Photos and Stories and Family. . . Oh, My!

I have not posted for over a week, but that is because I have been gone on a double family history trip and have been feeling "trip-lagged" for the two days since my return.  It didn't start out to be a double trip, it just ended up that way.
First, I am not the computer whiz that other bloggers are.  I read about their adventures posted in a timely way as they drive from one place to another or cheerily written at the end of the day.  Me?  My eyes go back and forth between the traffic and the GPS in my front windshield and, at the end of the day my feet go up, my pajamas go on and, if I have an ounce of energy left, I check my email.

You may remember my previous blog post about my "personal challenge" which was the result of the  52 Weeks to Better Genealogy - Challenge 23 - Create Your Own Challenge 
Well, true to my word, I contacted my cousin after my return from Ireland. At first, we thought about meeting at a restaurant for lunch, but the thought of parking in Chicago gives me hives. How about a nice casual place, that won't hurry us, I suggested.  She instantly offered her home and, of course, I should stay for the weekend.  She would contact her sister and see if she could come also.  Did I mention that I have two first cousins close to my age that I have no memory of ( I realize that is grammatically incorrect)?  It sounded lovely, and so I accepted even while my stomach churned and the little voice in my head said, "Are you really sure about this?"  In the days following, we talked about our family and ourselves through emails.  One day, we must have exchanged 50 emails, sometimes crossing paths as we responded to each other, and she shared family information.  My anticipation was growing, but, still, as the weekend got closer, I worried.  What if we don't get along?  What if it's awkward? What if they're perfect when I'm not?  What if. .  . .what if. . . . . what if?  What if I'm miserable? So I planned excuses that I could use if necessary.

As I left my house on Sat. Aug 7, I downloaded the map directions that she sent, programmed the GPS I received last Christmas with her address and packed a suitcase just in case I stayed.  My daughter, getting mixed signals from me, asked me when I was coming home.  I explained that I wasn't sure. She thought I was being foolish, but, as I know all too well, you can't always control your emotions whether they are foolish or not.

The drive was easy, and I was only slightly off schedule due to a couple of last minute errands I had to do on my way out of town.  I sailed down the toll road, up and over the Skyway, and then hit gridlock!  My GPS decided that I needed to take the next exit.  This was in conflict with the written directions, but since I was going no where, I took the advice of the nice gentleman in my GPS.  While the roads were busy, I was continually moving. I drove through Chinatown, down Halstead through a very artsy area with lots of galleries, and past the university.  It really was very interesting, and soon I was directed to drive back onto the I-94 that I had left earlier, but beyond the gridlock.  At this point I was very late, but as I was going through town, my cousin called to see if everything was okay and to tell me that her sister was going to be able to make it after all.  Now my decision was made, I was definitely staying.  After all, she was making a four hour trip to be there.  I realized what a wonderful opportunity this was for me.

Carroll Walker -1907 football uniform 

My cousin had lunch ready for my late arrival, and we started chatting immediately.  Soon cousin #2, Trudi, arrived.  Both had memories of my family, but I had none.  I heard about the wonderful doll clothes my mother made for their dolls when they were little.  My mother loved to sew, but sadly all of my doll clothes stayed in Kansas when my parents divorced.  I asked many, many questions, and my family started to take shape. It was the generation of their mother and my father that was a blank for me. What could they tell me about my grandparents, Carroll and Gertrude Walker?  I had some early family information that was new to them so they read the lengthy obituaries of our staunch abolitionist ancestors.  The time passed so quickly and the table was spread with piles of papers - my papers because I have a very loose grasp of organization.  Sarah, on the other hand, had made packets of her information clipped together with our names on sticky notes.  Why didn't I get the organization gene?

Now, I have to tell you that my cousin is amazing.  She makes entertaining look effortless, when I know it is not.  We had fresh flowers in our rooms and on the table (see above).  We had the best marinated steak I've ever had, fresh corn and salad on the patio with a candle lit table.  And I was treated to a favorite family recipe - Aunt Martha's cake.  Yumm!  Beyond all of this, my cousins are warm, outgoing, friendly, honest, and welcoming.  When Sarah learned that I was traveling only two hours away a day later, she insisted that I stay a second night.  So, although I originally wasn't sure I would spend even one night, I ended up spending two.   I felt like family, not to be confused with just being related.

