OLD AGE IS NOT FOR SISSIES

NOTHING IN LIFE IS TO BE FEARED

Great Florida Cattle Drive–Days Away

by Filed Under: Genealogy, Great Florida Cattle Drive 2016, Travel 11 Comments

We are literally days away from our participation in the Great Florida Cattle Drive of 2016. Chuck and I have been preparing for this 1850s reenactment, where several of our state’s cattlemen will drive 500 head of Florida Cracker cattle over 50 miles.
We plan to walk the drive. You can read my first post about the adventure here. We have been planning this since October.
Training began right after Thanksgiving. The first week we walked a mile a day and increased it at least a mile each subsequent week. We are now walking eight miles a day, five to six days a week. That is about how far we think we will travel each day on the drive.

We’ve also been doing it in trail boots. No athletic shoes are allowed on the trip.  Also, no bright colors, which means almost all athletic shoes would have been disqualified anyway.  What is it with all the neon colors on adult athletic shoes?

We’re taking rain gear because there is forecast two possible days of rain.  It can get quite cool on Florida’s prairie, so the rain jackets will also come in handy as  windbreakers.

We expect daytime temperatures in the 60’s and 70s with nighttime in the 50s, with the exception of one evening when it will dip down into the 40s.  We’re Floridians which means we’re thin skinned, so “brrrrrr”.

Prairie in Florida

A Prairie in Florida.

They asked us to wear either period clothing or western wear while on the drive.  I am taking two long pioneer-style skirts and several white blouses. I also packed two pairs of jeans and a couple of flannel shirts in case it turns cool. It gets pretty windy on the prairies of interior south Florida.   Most days, I will be dressing similar to the ladies in the photo below.

Ladies in 1800s dress.
Everything we take including our tent, sleeping bags and clothes will have to fit into two duffles which can weigh no more than 60 pounds each. Our home office, where we’re packing, looks like a garage sale threw up in there. It ain’t pretty.
A few days ago while some of the grandkids, ages 3 to 9 were here, we pitched the new tent in the backyard. It was super easy compared to the old one.

We told them all about the cattle drive and what we would be doing.  Our seven-year-old Lucas finally said, “Why?”  Chuck replied, “Lucas, I keep asking myself the same question.”  Chuck and I both laughed, but the kids looked confused.
One of the duffels is waterproof or at least we thought it was. I spent yesterday patching it. I have successfully patched my waders before, so I feel fairly confident I can patch this too. We’ll need this duffel for the rain forecasted days.
I’ve been thinking a lot about book’s characters, expecially Mary’s mother Elizabeth. Mary was about seven when they migrated along with a foundation herd of cattle from South Carolina to Florida in the late 1820s. Her mother was almost 30 and had had several children already.

I don’t think she was pregnant during the trip, because the next child was born about a year after they settled.  She did have a baby less than a year old with her, whose birth was recorded in Colleton District, South Carolina in 1827, the same year they traveled.

Her children who traveled with her were all seven  and under, three girls and two boys.   Mary was her oldest.

I’ve tried to pattern my wardrobe after what I think Elizabeth may have worn.  I imagine Mary had to grow up quickly in order to help her mother take care of the younger children.

Can you imagine having five young children and a husband to cook and care for while traveling over 400 miles?  That was how far it was, if they used the only trail available to them at that time?

This trail or road went through the Augusta area, then the Macon area, and finally came down north of Tallahassee on the Old Hawthorne Trail through the Cairo, Georgia area.  It is believed that they then took a road around the north end of Lake Miccosukee into Jefferson County.  There were still Seminole Indians in North Florida,  but it was peaceful at the time.

Look for updates from the Cattle Drive next week, but I have two possible problems, neither of which are Indians. One is having service, as I may not be able to receive an internet signal in this part of Florida. The other problem may be maintaining a charge. There is no electricity on the trail, but I have borrowed several portable chargers.

