Plowing Through and Withstanding Difficult Moments

This week's writing prompt is 'plowing through' and I hate how literal this post will be. It tells one of the more tragic stories that has been passed down in my family and it fits this prompt both literally and figuratively.

Job 14:1 says that "man who is born of a woman is few of days and full of trouble" and the latter part of verse 2 Chapter 7 in Ecclesiastes reminds us that "death is the destiny of every man and the living should take it to heart." I somehow wonder if theses two verses with a multitude of others, were a form of steadiness for my great-grandparents. It's where they would find their fortitude to stand back up once knocked down, and their focus on where they were headed - their strength to keep moving."

They did not live their lives with grand delusions of fanciness and easy living. You see my great-grandparents grew up in a hard part of the country, in a hard time in history. Their resolve would be tested and their character defined as they would constantly endure hardship and would have to find something in them to keep moving forward, plowing through each difficult circumstance until they could find their feet on solid ground. They were born and raised in a newly 'tamed' Texas and came into adult-hood in the midst of The Great Depression.

My great-grandmother, Willie Belle Foster, was one of the younger of eleven children born to James and Isabelle (Athey) Foster. She was born in 1915 near Simms, Texas. Her father was a sharecropper, growing cotton and maze and her mother was a trusted midwife who delivered babies all around the countryside, including my grandfather, Charles.

My great-grandfather, Benjamin Rufus Nall, was the youngest son born to John Thomas and Ophelia (Rich) Nall. He was born in 1908 in Collin County, Texas. His father had previously owned acreage near Farmersville, but traded it for a milk cow and moved to Chalk, where he and Ophelia pulled cotton boles.

By the late 1920's both the Nalls and the Fosters had settled around Crowell, Texas, and it just so happened that Rufus and Wille Belle both attended a singing at the little church at Chalk, TX. This was where the two first met. They would go on to get married December 12th 1933 in an auto garage in Crowell. Immediately following the ceremony they would go to the Foster's home to help kill 22 hogs, then ride 30 miles horseback to Rufus' parents' home where they settled in one of the 2 rooms in that house, that had previously stored piles of cotton boles. {Nothing like the beautiful bridezilla weddings and honeymoons of today}

These were hard times for a young family just starting out. Most of their young adult lives would be spent with a set jaw, weary soul, and a determined spirit to plow through and keep moving.

By 1938, with two children already born, Charles and *Dena,  this young family lived in a tent, coated with tar, for water-proofing, while Rufus worked as a farm hand tending cattle and goats. He also cut cord wood for extra income. Their third child, Bo, was born in that tent. Times were so lean by this point that Willie Belle had problems having enough milk to feed baby Bo, so Rufus' boss, Duff Vance, generously gave them a Brahma cow that had lost it's calf, under the condition that Rufus was able to even catch her. Being desperate, and I like to think, a talented cowboy of the west, he succeeded. She even became docile enough to become quite a good milk cow that provided enough milk to share with neighbors.

In 1941, with another addition to the family, baby George, they decided to move back west, hoping with the greatest of expectations to do more than barely scrape by. Rufus became a sharecropper on the Homer T Melton farm (8 miles west of Benjamin) and when he wasn't growing and harvesting crops he worked as a cowhand at the McFadden Ranch from sun-up to sun-down for $6 a day.

While living on this farm the 3 youngest babies were born:  Larry Alden, his twin Wilma Jean (who didn't survive the day) and in 1945 the baby of the family, named after his daddy, Rufus Leon.

Things were finally starting to look up economically across the country and, in turn, for this little family. So much so that Rufus was able to afford a Red-bone hound that came all the way from Kentucky. They named him Old Jim and he helped Rufus hunt as he trapped coons, skunks, bobcats, lynx and anything else with a hide that could be sold.

Then, tragically, this family would be dealt the hardest blow of their life. The 25th of June, 1949, would start like many other days that summer, without incident. Willie Belle and the four older children, ages 14, 12, 10 and 8 had all gone to chop cotton about 20 miles away. Rufus and the two younger boys, Larry and Leon stayed at home as he had wheat stubble to plow. Like all children, especially young boys, they wanted to ride that Farmall H tractor with their Daddy, and after some begging, Rufus gave in and told them they could ride for just one round on the draw bar. As they rode, Leon was either pulled off by grabbing Johnson grass heads as they passed over them, or by reaching for his little straw had which blew off in that hot Texas wind. He fell under the one-way disc plow and was more than likely killed instantly. Rufus in a sick panic, grabbed his baby boy and clutched him close as he ran to the house and carefully laid his lifeless body on the bed. He had no transportation or phone, so he hysterically ran to the highway to flag for help. Several passed by before someone finally stopped. But needless to say, poor Leon had already passed on.

The Hamlin Herald 8 July 1949, Friday.

