History isn't about dates...

This morning on my way to work, I was in a long train of cars and trucks. The vehicle in front of me was pleasing to the eye. I'm no great fan of invisible fences since two of the dogs I grew up with found ways to slip out. One would wait for the snow plow to come and leave a mound of snow over the wire that triggered the warning collar, and simply walk out over the distance-keeping hill of snow. The other was a bounder, he could leap like a deer, and easily cleared 5-6 foot fences on the fly. He did this one day, bounding over the warning of the invisible fence, and came back in my older brother's arms, dead from being hit by a car.

But I digress...the two yellow labs sharing the stick they obviously want someone to toss, pulled me out of my rambling thoughts.

I had been thinking about ... history and how it isn't about dates, it's about people. And how I've been reading lately about people that were "much more personal" to me - which made history more ...personal.

Let me explain. My dad's side of the family, largely came to this country around 1850. There are 5-6 generations that, by and large, lived entirely within a few blocks-square area in downtown Philadelphia (with trips to the New Jersey beaches). While Philadelphia is the home of the Liberty Bell and the signing of the Declaration of Independence...the people that did that, and lived through that time, weren't "my people". So the history becomes a bit dusty and remote...

My mom's mother's family immigrated to Boston, Massachusetts from Scotland around 1895. Again, Boston is one of those "a lot of things happened there" towns of old, but it wasn't "my people" that were involved with dumping the tea in the harbor, or listening to Paul Revere shout the "British are coming!"

My mom's Daughters of the American Revolution application and the research that went into it, however, has changed things. History has become much more personal.

My mother's father's family tree for the country that was to become the United States of America is extensive. More than extensive. One branch goes back to John Bush (1590 - 1624) who is my 8th great grandfather. He came to Virginia with Lord De La Warr.

Thomas West, 3rd (or 12th) is often named in history books simply as Lord Delaware. He served as governor of the Jamestown Colony, and the Delaware Bay was named after him.

Suddenly, history takes on a buzz.

John Bush's great-grandsons would travel with Daniel Boone through the Cumberland Gap in 1775.

Johannes Michael Schmidt, my 7th great grandfather, came from Germany in 1737 with others fleeing religious persecution. He entered this country in Philadelphia, lived in Germantown, and later moved to Virginia. 110 years later, my dad's side of the family would come from England and live on Germantown Avenue... Again, something begins to resonate within me...

Philip Peter Visinand, my 8th great grandfather, who born on 10 Apr 1684 in Heilsbruck, Switzerland, came to America in 1731 and settled in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. He is buried in a cemetery I've driven past dozens of times without a thought or care... It's so very different now.

Back north, the town of Salem, Massachusetts was having a series of hearings and prosecutions of people accused of witchcraft, between February 1692 and May 1693. Henry Herrick Sr., my 10th great grandfather and his family were deeply involved.

My mom is deeply ashamed by this - I grant this wasn't the world's "finest hour," but it happened.

Does the name David Stern Crockett ring a bell? Perhaps you remember the Alamo? Ancestry.Com tells me he is the uncle of my 4th great grand aunt, Sarah Elizabeth Crockett's husband.

Lost in the fabric of time... and deep in thought, I want to learn more about what have become special to me events in history... the Alamo, the Salem Witch Trials, the settling of Jamestown, and something terrible...

...the damages done to the family during and after the Civil War - where "my people" fought... on the "losing side" near Shelbyville, Tennessee...

..when I look up and see two friendly dogs staring back at me...and soon thereafter I arrive at work once more.

Umm... Huh?

Usually, junk mail never enters my house, it goes into the trash can, but this morning I was late, so I took it to work with me. My brother saw my forehead wrinkle when I saw this ad in one of the ad circulars.


He looked at me and asked, "Why the funny face? Oh! I know, it's because the coupon (he made air quotes) expires, right?"

I replied, "No. Its the thought that I should buy my loved ones..."


"...one of these for Christmas."

He looked at the ad and then laughed.

Later on that day, when he was leaving, I asked him, "What sort of stone do you want?"

"Rose-colored Granite," he replied. And then added, "And Iggy, don't ask any of your lady-friends that question, Ok?"

I looked confused and he helped me out, saying "What sort of stone do you want? Like in engagement ring?"

It has been a slow day in land of odd...

Der brth I tak up time to drop you few lins..

Recently, Jacqi over at "A Family Tapestry" sent me a link to a new (to me) genealogy resource. It allows one to search books of biographical material.

Thanks to Jacqi, I uncovered a few gems. If you don't know Jacqi, this is what her profile says:

"It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference? I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands."

I get goose bumps just reading that.

---- ...And these are my strands. ----

One of the gems I found has the rather lengthy title of "MOUNT HOPE - A history of Cole, Shipman, and allied families: Abercrombie, Allen, Anderson, Bailey, Bennett, Bryson, Carson, Channell, Curtis, Hemphill, Hutchins, Keith, Munday, Nixon, Owens, Stephens, and other families, of old Buncombe Co., N.C, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Texas, Oklahoma and elsewhere." It was written by Pauline Callaway Sheriff and is copyrighted 1982.

On page 189, I found this regarding my Mother's great-grandfather:

John Madison Shipman, son of George Shipman and Margaret Hefner, was born on December 22, 1844 in Georgia. He married Paratine Avary on January 15, 1867. She was born in 1847-8 in Alabama, the daughter of Wilson W. Avary, b. 1824-5 in South Carolina and Tabitha Jane b. circa 1826-7 in Alabama.

