusers – that behavior generally emerges after the woman is already dependent.
I was shocked when I learned my mother, at one point, had been a victim too. Many family members were embarrassed by her divorce and would have preferred that she “find a way” to remain married to her brutalizer.
It was hard enough for me, but even more difficult a generation earlier, because it was even more challenging for women to work and their wages were universally low. Not to mention the social and societal aspects of being viewed as “damaged goods,” a failure, “difficult,” a “loose woman,” and somehow a threat all rolled into one.
Unfortunately, women’s shelters didn’t exist for either me or my mother. Thank heavens they do now.
Shelter and Hope
Today, Lacasa has both a brick and mortar and online retail store stocked with donated items. Lacasa clients shop at no charge of course. All money raised goes to fund things like their 24-hour hotline and safehouse. All services for victims, survivors and their families are provided at no charge.
Not only did I donate a boatload of furniture, like this bookcase that used to hold quilt items, I also donated all kinds of household items, in addition to books. Reading is so important, and truthfully, I think this is the only way I could have parted with many of my books.
In addition to several friends who helped, I found a lovely couple to pack my remaining things, including moving the heavy furniture, so I didn’t need to do it or agonize and second guess my decisions about individual items.
Seeing my things in the Lacasa shop, like these bookcases being reassembled for use, made me cry. The service these items will provide in their new life is far, far beyond any use I would ever have gotten out of them. They held books for me. Now they hold out hope for others!
A path to safety and a new life. A transformational opportunity to break the cycle of abuse.
Donating to Lacasa made the shedding of excess baggage that I needed to accomplish for my metamorphosis so much easier.
We rented a storage unit for Lacasa to house the items that won’t fit in their store right now. Women will be able to “shop” here too, and Lacasa will stock the store as needed.
I own a whole lot less but am much richer than when I started this journey months ago.
Live Boldly
Everything has changed, and so have I.
It’s kind of like my magnetic poles have shifted.
I’ve sold and given away the majority of my possessions including heirlooms, quilts and books I cherished. There is something infinitely satisfying and rewarding about sharing the love – sewing those seeds to spread across the winds of time into future generations.
I’m using Mom’s crystal.
I cut a quilt into smaller pieces to repurpose and use differently as table runners.
I would/could have never done that before.
I’ve realized in many ways it was time to move on, and I have.
I trekked abroad to think and ponder the future before the Delta variant made travel too dangerous again. To the land of the midnight sun – to walk the continental divide between the American and Eurasian tectonic plates, to experience a volcano erupting, and to explore the world of ancient DNA.
Ahhh, DNA and genealogy, my lifelong passion. DNA has both created and transformed my life.
I will not leave this world with any stone within my power unturned. I will educate about genetics, DNA test myself and others, write and research in the most productive ways possible, including this blog. In addition to my book published in 2021, there is likely going to be another in 2022.
I will travel and walk in the footsteps of my ancestors.
I will stop to smell the flowers and allow them to inspire quilts that burst with summertime joy in the midst of winter.
I will celebrate the sun on my face and the love of my ancestors in my heart as I trace their pathways.
Furthermore, I promise, I will never, ever, be a well-behaved woman.
I would regret that immensely, and life is just too short to live within the restrictions imposed by the expectations of unknown and unnamed others.
Besides that, history is just waiting to be both made and revealed. It’s not like it’s going to simply reveal itself!
I am incredibly grateful to be so fortunate. I’m able to laugh and smile – a lot – and find joy in something every day. I haven’t just survived, but thrived with the help of my village – my family and family of heart. I feel a karmic obligation to repay my good fortune whenever possible by sewing both quilts and seeds.
I firmly believe that when you have an abundance of love, (or other things), that you need to give it. Literally, share the love.
Love is an unlimited, regenerative commodity. Love is not pie. There is always enough to go around. In fact, love is self-sustaining, increasing with the amount given.
OK – It’s Your Turn
I hope you too will live boldly – whatever that means to you. The future, and our legacy which is the rear-view mirror reflection of that future, is what we make it.
You don’t have to almost die to make changes. I wish I hadn’t waited so long!
What’s your legacy going to be?
What do you want to write in your own history book?
You’re always welcome to forward articles or links to friends.
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You’ve heard of the 3 wise men? Well, I have the 3 mad cats. Let me explain.
Sometimes life throws curve balls. For most of December, my husband and I have been living in a hotel with our three wonderful cat children.
Now maybe you’re getting the gist about why the title of this article.
Fortunately, or maybe unfortunately, one of those cats is extremely intelligent. Our MENSA cat, aka, Chai, the ringleader who just happens to be very shy. Hiding under the covers is one of her favorite things to do.
Our second cat, Kitters was severely abused as a kitten and we refer to her as our scaredy cat. She doesn’t do well in new situations, or with new noises. And she pretty much only trusts family members.
Then, there’s happy-go-lucky Mandy. Miss “Hey, Pet Me.” She’s not terribly bright, but you can’t help but love her.
The two weeks or so in the hotel, which wasn’t TOO bad was followed by three days on the road.
Let’s just say this has been epic, and I’m sharing the adventure with you.
You’d Think I Would Have Learned
Let’s start out by saying that you’d think I would have learned.
Back in the late 80s and early 90s, we used to travel about 6 hours by car to my parents in another state. At the holidays, we took everyone, meaning the two hand-raised orphan kittens who had grown up to be cats, of course, that belonged to my children. Additionally, our rescue dogs, both kids, suitcases, favorite pillows and quilts, and Christmas gifts all sandwiched into our “sleigh.”
Old McDonald going to town had nothing on us.
We all piled in the vehicle after an hour or so of packing and filling every vacant inch. The cats were allowed to be released from their carriers and snuggled in with the kids and dogs. On a good trip, everyone eventually fell asleep.
One year on Christmas Eve, someplace near Fort Wayne, Indiana on Interstate 69, the entire drive shaft on the truck in front of us suddenly dropped from beneath the vehicle, including the large universal joint connecting the shaft to the rear axle.
The truck lost control, and suddenly, we were trying to avoid hitting either the truck, the drive shaft, the bridge to our left, or the vehicles in the other lane.
Having only a few seconds to pick the lesser of the evils, we hit the drive shaft which launched our vehicle, dragging the drive shaft along with us beneath. We landed on the drive shaft itself, spinning and sliding out of control.
My husband was driving. I was awake, but our precious cargo was sleeping. Or had been before being jolted awake. One cat, Muffin, was beneath the front seat. He didn’t appear, and I immediately feared for his life. We hit HARD when we landed and I heard the vehicle crack. I addition to being afraid for Muffin, I didn’t want to pull a dead or dying cat out in front of my grade-school age daughter. He was her baby. In fact, if I recall, he was all dressed up in doll clothes for that trip.
Thoughts raced helter-skelter through my mind.
Our vehicle and others were now involved in a multiple car accident and the vehicles were still on the road in a very congested area. People were still hitting debris scattered across the road and other cars. It was a mess and getting worse by the minute.
I helped the kids out of the car to safety, taking them into the median behind the end of the bridge which was fortunately quite wide. Traffic had finally come to a stop.
The dogs had been obedience trained and were well-behaved, albeit frightened. I put Mitten, the cat snuggled in on the seat into her carrier. After my daughter exited the car with her father, I pulled Muffin out from under the seat, dreading and expecting the worst.
Muffin was quite groggy, but had apparently been positioned exactly right to be sheltered by the seat when our vehicle landed again, not crushed by it. He was entirely uninjured, but quite confused.
I put him in his carrier and everyone huddled together in the cold median at dusk waiting for the police to arrive. That was before the days of cell phones and we could only hope that someone had stopped to call it in.
Eventually, the police did arrive, as did tow trucks. The tow truck driver packed all of us into his cab, including the animals, even though he wasn’t supposed to. Was he just going to leave us in the median in the dark? Thank goodness the answer was no.
We called my parents who had to bring two vehicles to retrieve all of us, arriving a couple hours later.
It was a Christmas Eve like no other. When we finally arrived at the farm, the rest of the family was gathered for our traditional Christmas Eve celebration and had been for hours. The food was cold and we arrived as people were leaving. They had Christmas Eve in our house without us, or maybe better stated, ate without us and postponed the rest.
We were oh-so-very-lucky. The cats could have escaped in the accident given that they were not in carriers. Someone could have been injured or worse.
After that, we never again traveled with cats outside carriers for their own safety, in case of an accident. Of course, this made for unhappy cats, and carriers take more space than just cats. Our cats’ traveling days were pretty much over…that is…until now.
Take Two
Fast forward three decades.
Yep, you’ve guessed it. We did it again.
Of course, the children grew up. Muffin and Mitten crossed the rainbow bridge long ago, as did our dogs.
However, there are always animals that need to be rescued and I can’t imagine living my life without fur family. When we adopt a furry family member, it’s for the duration of our lives or theirs. There is no “rehoming” anyone.
Our current “cat children” aren’t youngsters. They’ve had years to train us properly, but they still struggle when we break training which we very clearly did in December. And WOW, was this one a whopper.
In fact, they immediately began to inform us of the magnitude of our transgression.
These cats have never traveled before. They have gone to the dreaded V-E-T, which we spell because they are smart cats and begin hiding immediately if we don’t.
Do you have any idea how difficult it is to find, and catch, three determined hiding cats?
We scheme and plan when we need to capture them, in essence breaching their trust by petting them and then capturing them when their guard is down and quickly inserting them into their carrier. We try NOT to have to take more than one captive at a time to the vet because cats 2 and 3 disappear immediately when the captured cat sounds the alarm.
However, that plan didn’t work in December, because we were setting out on a cross country adventure and had to capture all 3 cats at once.
On the designated day, Jim and I managed to shut all three cats in the bedroom at the same time. Providence smiled on us.
We weren’t using carriers, but larger airline crates because the cats were going to have to be confined for many hours at a time, so needed litter boxes, a place to lay, food and water.