I had always been told that Grandpa Rufus was a preacher. They say he preached some as a young man, but had fallen away. It's funny how tragedy can work one of two ways. It can either drive a wedge between you and God or can bring you closer. I'm thankful that it was the latter in the case of my grandfather. After this incident he began preaching again and did so for many years afterwards. Rufus confided in some that he felt like Leon's death was punishment for being disobedient and not preaching for all those years in between. I'm not so sure I believe that's how God operates, but I won't pretend to know what goes on between a man and God. And the story behind the death of the child belonging to David and Bathsheba does give Rufus' belief some credit, I suppose. Either way I can't imagine the burden he must've carried from that day on. I'm sure it was under the shield of grace from his savior that he was able to bear it at all.  And my poor sweet grandmother, Willie Belle, how her heart must've broken and bled. She lost her baby boy and was she angry with Rufus? Did their marriage struggle? I mean no disrespect in asking that question, only that I want to make sure we understand the way a tragedy of this nature has the ability to reach into every crevice of your life and linger there, for years. I am certain the only way they overcame any of it was because of their deep rooted faith.

Now, I didn't know my Grandpa Rufus very well, as he died when I was only four. But I knew my Grandma Willie Belle quite well, or as well as a child possibly could. She was quiet, and kind, and as firm as a person could possibly be in her faith. She would often quote Matthew 5:45 saying that the Lord would send rain to the just and the unjust. She didn't question. She just believed in the Lord and what He would will to be. She trusted Him, completely. She was content in her life and accepted it with a humble gratitude that feels nearly impossible to achieve. When she passed away, the preacher, Brother Glen, spoke of the virtuous woman in Proverbs 31, and she was. In every. single. way. I admire her more and more the older I get.

I would love to leave you the verse that was preached on at her funeral service. It was Isaiah 40:31 and says "but those who wait on the LORD will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint." She had spoken with the pastor in her last few days about how this verse was her source of strength during her most difficult days. I pray that it will linger in your soul, should you ever experience a time in your life where you don't have the strength to plow through. And I hope it will guide you to the place my grandparents found theirs....



Until next week,
Becky


*My sincerest gratitude goes to my Great-Aunt Dena for her commitment in preserving and passing down our family history. It is because of her that much of this story, with all the details, can even be told.

Birthdays and Admiration

 

 

This week the writing prompt was to write about the person in your tree that comes the closest to your own birthday (not the year - but month/day). I have two people in my tree whose birthdays are the exact same day as mine. One was my 4th great grand aunt, born in 1857, the other is my grandmother's older sister who was born 56 years before me. I'm going to choose her. I loved this prompt because it gave me an excuse to reach out to some distant relatives that I'm 'friends' with on Facebook, but I don't interact with them any where else. I started out by sending them messages asking about their favorite stories about our ancestor. To some she is a sister, others a mother, some grandmother and others still an aunt. I found myself asking questions about so much more. I am honored to share a birthday with such a remarkable person from such a hard working generation.

Merle Iris Stepp was born on April 30th and was the eldest of 7 children born to Newell McKinnley
and Zula Jane (Acord) Stepp. She was named after Newell's mother Rebecca Matilda Merrel, and was delivered at home by Zula's mother, Inda Acord. The house she was born in was built by her father in the middle of the Arkansas Ozark Mountains in a little community known as Spokeplant, in Madison County. He had bought an old house about a 1/4 of a mile above the post office in Spokeplant. He tore it down and moved it and rebuild it at what is now known as the Bob Eaton place. Newell and Zula lived there for 16 years and 5 of their 7 children were born there. Then they moved about a mile down the road to what is known as the Karr* place where the two younger boys, Dwight and Tooter, were born.  The two homes Merle grew up in didn't have electricity. So she grew up watching her mother cook on the old wood cook stove and eventually learned how to herself. And laundry was another thing all together! When laundry was done in those days, it went a little something like this:

Build a fire in the backyard to heat the kettle of rain water.  Set tubs so smoke won't blow in eyes if wind is pert.  Shave one whole cake of lye soap in boiling water.Sort things, making three piles: 1 pile white, 1 pile colors, 1 pile work britches and rags. To make starch, stir flour in cool water till smooth, then thin down with boiling water, take white things, rub dirty spots on wash board, scrub hard, and boil, then rub colors... don't boil, just rinse and starch.  Take things out of kettle with broom stick handle, then rinse and starch. Hang old rags on fece. Spread tea towels on grass. Pour rinse water in flower bed. Scrub porch with hot soapy water. Turn tubs upside down. Go put on a clean dress, and smooth hair with hair combs. (Taken from an article written by Lisa Kelly and published in the Benton County Daily Record).

One story that my grandmother recalls that includes Merle and laundry was the time their mother, Zula Jane, and the two oldest girls, Merle and Argie  were doing the wash and a coal popped out of the fire and into the Sunday clothes. It ended up burning holes in some of them. Grandma remarked that they didn't have very many Sunday clothes.

There was a lot of hard work that had to be done back then just to survive, and children were expected to do their part. There were only a couple years difference between Merle and two of her younger siblings that were twins, Art and Argie. So the three of them worked together to take care of the farm. They would mend fences, repair the barn,  feed and water the livestock (cattle, sheep, pigs, chickens, horses and goats). They would also pick beans to sell to the canning factory. Times were lean back then and they only had shoes in the winter. This meant they did all this farm work with bare feet during the warmer months.