In the 1880 US Census, Wayne County, Tennessee, John Madison Shipman and family was listed living next door to the W. W. Avery family. Included in the census were the following children: G.W., a son 11 years old, M. J. a daughter 10 years old, and D.P. a son, 5 years old.

Through the courtesy of Louise Shipman Fields, we have a copy of part of an old letter that was written by John Madison to his brother, Rufus Monroe, called "Babe", and to his parents, George and Margaret [Hefner] Shipman. Over the years portions of this letter had worn out on the folds, and some sections were missing:

"Wayne Co. No (missing)
Pap & mother

... leaves us in common ... they may find you all ... not heard any speshal in some time I want to see you all very bad and did expect to before this time but on the account of gethering my crop and sickness I can't get off yet awhile my crop is now gethered I have got a part of my wheat sowed I think when I get done sowing wheat and my cotton hawled off and sold surely will get to come We have had some sickness this fall but nothing verry serious Gerge Wilson first had the sore throat he was sick about two weeks then little Perry about two weeks with fevor and worms supposed to be then Pairentine had the sore throat about one week we only had the doctor one trip we have all been puny this fall my crop turned out tolerable well except my cotton it was verry sorry I think I have gethered about 200 bu (bushels) of corn 11 or 12 hundred lbs of cotton in the seed I think I have shoats (young pigs) enough to make meat if they don't die there is a great many hogs dying in this country

(the bottom part of the letter is missing, then this on the back side:)

...so Babe I supose you are come out to Wayne if you can do any good would be glad you would do so if it suits you to come now you can come out with John Avary well Babe I don't know of anything now that would pay you much. You can come and look round for your self and if it don't suit you can do like other has done you can go back to Winston so if you want to come don't wait on me.

J.M.S

"When this you see remember us I want you all to write soon"

On the bottom of the letter, in a very different handwriting, very hard to read, was:

"Winston County, Ala January 18 1877
Der brth I tak up time to drop you few lins to in forme you that we are wel at pres hop th finds every one of you well"

The above letter was written in Nov 1876 and the reply at the bottom started Jan 28, 1877 by Rufus or a sibling.

---- I then found this: ----


On the back it is labeled, [Daniel Perry Shipman] on the right. I think this is John Madison Shipman with his two youngest children Hurbert and Daniel Perry, taken somewhere in Fannin County, Texas, circa 1880.

Digging around further, I find what appear to be the memories of Carlos Raymond (C. R.) Shipman. I hope you will clicken to enbiggen. :)


It says in part: "I am Carlos Raymond Shipman born June 28, 1899 attended at birth by Dr. J. A. Lannius in a two-room log house built by my father and his neighbors a little over 17 miles northeast of Bonham on a 40-acre government lease at 10 cents an acre per year for ten years. The doctor came out in a one-horse buggy about 17 miles at five miles per hour.

I married June 15, 1921 Annie Mae Matthews in Bonham. We have one daughter and seven sons all living at present. She passed away January 24. 1974. My father Daniel Perry Shipman was born in Wayne County, Tennessee September 1874. He came to Texas in a wagon with his parents, John and Paratine (Avery) Shipman, at the age of eight years. His father died when my father was 12 and he lost his mother two years later. He had to run the farm and support his mother and sister Maggie [Note: my great-grandmother] and brother Hurbert. His older brother George was married and had two children at the time. My father was helped some by his Uncle Billy Morrison of the Stoolgrub community a few miles away. My father also helped at times on other farms at 35 cents and 50 cents a day. He made cross ties at six cents each for the Texas and Pacific Railroad. He became a good farmer and owned and operated close to 900 acres several years. Later he farmed less and operated a meat market and general merchandise store, also a wood yard. In his last working years he cultivated 11 acres in vegetables to sell on his place on South Center Street in Bonham.

His uncles, Luke, Downs and Charlie Avery, lived in the Telephone and Lamaso communities north of Bonham. Luke and Downs moved to Lubbock to farm. My father came to Texas, I was told, in a wagon from Tennessee. Five wagons started but only three made it. They traveled 15 to 25 miles a day depending on the hills and road conditions. Most newcomers to Fannin County stopped along the Red River for water and land that would grow fruit and vegetables. At 19 my father married Fannie Mary Terrell who was age 20. There were five children born of this marriage: Ruby, Raymond, Homer, Carrol and Mattie Gorgie. Carrol died in 1960 on a farm north of Bonham. Carroi's oldest daughter Caroline Shipman Brady now owns and operates the farm. My father lived in Fannin County 66 of his 76 years."

-- "Fannin County Folks & Facts" Page 238.

It is 550 miles from Mount Pleasant, Wayne County, Tennesee to Honey Grove, Fannin County Texas. The wagon trip must have taken them about a month.

Ghosts of Our Grandfathers

Recently, I've been very busy at work. Some of this work involves setting up and learning about new computers and new operating systems. Windows Server 2012 and Windows 8 to be specific.

I find myself reduced to having all thumbs as I attempt to find my way around the new "user interface" that Microsoft hopes will "look like" what you see on smart phones.

Doing this work, got me to thinking that if my Grandfather was still around, I would be rewriting the very first program I ever wrote (back in 1977-ish) for him to use with a new computer system, or perhaps even as a smart phone app.

He might have even liked it - each version of computing he lived through made his life easier - since "the program" he used to determine pricing at the foundry got more and more user friendly and reduced his work (and mistakes) with each version.