Cattle Drive Photo

Photo by Carlton Ward Jr. www.carltonward.com

We leave on the trail Sunday, and we arrive at our destination the following Saturday with a “Frolic” planned at the trail’s end.  I’ve invited all our kids to come and bring the grandchildren, as the Fiesta will be family friendly.  I’m not sure, though, any will make the long trip down the state for the four-hour occasion.
Watch for my updates.  I’ll do the best I can to keep you updated from the drive.

Training for a Cattle Drive

by Filed Under: Genealogy, Great Florida Cattle Drive 2016, Travel 5 Comments

“What does she mean she’s training for a Cattle Drive?”  Honestly! That is exactly what Chuck and I are getting ready to do, but it will take some time and much planning

So I guess I better back up and start from the beginning.  My decision for this next great adventure comes from two different directions.

First, I’ve always wanted to go on a cattle drive? Hasn’t everyone? I grew up watching all those westerns with the cowboys sleeping on the range under the wide open skies full of stars and coyotes howling from far away.

Well, this is Florida; and it is little known that we have cattlemen and cowmen, wide open places, prairies with big skies, and even coyotes.

Florida Cowmen Herding Cattle

Seminole Indian cowmen herding cattle – Brighton Reservation, Florida. 1950. Black & white photoprint, 8 x 10 in. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory. <https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/69965>, accessed 30 November 2015.

Here are some more little known facts. One Florida ranch owns the largest brood cow herd in the entire nation. Florida is a cow/calf state where our primary crop is calves shipped to other states to be finished and processed into beef. We are home to four of the ten largest cow/calf operations in the US.

http://www.greatfloridacattledrive16.org/cow-hunters-crackers-and-friends

Florida has the longest history of ranching of any state in the US. Florida’s landscape was once a vast area of grazing lands. When the Spanish came to Florida they brought their long-horned Andalusian cattle with them, and some escaped to survive in the wilds of our state. These cattle are called cracker cattle.

Cracker Steer

Cracker Steer, Great Florida Cattle Drive, 2016.  http://www.greatfloridacattledrive16.org/cow-hunters-crackers-and-friends

Just before Florida became a territory in 1819 and a state in 1845, cowmen from South Carolina and Georgia came here bringing with them their foundation herds that interbred with the wild cattle. By the mid 1800s cowme ran large herds on Florida’s extensive open range in central and south Florida.

During the three decades after the Civil War, Florida was the nation’s leading exporter of cattle.

Penning Cattle

Owen, Blanton, Collector. Cattle in their pens at Buck Island Ranch- Lake Placid, Florida. 1984. Black & white photonegative, 35 mm. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory. <https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/107784>, accessed 30 November 2015.

So, I know I’m romanticizing this cattle drive thing, but so what!  I still can’t wait.

More important, though, I believe this cattle drive can help me write about Mary and her family’s migration from South Carolina to Florida.
For those new to my blog, Mary is the main character in my book, “Palmetto Pioneers.”

She came to Florida as a six-year-old girl with her family, who were cattle people. They brought some of their foundation herd with them, so they drove their cattle and came down by wagons from the Colleton District near Charleston, SC all the way through the state of Georgia and into north Florida where they settled near Monticello. They made the trip about 1827.

1890s Cattle Drive

Cattle drive at Bartow. Florida, 189-. Black & white photoprint, 8 x 10 in. State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory. <https://www.floridamemory.com/items/show/26412>, accessed 30 November 2015.

Years ago, I studied the Oregon Trail and read about other great migrations. What I learned is that many of these people did have the opportunity to ride in wagons, but wagon riding is very rough. It basically causes everything from general soreness to bruising.

People usually got out and walked. Their journals are full of stories about how they basically walked all the way to Oregon, Utah, California or wherever they were going.