My grandmother, Reba, said that because her sister was so much older than her, nearly 15 years to be exact, she didn't have too many memories of her at home. My grandmother would've been six when Merle got married. She did however, remember a time they were in the back of the hay wagon and Merle was standing up when the horses decided to bolt! Merle fell backwards and out of the wagon, but thank goodness she wasn't hurt. She also remembered another time when she and her older sisters, Merle and Argie Jayne, were in the barn milking. This was during WWII and they heard an approaching airplane. When they ran out to see it, it was a P38 flying so low that they could see the top and could hear their mother crying out that she was afraid those poor soldier boys were going to die. She was certain the plane was about to crash. Then suddenly the plane gained height and flew off. Remember the family homestead was located in the hills of the Arkansas Ozark Mountains and as the crow flies they were only a short distance from Fort Chaffee, where Elvis's sideburns were shaved off and he was given his famous GI haircut. Imagine if Elvis was in that P38!!

Speaking of WWII, Merle's soon to be beau, Willard Roy Denzer, who had lived just a mile or so away "over on the creek", was serving in the US Navy. When he came home on leave he and Merle began courting. They had met each other a few times before when the Denzer's would host a barn dance and the Stepp's would attend. They soon became engaged and after two years when Willard was out of the navy, on October 18th 1945, they were married at the Clarksville courthouse with Merle's mother, and her sister, Argie Jayne as witnesses. The happy couple lived with their parents for a month after they were married.

Before joining the navy, Willard had lived in California with an older brother, for a short time. While there he had a job working at The BOX Company. When he joined the navy he was told they would hold his job for him and he could have it back when he returned from war. This meant the newly married couple would move west to begin their new life together in sunny California. They did not own a car of their own so they hitched a ride with Willard's older brother Sherman and his wife Elsie. They lived in California for seven years with three of their five children born there, Richard, Ronald, and Rhonda.

In 1949, a mother's worst nightmare would happen - young Richard, only two years old, would suddenly experience bleeding of the brain and passed away. And three years later, Willard and Merle finding themselves homesick made the difficult decision to leave California where their baby was buried and move back home to Arkansas. They missed both of their families and the summers in Brawley were far too hot, so they headed back to Arkansas where their two younger children, Janice and Timothy would be born. The family lived and worked on a Tyson owned farm in Springdale. Willard worked hard for Tyson and became a research farm manager, and Merle cleaned eggs. Later when the Holiday Inn in Springdale was first built she went to work there helping get it in order. After they opened for business she was made head house keeper. She worked there for eleven years.

Merle grew up during The Great Depression, you learned the hard way that you do not waste anything and Merle took this with her into adult hood. One niece recalled that while Merle was working at the Holiday Inn, she would take the used bars of little soaps from work back home to her mother, Zula Jane, and they would grind it up in the sausage grinder and use the granules for washing their laundry.

Merle and Willard were from a hard working generation. They always had a garden and Merle would put up fruit and vegetables to last throughout the year. They raised their family and became grandparents and great-grandparents and eventually moved from their home in Springdale and purchased a lovely home on the lake in Gentry, Arkansas, where they retired.

This is where a defining memory of Merle and her generation would take place, at that lake house in Gentry, Arkansas, one frigid, icy, winter.

Her grandson writes: 

Merle's generation is the Greatest Generation for good reason. The resolve to do what needs to be done has carried through even into her golden years. A few years back, a winter storm struck the area, taking out power and icing everyone in for days. While the news ran stories about the elderly not having enough blankets, Merle and Willard (in their 80's) were chopping holes in the frozen lake, hauling buckets of water up the hill to the house, boiling it on their woodstove and using it for cooking, drinking, and bathing. 

Another time on a random visit we found the house empty. We heard a tractor running in the woods. We went to go check it out. We found Merle working a manual winch, chain, and come-along to right the overturned tractor in the ravine while Willard pushed. And they did it. In their EIGHTIES.

 

Last year Merle's family honored her with a 90th birthday celebration. I regret that I did not attend and that I don't have more first hand knowledge of this diligent and resourceful woman. I know she is a treasure to her family and everyone who knows her. I wish her many more birthdays to come.

Until next week,
Becky

*The Karr place was originally owned by  George Karr, the uncle of Zula Jane's brother-in-law, Hoyt Karr.  Hoyt Karr was married to Effie Equilla Acord, Zula Jane's sister.

**Caption for the family photo: Newell holding baby Reba, and Zula holding on to little Connie Betnar. Then the older three children left to right are Merle, Art, and Argie Jayne.

Please also take the time to read up on my SIL's Almost Birthday - Twin.

{ I later asked of any birthday memories she had from her childhood. This was her reply via her daughter Janice - "Mom said that she doesn't remember getting any gifts. They didn't celebrate birthdays, it was just like any other day. The meals were just like any other day also. Mom said that once in a while that her mom would make a molasses cake. That would be a special treat. They didn't have very much sugar then. It was hard to get. The molasses cake wasn't made for birthdays, just when she could make them. I ask her did anyone wish her a Happy birthday in school. She said no, they never had school in April. She said they only had three or four and never over six months of school. They would only go ever how long the money would last for their district. So never in school in April. They walked a mile to school and a mile back everyday day. Always barefoot unless it was winter. She said her and her sister Argie Jane, would have to wear a clean dress to school on Monday and wear it again on Tuesday and Wednesday, then they got to wear another clean one on Thursday and wear it again on Friday and the next Monday. They would have to change out of them as soon as they got home."}

Orange Marmalade

Bampy and Mammy and my parents wedding.