Fortunately, the first ride to the hotel where we were spending the first couple of weeks wasn’t far. We were serenaded the entire distance by all three cats who insisted that a car ride was a form of torture. Plus, it was COLD and they are inside cats. Brrrr….
Upon arrival, they got to take a ride on something we call a luggage cart but which they refer to as a cat torture device where we parade them in their captive state in front of the entire world in order to humiliate them. They continue wailing on the off-chance that some good Samaritan will hear their pleas and rescue them.
Of course, there are three large crates which means that we had to make at least 4 trips to unload. Three with cats and one with our luggage and theirs too. Yes, cats have luggage when you travel. Food, bowls, litter, scoopers, bathmats, quilts and pillows. Yes, pillows. You’ll see why in a minute. It’s not what you’re thinking.
In order to prevent said cats from escaping out the hotel room door, the crates must be unloaded and the other luggage safely in the room before anyone can be released from their private hell.
Of course, a few minutes after we released them, there was always one that had to jump back in their crate to inspect where the crime against catumanity had been committed. Generally, Mandy.
Each crate had to be emptied and cleaned out, because invariably the wailing, flipping and gnashing of teeth during that miserable car ride resulted in the water being spilled which in turn results in wet bedding (bathmats) and mad cats. You’ve heard the phrase “mad as a wet hen.?” I have no idea who came up with that, but they had clearly never met a wet cat.
Pet Friendly, Sort Of
Some hotels are pet-friendly, but that doesn’t really mean they are well-prepared, especially not for cats. It means that they allow you to stay there with pets and they charge you an exorbitant cleaning fee for the privilege. However, you are grateful and pay it.
One challenge is that most of the floor space is occupied by the crates.
We wound up using the crates as a table because we couldn’t get to much of the furniture.
Don’t turn your back for a second or you have company for breakfast.
Chai was just checking to see where her order of catnip-eggs was.
Of course, the great sniff-fest begins post-haste upon release. Every square inch of the room MUST BE INSPECTED IMMEDIATELY before anyone, including us, gets any rest.
Here, the cats are trying to get under the bed. That’s their first destination.
The hotels place the box springs on a wooden box so there is no “under the bed.” At least, not for dogs. Cats are much smarter than that.
At the head of the bed, there was a small space between the wall-mounted headboard and the mattress. Just big enough for a cat to squirm themselves into.
Have I mentioned that cats can’t turn around very well, and certainly NOT when wedged into a narrow one-way tunnel that is narrower on the exit end than the entrance end?
AWOL
We noticed that Chai had gone missing and it’s nearly impossible for a cat to hide in even a “large” hotel room. Yet, Chai had managed. Yes, she was truly AWOL and no one had exited or entered the room, so the door had not been open.
After a thorough search, there was only ONE place she could be. Somehow, she had breached the bed/frame/wall/headboard barrier.
I laid down and started feeling with my hands. There was a small space above the frame, but too small for even Chai. However, I discovered the space at the top of the mattress against the wall beneath the headboard.
The side nightstand “table” was built in, so I couldn’t move it to obtain a better view or the right angle to reach behind the mattress.
Jim and I laid down (because we couldn’t get to the couch to sit down) to discuss the situation and how to proceed, when apparently Chai decided she had enough of hiding and wanted OUT NOW. In true cat fashion, she probably only wanted out because she realized she couldn’t get out.
We heard pawing and tiny plaintiff muffled meowy whimpers. I do think she was embarrassed.
Jim and I managed to shift the mattress and box springs enough to unblock the exit end and one very rumpled, offended Chai emerged, glaring at us for some unknown reason.
Cats are like that.
I hoped that the other two cats had not seen her. In fact, we quickly took stock of them when I grabbed the spare pillows and wedged them into the space at the headboard.
There!
Fixed that!
For a little while anyway.
The other two cats were upset because Chai was upset. We laid down with them, and within a few minutes, all three cats had climbed into the bed and were bathing or discussing their dilemma among themselves and plotting how to escape.
Chai had been comforting Kitters, but was thoroughly exhausted between the miserable ride plus the indignity of being trapped behind the bed, so she had to take a nap.
Besides that, I just MIGHT have remembered to bring her heating pad.
Jim and I saw this as an opportunity to try to find food, which is a whole other story in and of itself, so we left the room for an hour or so. Mind you, we finally found someplace where we could order carryout. The staffing issue is very real.
Upon our return, we discovered that Chai was once again missing.
How is that even possible?
I blocked her access on both sides of the bed, right?
Upon inspection, it became evident that she had dug out a portion of the pillow and wedged herself across the top, into that same space, AGAIN.
I decided to try to outsmart the cat, so we laid down. When she realized we weren’t pursuing her, she decided she wanted to come out again. But once again, she couldn’t because the exit was still wedged with a pillow. We heard her attempt to dig. I let her out and took my sweatshirts (both of them) out of my suitcase and wedged them into the spot where Chai has been able to free up the pillow and crawl through.
At this point, the cats have utilized 3 bathmats which are wet and drying, two pillows and both of my sweatshirts.
I was not exactly prepared for this.
Home is Where the Cats Are
As the days passed, the cat kids became increasingly comfortable in our new “home.” They wouldn’t admit it of course, but they actually LIKED how close we were to them and the minute we sat down or laid in the bed, they were right there like glue.
Mandy even got so comfortable that she took a willful nap in her carrier.
As soon as Chai noticed, she immediately woke Mandy up and demanded to know EXACTLY WHAT she thought she was doing.
Honestly!
Kitters just wanted to snuggle and purr.
Mandy’s Great Adventure
Jim and I were both working in the hotel room as best we could. On the far side of the room, there was a desk and a dresser both built into the wall as well. The dresser consisted of three drawers. I opened the middle drawer to remove a piece of clothing and failed to close it immediately. I put the clothing on, and my head emerged from the shirt just in time to see Mandy’s tail disappear over the back edge of the drawer into the space behind the drawers.
Good Heavens.
We couldn’t reach her.
We couldn’t push the drawer in because she was in the space.
If we pulled the drawer towards us, she couldn’t get back into the drawer because of the board on top – plus she couldn’t jump up.
If we tried the same thing with the bottom drawer, the same issue except she wouldn’t have had to jump up.
Eventually, Jim and I, between us, managed to get ahold of her and wrestled her into the drawer amongst much caterwalling. Mostly her caterwalling, not us. We were swearing instead. I was fearful that we were hurting Mandy, but there was no evident drawer release and we had to get her out.
We shut the drawer and I had learned my lesson. I would never leave a hotel drawer open again.
Unfortunately, Mandy learned her lesson too.
A few minutes later, Mandy was attempting to open all of the hotel room drawers.
“Wow, Mom, this is fun!!! Who knew?!”
Hence this scene with their quilt stuffed in the drawer handle. That also protects them from catching their leg in the handle if they jump off so they don’t break their leg.
And this one on the other side. Our room was beginning to look like a disaster zone.
The Drawer Wars
In order to be an effective deterrent, we had to wedge items in the handles of multiple drawers together, because Mandy was pawing them open from the sides. I’m sure Chai was coaching her.
What we really needed was child guards, but I digress.
Eventually, we had towels threaded and tied through all of the handles and reinforced our bed headboard barrier daily.
Thankfully, it was nearly time to begin the next leg of our journey. We did a load of mostly cat’s laundry and began packing.
We were anxious to leave before the weather got worse. However, the cats had come to love their rooftop view and spent time in the deep windowsill. They had gotten used to our coming and going. We declined room service and for the most part, one of us was in the room so that the staff did not accidentally come in and allow someone to escape. Escape was our worst fear in all of this.
Jim went and retrieved a luggage cart.
What is THAT?
This can’t be good!
The humans are up to something again.
On the Road Again
When I tell you we were sandwiched in the vehicles, I mean literally every inch, side to side and top to bottom.
One carrier is wedged behind the driver’s seat with the back seats down, which allowed just enough room for the other two carriers to be placed side by side at the rear of the vehicle. The liftgate barely closed. The only spare space was behind the passenger seat, in the passenger seat and a few inches on top of the carriers.
You might note from the picture that this arrangement facilitated a cat serenading me from directly behind my head. I selected the quietest cat for that position in the vehicle. You might have guessed that it was Kitters.
Chai, on the other hand constantly reminded me of her rights per the Geneva Convention, and Mandy just agreed with whatever Chai said. I think Kitters was just praying the entire time.
By the end of the first driving day, thankfully, there was no snow, but it was still quite cold.
We found our hotel and had to unload the entire Jeep again in order to get everyone inside.
This place was slightly smaller, and the drawers had no handles, so we had to build a luggage/carrier fort in front of the drawers to keep Mandy from pulling them open.
Before we let the cats out of their carriers, I once again stuffed pillows and sweatshirts into the headboard/mattress gap.
They were thoroughly, thoroughly, disgusted.
Third Time is Charm?
By the next night, as tiring and time-consuming as load/drive/unload was, we had the routine down pat. It only took an hour or so instead of two.
When we checked in at the next hotel, we thought we had everything blocked and secured. I hadn’t paid much attention to the bathroom drawers because they were difficult to open with significant resistance.
Apparently, not difficult enough.
Yes, that’s Mandy being very proud of herself sitting BEHIND the drawer. “Hi Mom!”
This drawer was small. I could not get enough space to pull her back into that drawer. She couldn’t get back in either.
Fortunately, we had a Leatherman in one of the Jeeps and a YouTube video showed us how to release that particular kind of drawer catch.
Yes, we disassembled the drawer unit to retrieve Mandy. Then reassembled it, of course.
The large towel was too thick to go through the handles, and the small towels weren’t long enough, so I had to block the bottom drawer with a suitcase, then the top drawers with the towel. Of course, this was in addition to blocking the drawers in the bedroom portion and the bed/headboard pillow/sweatshirt barrier. In this room, there was a sleeper sofa too and we had to roll towels and our clothes and block that as well because the cats crawled under there and got stuck.