But it has not been all work and no play for me even if the weather has mostly conspired against weekends with nice weather. On the one nice weather weekend this past month, my Dad and I went to the Golden Age Air Museum in Grimes, Pennsylvania where we saw airplanes of World War One and the Depression Era fly.



I am always amazed by the sight of airplanes such as this, built in 1917, still flying! I took a ton of photos (here).

The weekend after that, the weather was stormy and gloomy but the rain held off for the most part, so I got to the houseboat to unwind from "enjoying" way too much Windows 8.

Some of you may remember the cutest little wharf rat in all the world. Here's Barley making a new friend!


My mother always says, "When it rains, we rest." Here she is resting by reading a book on the houseboat in the dinette.


For my mom's birthday celebration, my dad arranged for a sunset dinner cruise on the Tireless. The Tireless is a restored, all wooden 68 foot long Classic Trumpy motor yacht, built for Roger Firestone in 1963. Roger Firestone was the youngest of five sons of Harvey S Firestone, founder of Firestone Tire. I find it amusing that he would name a boat "Tireless" but it makes perfect sense...it has no tires!


Dinner was super yummy! I didn't eat again for almost a whole day.


While we were cruising, my dad suddenly exclaimed, "I don't believe it! Look over there, there's the Muriel Eileen!"

Built in 1926, the Muriel Eileen is a wooden "Chesapeake Bay Buy boat" typical of many similar boats of that time. It has a mast and boom forward of the hold with the pilothouse aft of the hold with the hull decked over. It is 58 feet long and 18 feet wide

These "buy boats" were used to haul freight, watermelons and oysters in the days when roads in the Chesapeake Bay area were poor. They literally bought oysters from fishermen direct from their boats while they were still out in the bay oystering, hence the name.


When Muriel Eileen's owner started to renovate it, he contacted my father regarding some of the brass fittings that needed replacement due to extensive wear. My grandfather worked up the pricing using "the program" I wrote and he also made the wooden patterns. The circular ring where the rope enters the boat from the wooden pole is made of brass...and was made by my dad and grandfather. I think they are called hawse pipes. They typically run an anchor chain out of a boat (or ship) through such a fitting to protect the woodwork.

This is not the only "old" boat on sailing on the Chesapeake Bay that has bits and pieces my dad and grandfather made.


HMS Sultana was a small Royal Navy schooner that patrolled the American coast from 1768 through 1772, preventing smuggling and collecting duties. She was retired when unrest in Britain's American colonies required larger, better armed patrol craft.

In mid-1999, my father was asked if he might help with a project to build a replica of the Sultana. The ships rudder required straps to mount it around the propeller (an engine is required by the US Coast Guard in order to carry passengers.)

My dad had the straps were made from bronze and supplied them. A couple years later, he was called and invited to the ship's launching. The replica of HMS Sultana was launched in Chestertown on March 28, 2001.


As launched, the straps were painted white. Today, they are painted black (as in the first photograph.)

For those of you with sharp eyes, I am in the front row and the third person standing to the right of the street lamp (next to the guy with a yellow vest).

Labor Day weekend proved dreary and gloomy, so I decided to take a road trip away from the houseboat. In the small town of Sudlersville, I found the local train station. The tracks went from Wilmington, Delaware through Massey (of the grass airfield fame) to Queenstown, Maryland.


I tried to find out more about the feed mill/elevator in the background, but couldn't find its owner.

I then went to Ridgely, Maryland and visited its train station, now a museum.

This station was on the line from the sleepy bay side town of Oxford, Maryland to Clayton, Delaware where it connected to the line that ran to Wilmington and Philadelphia.

From 1871 to 1920 or so, a daily steam train took freshly caught and canned oysters from Oxford to Philadelphia, stopping at this station to pick up rail car loads of Strawberries. Ridgely was the Strawberry Capital of America back in the day. Did some of those strawberries and oysters get eaten by my great-grandparents?

Did the place "next door" to my great-great-great-great-grandfather sell "Oxford, Maryland" oysters (see previous post)?

Maybe - just maybe. :)

Old Photograph - Circa 1870?

The old photograph below was recently discovered in the Historical Society of Pennsylvania's photographic archives.


Photograph the property of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania

Prominent on the third building from the right, is a sign saying "J. Mousley". This might date the photograph to before his death in 1883.

Joseph Mousley (born July 22, 1803 near Leicester, England - died July 8, 1883 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) was my 4th great grandfather. I wonder if he might be standing on the sidewalk? None of these buildings are still standing, the lots are now paved over for automobile parking.

I find the juxtaposition of the oysters and feather vendors odd, but amusing. My father and I, as did my grandfather, enjoy eating oysters in just about any form.

I wish to thank everyone for their helpful comments and support concerning my last entry. I wrote a letter expressing my feelings and as I was set to burn it, as an offering of sorts, I remembered I had sent her a Christmas card, and the address of her surviving husband (which I could find nowhere) was find and put on the envelope and it was mailed to him and his two daughters. I felt much better having done this much.

I will not be posting much in the foreseeable future. Things at work have finally picked up and things are once more, too busy (it always seems to be nothing or too much). I will attempt to keep up with reading your posts and will comment when I have (or think I have) something worth saying or simply can't restrain myself from saying something silly and/or stupid!

And then there was one...

On Thursday afternoon, while cleaning up some odds and ends at work, I checked my email for some instructions on how I was to do some tasks and ... simply went home.