It's funny the things you remember about a person - little things that seem insignificant - but can sure
brighten your day once that loved one is gone. I remember tons of little insignificant things about my grandmother, whom we all called Mammy. Probably because I spent so much time with her as a child. Today I remember her love of orange marmalade. She didn't always have it around the house. In fact, I remember a jar of apple butter on the counter much more so than the bright orange jar of marmalade. But I do remember on those occasions when she did have some, how she would go on an on about how much she loved it.

For Christmas, like every Christmas, my Daddy always gives us bags of apples, oranges, grapefruit, nuts etc. Well this year he came with two boxes (huge boxes) of fruit. One box was half red delicious apples and half golden delicious and the other box three quarters filled with oranges. Now, my family loves fruit, but even for us, that's a lot of fruit to eat before it goes bad. And once again, in remembrance of my Mammy, I couldn't let any of it go to waste. I sliced and dried most of the apples and today I will imagine my Mammy in the kitchen with me, as I, for the first time ever, will be making orange marmalade. I have looked to my favorite canning website, Simply Canning, and a few of my canning books/magazines and many of those recipes don't use pectin, and instead just use sugar and the frozen spoon method - which always makes me a bit nervous. So I decided to use the recipe in the first link that you can also find packed inside the box of pectin. The recipe only calls for 4 oranges and I have somewhere close to 20. I think I have two boxes of pectin in the cabinet left over from this summer's canning season so that means I will only be using eight of my bulk oranges. The rest we can eat on and who knows, I may go ahead and try the frozen spoon method after all.

 

 

   

Margaret Adeline Lemmond

Most of my life, I can honestly say, I've caught myself looking at other people and imagining myself in their shoes. In doing so I have felt, admiration, wonder, disbelief, and astonishment at how so many seem to trudge through life after experiencing so many stressful, heartbreaking times. It serves as a good reminder when I find myself in the thick of it, and I want so desperately to just throw in the towel. I'm reminded of 1 Corinthians 10:13 that tells me I'm not alone in my struggles. Others are struggling too and have in the past and if I will only look to Him who is faithful, I will find strength to endure.  I wonder how many of my ancestors clung desperately to their faith during their struggles and uncertain times. Did they depend on Him for the strength to endure?

In tracing my ancestors I love those who seem to have a story to tell, even if those stories are inferred from what was going on in the world during their lifetime. Like the story of my 4th great grandmother, Margaret Adeline Lemmond.

Margaret was born March 19th 1812, in  Mecklenburg, North Carolina, to James McCullough and Elizabeth (Moore) Lemmond. Both of her parents would die before Margaret was 18 years old. Her father died in 1824 and her mother just five short years later.

At the age of  19, she married Thomas Rutherford, son of  David and Elizabeth (Williamson) Rutherford, on February 27th 1832 in Mecklenburg County, North Carolina. At that same time he became the guardian of two of her younger siblings.  Not long after their marriage, Thomas and Margaret moved to Union County, Georgia with her siblings and began raising a family. While living in Georgia, Margaret gave birth to 7 of her nine children: William, born 1833; James McCullough, born 1834; Thomas Franklin (my ancestor), born 1836; Elizabeth, born 1838; John Lemmond, born 1840; Robert Walker, born 1842; and David Flynn, born 1844. In 1848 the family moved from Georgia to Tippah County, Mississippi, finally settling in Faulkner, where she gave birth to her youngest two children: Alexander, born 1848; and Mary Ann, born 1850. Eventually her husband, Thomas would own and operate the family mill. I imagine things were going well for this fine family but within the next 10 years the country would become divided and the War Between the States would soon find six of her sons leaving home and joining the war on the side of the Confederacy. I can't not begin to imagine the anxiety this would cause a mother to feel. She must've been in constant prayer and the Lord was gracious because none of her sons were lost to battle, though two of them were captured and taken to the U.S. Military Prison, Rock Island on December 3, 1863. It's amazing that they all survived the war, but even more so that Thomas Franklin and Robert Walker ever survived Rock Island. (You should definitely click on that link to learn more)