The fun just never ends!
Mandy tried her best to get back in that drawer. It was her favorite naughty thing to do.
The Home Stretch
As we traveled, each day closer to Christmas, the issues locating food and other accommodations increased. Many dining rooms and some restaurants were closed altogether. In other cases, part of the dining room was open, but no carryout. Other locations did exactly the opposite – only limited carryout service with no seating.
Given that we are traveling in the middle of a pandemic, we certainly didn’t want to be crammed either into a dining room, or in a line waiting for a table.
We were very, very glad to be on our way that final morning.
Thankfully, the weather was beautiful.
We had driven far enough south that the unseasonably warm weather was allowing flowers to bloom.
We crammed ourselves, our mad cats and everything else into the vehicles one last time. Each day, the duration of yowling decreased at least a little. I could sense Chai and Mandy giving up and just deciding to take a nap. The cat version of “whatever.”
That morning, we got lost, thanks to our two GPSs giving opposite directions, but that detour likely saved us from the 6 or 8 car accident that happened just a couple minutes before we arrived on the scene. The cars in the middle were crushed, and it made my heart skip beats to think of the cat kids in an accident, just like all those years before.
Several hours later, we arrived at our destination thinking the cats would be mad at us for some time. However, they seem to be just as relieved as we were that their two weeks living as traveling nomad cats was over.
Chai no longer has to burrow and Mandy has given up spelunking in drawers, at least for now. Kitters is still purring. Everyone is taking a bath trying to wash all of that yucky travel off of themselves!
I, for one, hope to have permanently retired from traveling with cats. I would certainly do it again if I had to, because they are unquestionably worth it, but it’s not fun for anyone – humans or cats.
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I receive a small contribution when you click on some of the links to vendors in my articles. This does NOT increase the price you pay but helps me to keep the lights on and this informational blog free for everyone. Please click on the links in the articles or to the vendors below if you are purchasing products or DNA testing.
Thank you so much.
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First, let me say that I wish you a wonderful holiday season, whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukah, Solstice, something else or no specific holiday at all.
This season is traditionally a time of family gathering.
That also means that it can be a time of grief when family members are no longer available to gather with.
I hope you are not grieving. If you are, this article might help. If you’re not, chances are very good that people around you are, whether you’re aware of it or not.
These Past Two Years
These past two years have surpassed anything any of us have ever lived through in terms of death and grief. Yes, I’m talking about the worldwide pandemic, which has now moved from epidemic to pandemic to endemic. I’m of course referring to Covid in all of its variant forms.
Initially, the Spanish Flu outbreak of 1918 was compared to Covid, and also WWII in terms of deaths, but Covid is different than both.
In the US, only soldiers died during WWII. Other people were safe. Not so in parts of Europe and elsewhere though.
Covid infects and affects everyone, indiscriminately.
Now, almost two years in, I don’t know anyone whose family is untouched, and most of us have lost multiple people. That doesn’t count the one quarter to one third of Covid-infected people who recover that carry long-haul symptoms. We don’t know if they will ever fully recover.
The Holidays
Anyone who has ever lost someone they love knows all too well how difficult the holidays can be – especially the first set of holidays following their passing. Everything changes. Traditions cease to exist or are hollow shells of what they were before.
Some people go through the motions for the sake of others. Others don’t have anyone left to go through the motions for. Or they simply can’t or don’t want to.
I get it.
The Tsunami
These past two years have seen the “normal” deaths that would have occurred regardless, PLUS an exorbitant number of Covid deaths. More than 815,000 in the US alone, 5.3+ million worldwide, and rapidly rising.
Add to that the fact that for at least the first year, including this time last year, most people didn’t gather with their families. Even so, the worst Covid spike we saw followed the holiday season.
Since that time, we’ve had a slight reprieve, followed by Delta and now by the Omicron variant which propagates 70 times faster than Delta which, as we know, was more than twice as contagious as the original unmutated Covid-19.
This article isn’t about Covid itself, but the effects of Covid on families, which likely includes yours.
This Holiday Season
Some families have cancelled or curtailed holiday gatherings for a second year in a row.
That alone causes grief. Not everyone who was present two years ago is here this year, and some of the people here this year won’t be here next year. Life simply doesn’t stand still.
The good news is that various forms of electronic communications exist, like Zoom. Zoom has become a staple.
While Zoom is nice, it’s not the same and can’t replace a hug.
The Blame Game
If someone died in 2020 or 2021 from Covid, or has long-haul which causes disability, it’s all too easy to play the blame game.
Did they not take proper precautions and paid the ultimate price?
If you think for one minute death only affects the person who died, think again. Not only is an entire family grieving, someone has to pay for a HUGE medical bill. My cousin is losing her home because her spouse died of Covid after refusing to believe it is real and act accordingly. He left her with a ginormous medical bill after weeks in ICU.
Did someone else not take proper precautions and infected a family member who died? How does the rest of the family feel about that person? How do they feel about their actions? How do people cope with that?
Was someone untruthful about their vaccination or isolation status before a gathering, or refused to wear a mask, transmitting the disease to someone who became ill or died? Yep, that happened to one of my cousins too. Needless to say, that family isn’t gathering together this holiday season.
In these situations, family members not only lost the person who died and are dealing with some level of fallout from that, but may well have “lost” other family members one way or another in the process too.
They may be grieving a death and also angry with the person who died (or other people) because their death was needless.
Regardless of right or wrong, grief is grief and has a cascading effect.
The Walking Dead
These other lost family members are the people I’ll refer to as “the walking dead.” They are still alive, but the family is so fractured that family members have become completely estranged.
I’ve seen this happen over and over again these past few months. Repeatedly. One friend’s wedding caused a huge rift because they insisted all of the guests be vaccinated.
Another friend lost 4, yes 4, siblings and yet other family members wanted to attend the in-person funeral(s) without masks. Big rift in that family now too.
Yet in other cases, the politics behind various beliefs surrounding all-things-Covid has cleaved families clean in half. (Please, no political comments.)
While all of that that sounds awful in general, think of this in more individual terms.
Perhaps this is your brother and his family, or your parents, or one of your parents but not the other, or God-forbid, your children.
How would you be feeling this holiday season, with some family members actually dead, and others among the walking dead because they have chosen estrangement?
I can tell you how you’d feel. Utterly and completely miserable.
Life has changed entirely in the past two years, and it’s never going back to the way it was.
The pandemic may end one day, or enough people may contract Covid or be vaccinated that we reach herd immunity one way or another, or we may learn to live with Covid in some weakened form. Regardless, the accumulated damage and grief will never be repaired
This has not been a pause which we hoped it would be initially. It has been a slow-motion train wreck that’s still occurring.
Estrangement
Studies show that at least 27% of people in the US are estranged from a close family member. You can read about that here and here. Most of these studies are pre-Covid, and I guarantee you that estrangement has increased dramatically over the past two years.
Furthermore, an estrangement with one person often has a ripple effect. For example, if you are estranged from a specific family member who has children, you’ve in essence lost them as well since the parent controls the children.
If you’re a parent/grandparent in this circumstance, this is agonizing. It’s like they died but only to you, and by choice.
Truthfully, I’d be hard-pressed to think of any family who has had a relative that died of Covid who has managed to escape estrangement.
The “I Don’t Care About You” Message
Estrangement says very clearly that one person doesn’t care if the other person lives or dies, literally – or anything in-between.
That’s a horribly bitter pill to swallow – especially if the estrangement was the result of ghosting or unspoken issues surrounding the parameters of engagement, like vaccinations or political beliefs.
And that message is unmistakable.
Fractured Families
This article in Psychology Today discusses the estrangement epidemic with suggestions for how to understand and deal with fractured families.
If you’re one of the more than 67 million people suffering from estrangement, there are tips and hints here for you.
You can also reach out to others. Often, helping someone else who is in need or suffering makes both people feel better. I’ve been doing a lot of that recently and it helps a great deal.
What Can You Do?
The holiday season isn’t just about wishing someone happy holidays or purchasing a gift. Sometimes it’s about reaching out. It’s about a human connection.
Do you know someone who has endured a Covid or non-Covid related death during the past couple of years? Funerals have not been normal and a situation that is already extremely stressful has become even more so with grieving routines and traditions disrupted and family disagreements boiling over. Reach out and make sure your friend knows you care. Invite them if you are gathering. Don’t simply assume they’ve been invited elsewhere or that their family traditions haven’t changed.
Alone, if you don’t want to be alone, is awful.
The holidays are hard enough for some people without all of the additional stressors we have now.
Do you know someone who is estranged from a family member?
Have you heard the phrase “family of heart?” Family-of-heart is who we choose to be our family members. Some of the people I’m closest to are my “chosen family,” my “family of heart.”
Ask how someone is doing, and listen without judgement.
Be generous with kind words. I’ve told many people I love them these past few days. I do love them and I want to be absolutely positive they know that.
Tell people that you love them and how much you appreciate them while you can.
Estrangement Is Embarrassing
Estrangement, in particular, is embarrassing. When someone dies, everyone gathers the next holiday season and talks about how wonderful the dearly departed was. Not so with estrangement.
Estrangement is the dirty little secret no one wants to discuss. It’s painful and there is always the scent of guilt. “Why would they do that to you?” is easy to interpret as “What did you do to deserve that?”
If you can do so gracefully, share you own estrangement story with your friend. Let them know they really are not alone. Estrangement or abandonment happens to good, wonderful people. People who don’t deserve to be hurt. But it happens quite frequently, nonetheless.
When your friend shares with you, be sensitive how you form questions. Questions that begin with “Have you tried…” might suggest that you think they bear the responsibility for not resolving an issue that is not in their power to resolve. I guarantee, they’ve probably asked themselves every possible question over and over.
Estrangement combines betrayal and abandonment and causes the victim to wonder why as well.
I do feel compelled to add that some estrangement is entirely warranted such as abuse. Those aren’t the situations I’m referring to.
