High Expectations - The Saga of a Beginner Genealogist on a Family History Trip

With a call from my brother, we moved our departure date for Clinton,Iowa up a day or two.  This meant that I needed to leave for his house the next day.  Yikes!! My first thought was how am I going get together the information we will need.

My dining room table is my usual go to place for projects and organization, and this is where I had scattered  tossed dumped spread out carefully my paper files.  This room is used for meals only once a year at Thanksgiving or occasionally for a family get together so the table is always available for whatever current project I have.  When my brother called, I was still trying to sort through my information, and the table looked like it was the day before I had to take the tax records to our account.  I may not be good at KEEPING my life organized, but I am a master at GETTING organized, and nobody can triage like me.  I pulled out three additional bags (Note: this is a reference to my genealogy filing system mentioned in an earlier post) and stuffed placed the non-Clinton files in them.  My reasoning was that anything I didn't have listed in my newest genealogy notebook purchased in a variety of colors at a local Wal-Mart for ONLY a quarter each could be found with a little effort in my file.  I purchased several dozen and started with the following titles:  Research trips and Organization. What can I say, hope springs eternal.

From my standpoint this was not an efficient trip to Clinton looking at it from a strictly time perspective.  Our plans were to go from my brother's house, and he would drive. My house is approximately 4 1/2 hours from Clinton if you believe Google Maps and my brother's house is 5 1/2 hours.  Add to that the fact that my brother's house is 2 1/2 hours from my house and a fifth grader could see the problem.  This trip was going to be a 16 hour round trip for me. It was suggested that if I came down the afternoon of the day before we left, we could get an early start and go over our plans the night before allowing us to arrive in Clinton by noon.  Sounded good to me, and I arrived by dinner time (notice the time discrepancy between when I planned to arrive and when I actually arrived) the next day.  My brother and I loaded the software for his scanner onto my computer and pulled together all of  the equipment we thought we would need while my fabulous sister-in-law cooked dinner for us.

The next morning we got an early start as planned, but the key had barely been turned in the ignition when two of us were asking to stop and get some "good" coffee.  My father had a great saying that I have used a lot with my family:  "WE'RE OFF - like a herd of turtles".  I think many people can relate to this sentiment. Our route started by passing some wind farms in Indiana and Illinois.  It is a very strange and a little futuristic looking sight if you have never seen a large wind farm before.  The realization of just how large a windmill is hit us as we passed semis hauling the individual parts escorted by cars with warnings of "Wide load".  As we continued our route took us through what felt like EVERY small town in Illinois.  It seemed charming at first, but as the drive stretched out longer than we intended, it lost a little of it's appeal.  My brother's willingness to point out and stop at any quilt shops helped considerably.

Mid-afternoon we arrived in Clinton and we found a hotel with internet access and breakfast included.  Yea!  After dropping our luggage, my brother turned to me and said,  "Well, what are we doing first?"  My instant answer was cemeteries as I knew I had that information written down in my handy dandy Family Research Trip notebook.  It was raining, of course, but we started with St. Mary's where three generations of our ancestors are buried.  The first stop after entering was to talk with the caretaker, who luckily was in the shed,  about how to locate a grave.  He was so nice and helpful as he turned worn and torn large sheets of paper with the cemetery layout.  He had a list of plot owners, but not individual graves.  The first was our grandparents, Ed and Berenice Kennelly, then her mother, Mae Moldt Shelko and her second husband John Shelko.  According to the caretaker, the plot was owned by James Allen, Mae's father and Berenice's grandfather, but there was no headstone.  My hope was that it had sunk, and we would be able to raise it.  No such luck.  There was only a space where his headstone should be - and HE was listed as the owned of the block of four graves.   His wife's headstone lists her as the wife of James A. Allen instead of James B. Allen.  Who made this mistake since he was still alive when she died?

The next cemetery, where Berenice's father was buried was also administered by the same caretaker.  He gave us directions and met us when we arrived there, looking up the graves and driving us to their location.  This was a huge and hilly cemetery.  But sadly, three of the four people buried had no headstones or inscription.  There was only a large family headstone and a small individual headstone for Hans C. Moldt. However, this cemetery listed each person buried there rather than just the block owner and the date of death for each.  This was new information for us and would allow us to search for obituaries the next day.  Interesting family note:  Edward Thomas Moldt and his sister, Anna Moldt Shelko died within three months of each other and then their spouses married each other.  Anna and Thomas are buried with their parents, but Mae and John are buried together.

Our cemetery oddyssey continued with three, I think, more cemeteries.  We traveled next to Sabula and had the best soft serve ice cream cone, I have ever eaten at the Korner Stop Ice Cream Shoppe. The very helpful lady working there also gave us directions to both cemeteries we were trying to find in that area. We weren't having any luck because my brother's GPS was on the fritz, and we didn't have a clear address for either of them.