IMG_2125

Great Florida Cattle Drive ’95.   http://www.greatfloridacattledrive16.or

So when I learned about The Great Florida Cattle Drive, ’16, a once every decade event, I registered us.
Chuck and I signed up to walk it. It is about 40 to 50 miles, at about ten miles a day with one rest day toward the end. Their website is here.
Of course, one doesn’t go on a cattle drive every day, so Chuck and have to train for this. We’re already assessing our gear, such as dragging out the 25-year-old camp tent. I’m thinking it is finally time to retire it and get something smaller and lighter.
Also, we have to either wear period clothing or western wear. This is a reenactment of an 1850s cattle drive.
I’m thinking about what Mary’s mother might have worn for the journey from South Carolina to Florida.

 

State Archives of Florida, Florida Memory. Accessed 30 Nov. 2015.<https://www.floridamemory.com

I may try to reenact her outfit, but I think I’ll take along a pair of jeans and a western shirt in case I just can’t stand it anymore.
And of course, most important will be our shoes. My daughter, who blogs at “A Pixie Dusted Life”, just posted 4 Things Runners Need To Know About Their Shoes, so I’m taking notice of her tips. I won’t run the 50 miles, but we won’t be able to stop on the trail either. We’ll have to keep moving, so foot wear will be key. Her advice comes at a good time.

The cattle drive will be at the end of January.  Here is a link for photos from the two prior drives.  By the way these photos were taken by a young man named Carlton Ward, Jr.  Check out his website here.

Carlton Ward, Jr. is a conservation photographer and an eighth generation Floridian from a pioneer ranching family. His beautiful photographs documented Florida’s often unseen world of cowmen who every day ride out to their herds on over 15,000 ranches, which raise nearly two million head of cattle.

We are so proud of this native son who has captured on film this living legacy of our long history of ranching.

  

Ward, Jr., Carlton, Photographer.  http://www.greatfloridacattledrive16.org/photos-by-carlton-ward-j

I’m so looking forward to this adventure!!  Of course, about day two or three, we’ll see how I feel then.  I plan to blog from the trail each day if I can get a signal.

Hostilities in the Neighborhood

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Another teaser from my book, “Palmetto Pioneers”, a story about the Andrews and the Walkers in Old Florida.

 

Hostilities in the Neighborhood

Indian attacks in frontier Florida were frequent, especially during the Second Seminole War. According to Congressional records, this war which began in 1835 and didn’t end until 1842 was the longest and costliest Indian war in U.S. history.

The first settlers of Middle Florida, that area between the Suwanee and Apalachicola Rivers, bought their properties from the US Government and found a land in which all the native inhabitants were not ready to leave. These first settler families scattered throughout this region and were terrified by the attacks.

Some left the area for good, some sent their wives and children to nearby relatives in places like Charleston or New Orleans, and some stayed. The Walker families decided to stay.

Here is what might have happened to sixteen-year-old Mary Adeline Walker and her family when their neighbor Rev. Purifoy was attacked and his children killed on the last day in March of 1838. The Purifoy’s lived about seven miles southwest of her family’s home. All the dialogue is created by me to tell the story.

What we do know, though, is where the Walkers lived in proximity to the Purifoys, where Mr. Scruggs and the Lightsey family lived, and what kind of day it was the morning after the incident.

It was a blustery, chilly morning; and Mary along with her mother Elizabeth were in the warm smokehouse washing clothes. Last night, a front had moved through; but the skies today were clear and blue.

Her mama didn’t wash every week, but it was time. The family had a wash shed; however, because it was cold outside they were in the smokehouse today. Her dad had moved the big boiler out there as soon as it turned cold last November.

 

1800s Smokehouse, Holmes County, Florida; State Archives of Florida; Florida Memory; http://floridamemory/items/show/4036

Dark-haired Mary was a tall girl, having gotten her height from her father’s side of the family.  All her Grandmother Carter’s brothers and sisters were known for towering over most folks. Her mama Elizabeth, though, was average height like all the Wilson’s on her mama’s side.  Both Mary and her mother were thin, having plenty to eat but too much to do.

Mary was stirring the clothes in the hot boiling water, which had been amended with ashes and lye. Her mother, always hovering, explained everything as they went.