Tough Time of Year
It’s a tough time of year under normal circumstances, and this is anything but.
If you have a friend who is withdrawn, depressed, grouchy or just not acting themselves, grief may well have something to do with it. You may not realize they are grieving. They may have lost multiple relatives or close friends in one way or another – and often the loss of the walking dead is actually more painful that someone who physically died.
The person who died had no choice in the end – the walking dead make and continue that dagger-in-the-heart choice every single day.
Grief Never Ends
Regardless the source of grief, it never ends. In time, we often learn to deal with grief in a more productive or less painful way – but that’s not always the case with a series of grief events in close proximity.
Be caring and respectful of those who are grieving, which is pretty much everyone this year, whether they’ve told you or not.
They are likely NOT going to post that information on social media.
Depending on the situation, grief may extend to a job, one’s health or other factors.
Grief can include anything that affects your life negatively.
Gratitude
This has been a tough year for me in multiple ways. I’ve lost more than 9 relatives to Covid – depending on how you count. For example, my cousin lost both of her parents a few days apart. One of her parents is my cousin by blood and one by marriage. How do I count that? Is the couple one family member or two?
Furthermore, I’ve lost additional close family members to estrangement.
My husband’s longest friend died, and that family is fractured too.
Covid, death and estrangement isn’t just an isolated story now, but one shared by almost everyone one way or another.
I’m extremely, extremely grateful for my family members that I’m close to, although my family is shrinking.
I’m also incredibly grateful to my friends and family-of-heart. For example, within the last week or so, one friend has come to help me at least 4 times with something particularly difficult. Then, just this evening, Christmas Eve, my husband and I were included in a non-traditional family gathering.
Perhaps we are forming new traditions this year – ones to sustain us in the future since going back to the way things were in the past is simply not possible.
Wishing You Peace
I wish you peace and joy this holiday season.
I hope you are happy wherever you are.
Personally, I’ve adopted the Icelandic strategy where you go to bed with a good book and eat chocolate. Yep, I have my book waiting here for me, as soon as I’m finished with this article. My 72% dark chocolate awaits too, as does a hot bath, comforting quilts and my three fur-children.
If celebrating is not in the cards for you this year, I wish you a good book, a good movie, good food and lots of sleep.
Please know that I care about you. Let me know how you’re doing!
Recently, I’ve been focused on sending things, items that I consider treasures, to where I eventually want them to live.
Downsizing aka Swedish Death Cleaning causes one to think about things differently. My frame of reference has shifted.
Space becomes a premium, and if we own something that would be better placed elsewhere, especially eventually, maybe now’s a good time to share the love.
Add to this the fact that Covid has also forced us to pause and reflect. We’ve had to seriously consider our own mortality in more immediate terms. We’ve learned what we can live without and perhaps reassessed a number of things in our life. This particular mix of factors has led me to rehome several items.
I’m not rehoming them because I don’t love them – but exactly because I do. I want them to continue to be loved by someone, the right someone, after I can no longer do that. I’ve realized you don’t have to physically possess something to love it.
The holidays is the perfect time to do this as well. It might be for you too. What better gift to give and receive than a wonderful heirloom filled with love.
I’ve shipped several packages recently. Let me tell you about one.
My Paternal Half-Sister
I haven’t yet written about my paternal half-sister, Edna, although I will soon, I promise.
Edna and I are a generation offset. She was actually two years older than my mother.
My Mom knew Edna, although not well, because they lived distantly. Edna was not close to our father. After Mom and Dad parted company, and Dad died, Mom and Edna kept in touch via occasional letter. I think over time that dwindled, then eventually trickled to a stop.
I didn’t meet Edna until I was an adult. In fact, I didn’t even know she existed except through vague references.
I suspect that my mother didn’t want to have to explain “life” surrounding my father – and trust me – I would have had questions. Lots and lots of questions.
I surely did when I finally met Edna.
A New Sister
I was over-the-moon ecstatic to have a sister. I was a young mother myself when that accidental discovery occurred.
From the day we met, we bonded like two cups of water in a bucket.
We wrote letters, talked on the phone most every Sunday and traveled to see one another. In many ways, it was like we had never NOT known each other. Perhaps we were trying to make up for lost time.
I had young children, but Edna and her husband had just retired and were in the process of moving to Arizona.
As my career developed, I often had to fly to the west coast. I arranged for a flight that landed in Phoenix so I could visit with her and catch the next travel leg the following day.
Edna’s children, who were my age and older, called me their “Baby Aunt.” I was the same age as Edna’s youngest daughter. We looked a great deal alike too as children.
This photo of our father with Edna’s children was taken about 1960.
50th Anniversary
For Edna and Cliff’s 50th wedding anniversary, I cross-stitched a celebratory sampler as a gift.
Edna and Cliff often came home to the north country and lived in their 5th wheel in the summer. It might be a “dry heat,” but it was still beastly hot in Arizona at that time of year.
They often set up the 5th wheel under a large shady tree on the farm that they used to own, then owned by one of their children.
To celebrate their anniversary, their grandson hosted a picnic. The entire family attended.
To prove I really was accepted fully as family – let me explain that they loved to tease me. Especially Edna’s grandchildren, some of whom were nearly my age.
The Volleyball Game
Picnic attendees were playing volleyball in the yard in the July heat at Edna’s golden wedding anniversary party. Everyone took a break, me included.
I moseyed over to the drink tent and spotted some lovely red fruit punch in a bowl full of ice. That looked so good. I dipped myself a nice large cup full. It was wonderfully cold, I was sweating and very thirsty – so I gulped the entire thing and filled my cup again.
We walked back out to the volleyball area and I leaped to spike a ball. I was invigorated and felt like I leaped higher than ever before. Wow, that punch was amazing!
The next thing I knew, I opened my eyes to see everyone circled above me. All staring down at me.
I was flat on my back in the grass. Apparently, somehow that grass had gotten slippery. I had absolutely no recollection of how I got there or why people were staring at me. Things were a bit fuzzy and very funny.
The hosting grandson said to another grandson, “I think she drank some of the punch.’
“Well, that explains that,” someone said. Everyone started laughing uproariously.
As for me, I was still laying there happily confused. Man, that punch was lusciously good.
And what did me drinking punch have to do with anything, anyway?
White Lightening
Turns out, that was special white lightening moonshine punch. The fruit juice masked the taste.
And I had gulped a huge cupful.
I was feeling absolutely no pain.
I don’t remember a lot more about the rest of that day. But trust me, I never lived it down.
What glorious memories.
A Dozen Short Years
It truly never occurred to me that Edna might die.
Of course, I conceptually knew that SOMEDAY that would happen, but no time soon so it wasn’t anything I needed to think about.
Right?
A dozen years after I met Edna for the first time, she left the earthly realm. Just a couple years after the anniversary party, Edna was gone. Suddenly and unexpectedly.
Everyone was stunned. Grief stricken. She was the matriarch of her rather large family and greatly loved.
I was shell-shocked.
It felt like a cruel joke. I grieved her passing deeply and still do. It was like part of me died too.
Given and taken away all too soon. Without warning.
Creative Artistry
Edna possessed a great many talents and never failed to amaze me.
Among other things, Edna was a woodcarver.
My favorite carving was a spiritual piece. Three or four people of clearly different races standing closely together, looking upwards, suggesting to a higher power. This spoke of brotherhood, unity and peace without saying an actual word. It touched me profoundly. I wish I had a photo of that carving to share with you, but I don’t.
Not only did Edna meticulously carve the shapes, she also burned and sometimes selectively stained the wood to achieve depth and color.
After Edna passed over, her husband called and asked for my address. He mentioned that he was selling the Arizona property and moving back North in his 5th wheel, permanently. In other words, he didn’t have space for the gift I had made them.
I was very grateful for his candor and the fact that he returned the sampler to me so lovingly. He said that’s what Edna would have wanted.
He asked if there was anything else of Edna’s that I wanted. I told him I wanted one of her carvings, if there were enough to go around.
The Box
The box arrived with two items – the sampler and a bird wood carving. For all these years, her carving has been within sight in my office. I felt close to her, like she was watching over me.
The birds sometimes gathered outside the window near the carving. I guess it was one bird communing with another.
For three decades, the sampler and wood carving have been my silent sentinels, connecting me to her. What we had and was ripped from us.
I have moved from sadness and grief to joyful recollections, at least most of the time. That’s not to say I don’t still miss her. I do, of course. That gaping hole will never be filled. But I wouldn’t trade the absence of pain because that would have meant that I missed the joy and love.
Grief is but one manifestation of love.
Downsizing
As the family genealogist, it’s important to me to be sure that these two pieces ultimately reside in her family line. They belong with her children or grandchildren and their descendants. They are her legacy, her story, not mine.
I waited to the last day to wrap these. I wanted them with me as long as possible. It was difficult.
I knew that sending them off, or ”back home” as I prefer to think about it was absolutely the right thing to do, and that Edna would 100% approve. That still didn’t mean it was easy.
I don’t want Edna’s things to wind up in some rummage sale, or worse, after I’m gone, not that my daughter would do that. But at some point, down the line, someone WILL do that. ‘
I packed those two pieces up again, smiling as I thought of the day oh-so-many years ago that I opened the box from Cliff.
I released them and blessed them on their way.
Arrival
A few days later, Edna’s grandson’s wife messaged me to let me know the box had arrived. She told me that she already had incorporated them into their family and hung them in a place of honor.
My heart was gladdened, and I was thrilled to know how much they love them.
Of course, this particular grandson was one of those white-lightening-punch culprits. He says he remembers that day when I gave Edna and Cliff the sampler. They must have opened their gifts after I drank that fateful punch😊
I’m so very glad to know these two heirloom pieces are now on a path of descent in Edna’s own direct line. I loved them every single day. They connected me to her. I know she loved them too. They were made by her hands and mine. But it’s time now for them to make their way among her descendants – not mine.