Back in the early 1990's, I left what is now GlaxoSmithKline (GSK) to go to work in a small start up company. My supervisor at GSK had gone there several months before I did, and had put in a good word for me there. While the work environment at GSK was turbulent from mergers and unsettled from several failed, critical computer-related projects, the environment at the new company promised to be exciting, full of growth, and challenging. It also paid well.

When I got there, I was greeted at the door by my old supervisor and another woman, a woman that was to have a huge impact on both my career and the way I do things professionally. The three of us were an inseparable team and I was now on the same level as my old supervisor - at least pay and title-wise. Talent-wise I will never be... I have written about the other woman (here) saying,

...an older woman I worked with on projects together with, 8-9-10 hours a day, who I greatly respected both in terms of her knowledge and her attitude, someone that bailed me out of a dozen or more jams - found out she had a lump on her breast. She ignored it and worked on. Finally she couldn't ignore it any longer and they operated - and thankfully she survived by the narrowest of margins - but her attitude changed as she came to realize that she had a family with two young girls and she, as a workaholic was missing out on things - she resigned from work and only later, when her girls were grown up, did she go back to work - by then I had moved on. Here, I know it's just selfish to think about what I lost, a mentor and able teammate - but in the end, I should be happy she learned to "smell the roses" in time.

Well, it turns out, she didn't escape the grim reaper. While she was "cancer-free" for about 12 years, in the end, the big "C" killed her. She never publicly complained, never fussed, never got depressed and never lost her "I'm gonna lick this thing" attitude. Nor did she lose that "I was awaken to smell the roses last time...I was soooo lucky!" attitude. She did was she said she was going to, she cut back on her work hours, enjoyed her children, her husband and her faithful dog. She often took time out to go to the beach and peer out to the horizon as well as deep inside herself. Thus steadied and refreshed, she went back to her daily battles.

The e-mail I got Thursday afternoon came just hours after her memorial service ended. Upset with missing my chance to say "goodbye," I simply went home.

Obituary

She was the Senior Director for Integrated Data Services, Global Clinical Operations for Johnson & Johnson - even though she resisted promotion with unjustified modesty.

I still need to say goodbye... somehow.

Gone Fishin'

No, not me. My mom and dad went fishing on the eastern most tip of Long Island, New York. My dad and I usually go in early May for a weekend and catch some Flounder.

My dad went there this July with my mom and apparently my mom taught him a couple lessons! Two 25 pound ones, as a matter of fact.


They (well my mom anyway!) greatly enjoyed the trip on the Rainbow Charters with Captain Bob Rocchetta out of Orient Point, Long Island.

They spent a couple days walking on the beaches "sound side" (looking at Connecticut in the distance) and swimming in the warmer waters on the "bay side". Since I have only been there in very early May (when it is usually about 50F), I've never seen anyone on the beaches nor have I ever been swimming there. My mom says, "You gotta!"

By the way, Captain Bob knows his Striped Bass! In 1981, he broke the long-standing IGFA All-Tackle World Record for striped bass with a 76 pound fish caught off Montauk and still holds the New York State record today.

Going To Try...

I'm going to try to post something today.

I've said that daily for about 4 weeks.

Then the motivation dribbles out onto the floor... and runs down the drain.

Deep breath.

Gonna try to "do it" this time...

It's been hard, really hard to find energy and motivation... one could blame this awful heat we've been having it... but I know that's not it...

Recently, I've been contacted by a "never met, distant cousin" who wrote to me saying, "Hey, would you be interested in some old photos we were given (from the settling of an estate) that appear to have the 'Mousley Crew' in them? We received several old boxes full of albums."

Of course, I said, "Yes!"


From the bottom, Franklin, Marshall, and Elmer. I've written about Franklin before, he with the diary dating to 1910-1912, and Elmer, an electrical engineer that helped set up one of the first trans-Atlantic radio stations in Tuckerton, NJ.

These gentlemen were my cousins, 3 times removed or my great-grandfather's cousins. They must have been a handful while growing up.

Which brings us to the connection between me and my "never met cousin" that sent me the photos.


Sarah "Sadie" Mousley was the wife of Thomas Charles Mousley and the mother of Franklin, Marshall and Elmer. I think I would have liked Sadie... there is something in her expression that hints of fine humor.

Thomas C., ran a brass foundry his father (my 3rd great grandfather) started in Philadelphia back around 1860.

Sadie's brother George Hammond had a daughter named Grace, who apparently assembled all of the recently uncovered photo albums. Sadie was Grace's aunt.


In the album are photos of Franklin, Elmer and Marshall as young boys and later men, in various locations like "down on the farm" "at the beach" (Wildwood, NJ) and what looks like somewhere in Philadelphia, likely the Mousley or the Hammond home.

Above we see in the back row (left to right): Marshall, Papa (George Hammond), Elmer, Thomas C., Leon(?) and in the front: Jas. W.(?), Mrs. S(treitz?), Sadie Mousley, Florence Sailor(?), and Franklin holding George (Hammond Jr.?)

I don't think Franklin changed much in his appearance over the years. I'm going to sort out the other photos and figure out who these other people are - hopefully soon.

There. I did it. I posted something. I need to give myself a high-five. Now to tackle several hundreds of unread posts you've written the past 6 weeks or more.

Got to try...

Thanks for Your Thoughts

I want to thank everyone for their helpful comments to my last entry. I had lunch with my mom yesterday and managed not to say anything that upset her (for a change). We had a pleasant meal, and I asked her if she knew what became of any of her former students.

My mom was a Montessori nursery school director and teacher for many years. She has several Master's Degrees and is probably one of only a small handful of "real and actual" Maria Montessori Method experts in this county.