Margaret would survive the hardship of a war that took place in her own front yard and the difficult period of the reconstruction. In fact, she lived for another 40 years after the end of the war and 13 after the death of her husband. One son (my ancestor) would leave his home of Tippah, Missouri and move to Texas. She would never lay eyes on him again. And in the course of her final 10  years, she would bury three of her grown sons.  In the picture I have of her above, she looks so tired. I can't imagine all the things those tired eyes had seen. How much she experienced. If I could go back in time and talk to Margaret I wonder what she would say when asked how she did it. Did she endure because she felt like she must, there was just no way around it. In the end was she praying for death because the sorrow of life had become too great.  I wonder was she ever bitter? Or did she endure with silent grace because she was clinging to a greater hope? I imagine her to be human and I'm sure she felt it all at some point. The conclusion I come to is this: How can I live my life better, because of the enduring examples of all the strong women whose blood courses through my veins. When I want to give up in the midst of hard times I can look back and remember that I'm not alone in my struggles. None of us are.  I think it's all summed up best in the book of Ecclesiastes Chapter 3--What is happening now has happened before and the same can be said for what will happen in the future. There is a time for everything. Everything has a season and each season has a purpose. I just have to trust that. Finding satisfaction in all of our struggles is said to be a gift from God. And honestly to find a way to live a life satisfied and content has always been a goal of mine.  I think I just found my inspiration in the stories of the women in my past. The women in your past, too, maybe? Take for instance this amazing woman in my SIL's family, Edith Cleo Hubbard, and how the way she lived her life was a source of great comfort and strength for my sister-in-law.

Are there any strong women in your family?

Until next week,
Becky

A Different Take On Royalty

This week's theme is "king". I have thought and thought about this post and no ancestor seemed to hit the mark until I read my SIL's post and her tribute to her parents. I, like her, had always planned to blog about ancestors further up the tree, for privacy reasons, and honestly, I didn't want to unintentionally step on someone's toes or hurt feelings. Well - not to sound rude - but to the tune of 'It's My Party' - It is my blog and I'll blog what I want to.....

There are some whose feelings will be hurt (if they were to read this) by what I'm going to post. And I hate that. I hate that I have been made to feel guilty about my feelings and relationships that have meant a great deal to me - that have shaped me into the person I am today, for better or for worse. I hate that it makes others feel like they weren't or aren't loved by me, because that's simply not true. I hold special memories of several people, but for whatever reason, a select few, had a closer bond to me and that's just life. I see it with my own son, and the way he cherishes his father's family. Sometimes that's hard for me, but because of my own experiences, I don't begrudge him of this. Each of our relationships are unique to us. And I wish simply, that hurt feelings didn't exist, especially when the offense isn't intentional in any way.

So without further ado.... I give you my heart.

My parents separated and divorced before I was even a year old. My time was divided up and I spent every other weekend, a few spring breaks, and a week or two during the summer with my dad. My dad worked at the family owned processing plant during the week and on Saturdays at the local sale barn for the first 10-12 years of my life. These years are typically the most influential years. My weekends with him could be summed up like this: He would pick me up Friday evening around 5, he and I would check his cattle and head back up my grandparents house, his parents, for supper. And because he had to wake up so early to get to the sale barn on Saturday ( 3am - 4am ) he would leave me to spend the night with them and would pick me up after he got off work. Now sale barn work isn't a shift job. Some days he would be home in the afternoon, but sometimes, when the sale ran long, it could be as late as 10 or 11 o'clock that night. He would then pick me up and I would spend Saturday night with him at his house. The next morning we would wake up bright and early, tend to any young bottle calves he might have then I would head "up the mountain" (about 10 miles up the road) back to my grandparents house where they, along with my great-grandmother, would take me to church. My dad stayed home to take care of  his cattle and rest. After church we would all come back for a big  Sunday dinner, a little more farm work, not much because it was Sunday - a day of rest - then supper and then Dad would take me home.

Now for the details... and before I even start I already feel compelled to start making excuses and apologies here as to why these people meant such a great deal to me and were closer to me than others. I am torn between feeling angry that I have been conditioned to feel guilty about these relationships and feelings of pity because of others insecurities, everyone's high emotions (mine included) and childish things that have torn relationships to pieces. It should not have been so, nor should it remain today, but it does.

That being said, here goes...

You see, from the time I was in diapers I was treated very special by my dad and his parents. By my dad, because I was all he had at that time. By my grandparents ( Mammy, Bampy and Grandma Nall) all I can do is speculate. I suspect for my Mammy it was a place of pity and regret. She felt sorry for me because my parents were divorced. She was an incredibly sentimental person. Her father died when she was only 3 and her mother never remarried. She always held my relationship with my father to the highest regard because she herself never had that relationship with hers. I feel like she tried her best to make my times with my dad as special as she could, because in the back of her mind she knew from experience that you never know just how much time you will get. She always spoke about my dad to me with so much respect for his work ethic and made sure I knew how much he loved me. I heard these things from her every. single. visit. And so, I never for one minute doubted his love for me. Maybe she over compensated because on my weekends with my dad, because of his job,  I really didn't spend much time with him. But what time I did spend was so impactful. On our trips up and down 'the mountain' we would talk, tell stories, make up silly songs and I knew that when I was there, I was loved. I was loved by my dad, my Mammy, my Bampy and by his mother, Grandma Nall, who lived less than a mile down the road and would visit often. So there I was this young girl surrounded by 4 adults that gave me a lot of attention and a lot of one on one time teaching me all the things they felt were important in life. My grandfather whom we all called Bampy, was the strong silent type. A man of few words but with a lot of impact. A man I loved and was a wee bit scared of. But not too much because his smile was so kind and warm. He loved to aggravate me (and my cousins) but it was always with that warm kind smile. He was my king. He was the highest authority as far as the farm work went. He was also the boss of the family owned processing plant and he was definitely the king of his castle. My Mammy, his wife, was my queen. And his mother, my Grandma Nall, was the former queen and true matriarch of the Nall family. They all lived their lives with a lot of moral purpose. I was taught my place as a young woman and they shared their life skills with me, from cooking to sewing to bible study and prayer. They told stories about their lives and the lessons they learned.  My time there was filled with instruction for life and I felt like a princess. Not the spoiled rotten pampered princess. But the adored, apple of my eye, kind of princess who would one day inherit the world and would need to be prepared to live life well and know her place in it. I was invested in a great deal. And in return I held them in very high regard, and I still do, though they are all gone now, except for my daddy.