The smokehouse was a small cubical log structure. It had a steep roof for holding in the smoke, where cuts of pork were hanging overhead. The family had had its annual hog slaughter in November.

In the center of the earthen floor was a small square fire pit where there set several boiling pots. Elizabeth said, “Now add the ashes and lye. Too much and your hands will get chaffed. Too little and the clothes will yellow.” She added that their neighbor old Mrs. Lightsey taught her this in South Carolina.

Elizabeth pushed a damp curl back from her glistening forehead and continued, “This is so much easier than the way my mama did it”. She was talking about the act of washing itself.

She went on, “We all went down to the river to do our wash, and we would have to slap our clothes on the rocks to get the dirt out.”

She hesitated as she tried to scrub a spot out of a child’s shirt. “That’s why I try to do our clothes at least every two weeks because it is so hard to get the dirt out if you wait any longer,”.

In reply Mary said, “The people in town wash theirs every Monday.”

Elizabeth frowned, “That’s too soon. We have too much to do to be in the wash shed every week.”

Mary used the large wooden fork to lift the cleaner clothing in order to let them drain before swinging them over into the wooden tub of rinse water. There was another wooden tub for blueing and starching, both on a table along the side wall.

The smoke house was steamy though they kept a window cracked. Otherwise, it was warm and humid inside. Later, they would have to remove everything and let the fire burn down, drying the air inside.

Both of them heard it at the same time. Outside, a rider was approaching at full gallop. People didn’t do this unless there was trouble.

The recent Indian massacres had everyone on edge, so much so that upon any new attacks citizens became couriers to alert their neighbors to arm themselves as quickly as possible.

Mary and her mother both dropped everything and ran around to the front of the house, just as Mary’s father Jesse and her older brothers came running in from the woods line where they had been cutting down trees to expand one of the fields.

The rider was William Scruggs, and he was so excited and out of breath that all they could understand was the word “Indians.” “James, go get Mr. Scruggs and his horse some water”, said Mary’s dad; and her eleven-year-old brother James tore out around the back of the house.

Mr. Scruggs stepped down off his horse and leaned over trying to catch his breath. He said, “Indians hit Rev. Purifoy’s house, and…”; and he looked at all the little faces looking up at him.

Jesse realized that what he had to say shouldn’t be heard by everyone, so he said, “Sarah, take the babies and get them washed up for dinner.”

“But Daddy, it’s not time for dinner,” said Sarah.

“Sarah Jane!,” her mother said and glared. Sarah started herding the little ones toward the house.

When they were out of earshot, Mr. Scruggs began again, “The Indians hit Rev. Purifoy’s house last night while he was away on ministerial duties. They drug his family out of his burning house, killed two of his children, and shot and cut up his wife real bad.”

He continued, “Mrs. Purifoy came to sometime after they left, and she tried to crawl to her father Mr. Bird’s house, but she collapsed from exhaustion. Some soldiers found her this morning. Ya’ll need to prepare cause they hit another house near Tallahassee, too.”

He took a few more sips of water while James finished watering his horse. Then Mr. Scruggs stepped back up into his stirrups and said, “I need to ride on and keep the word spreading. Jesse, can you or one of your boys here ride and let the Lightsey’s know. I’ll double back south and ride on to the Cuthberts and Bellamys. Much obliged for the drink,” and he dug his spurs deep and the horse lurched forward, disappearing down the lane.

Jesse turned to his oldest, “Henry, go tell George Lightsey what you just heard”, and fourteen-year-old Henry ran for the barn. Then her father turned to Mary, “go fetch my gun.”

Henry came running out of the barn with his saddle, and the other boys were already catching Josie, their fastest horse. Together they saddled him; and Jesse said, “Henry, make tracks. The faster you get there and back the better,” and he handed his oldest son his gun and slapped the horse’s right flank. Henry lit out north on the Salt Road.

Mary felt a knot in her throat as she watched her oldest brother ride away. She couldn’t help thinking, “Will I ever see him again?”