Seeing the picture of the two pieces, hung together in their beautiful home among their festive decorations assured me that I had done exactly the right thing. I’m so grateful she sent the photo to me. It removed whatever tinge of sadness I had about their departure.
The sampler and Edna’s the wood carving have made it home in time for the holidays!
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I know. I know. That name sounds awful and morbid. But trust me on this one – it’s really not. At least, it’s not as bad as it sounds.
Additionally, this topic is timely right now, because the holidays are coming soon.
In a nutshell, Swedish Death Cleaning is a gift to whoever would otherwise have to undertake that task after you’ve departed to visit with the ancestors.
My mother did this for me, although I WAS NOT NEARLY APPRECIATIVE ENOUGH at the time. She had an estate sale after my step-father died, sold most of the contents of the farmhouse, and moved to an apartment in town.
Of course, she took with her the things she truly loved – which is the entire point. Paring down to what’s really important and not holding on to things “just because.”
It’s a departure from my old habits and a new way of thinking about your things.
Unless you’ve recently deep-cleaned, or moved, I guarantee if you open any closet or cupboard door in your house that you’ll find all kinds of stuff in the back or on the shelves or even on hangers that you don’t need, don’t actually want and may not even remember that you have.
Mom
I need to apologize to my Mom right here and now for not helping her with this task. She had my step-brother and his wife and family next door, and my other brother and family an hour away. I thought everything was covered.
I was a 6-hour drive one way. Had she asked me to come and help, I would have gladly done so. In retrospect, I should simply have volunteered or showed up to assist.
Now that I’m doing this myself, I realize that even just keeping her company as she went through every box in that house would have been oh-so-welcome companionship. And now I think of the questions I would have liked to ask, and the conversations we might have had. The stories she would have told me.
Now, she’s gone and I can never hear her voice again.
But…I didn’t know or realize at the time.
When the time came to pack up Mom’s things – it was difficult enough. I can’t imagine having to deal with that entire farmhouse full.
The Process?
Of course, cleaning of this type can be difficult simply because there are so many decisions to make.
And it can be difficult because of unexpected emotions.
In my case, I’ve kind of been living my life backward as I sort through boxes. I have found so many unexpected bittersweet things.
My mother’s flatware. This made me smile. Now it’s integrated it into my own silverware drawer. I smile every day when I see these and think of her and the meals we shared at home.
A gift I made for my Mom when I was about 10 or so. I used her sewing machine, the little black Singer Featherweight that I still have. My Dad bought the machine for her before his death. I even hand-sewed the seam together on the bear’s shoulder. This was on her bed every day of her life.
I didn’t realize this bear was stored where it was, so it was a bit of a surprise when I discovered it. So bittersweet. Mom’s gone of course. What the heck do I do with this? I’m not about to pitch it. There’s no one to give it to.
Ok, in this case, it’s going on the guest room bed for now. Someday, someone else will just have to deal with it.
Anyone know what these things are? My head hurts just thinking about them.
When my Mom passed away, I brought her bedroom set home. I couldn’t go through everything at the time, but I have now. That’s where I found these gems.
Somewhere there’s a picture of Mom with pink rollers in her hair, using these roller pick or pin things. She would haunt me forever if I published that – so maybe it’s better than I have not yet reached that cleaning depth yet.
Dad’s flag from his coffin. This brought me up short. It also reminded me that I need to find the flag box I purchased and put it together so it can be displayed properly.
The first quilt pattern book I ever purchased. I bought the fabric to make a similar quilt for charity – then purchased my own quilt at the auction because my child loved it. Of course, then I needed to make the other child a quilt too – and one for our bed as well. I found that quilt too in this process.
Before this book, my quilts were all “scrap” with one of the church women providing a pattern. Or all of the patches were squares of the same size, traced using a cardboard template.
I’m gifting this book to someone. Maybe they will learn to love to quilt too. Trust me, I know this pattern by heart now.
I’ve found boxes and boxes of pictures too.
My daughter and I are waving goodbye to my parents when they first came up to visit after we bought that house. This made me sad, because in its companion photo, we were all standing together and hugging and now my daughter and I are the only two left.
Dad, being a farmer, had to plan carefully to be gone for more than a few hours. This was only the second time he had ever left the state of Indiana.
Dad and his three-legged rescue cat – Frosty – both napping. This was an after-lunch routine and they were inseparable. The photo hanging over the bed hangs in my house today, and the bed, purchased for my Mom by her parents for her 16th birthday is in my guest room.
My bracelet from the hospital when I was born. I don’t think I had ever seen this bracelet before either. I also found my footprints inked by the hospital when I was born.
I made this doll quilt for my daughter when she was maybe 6 or 7.
No one in the family wants this doll, cradle or the little quilt. With my daughter’s permission, I gifted it to a little girl who loves it!
And the pets. We miss our furry family members so much.
But yee-gads – look at that awful wallpaper.
My daughter and I had a good laugh over that.
And then, there was this.
The last birthday card my mother sent me.
Yea, that one was really tough.
The Up Side
First, I’ve found photos I either didn’t know I had or had forgotten about. In some cases that was because I had not gone through my mother’s things completely.
Second, I found wonderfully uplifting letters from so many people. For example, my great-aunt sent me an encouraging card that said, “I’m so very proud of you. You said you would do it, and you did! Congratulations.” (Hint – if you’re going to save something, write the date on it.)
Third, I found information that I didn’t realize was important the first time I reviewed it. For example, I discounted a photo of a couple several years ago because they were not my direct ancestors. I’ve since discovered that one of the people in the photo was my ancestor’s sibling – and I don’t have a photo of the ancestor. That sibling is probably as close as I’ll ever get. I took the opportunity to scan the photo, upload it to the couple in my genealogy trees, and share with others.
Fourth, I’ve found so much that I can now gift to someone else. I’m not specifically talking about heirlooms here, but information for my genealogy cousins and buddies. I’ve sent so many boxes off. In some cases, I’m returning something to the proper people. I’ve returned letters with signatures that people sent me 20 or 30 years ago – and their grandchildren or great-grandchildren now get to enjoy the letters along with their signature. I’ve donated to historical societies. I’ve sent research documents that I no longer need to other people researching the family or area. I should get a discount at both the post office and UPS.😊
Fifth, I’ve decided to gift many things now instead of waiting until later. That way, I can enjoy seeing the person or people using or wearing or just enjoying the gift. If I’m not actually using it, and they can begin enjoying it now – that’s a win for everyone.
Sixth, I’m going to do my family members one more favor – and this is a big one. I’m going to scan and organize the photos. I already purged a great many. Before you cringe, let me explain that really, no one needs 10 shots of the same thing or pictures with people whose heads are not in the photo. (That was my mother’s specialty.) Or pictures of places we can no longer identify.
So yes, I threw lots of pictures away. I had also printed second copies of many rolls of film for my Mom, then I inherited her set, so I didn’t need both.
I’ve started the digitizing process, albeit slowly. I’ll be doing this as I can over the next several months.
Swedish Death Cleaning is Satisfying and Freeing
Truthfully, I hate cleaning. It feels like such a waste of time because it never stays done. Not only that, but I’d much rather be doing something else, like genealogy, or quilting, or writing blog articles. Pretty much anything BUT cleaning.
However, this has been different.
Yes, I’ve had quite a few good cries. But for every one of those, I’ve SAVED my daughter from one.
For every difficult thing I find and have to deal with, I’ve saved her from the same.
I’ve also found some wonderful memories.
I’m enjoying the process of gifting. And I know the people involved – like my Mom for instance – would be pleased to see her things used and loved anew.
I’m sharing love with so many people in various ways. Kind of like Johnny Appleseed, but different.
I feel so much freer with fewer things – and it makes cleaning easier too.
I’m hopeful that maybe, just maybe, one of the people who’ve received research documents will be able to make a big breakthrough that I missed.
That would be the ultimate gift.
The holidays are coming.
Is there something in your possession that someone in your life would like to start loving now?
Consider Swedish Death Cleaning and spread the love!
I receive a small contribution when you click on some of the links to vendors in my articles. This does NOT increase the price you pay but helps me to keep the lights on and this informational blog free for everyone. Please click on the links in the articles or to the vendors below if you are purchasing products or DNA testing.
Thank you so much.
DNA Purchases and Free Uploads
FamilyTreeDNA – Y, mitochondrial, and autosomal DNA testing
Have you ever been busy doing something to discover that one of your ancestors just gave you a really, REALLY unexpected, completely out-of-the-blue wink and a nod?
Of course, immediately you think that’s entirely silly.
I mean, that’s not possible. Right?
Yet, there you are…and whatever it was just happened.
An Unplanned Detour
I knew I was flying to a particular destination. I’ve flown there before. No big deal.
But this time, nothing seemed to go right. Flights that used to exist evaporated into thin air. Inexplicably, the flights that did exist were full – at least the day I needed to fly.
I could get a lovely, direct, flight into a city about 90 minutes distant from my destination. That was very confusing because normally it’s THAT city whose flights are typically full.
WHATEVER!
I couldn’t get there via the path one would normally travel, but I could get there, so I booked the flight.
Butterflies
You know the butterflies you get in your stomach when you head off for a huge life change? Even if you know it’s the right path?
A wedding maybe?
Military?
Moving away from anyone or anything familiar?
New job?
Career shift?
Retirement?
Any major life move.
Sometimes the butterflies start hatching a few days in advance and by the time you’re on the way, you have an entire kaleidoscope in residence.
Everyone’s coping methodology is different.
Some people get insomnia.
Forgetful.
Grouchy.
Tearful.
Distracted.
On this particular flight, I chose distraction because those butterflies were out of control.
I couldn’t concentrate enough to read, so I opted to watch an in-flight movie.
Except…I didn’t like either movie I started to watch, and by that time, If I had started to watch a different movie, the flight would have ended before the movie.
I flipped to the plane’s flight-tracker, and that’s when it happened.