As we headed out of town we passed THIS colorful location.  It was interesting enough that I told my brother to go around the block so I could get a good photo of it.  As we went around the block the dog took the opportunity to pose.  Norman Rockwell eat your heart out.

This has gone on longer than I expected so I will sign off for today and finish my tale another day.  I have to mop the floor and go see "Rent" put on by the local theatre company and then home for a seafood boil with the family!

Surname Saturday

Well, I have been getting ready to travel to Clinton, Iowa next week for a short family research trip.  Unlike the previous trips, we have no one specific to visit.  This is to try and locate information and records related to my grandmother's family and visit several cemeteries while we are there.  This requires some degree of preparation on my part.  I have gone through my paper files and tried to separate out the ones that pertain to this branch of the family.  Next, I have to get an agenda of what we want to look for - my brother has made this my responsibility.  That way if anything goes wrong, it isn't his fault.  He is the original Teflon man.

The individuals and surnames that we are researching on this trip:

Owen William McDonnell - spelled a multitude of ways.  Family information says he is from Grenagh, County Cork, Ireland.  Born in either 1833 or 1837.  Immigrated in 1852.  Met his wife in Cleveland, Ohio and married in Illinois, just across the river from Clinton, Iowa in 1864.  He had three brothers who also immigrated to the Clinton County, Iowa area - Michael McDonnell, John McDonnell, & Bartholomew McDonnell. We don't know if they came together or separately.
Owen's wife, Bridget O'Callahan, is reputed to have come over as a bond servant from her home in Cobh, County Cork, Ireland around 1854.


Hans C. Moldt married Anna Magdelena Petersson in Denmark before immigrating to the US and settling in Clinton, Iowa.  His son, Edward Thomas Moldt married Anna Mae Allen in Clinton in 1898.  We hope to find a record of this marriage.  The church has closed.

Anna Mae was the daughter of James B. Allen, from Ontario, Canada and Elanor Gilshannon, claimed to be the first white child born in Elk River township, Clinton County, Iowa.  Elanor's mother, Ellen Guilfoil, died in 1851 while giving birth to Elanor's sister, Nancy.  Her father, Thomas Gilshannon, married Bridget Reynolds less than a year later.


Well, this should keep us busy.  We don't expect to answer all of our questions, but ,hopefully, some of them.  I plan to look through the newspapers on film at the library, look for sunken stones at cemeteries and possibly find out what happened to cause Hans' house to be sold at a sherrif's auction at the courthouse.  Any other suggestions?  Oh, we are also driving through Clinton and trying to locate their former farms,houses and businesses. 

Too much???

Wisdom Wednesday

Today has been very busy.  It started at 4:45 a.m. when my  adult son called us from work that his car had been stolen with his wallet and cell phone in it.  He called us because our phone number was the only one he remembered since he had all of  his others on speed dial and hadn't bothered to ever memorize the numbers.  The thieves ditched the car a couple of blocks away, and we took him our extra set of keys so he could drive home .  I can't imagine why they didn't want to keep the red Toyota that has rusted doors, a missing door handle, multiple dents, dings and a light held in with duct tape.  My granddaughter has been promised that this will be her car to drive when she gets her license much to her dismay horror.  She was hoping  praying it wouldn't be found, but luck was not on her side.  If only the car had been stolen, I would have guessed that she hired the hit.

Today was also the library book sale.  I love the library book sale.  If you have never shopped the St. Joseph County Public Library book sale put on by the Friends of the Library, you should.  There are always surprises and everything is a great bargain. It is mammoth.  I have my usual sections that I peruse - cookbooks and cooking magazines, knitting, War (Civil, Revolutionary, and WWII - all for my husband), and, of course,  genealogy.  I thought I would share some of the genealogy books I purchased. 














I am not sure this book on Ireland will be very useful, but for only a quarter, I had to bring it home for a closer look.






















Since I am off to Iowa for a research trip next week,  this seemed like a timely purchase.  However, if I am to be totally honest, I probaby won't read it until I come back from Iowa, except for a quick flip through. What I want to do and what I actually do are always in conflict.




















I never can think of questions to ask older family members.  So even though this is a very old book, the ideas and questions are timeless.  It is full of great suggestions.




















I'm not so sure about this one, but the title is catchy!


















Sounded like genealogy short stories - I'll let you know.













Total cost for my genealogy book splurge - $1.50.

Tombstone Tuesday from Ireland

 Well, if it is Tombstone Tuesday, I have to share more of my cemetery photos from Ireland. Aw, shucks . . .

The Celtic cross was every where!
The variations were beautiful.  This was in the cemetery at Kilmurvey, Inishmore, Aran Islands, County Galway, Ireland.  Whew!  That should be a complete description.  The inscription is in Gaelic, but I have a lovely individual who has offered to translate it for me so I will include an edit later with that information.