​

Surrounded by the Spirits of My Past

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Last week I visited my second cousin once removed. She is in her 80s with no heirs and seems to be in failing health. She has been passing on to me pictures of my family; but today she gave me something very special. She said that it is a butter churn that was used by her great grandmother, who is also my second great-grandmother. I was blown away by her generosity.


The beautiful old churn has a stoneware base, and the wooden parts are worn smooth from much use. My great great grandmother was born in 1839 and lived to be 95 years old.

So I brought the churn home and noticed on it a stamp that said Earnest and Cowles, and I googled the name. Here is what I found. The base of the churn was made in Baltimore sometime between 1828 and 1852, the years in which the manufacturer was in business.  Since my 2nd great grandmother was only 13 years old when the company went out of business, I’m fairly certain the churn originally belonged to her mother.

There is a history to the manufacturer and others like it in Baltimore.  Baltimore was an important port city when the War of 1812 began and when the British blockaded America’s ports.  All of a sudden supplies from Europe including stoneware like this churn ceased to be obtainable; and Baltimore’s port-based economy suffered, too.  What grew out of this were several new businesses to manufacture the needed supplies.  Several different shops sprung up to manufacture stoneware in Baltimore over the next decades.  Baltimore became known for its stoneware.


Her mother, my 3rd great grandmother was a Wheeler born in another port city miles below Baltimore, called Wilmington, NC. She married there in 1836, and soon after the family migrated to southwest of Charlotte.

About 1844, again she and her husband and five of their children migrated, but this time farther south to Florida with a sixth child born in Georgia on their way down. I’m almost positive this churn made both of those long trips down from North Carolina to Monticello, Florida where they settled for good.

The churn was inherited by her daughter, my 2nd great grandmother; and it was then passed on down two more times before reaching me, always through a female family member.  I asked my cousin why she chose to give the churn to me.  She said that she believed the churn should always be passed along to another daughter or granddaughter like herself.

So for the past week I’ve been unable to stop glancing at the churn, which sits in my kitchen next to an old ten gallon demijohn which came down from my North Georgia relatives through my father.  I can’t help thinking about Mary Wheeler, as a young bride in Wilmington and wondering if the churn might have been a wedding gift.  And if it was, who gave it to them, to Mary and her groom.

I ponder how it might have been carefully tucked away for the hundreds of wagon miles they traveled–the streams and rivers it crossed as they made their way west across North Carolina and then years later when they decided to move on down south, through South Carolina and through the plains of Georgia.


On its way to Florida Mary was pregnant.  In 1844 this child was born somewhere on the trail or a road in Georgia.   A later census simply reads that he was born in Georgia.   I can only marvel at Mary’s fortitude, her resilience.  Did they stop long enough for her not only to have the baby but to also heal?  Was it sweltering hot or was it a comfortable spring day?

Did she have help from her two oldest children, both daughters, ages 7 and 5?  Did they take over the butter making chore?  Did she suffer from anything like post partum depression or homesickness?  Or did she have time for such?  Did she miss her own mother?  After all, she was still only 23 years old.

And then again my mind wandered back to the utility of the churn’s purpose.  How many churns of butter did it make before it was retired due to more efficient technology? How many hands labored on its dasher?

There was a moment late that night on the first night I placed the churn in my kitchen.  I was too excited to sleep.  I was alone but felt very much surrounded by loving spirits.

In my heart I promised to take special care of this precious gift that was entrusted into my safekeeping.  And I am very humbled by its surmised story and by the cousin who thought that I was worthy of the task.

The History of the Tomahawk

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Most of my family are Seminoles.  In American football, that means we support the football program at Florida State University.  We even support them by being Tomahawk boosters.  I have always thought that tomahawks were used first by our Native Americans; but now I’m not so sure.

This morning I read a Scots-Irish blog post that lends new light on the subject.  You can read about it Here.

Due to DNA testing, I’ve been told that I’m about 48% Irish; and after my uncle who is a Roe was tested, we learned that the Roes are Scots-Irish.  Thus the reason I read this blog.