Where Am I?
My window shade was closed. It was dark in the cabin. Most people were either watching something or sleeping.
I didn’t really think much about how to get from point A, my departure location, to point B.
However, I noticed on the flight tracker that the airplane was generally over a part of the country that seemed like it would pass near where my ancestors lived in Virginia and Tennessee, near the Cumberland Gap.
I enlarged the map to view the plane’s path.
Wow, it’s traveling east of Knoxville, near Claiborne County, Tennessee.
The map had an upper limit to how large one can make the map, and only the cities and larger towns were shown. Trust me, not one of my ancestors is from any place even resembling “large.” Not even medium.
I pulled my shade up, not that I expected to see anything that I would even remotely recognize from 30,000 feet in the air.
I was in for quite a surprise.
Goin’ Home
I can’t tell you how many times over the years I’ve driven those ribbon-looking roads home.
Where is home?
Home is where my ancestors lived. Where my Dad was born, and so were his parents and their kin for generations. Home was where I went to find them. When I first began that journey, I only knew one word – Tazewell. A town in Tennessee. According to my Mom, that’s where my Dad was from. I knew nothing else. Nothing about his parents or siblings. Nothing about his grandparents.
Nothing. Not one thing.
That was in 1978.
Oh my, what a long way we’ve come – me and my ancestors. I’ve been pushed, guided, and cajoled. I’ve had many fortuitous “accidents” and met the most amazing people. I found family I had no idea existed, and I’m very close to many of those cousins today.
I cherish those mesmerizing, life-changing trips where a dear cousin took me to stand where my ancestors stood, lived, and yes, were buried.
Uncle George was the first, and he’s been gone for almost 25 years now. We climbed in the cattle grate of his pickup truck for the trip up the mountainside in Estes Holler where our ancestors homesteaded.
After several years, the people you met decades ago have passed over, and the younger generation isn’t necessarily interested. Furthermore, you’ve found the ancestors who lived in that region and pushed the brick wall further back to a time before they settled there. In this case, back into Virginia and North Carolina.
Said another way that genealogists will understand, there just doesn’t seem to be any compelling reason to return again – especially if it’s a long distance with no one left.
I haven’t been back to the Cumberland Gap area in more than a decade.
That is, until today.
The Window
I looked out and saw the first of the mountain ridges rising in the distance, like pleats in the fabric of earth, or maybe ripples in the sea of time.
Are those the linear ridges that comprise the Cumberland Mountains, forming a 100-mile group of NE to SW ridges within the Appalachian Range that includes the Cumberland Gap?
Why yes, yes, I believe it is.
We can see these same ridges on this 1795 map that the early settlers would have used. We can see the Kentucky road and the Indian boundary line, just to the left of the road where the red color begins. That Indian boundary line ran right through my ancestor’s land.
A few other steep, treacherous, but passable gaps occur between the ridges, but not many.
Click images to enlarge
I looked back at the plane’s path on the screen which was currently east of Knoxville and yes, sure enough, those mountains out the window are the beginning of the Cumberland Range of the Appalachian Mountains.
My family was from all over, down there.
Each individual ancestor’s journey eventually coalesced in Estes Holler, along Little Sycamore Road which follows Little Sycamore Creek, of course. To get there, you have to follow the valleys, along the Ol’ Kentucky Road, south out of Tazewell, then turn north again when you reach the crossroads called Springdale. You’ll know you’re there when you see the school, the gas station that serves pizza by the slice, and the church. Estes Holler is up yonder a bit.
It’s about 7 miles from Tazewell, unless you’re a crow, then it’s maybe 3. Of course, you could take the unpaved two-tracks across the ridges, but that’s not recommended unless you know where you’re going and what you’re doing.
If I was right, then out my window I was seeing Barbourville, where my Vannoy ancestor, John Vannoy’s son, Francis Vannoy (1746-1822) – Daniel Vannoy’s brother and Elijah Vannoy’s uncle resided. For years, we had no idea quite how Francis Vannoy was related to my ancestor, Elijah Vannoy who lived not terribly far away along Mulberry Creek in Claiborne County, the part that would one day split off to form Hancock County.
Francis Vannoy lived about 60 miles distant in Barbourville, Kentucky, over rough mountain trails. Regardless, we knew the families retained close ties because they intermarried. The Vannoy family, along with the McNiels and several others lived on what would eventually be called Back Valley Road. Back Valley, which is also called Rebel Holler in some places, and is reportedly haunted by the ghosts of Civil War soldiers, follows a holler just below the state line between Virginia and Tennessee.
Pineville and Middlesboro, Kentucky should be visible out the window soon.
When my grandfather, William George Estes, moved back to Appalachia after tenant farming in Indiana, he eventually settled on the highest part of Black Mountain in Harlan County, just 60 miles but almost two hours east of Pineville on hopelessly winding roads with deadly switchbacks. His grandson would die a tragic death on those roads one day.
My grandfather didn’t drive, although I have no idea why not. He rode a horse initially, and then rode as a passenger with others. Cars were scarce in the 19-teens and 1920s when he moved back.
By the 1950s, he would catch a ride down to Pineville, Kentucky, then take the bus through Middlesboro, Kentucky, across Cumberland Gap, and through Tazewell, Tennessee.
Today, there’s a tunnel, but back then, the only road went across Cumberland Gap. You can take a look here, although the road is abandoned today, and hear some of the country music of the hills too. Of course, the earliest pioneers walked the path along the Wilderness Road, which you can view here in a lovely, short historical documentary.
The bus or some kindhearted soul would drop my grandfather south of Tazewell at Springdale where he would catch a ride with someone headed down Little Sycamore Road to Estes Holler. No ride – no problem – he would walk.
His parents and family lived in Estes Holler, as had three previous generations. However, my grandmother, Ollie Bolton’s parents, and family lived on up Little Sycamore into Hancock County, on Wallen Ridge, along the Powell River where the only way across the range is across the river and through Mulberry Gap.
Michael McDowell settled Slanting Miserly and lived near William Herrell, James Lee Claxton, and Joseph Bolton when Joseph arrived from Giles County, Virginia in the 1840s. By that time, those other families had been established for 30 or 40 years – some longer.
Lazarus Dodson, a Revolutionary War veteran, lived close to Middlesboro, on the Tennessee side, just beneath the actual Cumberland Gap.
Civil War soldiers camped in his field, marked on a military map, which is how we located his original land. Lazarus Dodson’s land was sold to David Cottrell, and this map shows the location of the homestead.
In addition to the Dodson homeplace, you can see the corresponding roads today.
It’s difficult to see from this perspective, but I know my ancestors are all down there within view.
John Campbell who married Jacob Dobkins’ daughter lived right above Liberty Baptist Church. In fact, Liberty was built on what had once been his land.
Before the Campbell boys moved to Claiborne County, the Campbell family and the Dodsons lived at the old Warrior Path crossing on the Holston River near Rogersville where the TVA plant is located today, near Dru Hanes Road. Jacob Dobkins lived about 8 miles away, up to Bull’s Gap, near the Hawkins/Hamblen County line.
Generation after generation of closely allied families were born in these hills.
The Crumley family migrated with the Brown family from Frederick County, Virginia to Greene County, Tennessee about 1797, settling on what is now Crumley Road near Greeneville.
Two decades later, William Crumley moved on from Greeneville to Blackwater Creek on the border between what is now Hancock County, Tennessee, and Lee County, Virginia, along with his adult son William, who had married Lydia Brown. The younger William’s daughter, Phebe Crumley would one day marry Joel Vannoy in Hancock County, Tennessee and they would move down Little Sycamore to Vannoy Holler, named after Joel, right across the ridge from Estes Holler.
Rutha and John’s marriage was rudely interrupted by the Civil War, and never really recovered. She lived out her life in Estes Holler, but he walked on to Texas, establishing a new branch of the family there.
You know, I always wondered how Rutha Dodson, daughter of Lazarus Dodson and Elizabeth Campbell who lived plumb up to Cumberland Gap met John Y. Estes.
John Y. Estes lived in Estes Holler after his parents settled there when they arrived from Halifax County, Virginia, following his father’s service in the War of 1812. I figured it out when we realized Rutha’s mother died young and she was being raised by her grandparents, John Campbell and Jenny Dobkins who owned land right near Estes Holler, where Liberty Baptist Church is today.
You can’t marry who you don’t see – so two people have to be close enough to court.
Another branch of the family, the Reverend Nicholas Speaks and his wife, Sarah Faires left Washington County Virginia near Glade Springs about 1820 to found the Speaks Methodist Church in Lee County, Virginia.
The church is only 6 or 7 miles as the crow flies from Mulberry Gap. Of course, it’s 18 or 20 miles as the horse travels, through Mulberry Gap and then fording the Powell River at a low place – assuming there is a low place to be found.
Nicholas’s granddaughter, Elizabeth Speaks, married Samuel Claxton who fought for the North during the Civil War and died soon after. They lived on the Tennessee side of the Powell River.
Getting to church was not for the fainthearted.
Many of these families lived along or near the Powell River.
James Lee Claxton and his wife Sarah Cook left Russell County, Virginia near Honaker on the Clinch River around 1800 and settled on Claxton Bend near Slanting Misery on the Powell River where Michael McDowell tried to plow land that was more vertical than horizontal.
Samuel Muncy and Anne Workman followed the advancing Virginia frontier too and settled in Lee County, near the Powell River that formed the border with Claiborne County, Tennessee.
The Muncy men served in the forts in Russell County, Virginia during the Revolutionary War.
Agnes Muncy married Fairwick Claxton about 1814 in the part of Claiborne County that would become Hancock in the 1840s. They too lived on the Powell River on Claxton Bend, near what is today Camp Jubilee where they are buried on the old homeplace.