She knew offhand the "what became of them" stories of a couple of her former pupils - One is a massage therapist in San Diego, California (who'd of thunk it?) and another is a lawyer working in the Philadelphia District Attorney's office (eew!) My thinking was, let's try to get forward thinking and off the "ancestors" for a little bit.

She smiled for the first time in a while. I asked her to make a list of those she remembered best. I plan to "track 'em down" and find out what they are up to these days. Perhaps some of them will want to re-connect with my mom and give her a "hello."

Over lunch, I gained some insight on her. My mom married young (her 55th wedding anniversary is comping up this June) and moved from Boston to Philadelphia - and soon had her hands full with three little boys. I discovered she lost touch with her various aunts and uncles when she did this... she in essence "traded" her family for my dad's "contentious, argumentative" lot. Her family (and roots) dropped away as she tried to fit in with (and make peace among) my dad's family.

My dad's family was a small one - he was an only child. Those family members that were "around" were put off by my grandfather - the heart of the issue was the "family business" and arguments over how it should be run. Further exasperating the "splits" was my grandfather's opinionated (read: bigoted) ideas on "the proper place for a woman" and the mark of a successful (proper) man being a "captain of industry" and most definitely not in Government or Military service.

As this photo shows - many of my grandfather's uncles and cousins where in the Navy (remember Commodore Franklin?) and therefore in my grandfather's eyes, they were all "worthless bums."


This is my dad - he is about 3 years old with Phil Hallworth and an unknown (likely a family member) companion. Philip Lewis Hallworth was a neighbor and worked in the engine room on the ships he served on while in the Navy. He eventually went deaf from the noise and died at a very young age of 44 from cancer. He is buried in Beverly National Cemetery in Beverly, Burlington County, New Jersey. He was my honorary "Aunt Bea's" first husband.

I need to write another entry sometime - showing another side of my grandfather - one that took in a young girl whose mother could not take care of her - just because she was family and it was "the right thing to do."

At any rate, I babble on... I wanted to thank you all for your thoughts. They were most helpful and most appreciated - as are each of you.

Mom's Been Thinking

Recently my mom's been doing some thinking, and it doesn't take much, if any, reading between the lines to determine what she's thinking about. The other day she handed me this obituary about an amazing woman, who worked up until the day she died at the age of 102 as a airplane flight instructor. I post the obituary for one and all - it's a fascinating story.

My mom, I think, is trying to express her feelings about, well, questions like, "Is my life pretty much over now and do I have anything more to offer anyone?"

She has been dredging up materials on old people that were doing wonderful things well into their 90 and 100 years of age. My mom is an amazing woman. She's been really sick the past couple weeks from some sort of cold/flu. On the days when she feels better, my dad has been sick. The illness has been seesaw ride. They both seem to be feeling better today so hopefully they will feel really good come this Memorial Day weekend (the houseboat is calling!)

In the meantime, if anyone has something I can tell her, that would ease her mind about getting old(er), I'd be most appreciative. I too, find the subject very hard to bring up in a direct manner - I will be lost without her (my dad is already lost when she's not feeling well).

Please (control-)click to make this big enough to read.

Welcome Flora and Fauna

The Morris Arboretum, the setting of more than a few of the photographs I've taken and uploaded into Flickr, has a Swan Pond. I took this photograph on Mother's Day, May 9, 2010. You can see the sole swan swimming, rather forlornly in the pond.



The pond was designed and installed in 1905 by John Morris. The idea may have come from the popular 18th-century landscape design style of the English romantic landscape which often included a classical temple reflected at water’s edge.

"Files from that time period indicate the Morrises purchased a pair of swans in 1923, for $82.50. Mute Swans mature at four years and usually mate for life. Females lay an average of six eggs in the spring at two-day intervals. Cygnets, or baby swans, hatch after 35 days and can swim after one day. Adults share rearing duties and are extremely protective – they may even injure a person if provoked."


This photograph was taken on October 10, 2011 and I was saddened to learn that the old swan had gotten ill and died. She was badly missed.

This spring, the Arboretum had a pair of female mute swans donated to them by Nicholas and Athena Karabots. The one-year-old swans, who are sisters, were in need of some names, so the Arboretum had a "Name the Swans" contest. I hoped someone I knew would enter the winning names.


Photograph from the Arboretum's website.

Over 600 names were submitted - and the winning names are Flora and Fauna entered by Steph Cohen! If the weather "behaves" this weekend, I plan to go to the Arboretum and take my own photographs of them.

As to the names, "Meh." :)

The Great Annual Chilifest Fly-in!

Last Saturday my dad and I went to the Massey Air Museum even if the weather was overcast and cool.


Beautiful paint jobs abounded... They had over 90 planes arrive! And 150 cars, including mine!


As well as the statements of the obvious! This photograph was taken of the instrument panel of a $160,000 Russian-made YAK 50 war bird, out of production since 1985, so there is absolutely no room for error!


My dad and I looked at this one and both said at once, "Broccoli!"


Yep, right there on it's teeth.


I think this paint job was my favorite. Look at it gleam!


This odd plane caught both my dad's and my eye. It was hand-built from wood. Awesome interior - it would put most cabinet makers to shame. It was called a "Supercat".


It had quite a standout cockpit. When I got closer, I was delighted to hear this plane's sparkling personality.


"Hello, let me introduce myself, I'm a Supercat and if you have a few minutes I will tell you my story. If I can be honest with you right now I'm a little jealous, because my owner is off somewhere looking at other planes. He is probably looking for a Vagabond because he is building a Wagabond or a Vagabond or some kind of tramp."