The next day, she pulled up boxes from the basement full of family mementos packed in cardboard boxes when her mother passed away.  My aunt Annette was the rock of the family.  Her brothers went to college and some to law school, but despite the fact that she was beautiful and smart, she was just a girl and so did not.  As her brothers became alcoholics, she tried to keep in touch with them, but not always successfully, as the returned letters and cards in the boxes attested, but she kept trying.  She was listed as the contact for my father in his social security record.  The brothers knew they could count on her.  I will always be so grateful for the fact that she went to the effort to find and contact me when my father died. I wish I had known her better.

One gem we found was a photo of David Barrett Walker, civil war soldier and our gr. grandfather. Otherwise, while Trudi and Sarah found art projects and school assignments that had been saved by their mother from their childhood, she had nothing from her own early family life.  Sadly for me, there were no photos of my father with his family.  Together we tried to sort out the timetable of where the family lived after they left Kansas.  While their mother attended school in St. Louis, we determined that my father must have graduated from high school in Washington D.C., but where he went to college is completely up for grabs.  I know he passed the bar exam in St. Louis.  Another lead to follow on another day.

I left early the next morning.  While, I was full of apprehension about this trip, I am so glad that I went. We may not be able to control our emotions, but we don't have to give in to them.  I know that this won't be the last time we see each other. Now that I have them hooked on finding out more about our family's history, and I have their email addresses and phone numbers.  We are even planning for a future trip to Kansas and hope our cousin Steve will join us.

Hmmmmmmm. . . . . .

WARNING: This is an unusually long, rambling blog post. You might want to skip it. This is about the man with the beard above. Remember, I warned you.

Which of my intended blog posts should I do next? Should I continue, albeit interrupted, the family research trip thread? This would give a semblance of organization and continuity to this blog. Should I discuss the Geneabloggers challenge #23? - nope, I am still in the middle of that situation! Should I do a belated Father's Day because of the unending guilt I feel for not giving my wonderful father his day? Then there is the Ireland cemetery blog in which I could share many of the photos I took - only my favorite thousand, I promise! Hmmmmm. . . . .

Darn it, I started out with such intent to be organized. I set the stage for my blog name and planned to continue in the same way, putting together the pieces I have found in some orderly way. Remember, I told you earlier that I always INTEND to be organized. But, it always seems to fall apart in the middle somewhere. In reality I assumed that I would run out of steam, get bored with it, and stop for lack of ideas, but it hasn't happened so far. I now find myself in the position of "banking" blog post ideas because I don't have the time to write about all of the ideas I have. I think I also forgot some, but since I can't remember them, they don't count. Without Lisa Ellam of The Faces of My Family I would still be thinking about a blog. She gave me the nudge I needed to actually sign up and begin. Only time will tell if that is credit or blame?? I created this blog essentially for me - to help me organize my thoughts and create a record of my family research. I only pretend I am talking to someone else, but I will continue this illusion.

Back to my original quandary. What topic will I tackle today? Since, I have an upcoming family history research trip to Iowa with my brother - or without him if he backs out AGAIN. By writing out my options here, I can see clearly that my subject today should be a continuation of the saga of my four family research trips during the first year of my obsession called genealogy.

Today I will relate the story of my third family history research trip in which I traveled to Canada!
In my post about my first trip, I said that I shared information with my cousin about "the man with the long white beard". Much of that information came from another long lost cousin that I connected with on a message board. She had posted a question searching for information on James B. Allen, and when I responded a couple of years after her original post, that I thought this might be my g-g-grandfather, it started a wonderful correspondence with his family in Eramosa Twp, Ontario, Canada - listed in the census records as Canada West. She had been working on her family genealogy with her daughter for over 30 years, but they never knew what happened to James B., one of 13 children born to James Bush Allen and Anna Lyman. I was feeling pretty good about the fact that I had just identified him from the census records. Up to this point, we were only guessing his identity. The 1925 Iowa state census was the key to unlocking a flood of information. In 1925, he was living with his daughter, my beloved g-grandmother, and that made the connection. If you have family in Iowa during this time and have not checked it out, you must do so immediately. It is a goldmine! It is four pages long and includes the names of the parents, not just the country of origin, and where they were married.