This was one of the most elaborate at the cemetery around the Muckross Friary in the Killarney National Park.  The ruins of the Friary were a spectacular backdrop to the still used cemetery.



















Both of these were at the Rock of Cashel.  It is interesting that there are still about 30 people who have the right to be buried here.

                                     The IHS symbol in the center of the one on the left almost appears to be a dollar sign.  I like all of the shamrocks twining up and down.

I could post many more, but I think I might run the risk of boring even the graveyard rabbits.

A Sad Sad Cemetery

Well, I just cant' wait. I have to post some of my photos from Ireland. I'll get to my fourth and last family history trip later. (I knew I couldn't stay organized)

While my traveling companions joked about my pre-occupation with cemeteries, the truth is that I only visited two that weren't attached to ruins/abbeys/castles that we were already visiting. One was on Inishmore, and I walked from our B&B, the Kilmurvey House, down the road one morning as they finished getting packed. The other was down a side road in Dunquoin (Dún Chaoin) just before we got to the Blasket Island Visitor Centre ( Blascaod Centre) and museum at the tip of the Dingle peninsula. How did I know about this, you ask? Rick Steves, of course - the travel guru of "off the beaten path" experiences. There was a small sign that told us to turn right for the Old Burial Ground. I instantly directed our driver to turn. I did not take time to vote on this! Not far down the road we found this sad, sad, cemetery. It appeared as though I was the only one that found this Rick Steves suggestion appealing.

Notice the warning about the grounds being uneven. That warning is an understatement.

This is the "well worn" path up through the cemetery.

The familiar Celtic cross dominated every cemetery I saw.
Close-up of the hand carved Gaelic inscription. I wish I knew his name - or hers? I wonder what else it says? Many Blascot Island residents were supposedly buried here. Could this be a fisherman from the Blascots?

Remember the warning on the entrance sign? This is the reason why. This was the center Celtic cross headstone on a small hill in the center of the graveyard. It rose above the rest. Look closely at the GIGANTIC hole at the base and the fact that it appears as thought it had been moved. Eerie for sure. I could find no identifiable markings on either side of the grave, but it had a plaque on a base near it - all in Gaelic. As I looked through my photos, I must not have taken a photo of the plaque. As I walked back down the hill to catch up with my friends, I noticed many more of these holes in the hill some even larger. If you fell into one of these you would feel like Alice in Wonderland.









Detail of the fish relief at the top.


The back side of the monument at the base.


Angel or resurrection in the wall beside the grave.


This was by far the most beautiful grave in the cemetery. It was finely carved and had images on both sides. It is the resting place of Tomás Ó Criomhthain, a fisherman, author and famous resident of Great Blascot Island.

We discovered this connection when we went a bit farther down the road to the visitor centre, and there was a poster about his life hanging on the wall. Were there others at the cemetery that we missed? I'll never know. Cemeteries often fall into disrepair, but how could this happen to an Irish hero?
If you are ever on the Slea Head drive around the Dingle peninsula, look for the small sign pointing you to the Old Dunquin Burial Ground and lay a flower on Tomas' grave, but look out for the giant holes in the ground!

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. . . . .

Slip Sliding Away. . . .

Time that slippery rascal . . . keeps racing past me. Where is the pause button for my life? I have planned and missed several intended blog posts. I didn't post for Father's Day, many Tombstone Tuesdays, the next installment in my novice family research trips, an update on the outcome of my Challenge #23, and many others that pop into my brain just as I am trying to turn it off for the night and sleep. I need to make better use of the "save as draft" feature and write during the short snippets of time I can get on the computer. I do have a laptop I could use, but it doesn't have my photos - something else I need to do. The photo below is the cemetery in Kilmurvey, Inishmore, Aran Islands, Ireland. I don't know of all that is necessary, but I wanted to be sure and give complete information! The gate stays locked and you enter by way of the short steps and the hole in the wall. My B&B, the Kilmurvey House, a historic home, is at the top. It rained almost continually during our one short day and overnight there, but we didn't let it stop us. However, the downside is that my photos are all gloomy looking, but our raincoats acted as sort of a color code so we can tell who is who in our photos from a distance. Every local resident kept telling us how the weather had been unusually bright and sunny the previous weeks, and that the island was in the middle of a drought. Water was being shipped in the next day.

Ireland was fabulous, but the only headstones I was able to photograph belonged to the family of someone else. It became a joke with my traveling companions that I wanted to stop at all the cemeteries. Conveniently, for me, many of the ruins/castles/abbeys had cemeteries surrounding them, and I always found myself wandering around reading and photographing ones I found interesting. A future post will feature some of those I found.

Then a day and a half after I returned from Ireland, my youngest son and daughter-in-law arrived for a visit from Seattle. I am enjoying their visit, and we are following the Tour de France daily. I told them they need an spreadsheet to keep track of their scheduled visits with friends and family. They agreed.