My weekends there were full of hard work. My time with them was nearly all spent working. Saturdays were for housework and getting everyone's clothes washed and ironed and ready for church on Sunday, though my slip was always getting misplaced. And you should know the queens in my life forbid going to church without your slip! Occasionally there would be a button that needed to be sewn onto one of my Bampy's shirts and this task was made to feel like one of such importance. I was proud to be able to accomplish it. Once a month, Saturdays were also for going to the store for groceries. This was before the great Wal-Mart Super Center. When you went for groceries it was an all day trek to Dillons in town and then  Food-4-Less, IGA and Wal Mart located two towns over. My job was to bend down and get the items on the bottom shelves that were hard for my Mammy and Grandma Nall to reach and of course to help bag and load and unload all the groceries. These trips were also a treat because we usually would eat out at KFC or Long John Silvers. As I got older, the cattle sale was no longer on Saturdays but Thursdays and so I was now spending a lot of those days with my Dad and his girlfriend (now wife) Dawna. There were fences to build, hay to haul, land to clear, cattle to work and as a young woman I was taught and expected to know when to leave the manly labor in time to make it back to the house to get lunch ready for the men and to stay late to clean up before rejoining the men outdoors. My Mammy also taught us girls to always listen for the rattle the ice makes in a glass when it was empty and to promptly refill any man's glass that was. My male cousins always thought this was a treat to have their female cousins wait on them. They would rattle those glasses and smile big when we would fill their glass with a smirk. There were a lot of 'old-timey' values that were instilled in me when I was growing up and they make me feel a bit unique. I'm proud of the things they taught me, and because of my circumstances, for the intentional one on one time I had. Because of my age, at the time of my parents divorce, my grandparents didn't treat me as much like a grandchild as they did a child. And because all their children were grown, unless my cousins were there, they treated me like an only child in their home. Maybe this is why my relationship with them was so close. To me, the reasons don't really matter. All I know is when I look back on my child hood I remember those days most and with such fondness. I will remember rubbing my Bampy's ankles with asorbine jr. because of his gout, the way his laugh sounded more like a cackle, helping him to pick rocks up out of the garden,  and how it was him that taught me one early morning how to make gravy. I remember helping Grandma Nall snap peas in the porch swing, or playing with old spools from used up thread, as she hand made several quilts. I remember my Mammy singing praise hymns in the kitchen and teaching us all to say our prayers at night. I remember the wood box and having to keep it full and learning how to start a fire. I also remember only being given 2 matches to light the trash in the burn barrel and Mammy was always disappointed when I had to come back for more. And I always had to come back for more. I remember the big feasts when the entire family would get together with all my aunts and uncles and cousins and I regret how it isn't like that any more. I regret how life isn't as simple as it seems in the eyes of a child and how a dynasty seems to have fallen apart and I'm not even sure as to why. I wonder how it is that these people that showed me such love and care and intention now have a legacy of a broken family that barely speaks. I wonder in what ways I've played my part. I wonder why words of repentance don't feel as sincere as words of hurt. I miss my king and queens and I wish so desperately, so often, that I could call them up, if only to tell them just how much they mean to me.  And I regret so much that the old saying, 'You don't know what you've got 'til it's gone', is far too true.

Martha Teel - wrapped up.

I apologize that all I seem to be able to offer up on this ancestor is speculation at best. I do hope to share with you a few links to some of my finds. I will start with this link to the 1909 edition of the Atlanta, Texas newspaper,  The Atlanta News . Direct your attention to the article titled OFF FOR MEMPHIS. The Bradberry Teel mentioned is Martha's brother. He is also mentioned in this article as well. He was born 22 Nov 1836 in Georgia and married Susannah Williams in 1858. He enrolled April 4 1862 and was enlisted with the Confederacy, Co. E 46th Alabama Infantry, Stevenson Division. By the year 1880 he and his family are living in Cass Co., Texas, and at his death he was buried in Atlanta, Texas in 1915. In this article about the Confederate reunion, it mentions a J W Hughes. I'm wondering if this is Martha's second husband since I'm not certain if "Mack" was a given name or nickname. Again... speculation. A far leap in my honest opinion.