Eileen, my new relative, and I corresponded by email several times, but then she mailed some photos she had. As I opened the envelope, a photo of my grandmother standing behind the "man with the long white beard" with baby Margel on his lap, fell out. It was a rush of feelings. Then I pulled out another photo of four distinguished men . . . my g-g-grandfather (on the left) and three of his brothers, Peter, Joseph and Israel. There was no doubt that this was the correct family connection. I began to flood her with questions. Then one evening my phone rang and it was Eileen. She thought we should chat over the phone. And we did for over an hour. She told me how James B. use to come back home to visit every couple of years and some members of the family still commented on his marriage to a Catholic. She told me about visiting the Old Stone Church in Eramosa and digging up the headstone of Annie Lyman that had sunk beneath the grass. Oh, I wanted to visit that cemetery. This was my g-g-g-grandparents! We had a wonderfully long talk, and she invited me to visit - Well, maybe I hinted that I would like to meet her. A plan was born. In the last week of my summer vacation, I hurriedly made plans to travel five hours north for a family meeting. Her daughter would be visiting, and she could drive us to the cemetery.

This was to be a solo trip without GPS, but I was confident. I had multiple printed Google maps and a large print spiral bound atlas. It was a sunny day and everything looked good. Then 2 hours into the trip, Boom, kathunk, kathunk, kathunk. I looked around and pulled off to the side of the road to check the car. As I rounded the back of the car I saw the rip in the sidewall of my rear tire. Thank goodness I had AAA - I did send the check in didn't I? I finally found my information tucked between a punch card for JoJo's pretzels and an old L.S. Ayres credit card. When I called they informed me that they didn't have a record of my current membership. Oh no, it had expired. Then the wonderful lady told me that they could reinstate my membership if I wanted to put it on a credit card, and they would send a truck right out. What do you think I did? I'm saved, but the truck had several other calls first and so the half hour wait turned into two and a half as Iwalked back and forth in the grass beside the car. I called everyone I could think of and told them my tale of woe to pass the time. After the truck arrived it was off to the local Walmart to get a new tire, because my mini spare wouldn't last. Finally, I am on my way after a five hour delay. I arrived at my destination moments before dark descended and was greeted with hugs and smiles from three complete strangers. . . . but not strangers for long. They wouldn't hear of me staying in a motel, they had a room all ready for me. Isn't family great!

The next day we traveled to the Old Stone Church, but since Eileen couldn't remember the EXACT route, I saw a fair amount of the local area first. I loved it. As we pulled up to the country church, she explained that the records for the church had been lost in a fire when the caretaker took them home for safety and then her house caught fire taking the records with them. I gathered together my camera and purse, opened the car door, and then reached back in for an umbrella. Yes, it rained the whole time we were there, but, on the up side, it makes the headstones easier to read. She showed me the headstone of Annie Lyman, and it had deteriorated quite a bit since she uncovered it. It was almost unreadable. I'm glad she had a photo from when she first uncovered it. Next to hers was her husband, James Bush Allen which was in better shape. As we walked around the cemetery, dodging the worst of the puddles she pointed to this brother, that sister-in-law, an aunt or infant from the family connecting the family relationships. The downpour couldn't dampen the emotion of this experience.

This time I brought the scanner and laptop, and it was a good thing. I could barely comprehend the amount of information that they had assembled. We started by making copies, but soon decided that scanning was the logical solution. It went much faster. We worked late that night, and I was so very grateful for their generosity with their 30 years of research. Comparatively, I could only share a small snippet of information about James Bush Jr. and my family with them, but they seemed happy to get it. I am still trying to sort out everything they shared. Early the next morning I packed the car, they fed me breakfast and gave me drinks and snacks for the trip home. This was an uneventful drive home, for which I was grateful.

Over the course of two days, Eileen and her daughters went from strangers to family -a wonderful transformation indeed. Can I think of another reason to return? Hmmmmm. . . . .

My Second Family History Trip

As I said in a previous post, a chance phone call lead us (my brother and I) to a visit with my mother's first cousin. She and her mother moved back to live with her grandmother at 2338 W. Washington Blvd. after her father died. It was a very emotional meeting, and we planned to get together for the weekend a few weeks later. Again, my only preparation for the trip was excitement, enthusiam and some hastily scrawled questions. My brother took his laptop with his genealogy files on it, scanner, and his wife to act as the general all round go-fer. He is so lucky to have her! I vowed (and was warned by my brother) not to forget anything this time.