Anyway, they know that the Scottish people have been using the toagh (pronounced ‘too a’ in Gaellic) since pre-historic times; and that they brought it to Ireland and then on to the frontier of America.  It was very handy for cutting and also for arming themselves.  In battle Experienced men could throw one with precision from five to 20 feet away.


I use a version of it in my garden.  It is handy when I happen upon a stray root or a venomous snake.  I have some Native American blood and always thought of it as a device from that lineage, which was also through the Roe line.  One of the Roes, probably the first in America in the 1600s took an Indian wife.

Now, I know that it was also part of the Scots-Irish lineage as well.

British Isle Ancestry?  Take a look at these maps.

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I ran across some very interesting information today.  My Roe ancestry, using my uncle’s YDNA test results and a surname YDNA project, shows close matches to people in Ireland, Scotland, and Norway.  So, of course, we are interested in information about the British Isles.  

The United Kingdom’s “The Independent” published two maps showing the genetic makeup of Britain. It shows 17 DNA clusters that reflect key migrations and separations in early history.  The maps are based DNA samples. 

You can find it here. 

The results of the popularity of these DNA tests, mostly due to their being more affordable, are really beginning to provide answers about the migrations of mankind.

  

A Book Update on “The Palmetto Pioneers”

by Filed Under: Books, Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers 2 Comments

I keep plugging away at the book. Here are five things I did this week.

1. I spend two days a week working in two separate libraries. One is the Genealogy Room of the Jefferson County Library in Monticello, Florida, where most of the story takes place. The second library is the State of Florida Archives and Library in the R. A. Gray Building, Tallahassee.  

For the last several weeks I’ve been working on Civil War camp life and the building of the Pensacola and Georgia Railroad, specifically the railroad line that ran from Tallahassee to Alligator, Florida. Alligator’s name was later changed to Lake City.

2. The reason I’ve been studying this railroad line is because Mary’s husband William listed his occupation in 1860 as railroad agent. I went into this thinking that he was probably something like the head of a depot, but I found later that these positions were called depot agents. I thought he may have run a depot in either Jefferson County’s towns of Aucilla or Drifton, which was at one time called Walker Mill. Remember that Mary’s maiden name was Walker. 

 I found, though, that former territorial Congressman Edward Cabell was president of this railroad line at the time; and according to his 1845 railroad company minutes, he asked the Board of Directors if he could hire a railroad agent. He described this person’s job as someone who would handle all of the paperwork that was mounting as they were getting closer to building the railroad. They had not begun to build this railroad yet in 1855, and they wouldn’t begin building it until 1858. They finished it in 1861.

I’m beginning to think that William might have been this railroad agent. Here’s why. 

3. I discovered that this same Edward Cable was also the census enumerator for the state of Florida in 1850. In a newspaper article in Jacksonville in 1853, he asked Congress to do a memorial commemorating his six Florida Deputy Census Enumerators. The newspaper listed one of these men as William H. Andrews, so we know that William and Edward Cable had worked together before. I’m still looking for confirmation, though.

4. Also this week I developed a Pic Collage of photographs of William and Mary’s children. I still do not have a clear enough picture of what William and Mary looked like. Here is the collage of four of their children.  They are full siblings.

  
5. I attended an Andrews Reunion in Madison, Florida last Sunday, where I received the picture of Valentine Andrews. I also recently got two more pictures from a Texas relative. One picture was Henry Andrews as a young man and Florida Andrews, who later changed her name to Mary Elizabeth, renaming herself after her mother and stepmother. So here is a collage of William’s children from both Mary and his first wife Elizabeth, including Florida mentioned above.

  
That’s all for now!

A Lonely Grave for Emma

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Day before yesterday I went in search of another ancestor. This one is my great-great grandmother Emma Leana Scott who married William Thomas Boland the son of John Wesley Boland. John Wesley’s grave, if you’ll remember, was the first one we searched for on our way north to the conference. It was located on the military base at Fort Benning, Georgia.  Emma Leana was John Wesley’s daughter-in-law.  She was my grandmother Annis Wilkerson Hamrick’s grandmother, who Annis never knew because Emma Leana died almost 19 years before Grandma was born.