I have recently discovered a resource in my constant searching for Mack and Mattie Hughes; a book written by Millie Porter. In her book she speaks of a Hughes family living in Wheeler county Texas in the late 1800’s. Millie wrote that an MC Hughes supplied milk to the soldiers of Fort Elliott, a military fort two miles southeast of Mobeetie. She also wrote that both MC and his wife had been previously married, a fact which would fit my Mattie Hughes, though I have no idea about Mack. Also written was that the family had been hit by a cyclone and their milk business was disrupted. Is this cyclone the reason for such a lack of records in my search? **NEW INFORMATION** If you click the link about the cyclone it speaks of a young girl named Anna Belle Masterson... Anna Belle Masterson's father was RB Masterson and her sister was Fannie Fern. Both of whom signed, as witnesses, on my Mattie Teal's DIL's Cherokee Nation application papers saying they had known her for 15 years. AND John Calvin named one son Ben MASTERSON Jones, and a daughter Fannie Leigh. Was this after Fannie Fern?

I'm feeling nearly certain this is my family as Mattie's son John Calvin and his young family were living in Mobeetie, Wheeler Co. in the late 1890's - 1908 at the latest according to tax records and the 1900 census. The 1910 census places them in Knox Co. **I believe I have finally found Mattie and "Mack" Hughes (listed as Mc Alester C Hughes ) in the 1910 census, living in Cordell Ward 4, Washita, Oklahoma. It lists Mattie as being the mother of only one child and as my Great Aunt Frances relayed to me, in Mattie's will she says that Johnnie Calvin is her only child.**

In the June 1940 edition of The Pampa News there's a story by a Mrs. Lillie Throstle, as she recalls her early childhood in 1886, Wheeler Co. Texas. She mentions neighbors Joneses and a Mack Hughes. Again, I'm feeling nearly 100% that this is my Mattie's spouse, Mack Hughes, but where are all their records? Is this all I'll ever find? Only newspaper clippings and second hand stories? I remain hopeful that someday more evidence will surface of this family.

Another source of information is the Cheyenne Sunbeam, a publication out of Cheyenne, Roger Mills County, Oklahoma Territory. In the 1895 publication you can find the following:  "MC Hughes is back again.  His better half is away for a month at Mobeetie and Mac looks lonely." This is the first evidence I've found that would suggest MC was also known as Mac!!  Mobeetie was located just across the state/county line to the west. And often mentioned with MC Hughes is the community of Elk Creek. In the November 1899 publication this snippet was published: "Mr. Bradley and Mr. Hughes have moved their families back to their homes on Sweetwater." Sweetwater was the previous name for the community of Mobeetie.

 

In my previous post I ended with a bit of interesting information about Mattie being known as quite the sharp shooter. If you look at where she was living during that time and what had taken place there the previous decade with the Red River Wars and the constant tension between the early settlers of the area and the local Indian tribes of that day, I could see how learning to be a good shot would be incredibly beneficial. She truly lived in the Wild West. In reading about the history of Mobeetie and all that transpired there in the 1870's I'm reminded of the 1990's television series The Young Riders. And after reading one account of a couple of buffalo hunters being scalped by Indians in 1874, I'm also reminded of that terrible scene in Dances With Wolves where the wagon driver and his two mules were slaughtered. 

What a brave and hardened woman she must've been to lose her first husband to the Civil War and then to leave her parents and several siblings behind in Georgia to make a fresh start for herself and her young son in such an untamed place. I'm sure she was full of true grit. And even though I don't have many facts about her life, I admire her for the strength she must've had to survive during that time period in such dangerous place.

Please don't forget to click over to these great genealogy blogs as well - Days of Our Lives and Theology for Mom 





Martha "Mattie" Teal - Fresh Start

In 2015 -  thanks to my SIL who shared this post with me - I hope to blog about 52 of my ancestors in 52 weeks.

The first week's theme is "fresh start". I feel I have an ancestor that meets this criteria quite well, for I could use a fresh start on her and from what I know of her, soon after her first marriage and the birth of her son in 1860, her husband UNKNOWN Jones died, and she had to make a fresh start by remarrying a Mack Hughes, and moving west. I am not certain if she married Mr. Hughes before the move west or after.

I've spent years trying to find the parents of my 2nd great grandfather, John Calvin Jones, until recently when my father's cousin sent me some information from a 'cousins book' that was compiled by a few of my grandmother's cousins. It's actually not a book, but a binder with information and pictures that they were able to piece together. Imagine my joy when she told me they knew John Calvin's mother's name. You can't imagine how difficult it was trying to use census records to find the family of a man with such a common given and surname. The following is from their records:

"According to family information, John Calvin was born in Columbus, Muscogee County, Georgia, 28 July 1860. His father's name is unknown. A family story is told that he died or was killed during the Civil War when John C. was a young child. John Calvin's mother was Martha Teal. She was born 4 July 1841 (1838?) in Georgia. Her parents were Bradberry Teal Sr. and Nancy Robinson who married in Jasper County, Georgia, 22 Sept 1825. Bradberry was born about 1796 in North Carolina and Nancy was born about 1807 in North Carolina"

I'm hoping through this blog post, I may be able to ascertain who her first husband was or, even better, to find more records for her. I may make this a 2 part series, starting with what I know now and ending with what I learn along the way. For now, meet Martha "Mattie" Teal/Teel:

 

Notice this picture was taken in Mobeetie, Texas. Wheeler County was created 21 August 1876 from Bexar and Young Land Districts and was organized in 1879. County seat: Mobeetie (formerly Sweetwater)(1879-1906); Wheeler (1906-present). Wheeler County was the first to be organized in the Panhandle area, and 14 other counties were attached to it for judicial purposes until 1881. Sweetwater was established in 1876 as a trading post.