Thanks to his GPS we travelled to her house with no trouble. She ran to greet us with hugs and smiles. A real bonus was that two of her daughters and a granddaughter also came over for part of the visit. We asked about family history information we had collected, and she allowed us to scan every photo and scrap of paper that she had found. She related family stories, and I kicked myself for not having a voice recorder - another item for my Christmas list. I would try to have something by our next visit. I scribbled notes as fast as I could and my brother scanned continously - too bad he didn't notice that the edges weren't scanning until we returned home. We even found a letter she kept from our mother asking for family history information for my brother and our mother explaining that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer. We scanned the notes she put together, even those on the back of envelopes. We never found out from whom she got the information. There would be time when we saw each other again to ask questions. We were so happy that we had reconnected after all the years she and our mother had been distant. This connection was important to both of us. The weekend went by way too fast, and we all agreed that we needed to have a family picnic, but we would keep in touch by email until then. She passed on funny jokes, and I asked questions about the family. Then one day, a few weeks later, she didn't answer my email, so I wrote another, and another. Please tell me you are fine but just busy, I asked. She wasn't. How could this happen so quickly? I remember how impressed I was that she walked three miles a day. I felt "fit" when I could do two. We teased her about being a spoiled child with so many Christmas gifts - see photo above - but we knew she had had great heartache as a child.


The next time we saw her was at her funeral only a short time -too short - later. At her funeral we met another cousin of my mother's and exchanged email addresses. We also met many relatives but the names and faces swirl together. Several told stories of our grandparents. It was an emotional day on many levels.


As I read family history blogs now discussing their upcoming family history trips, I have read that a successful trip includes lists, forms, GPS coordinates, with a time schedule. This will always be my most memorable family history trip, and I was utterly unprepared. My advice is to just go . . . . meet your family, enjoy their company, and take a voice recorder so you can visit without notetaking and a camera for the memories.


This was a very difficult post to write. I find that I still cry when I think about it. I wanted to include some photos, but don't want to offend her children. I hope the one above is acceptable.

The Ups and Downs of My First Research Trips

The first family history trip I ever took was to my visit my second cousin once removed, who my brother had connected with online. Mistakenly he posted some misinformation which came from a hand scribbled note from a relative, and she corrected him. We chit-chatted back and forth, enjoying the discovery of a "new to us" relative and realized we had information to share with each other. Since she only lived 3 hours away, we made a date. My total preparation for this adventure was a pen, paper, camera, a few photos to share and information about "the old man with the long white beard" in our family photos. This information came from another online connection I made with a distant cousin in Canada. My brother, more prepared than I, brought a scanner and laptop computer with his genealogy files on it. He also brought his wife who was his personal secretary, go-fer, and all-round support person. I was incredibly excited ,and meeting our cousin was beyond my wildest expectations. This was my first experience with the intense high genealogy could create. We spent several hours sharing, laughing and comparing stories. We had stacks of information, photos, and even a video of our "new" cousin reciting the story told by her grandfather to her father of our relation to MacIan the Red Fox of Glencoe. We learned that family lore told how Sean McDonnell was stabbed by a British soldier and died of peritonitis as a result. And there in the corner of her living room was a child's rocker that she said belonged to my gr. grandmother. I remember visiting my gr. grandmother and have always felt a strong connection to her because of our mutual love of sewing. I am the only daughter of her only daughter's only daughter. It was all so emotional - in a very very wonderful way! We agreed that we needed to get together again, but as we were leaving she asked if we had talked with our mother's first cousin. Was she still living we asked? Of course! and with a quick computer search she found the phone number. I called her number, and as I was introducing myself, she started screaming with joy at hearing from us - literally. We felt the same way. Yes, she was home and yes, she would like us to stop by. We (really my brother because I had no idea how to do this) reprogrammed the GPS in the car and planned a new route home that would take us to the home of our mother's first cousin, Mary Farley. This was a name we heard often while growing up.

We arrived at her house as the sun was setting so we knew it would be a short visit. The GPS was an invaluable tool in our spur-of-the moment route change. I was very impressed and silently added it to my Christmas wish list. We hugged and hugged and smiled until our faces hurt. She brought out a family photo album, and she narrated as we paged through. It was a whirlwind trip through the family and 2338 W. Washington Blvd.. You see she and her mother, Anna Marie, moved back after her father died. She and my mother were only seven months apart in age, and my grandparents were living there also. It quickly became clear that we needed a longer visit. We had so many questions. Thus was born, our second family history trip.

As we headed home late that night, I searched around for the large envelope of photos and information that we had taken with us and then filled with new photos and information. I looked and looked, but the car was only so big. Where could it be . . . ? Yes, in my excitement I left it on the dining room table we sat at for hours all afternoon. So ends my first family history trip.