I hope you will read on, it's attitude is infectious! :)


Another eye-popping paint job! I saw a young man about 17-18 years old climb into it and take off - he was most careful and concientious. Just as he rose and cleared the runway, he zoomed straight up and did a couple acrobatic rolls. I was amazed, it was so unexpected!


The Pride of Massey Areodrome. A Stearman Model 75 built in 1934.


This little guy was the fly-in mascot. He roamed the field and got to take several flights! (Lucky dog!)

There were plenty of hotdogs and chili (over 40 pots - each brought in by different people) and all the ones I sampled were yummy!

Searching for Roots

When I stop to think about "why" I am looking at the family tree, several thoughts come into my head. Being alone, and in a family that is quite small, I am searching for some relatives that, for the lack of a better choice of words, want to be relatives, for the time when my immediate family ... becomes smaller.

I also would like to understand how I got to where I am today - and in part - the answer to that extends back in time, even before I was here. After all, my place in the world was determined by where my folks were when they had me. So in part, to me, this means needing to understand why some my predecessors moved from where they were, to where they ended up.

Lastly, I'm helping my mom with her Daughters of the American Revolution application. In the process, I've been learning how to find things I never expected to find on-line.

My dad's family never moved once it came to the United States. They arrived in Philadelphia and in the seven intervening generations, never moved to a place further than fifty miles from the William Penn statue on City Hall.

My mom's family on the other hand...

One of the links to "where I've come from" is a tangled one.


Meet my great-grandmother "Maggie" and the "Reverend", shown here sitting on the running board of an old Ford four-door sedan somewhere in Texas.

Maggie, or more formally, Margaret Jane Shipman, came to Honey Grove, Fannin county, Texas with her parents, John Madison Shipman and Paratine Avary in the autumn of 1880. Her mother's parents and her younger brother Daniel Perry Shipman, also moved at that time, from Mount Pleasant, Wayne county, Tennessee. Maggie was but 11 years old.

Why did this family uproot from Tennessee-Alabama border and move to Texas? I've a couple theories and no answers. One thought is that they moved to escape the carpetbaggers that made life miserable for folks in those parts after the Civil War. Apparently, this family of rather poor dirt farmers without pre-war slaveholdings, had no part in the "Lost Cause of the Confederacy", and just wanted to be left alone. Several of Paratine's family were hung after the Civil War by northerners who simply didn't like them.

Another theory is that they moved to Texas to settle on one of the Texas Land Grants given to distant cousins, Edward and Moses Shipman. They apparently had some role in the Texas Revolution and were offered land in Fannin, Red River, and Bexar (San Antonio) counties. I've not had the time to sort this possibility out yet.

At any rate, Maggie married a mysterious William Deary in November of 1891. She quickly had a little girl named Grace, and in February 2, 1893, she has a little boy named George (soon to always be called Bubbie). She is left a widow by November 1893.


In the meantime, Reverend Joseph Black Bush has moved to Texas with his wife Mary and two girls, Lizzie and Virgie, from Fountain Run, Monroe county, Kentucky shortly after 1880. Again, the "in-law" parents also make the long move.

In 1883, the Reverend and Mary have a third girl, who they name Tommie, and Mary dies in 1890.

Why did they uproot from the third or fourth generation family home in Fountain Run, Kentucky and go to Texas? Again, I don't know. My great-grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher in the very southern baptist, "Churches of Christ". One of the leading and founding members of that church was in Texas. Perhaps my great-grandfather was "given orders from the church" to go there. Subsequently, he served as a teacher and minister in Chickasaw and Choctaw Nations, Indian Territory. Maybe he was a "missionary" in a sense?

With five children between them from prior marriages, they soon have six more.


The first child the Reverend and Maggie Bush had, was my grandfather, shown here in his full "Masonic Lodge" regalia, in Boston, circa 1955.

Page 1, Franklin Mousley, Age 17

It's here! Franklin was born in 1895 and died in 1961. He is buried in the same cemetery as my g-g-g-g-grandfather as well as his father Thomas and his brother Elmer. If I've done the math correctly, Commodore Franklin was my first cousin, three times removed.

The photograph I previously posted of Elmer's grave led another until recently unknown-to-me relative to contact me. Franklin's mother, was their great aunt. Previous to my going downtown to investigate what Franklin had left behind, they asked if I might see what information might be had on Franklin's mother's parents. Lo and behold, in the stuff I had in a dusty box, was a two page note outlining the very family they had been researching, literally for years without success.

I sent it along to them, and found more, that Franklin had uncovered at the historical society. I'm making rapid progress on my mother's DAR application, and I hope to present her at least a self-published document detailing the lives of her relatives back to those that fought in the American Revolution. I've found eight of them to date! It's been an exciting time, insofar as my genealogical hobby!

I want to thank Far Side Of Fifty, Jacqi at A Family Tapestry, Who Were They?, and the Archivist for putting up with my obsession and pestering questions. Their blogs have helped me hone my own research skills, which incidentally carries over into work-related activities (working with huge databases containing millions of records from clinical trials.)

At any rate, enjoy page 1 of Franklin's words, written in 1911, if you wish. He seems to have been rather precocious.

Mom's Old Photos

First things first - a couple updates:

1) The diary of my cousin Commodore Franklin Mousley is being digitized as I type. A very helpful person from Rights and Reproduction is making a PDF copy of the diary for me at a most reasonable price! I'm so excited!