Elizabeth Vannoy’s grandparents, Joel Vannoy and Lois McNiel settled in Claborne County, the part that became Hancock, after leaving Wilkes County, North Carolina about 1812 or so. They weren’t the only people from Wilkes that settled among those valleys and mountain ridges along the Powell River. William Harrell, sometimes spelled Harrold in Wilkes County, and Michael McDowell, a Revolutionary War veteran came too, along with their families. The Hickerson line married into those families in Wilkes County, as did the Shepherd and Rash lines.
Wilkes County was located across the actual mountain range itself, not along its ridges or valleys. There was no easy way to get from Wilkes County, North Carolina to Claiborne County, Tennessee. Look at those majestic, and tall, mountains!
These hearty ancestors settled in this rugged terrain, between the ridges, in the hollers, near the tops of mountains, and along the cleanest part of the streams where their families would, hopefully, be safe.
Many families arrived in eastern Tennessee shortly after the Revolutionary War, and some, like Jacob Dobkins, even before. Countless more found their way to the westward frontier when the floodgates opened after the War of 1812.
Perhaps they were joining family members who had already staked a claim and built a small cabin.
Regardless of who they were, how they arrived, or when, over a span of a hundred years or so, 42 of my ancestors lived, loved, and made their lives in these rugged mountains. They came to love them and called them home. Eventually, those ancestors gave life to my father who passed that love of the mountains on to me.
Just looking at them, from the valley floors or from 30,000 feet in the air brings me peace.
I am a product of these hardscrabble survivors. Some of them didn’t even have houses, at least not at first – living in structures created from animal hides before they built small one-room cabins for their large families. Kitchens and bathrooms were both outside. They fetched and carried water from a stream.
Some were Native people who were none too happy to see the new settlers.
Many risked everything, either to fight to defend their land, this fledgling nation and to make the trek to settle the dangerous frontier.
Women plowed, farmed, and performed the work normally done by both men and women. Sometimes only when the menfolk were gone, but all too often that stretched into forever because their husbands never returned.
Today, I saw all of this in the span of a few minutes. Kind of like the panorama of my ancestors’ lives passing before my eyes.
More than two centuries of my ancestors’ blood and DNA waters the land below. Journeys that took months of hard work in muddy ruts, and cost some of them their very lives, slipped beneath my plane window in just a few minutes.
What would my ancestors have thought?
Perspective
This unexpected birds-eye survey of my ancestors’ lives provided me with an amazing perspective.
I was able to appreciate their journey in a way they never could.
Observing their lives pass before my eyes spoke to my soul and buoyed my spirits.
I felt like my ancestors – all of them, as far as the eye could see – were cheering and waving me on to my future. Of course, that’s the future for the parts of them that I carry in me, too. By virtue of that, they accompany me.
I’m doing my small part to look to the horizon once again. Carrying on the wanderlust tradition.
I must be brave. Compared to what they faced, and survived, this is nothing. I can always fly home, or back to visit. I can text in an instant to someone who lives distantly.
They couldn’t even rely on letters to arrive. No notification if someone passed away. Women didn’t know if their husbands died in war, or hunting, or not. Were they a widow? Would they, could they, should they, remarry?
No modern medicine either. Childbirth was inherently risky, as was any infected cut. Appendicitis? You’re toast. Dig the grave.
My ancestors unquestionably understood fear – for themselves and their family members. It was part of their daily diet.
Yet, it didn’t stop them. They pressed on and persisted. That’s a good thing for me!
A Wink and a Nod
My unexpected, unplanned Appalachian tour that consumed maybe all of 30 minutes was indeed a wink and a nod from those ancestors. Quieted those butterflies right down.
I had my own personal cheering squad.
Silently wishing me well.
I heard them in my heart as I gazed down at their homelands. I can see the line of ancestors, their path extending back into Virginia, and beyond in the misty distance.
Frontiers have never been easy, but I see the horizon just over that next mountain. Just like they did.
Thanks Ancestors. I needed you today!
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Probably 20 years ago, I discovered that Jacob Dobkins (1751-1835) was my ancestor, and began researching in Claiborne County, Tennessee where his daughter, Jenny Dobkins lived with her husband, John Campbell.
In fact, two of Jacob’s daughters married Campbell men. His daughter Elizabeth married George Campbell, believed to be John’s brother, back in Hawkins County before the entire group moved to Claiborne. Jacob lived in Claiborne County in 1801 when the county was formed and he attended the first court session.
Jacob purchased 1400 acres for $100, land roughly a mile wide and about two and a half miles long. That’s a LOT of land. Of course, it was densely forested and no houses or other improvements had been made. Jacob immediately began parceling it out to his sons and sons-in-law, essentially assuring that most of his family would stay nearby.
In the research process, I met other Dobkins researchers, including Bill Nevils, a local historian, and genealogist. He too was descended from Jacob.
In 2006, cousin Daryl talked to Bill who told us he knew where Jacob Dobkins was buried.
Stopped us cold in our tracks. There was no marked grave. No known Dobkins Cemetery.
Say what?
Jacob’s grave?
Seriously?
Cousin Daryl discovered more than that too. She made other calls and the owners in 2006 were family members who had VERY INTERESTING photos of the original cabin.
This very old photo from (probably) sometime in the early 1900s or possibly even late 1800sshows Jacob Dobkins’ homestead, fenced, with a secondary, larger building having been added to the left. Yet another building is shown in the distance and a structure to the rear as well. Notice the fieldstone chimney.
Yes, this is Jacob’s original cabin! Be still my heart.
How can I be sure? The deed work shows that in 1835, when Jacob died, his heirs quitclaimed his property to Betsy Campbell, his daughter who was married to George Campbell. From that point on, her son, Barney, his son Alexander, then his son Arthur lived in this home until Arthur died in 1969. The family had built a new home and retained the property.
Jacob’s cabin in the 1960s or 1970s, abandoned.
Jacob’s cabin lasted for at least another 150 years after his 1835 death before it was purchased, disassembled, and reassembled elsewhere – we think someplace in North Carolina (maybe) in some sort of reenactment or historical park. If you recognize this cabin, please let me know.
Daryl made contact with the lady who owned the farm in 2006:
I just had a lovely conversation with our cousin who owns the property and descends from Barney Campbell. Her family recently celebrated her birthday at the old farm and gave her a photo frame with digital family photos that include the old cabin.
She claims the farm has been in the family since about 1820, but she has never checked it out. Her nephew is the one interested in the family history. Her grandmother, Sally, died when she was about 10 and she heard the story of Barney many times growing up…Barney was a Dobkins, his mother was Elizabeth and he took the Campbell name when Elizabeth married George Campbell.
The original old house was 2 stories, living room & one bedroom on the main floor and 2 more bedrooms upstairs. The kitchen was detached from the original house. I quizzed her a bit, because there were not too many houses two stories in those woods in the late 1700s or early 1800s. She did not know how old the house was, or who the first occupants were. She assumed it was Barney.
The house was moved about 1970. All she remembers is that a man who owned a pottery company, factory or shop bought it. He took it apart and it was to be reassembled at his business in western NC. A cousin in Tazewell was building a house about the same time and he took the chimney/fireplace and connected it to his house. He has since died. She said the old house reminds her of one she saw in the Museum of the Appalachia brochure, the one near Norris Dam.
It’s worth noting that the founder of the Museum of the Appalachia began collecting in 1969, so the timing would be right. Maybe Jacob’s house is there. If so, it’s probably labeled as the Campbell home.
Here’s the cabin from a different view after it was abandoned, but before it was deconstructed.
And here, before it was abandoned, with the “wash” hanging on the line. It looks like a typical home here.
I should mention that this building does not appear, on the surface, to be the traditional log cabin, but is instead a plank or clapboard building. If Jacob did indeed own that sawmill, as was described in the 1819 deed from Jacob Dobkins to John Whitaker, this wouldn’t be too surprising. Regardless, this tells us that a mill was very close by sometime before 1819.
Another story says that this building incorporated the original structure, but was built by Barney Campbell, possibly in the 1830s.
According to family members:
There was a kitchen behind the former house which was converted into a loom house and the previous living quarters used as kitchen facilities when the new house was occupied. The kitchen and dining ell of the present old house is not as old as the living quarters but some of the material of the original house was incorporated into the ell which would indicate that part of the house may date back to 1800.
According to this, the original home was incorporated into the “new” house, a very common practice of that time. Frugal settlers wasted nothing and did not simply “move” to a new house. They added on.
A third story says that Barney built this cabin, but his first wife, then pregnant with twins, died before ever getting to live there. That would have put the origin of this building about 1838 or so. Jacob’s original cabin would have been more than 30 years old by then, and Barney had a passel of kids – something like 17 between both wives, not counting the twins that died when his first wife did! Yes, Barney definitely could have used more room.
But that story doesn’t quite make sense either – because nobody would intentionally build a log cabin and immediately cover it up with lap siding.
Do we have any evidence? Why yes, yes we do.
Aha – this photo of the cabin during disassembly clearly shows a chinked log cabin beneath the clapboard siding.
Here’s the rear during the deconstruction process. Look at those dovetailed logs. Indeed, this is the house that Jacob built from the trees he felled clearing the land. Later deeds also refer to this property as being where Jacob lived.
Barney’s grandson lived here until sometime in the 1960s, so this land never left the Dobkins/Campbell family.
About Barney
Interestingly, we have Y DNA genetic evidence that conflicts with the story about Barney being adopted by George Campbell. Some of Barney’s descendants match the Y DNA of the Campbell line, and some do not. Given that at least one of Barney’s son’s lines matches the Campbell Y DNA, it’s unlikely that Barney was not George Campbell’s son! Not to mention that George was very generous with Barney.
Barney is of course a Dobkins on his mother’s side, so I’m not exactly sure how that original story was intended. It’s ironic that the family story includes an unknown father, but the DNA might disprove that, and prove that a Campbell male was indeed the father – exactly the opposite of what sometimes happens.
Obviously, we have absolutely NO IDEA what actually happened back in 1797 when Barney was born, or later with his descendants.