Emma Leana was born in Georgia just before the Civil War in 1856.  She married William Thomas in 1872 at the age of 16, and she died March 1, 1891 at the age of 35 after giving birth to ten children.

In the 1880 census the family is shown as living in Muskogee County near Columbus. Using the census records, I believe it was in the vicinity of the Midway Methodist Church where her father-in-law John Wesley had been a minister.  This is now where the military base is.  Since we did not have the 1890 census (this is the one that was destroyed) we didn’t know where the family went from there. For the longest time all we knew was that William had remarried and had a child in 1893 by his second wife. We found this in the 1900 census.  We assumed correctly that Emma Leana had passed away sometime between 1880 and 1900.

Finally in 2010 a very kind lady from Alexander City, Alabama took the time to walk through cemeteries in her area and record what was written on the tombstones. Her information on FindAGrave.com is how we learned that Emma Leana Scott Boland had died and was buried in Goodwater, Alabama.

So yesterday I spent my time in the Goodwater, Alabama library and in the graveyard where I finally found Emma’s tombstone.  There was no photo of the grave on FindAGrave.com nor was there an address for the cemetery.  I came here to find the church, cemetery and grave; and I also  came here to learn more about why they moved here and if there were any clues as to who her parents were or where in Georgia she was born.

Goodwater is a railroad town in Coosa County, and I learned that the railroad came here about 1876. Because the town was the only Railroad stop between Columbus and Birmingham,where the railroad could refuel with coal, this town became a boom town overnight.  Passengers got off the train here long enough to freshen up and have a bite to eat before moving on.


I also felt certain that this was why the family moved to Goodwater. I felt the move had something to do with the railroad.  Since Columbus was also a railroad city, I thought that they came here by railroad rather than by wagon.  The picture below is what Goodwater looked like in the late 1800’s, when Emma Leana and William Thomas lived there.

 


Today the old depot is a community center, the railroad hotel has been torn down, and the streets like so many tiny rural agricultural towns have a lot of businesses abandoned. I ate lunch at Meme’s Cafe, since it was the only place I found in town.  What I found was a good old home-style country cooking buffet. The food was great and was even better at $6 a plate. Her spicy grilled catfish was better than Cracker Barrel’s.  Below is how Goodwater looks today.

 


Finally, it was time to find Emma Leanna’s grave. The church sits on Main Street and was easy to find  It was hot, humid, and threatened to rain any minute. I found out while researching that this graveyard has over 400 graves. I expected a long afternoon, especially since shrubs covered some of the markers.

 


Because she was buried before 1900 I decided to look first in the oldest part of the graveyard, and I was lucky. I found her in about 30 minutes.  In the picture below her grave is located on the ground in front of the nearest obelisk.

 


I was also lucky certainly not because the grave had fallen over and broken into three pieces and the grass had almost grown over the grave stones, but because the grass had not completely covered the stones.  I felt like I had to do something before I left, because in a short time the grave stones would be lost forever under the sod.

Thankfully, I keep a short small shovel in the car, a trowel, and a whisk broom. I took all three and worked at digging up the stones and placing them so that they will not be lost anytime soon. When I tried to lift one of the stones, I had to push the tip of the shovel under it and raise it using my foot to apply pressure on the handle so I could get some leverage.   I slipped my fingers under the stone it several inches up but could not keep my grip.  The stone slammed back to the earth catching the tip of the shovel and cartwheeling it back toward me slamming its handle into my left hand.  I howled and said, “Well, thank you Emma!”  But this voice in my head said, “Well, don’t blame me just because you tried to use a child’s shovel for a man’s job.”  I smiled, because that wasn’t Emma’s voice, it was Johnelle’s.  I seem to always hear my mama’s voice when I get upset.