2) The search for Henry Casselberry continues - he hasn't been found yet. I did, however find many of his eight children and even more of his grandchildren. The current search appears to be leading me back towards Germantown. I need to review some old history books and look at some old maps to see where he might have been buried. I have found one reference that states, "The early Mennonites didn't concern themselves overly much with gravestones. The believed the good Lord knew where to find them."

With that in mind, humbled, I will take failing to find the gravestone in stride - I'm just a bit disappointed for the 8-times great-granddaughter and last of her family's line, that I might not find it. She's been delighted with all the children and grandchildren gravestone photos.

She says, "They (the photos) makes the dusty records of ghostly people, become so real once more. They *did* exist, live and breathe." And that's good enough for me.



************************
This past weekend, my mom pulled out a handful of old snapshots.  This is her, in about 1940-ish.  Location unknown but probably in the Boston, Massachusetts area.

In 1957, my Grandfather wanted to attend his family's annual reunion.  My grandmother did not want to go.  She disliked the very long car ride from Massachusetts to Oklahoma in the hot summer months.  Their car was "up in years" and not terribly dependable.  My grandfather usually gave way to my grandmother's quirks and whims, but this time he put his foot down and said (according to my mother), "Cornsarnit woman, I'm going even if it means leaving you behind! I'll take the boy (my cousin) and the girl (my mother) with me and go without you!  So if you're going, pack a bag and gits in the car!

She packed a bag, mumbling the whole time, and got in the car. The car broke down somewhere in western New York and it took several days for it to be repaired.  The week-long vacation with the reunion in Oklahoma became a visit of only a couple days.

 

The 1953 family reunion in Calera, Oklahoma. My grandfather was one of seven children, and he had an additional three step-siblings.  I must confess to enjoying the names (even if they confuse things to no end!)  From left to right, Charlie Clyde (yes, she's a woman), Donna, Olive, Margaret (my great-grannie Maggie who was 4' 7", killed rattlesnakes and chickens barehanded "fer eatins"), towering behind her is Tack (real name Lowell, Charlie's husband), my grandfather with the stylish wide tie and beset upon look, Barbara Ann, Bubba (real name George), and my Grandmother.

My mom says, this is the only time she ever met all of these kin folks.  She got married a few years later and had some little boys that kept her busy.

  

Namely me and my socking-footed pajama wearing older brother.  My Granddad looks pretty happy to have me sprawled out in his lap while hanging on to my brother.  My Grandmom had a nice smile and a tender chuckle when she laughed.  I wonder where this photo was taken.  I suspect it was during a visit to New Hampshire.

The Great Foot Drag Race

My brother and I work together - we have a computer consulting company that works primarily with drug companies and their efforts to get new drugs approved by the Food and Drug Administration.  We do whatever comes in the door, so on occasion, I'll be fixing someone's grandmother's computer, or setting up a wireless router for a home network.

Some mornings, my brother sends me a text saying something like, "I'm really tired, so I'm going to sleep in a little.  I'll be a little late getting to the office."  Some mornings, it is me, sending him a text like, "I overslept. Will be leaving home shortly."

And some mornings our "be a little late" texts "cross in the mail" and then the "Great Foot Drag Race" is on to see who will be the "winner" (that is, last to get there!)

This past weekend, my brother and I worked 4 hours on Saturday and 6 more hours on Sunday afternoon.  So the weekend didn't offer much rest.  This morning we were both dragging a little bit.  So the race was on!

Me:  "I'm running slow this morning"

Him: "Yeah, just got up. Thinking about taking a bath"

Me: "Okay, see you at the office, shall I make coffee?"

Him: "Please do, I really need some."

Me: "Okay, oh before I forget, I need to get something at the drugstore this AM."

Him: "Oh crud, thanks for reminding me, I need to do that do."

This leaves me thinking "Hmmmm... It's definitely going to be a tough race this morning!"

So I dillydally and check my Nook Color to see if I have any pending moves for "Word With Friends" and ponder taking the dishes out of the dishwasher.  I decide I'm not that desperate..  yet.

So into the car and off I go.  Hey! the gas gauge says "1/2 full" that's low enough!

Me: "Oh, and I got to get some gas, too."

Him: "Okay. Just out of the tub."

I pull into the gas station just as a new text arrives.

Him: "Going to hardware store, need some nails to hang a couple pictures for wife."

Me: "Okay. getting gas."

Goodness... such a close race!!

I continue onwards, thinking furiously now...  Ah ha!

Me: "Going to lawn mower shop, need replacement spark plug for the mower at the office."

Him: "Yeah, be nice to get the lawn cut."

Thinking it's time for a snoopy dance, I wait in (a short) line at the mower shop when another text rolls in.

Him: "Got the picture hanger stuff, daughter called, she forgot a book for school"

Him: "Going home to get it for her."

Dang it!!!

Oh wait!

Me: "Going to post office, getting stamps."

Him: "Dropped off book. On way."

I get to the post office, and am speechless. For the first time in what seems like 10 years, there is no line! So I have mixed feelings, I hate lines but...

Stamps in hand, I get into the car and drive the five short blocks to the office, where just as I pull in, my brother's car swings into the parking spot marked, "Head Honcho".

We eye each other, and I park in the spot furthest from the door.  He gets out slowly and opens his trunk and slowly sorts through piles of "stuff" (it's really trash.)

I get out and pretend to check that my rear brake lights are working and that my license plate is still attached to the car.  I rummage around for a few minutes, feeling for the door keys in my pocket.