What I can say is that we could probably resolve this question if male Campbell men descended directly through all males from Barney through the following sons would do a Y DNA test.
Barney had the following sons through his first wife, Mary Brooks:
Benjamin Campbell (1820-1882) married Eliza or Louisa Eastridge, born and died in Claiborne County, TN.
George Campbell (c1821-1860s) married Nancy Eastridge, lived in Claiborne County and died during the Civil War.
Andrew Campbell (c1826-?) married Louisa (Eliza) Campbell, lived in Claiborne County.
John Campbell (c 1829-after 1900) married Mary Ann Chadwell, lived and died in Claiborne County.
Toliver Campbell (1835-1899) married Sarah Lewis, lived and died in Claiborne County.
Barney had these sons through his second wife, Martha Jane “Jennie” Kesterson:
David Campbell (c 1841-1919) married Missouri Williams, lived and died in Claiborne County.
Arthur L. Campbell (born circa 1842)
Newton J. Campbell (1845-1911) married Lucy Williams, lived and died in Claiborne County.
Abraham Campbell (1850-1914) married Nancy Cornelia Williams, lived, and died in Claiborne County.
Alexander Campbell (1853-1923) married Sarah “Sallie” Campbell, lived, and died in Claiborne County.
Come On – Let’s Visit Jacob!
Bill Nevils and his mother hosted us for a lovely lunch, but we could hardly wait to set out for the Dobkins land and cemetery, circled in red, above. The house was located near the building with the white roof, halfway between the main road and the cemetery.
Jacob is buried in the Campbell Family Cemetery at 230 A. L. Campbell Lane in Tazewell, although there is no reference to a cemetery on the deed back in the 1800s. Cemeteries were assumed back then and seldom mentioned. It’s still a private cemetery today.
I can’t tell you how much fun Daryl and I had that day. This chimney, at least that’s what I think it is, was probably for the outside kitchen. This chimney was not taken when the cabin was removed – probably because it was not attached to the house. We know that the chimney on the house was moved to Tazewell.
I can only imagine cooking outside in all types of weather, all seasons of the year. Well, actually, I can’t imagine that.
There’s another very early building too.
Look at the size of those logs. This is clearly a very early structure. Is this the building that was converted into the loom house? If so, then it was here when Jacob lived. It’s standing beside that chimney or stone column, whatever it is.
Behind these buildings and the modern-day house, we crossed through the working farm, drove through a gate, and across the field.
This is the same path that would have been followed when a “buryin'” needed to take place. The wagon with the coffin, pulled by horses or mules, would lead the procession of walking family members from the house where the family would have “kept watch” and prepared the body for burial. The wagon wheels would have squeaked under the load. The family knew this was Jacob’s last trip – that late fall day in 1835 – accompanied by a preacher.
Jacob had cleared the field where his funeral procession took place more than three decades earlier. We drove up to the cemetery 171 years after Jacob’s final journey.
Jacob Dobkins Cemetery, Known as the Campbell Cemetery
A fence surrounds the cemetery which is far to the rear of the property, near the Powell River. You didn’t want a cemetery too near a house, or the well for that matter.
Cousin Bill and me before entering this sacred ground. I’m so incredibly glad we made this visit when we did, because Father Bill, an Episcopal priest, has gone on now to meet Jacob. Bill spent years researching this family and I wish he would send a few answers!
A HUGE, massive tree grows in the center of the cemetery.
As we strolled in that direction, Bill told us that it’s believed that both Jacob and his wife are buried under that expansive tree.
That makes sense given that the newer graves radiate out towards the edges. Jacob assuredly wasn’t the first burial here, but he was likely one of the early ones. He would have established the cemetery after he bought the land, as need dictated.
Graves were marked only with rocks. Everyone who needed to know already knew who was buried where. They had stood graveside as the casket was lowered. Neighbors would have come over to help dig the graves and cover them after the service. Perhaps they were marked with a simple wooden cross at the time.
Looking around, we can see Wallen’s Ridge there in the distance.
John Campbell’s land, part of which was apparently originally owned by Jacob, lies across the ridge in this direction. Today’s there’s a cemetery behind Liberty Church, established in the 1850s, on John’s land, but I bet in that time, everyone in the family was simply buried here, in the Dobkins family cemetery. Jacob was the family patriarch.
The photo below connects with the one above at the mountain, looking back over the homeplace, providing a panorama vista of sorts.
Elisha Wallen, the Longhunter, claimed vast tracts of land and sold this farm to Jacob immediately after Claiborne County was formed.
Jane Dobkins Campbell who had married John lived across what is locally known as “Little Ridge.” It doesn’t look very little to me.
I’d wager she’s buried here too.
Jacob would have cleared these fields, tree by tree. Except for that one tree, of course. It was left to shelter those attending funerals. I can’t help but wonder if Jacob did that intentionally. Or maybe he simply started burying family members beneath its branches.
Standing beneath the tree, this is what I see.
I can only imagine the amount of labor that was invested in establishing a farm from the wilderness. By the time Jacob bought this land, he was 50 years old. He did have sons and sons-in-law, but they had their own farms to clear.
Jacob sold the land in the photo below to his son-in-law, George Campbell who was married to Elizabeth.
Even after clearing, Cedar trees aggressively try to reclaim the land for the forest.
You can see that this part of George’s land is very rocky. Impossible to plow after clearing, but reminds me so much of Scotland.
I can see Jacob Dobkins and Elisha Wallen, walking this land together before Jacob’s purchase, discussing the land, and probably so much more. Both men had faced incredible challenges in this new land and somehow survived.
Both had followed what would become the Wilderness Road, when it was wilderness and before it was a road. The only thing there when Jacob and Elisha first arrived was buffalo and Native people, angry at the incursion. Elisha’s first visit was about 1761, and Jacob’s was about 1779 when he arrived at Fort Harrod before the Revolutionary War.
This beautiful stream, Russell Creek, is only about 15 miles, less as the crow flies, from where Jacob traveled back in 1779 between his home in Shenandoah County and Fort Harrod. In 1779, this land was beyond the frontier line.
The area was much tamer 20 years later when Jacob bought this land from Elisha Wallen. Jacob’s service helped to tame the region, making it safe for settlers. Jacob switched from soldiering to homesteading. It’s ironic that Jacob survived the Revolutionary War battles, although bullets ripped through his clothes – but homesteading, which you think would be safer, broke his collarbone and shoulder, disabling him.
Did Jacob look across these ridges from Cumberland Gap and fall in love back in 1779? Did he tell his son-in-law, George about those adventures as they walked this land before Jacob sold him this portion?
Clearly, Jacob wasn’t just buying land for himself, but with the intention of purchasing enough land for his entire family, probably so that his sons and sons-in-law wouldn’t feel the need to “move on.” Best investment ever!
That’s probably the exact reason he sold his land on White Horn Creek near Bull’s Gap and moved everyone to Claiborne County where large tracts of land had become available. Opportunity was knocking.
Of course, Jacob was also establishing a family cemetery whether he initially meant to or not. Every family had one. I wonder if he thought about where would be a good location for a cemetery on his land or if he only thought about that when, due to necessity, they needed to bury someone. Would that first burial have been one of his grandchildren? I would bet so.
Cemeteries were often on higher land so that they didn’t flood and contaminate the water supply. Did Jacob choose this location because of this beautiful tree?
Did he decide that he’d like to be buried right here?
I can’t help but wonder if this tree was already old when Jacob bought this land more than 200 years before.
If only this tree could talk. What stories it would have to tell.
I think this is a maple tree. Medium growth rate for a maple tree is about a foot each year, so this tree must be ancient. Based on the photos, I’m guessing at least 300-400 years and maybe more.
Some gravestones are located beneath its sprawling branches. Bill told us that Jacob is supposed to be buried beneath this tree.
Most of the space beneath the tree consists of unmarked graves. Apparently, there are many, many unmarked graves.
Perhaps Jacob is resting right here in the shade. Surrounded by his children and grandchildren.
Some died in his lifetime. Jacob’s son Reuben died in 1823 at the age of 40.
More unmarked graves.
Many graves weren’t marked, except for field stones, if that, until in the 1900s. A gravestone was a luxury none could afford.
Some field stones remain, but others are clearly gone.
Barney Campbell’s son Benjamin is listed among the burials. Assuredly, Barney was buried here too following his death between 1853 and 1855, as are his parents who died about the same time, and grandparents who died twenty years earlier.
The day in May that we visited was stunningly beautiful with spring’s warmth not yet giving way to the oppressive summer heat.
Daryl, Bill, and I walked every inch of this cemetery, looking for any clue. Just being with Jacob and our family members for a short time.
I couldn’t help but glance over each fence and picture Jacob standing and doing the same. Of course, his split rail fences would have looked quite different.
Did Jacob go to the far side of his property each day and fell more trees?
Did he stand here pondering life’s unfairness when he buried family members?
I slowly turned in a circle to see what Jacob would have seen.
I can’t help but wonder how all of these people are connected to Jacob. Maybe some aren’t but many appear to have “married in” to the family. After a few generations, these Appalachian families are all related to each other one way or another.
Daryl and I, always the consummate genealogists, photographed gravestones.
This cemetery is not small. Many areas are entirely vacant, signifying unmarked graves. It looks like there are as many unmarked as marked, or maybe more.
While the old burials are near the middle, there are contemporary graves too.
Areas towards the fence had modern burials.
No matter where you look, the mountains are ever-present in the distance. Today, just as Jacob saw them two centuries ago.
By now, there are probably 8 or maybe 10 generations of family members all resting together here. Jacob would probably be quite pleased that his investment in a large amount of common land, enough to share with his sons and sons-in-law, paid such handsome dividends. Indeed, many stayed and continue to stay.
Of his own children, 5 lived out their lives in Claiborne County, two struck out for Texas, and one is uncertain.
Many of Jacob’s descendants still live in Claiborne County, Tennessee, and perhaps some still live on Jacob’s land.
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