Mattie was born in Georgia on the 4th of July 1838, to Bradberry and Nancy (Robinson) Teal. I first find her living in Russell, AL, in the 1850 census with her parents and the following siblings: Kipiah  (17), Bradberry Jr. (15), John (10) and Vesty (8).

The above is the only record I have found so far that I feel certain is her. Her family is found in two places: Russell Co. Alabama, and Columbus, Muscogee, Georgia. These two places are less than 5 miles apart. In 1860 in Columbus, Muscogee, Georgia I find a Martha Teal (19) living with a R S Calloway (31), Mary Calloway (26), and a Barty T Teal (16). This could very well be her, considering her son, John Calvin Jones, was born in Columbus, Muscogee, Georgia that very year and her brother (?), Burrel K Teel was married to a Calloway. But why isn't her last name listed as Jones? Was she not married to John Calvin's father? **New information** In the estate papers of Bradbury Teel in Russell Co. Alabama several heirs are mentioned contesting his will. There is an Arnold Teel, JD Hadley on behalf of his wife Minta D Hadley, William Tillery on behalf of his wife Lucinda Tillery, Jesse Holt on behalf of his wife Louise Holt, and Riley S Calloway on behalf of his wife Polly. This new information makes me certain that the above census is my Mattie living with her sister Mary "Polly" (Teel) Calloway.

Keeping in mid that John Calvin was born the 28 of July 1860 in Columbus, Muscogee, GA, and that the enumeration date for the 1860 census was 2 months earlier on 1 June 1860, if I search the 1860 Georgia census for a 'Martha Jones' I should be able to deduce who his father was, but I can't be certain. I did find a record for Martha's sister, "Kissie",  who married 2 years earlier, a Christopher Columbus Jones in Russell Co, Alabama. This makes this location a possibility for the young family as well. My grandmother's cousins suspected that Martha could've married one of her BIL's siblings but I don't think that John Calvin's dad was a brother of his Uncle Columbus Jones. The reason being that their death dates are all too late in life. For the story to match up they would've needed to have died in the 1860's early 1870's and none did except for one who was 17, Theron Sherrad Jones.   I found in 1860 in Russell, AL an Uriah and Martha Jones both 21 years of age. But keep in mind Martha at this point in 1860 is 7 months pregnant and baby John Calvin ends up being born in Columbus, Muscogee, GA. But then again, as I stated before, these two communities are only 5 miles away by today's maps. In Columbus, Muscogee, GA, the only Martha Jones I find is one who is 24 and living with 8 other Jones', the oldest being Female and 27. There are two possible men that could be her spouse, one is 26 yr old James the other 22 year old George W. They are all listed as 'Factory Operators' and this seemed odd to me so I did a little research and found that there was a Clapp Factory  with a village and cemetery. Since, John Calvin's dad is said to have died when Calvin was young. Maybe he's buried there?

I have also NEVER found any records for Mattie and her second husband 'Mack' Hughes. Mattie's brother, Bradberry Jr ends up moving to Texas, where my John Calvin and his mother spend the remainder of their days.  I found her brother with his family in Precinct 1, Cass Co., Texas in 1880. Also, in this same location is a Martin T Hughes and Martha Hughes and several children with the oldest being a John Hughes (17).... is this my John Calvin with his mother and step-father?

John Calvin ends up marrying my 2g grandmother, Leona Bass, in 1891 in Cooke Co. Texas. I have searched those communities around that date and haven't found any evidence that I feel is close enough to be John Calvin or his mother, Mrs Hughes. It's such a misfortune that the 1890 census was burned up.

At the end of this road is Mrs. Mattie Hughes being buried in the same cemetery as her son, John Calvin Jones. You can find them in Truscott Cemetery, Knox Co. Texas. There are no other Hughes in this cemetery. I've often wondered if John had any half or step siblings and was Mack his step-father's name or a nickname **New Information: It's speculated that Mac Hughes real name was Anguish McAllister Hughes - no records as of yet to prove this**. John Calvin's own death record lists both his parent's names as UNKNOWN. So this ancestor will remain a puzzle with several pieces missing I'm afraid. I do wish I could get a copy of this cousins book. I am forever grateful for the snapshots of useful information that my distant cousin sent to me via a Facebook message.

She sent me picture of John Calvin and a bit of information surrounding the image triggered my memory of a story that I can remember my grandmother, her Aunt, telling me. Apparently, Mrs. Mattie Hughes was a regular Annie Oakley.  She owned a gun with an octagon barrel and it was stated that she could shoot a white button from 100 yards away.


Also be sure to check out my SIL's  'Fresh Start' post.