He slowly closes the trunk lid and shuffles toward the door, walking like his laptop bag weighs a hundred pounds.

I simply walk with a "Hey I walked 200 miles to get here!" limp.

He gets to the door first and turns to me and says, "Okay, you win."

I punch the air and shout "Oh yes!!!!"  The sweet thrill of victory!

Down at the Wharf

Durn this new blogger interface!!

I know it's free, and you get what you pay for... but... jeepers.  I feel like I have six thumbs and no brains.

I was sent this photograph of the wharf this weekend. Seems that the one-legged lady and her husband were so eager for the new season to start, they have their boat, the "Animal Crackers," in the water already! 'Tis a lonely boat though. The houseboat won't be joining it until mid-May. Hopefully the dock will be repaired by then. The tape marks the spot where my Dad's fishing boat will be tied up. I'm a'hankerin' to go!

Animal Crackers

Astonished and Overwhelmed

Yesterday, I rode the rails and went downtown. I took the train because parking a car downtown costs about $25 a day and a round trip train ticket was only $8.

I enjoy the train ride so that is a nice bonus. I went to visit the historic society, something I've put off for a while since their hours are not terribly "helpful" and just getting there is a nuisance.

But.

A year ago, when I went through my cousin Franklin Mousley writings, I discovered that he left a box full of stuff at the historical society, including his diary from the years 1911 to 1917.


Outside the society there is a sign bragging how old they are.

Inside, I found the staff very friendly and most helpful. They showed me how to use the computer card catalog, fill out call slips to get things brought to me from the storage rooms, and how to work the microfilm reader.

Ha! I bet some of you don't even know what one of those is! Truth be told, I've only ever used one once, and that was a great many blue moons ago.

The staff person lead me to the drawer contain the many rolls of microfilm that Franklin's stuff had been "recorded" on. My eyes nearly fell out of my head.


16 reels of microfilm, each containing upwards to 3,000 page images. I barely scratched the surface of what was available. Sitting there for nearly 5 hours, I looked at only two rolls.


Franklin was one of the very first radio-telegraph operators. He got his licence in 1908. He was only 16 years old when he started the diary I was looking at.

Imagine how I felt, when I spooled the film into the reader, and on the very first page that the machine displayed, was an entry for April 15, 1912 with the word RMS TITANIC underlined in pencil.

In that fateful day's entry, he writes about sitting in a ship that is unloading cargo at a pier in Savannah, Georgia monitoring the newfangled radio and hearing (in Morse code) the lists of survivors being radio'ed ahead to New York City by one of the rescue ships.

"CAPE RACE, Newfoundland, April 15, 9:55 pm. Orders to cancel the special train for passengers for Halifax to New York, means that the Carpathia is headed direct for New York."

Of a total of 2,224 people aboard Titanic only 710 people survived the sinking.

I remember my seeing the first lunar landing in 1969 like it was yesterday - might this of been Franklin's "lunar landing" experience?


The first page of the diary gives me a unique insight to a man I've never met and have heard very little about through oral family lure.

Somehow, I need to find a way to get a copy of this diary. It "rots" away, in a box, nearly hidden in a museum that is not only hard to get to, it's hard to get into, and has probably never looked at by anyone in fifty years.

Sartorial Splendor

In the past, I've written about how some of my father maternal relatives worked for a world famous hat manufacturer in downtown Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.

I was thinking about them today. None of my grandmother's siblings and various aunts and uncles were known for their sartorial splendor with the possible exception of my great-aunt Eleanor, and my grandmother who wanted to dress like "the Queen." I think she meant Queen Elizabeth the Current One.

It's not they dressed badly, if the many old photos of them that I have is any indication. It's just that, well, let's take one of my great-uncles as an example, I'll leave him unnamed as to let his spirit rest in peace. He once visited my grandfather in a hospital room, having come from yet another funeral dressed in a rather odd manner.

I'm going to digress briefly, and explain the "yet another funeral" comment. He was a interesting man, this great-uncle. He had a sharp wit and was quick to laugh. I didn't see him very often as he seemed to always be busy going to someone or other's funeral. Now, I'm going to give him the benefit of a doubt and say he was a friendly and caring sort and had many acquaintances and clients with his insurance business, as opposed to thinking he just enjoyed going to funerals because they offered free food. But I don't think anyone really knows.

At any rate, one evening while my grandfather was laid up in a hospital bed from the one of only two ailments that ever troubled him, unspecified internal bleeding, talking to me and my dad, when just arrived from a funeral, my great uncle comes walking in, wearing a bright green suit jacket and slacks, black shirt, and a wide purple tie with big white polka dots. I nearly choked on my own spit, and my dad just laughed quietly to himself. My great-uncle gives my grandfather a hardy, booming greeting, "Hey there Bud! I hope you are feeling better now! They get you any good lookin' nurses? Huh? huh?!?" My grandfather's eyes opened really wide.

Yes, I was thinking about him today, one of the relatives that once worked for Stetson Hats. Because today, I wore a brand-new hat to work.

I wore it to the 7-11 across the street when I got a sandwich for lunch. The Indian guy (three of them work there, it fits the stereotype so perfectly it eerie) looks up from the register and his eyes open real wide and he just looked at me like I was insane. His fellow co-worker just starts this quiet laugh (one that I've heard before in that hospital room so long ago)...

I'm betting you it was pants...maybe my zipper was down or the seat of my pants were ripped out or something?

Or maybe my shirt was on inside out and backwards or sumpin?


Thank you LadyStyx, I'm going to wear it all the time!