I tried to place the stones upright, especially to get a better picture; but couldn’t.  So I carefully placed them on the ground and took lots of good pictures so that I would know how to find it in the future.  Chuck and I talked about it last night, and we feel that we need to come back and hire someone to repair the grave and set it back up.

 


As far as I can tell there is no one else in the graveyard to whom she was kin. I did find lots of Scott’s while in the library. Several of the Scott family moved to this area in the 1850s. There is a chance that she and William and their children moved here because she already had family in the area. I’m just not sure, and I’ll need to do more research later.  I found no other Bolands in the area.

Because she is listed on the grave as Emma L Boland I believe that most people called her Emma.  The graveyard is the Goodwater United Methodist Church Cemetery, and it is located right at the edge of town. I found a picture of the church that she attended which burned in the early 1900s and was replaced by the church currently standing.

 

 

As you may remember her father-in-law John Wesley Boland was a Methodist minister, and I’m certain she followed the church of her husband. I noticed that all of the Scotts in Goodwater were Baptists, so that is probably why there were none buried in this church yard with her.

We know that Emma and William Thomas lived here at least until 1891.  While researching, I ran across this picture below.  Under the photo it explained that although they didn’t know the date of the photograph, they were certain that it was taken before 1892 because one of the students in the picture became principal of the school later and graduated in 1892.  He is one of the older students on the top row.   There is a good chance that Emma and William’s daughter Lena Victoria is in this picture.  Lena Victoria is my great grandmother.  She was 15 in 1891 when her mother died.

 


Knowing what I do about Lena Victoria Boland and Emma’s mother-in-law Elizabeth Durden Boland, I’ve noticed a three-generation long pattern. All three of these women died young and were buried and left behind.

I grew up reading and watching movies about the pioneers who often times had to leave behind a lonely grave in the woods by a trail or on the prairie.  It made me sad that they were left there by themselves forever with no family members beside them.  Until lately, I had no idea how common this was in my own family.

Emma’s husband William Thomas remarried, moved away, and finally passed away in Ocala, Florida where he was laid to rest beside his second wife. The husband of Lena Victoria Boland, my Great-Grandfather, buried her in Blountstown, Florida, remarried, and is buried beside his second wife in Winter Haven, Florida. John Wesley Boland buried my great-great-great grandmother Elizabeth Durdan Boland in Cusseta Georgia, remarried, and was buried with his second wife in Ft. Benning.

I’m glad I found Emma and was able to visit her grave.  The next time I come, I’ll bring her flowers.

Finding Margaret on the Yankee Trace Road in Alabama

by Filed Under: Genealogy, Travel 2 Comments

Day before yesterday, I went looking for another ancestor.  This one was John Wesley Roe’s in-laws, his wife Mary Ann Lovelady’s parents Solomon and Margaret Lovelady.  After Mary Ann married John Wesley in 1853 in Gordon County, Georgia, her parents migrated on farther west to Lynn, Alabama, which today is in Winston County northwest of Birmingham.  

Lynn is not the county seat, so I drove first to Double Springs to their library.  I had trouble finding where to go online, but the library was easy to find as it was located out on US 278.  Double Springs extended their city limits to include a village around an impoundment so I got to the city limit sign almost 2 or 3 miles before I got to the little downtown area, population less than 2,000.   The library had a bicentennial book about the local people and their ancestors.  There were several stories about Solomon and Margaret’s children but not such about the generation before, except one which I’ll describe later.

By the way if your ancestors were some of the first to an area or if their offspring stayed there, look for anything written in the area during our nation’s centennial and bicentennial celebrations.  It will amaze you what you’ll find.  It will mostly be stories passed down, but these can be important clues for what and where to look for more definitive research.  Anything written during the centennial was written in 1876 so it could be first-hand information if the area was settled in the early 1800s. 

The library also had about 20 copies of the local geneaological society’s newsletter which had lots of stories about local settlers, but it was not indexed.  I did glean some info using the table of contents in each, but I’m sure I missed some.  The evening before I had found a location for a grave on a road called the Yankee Trace Road, and I did run across a story about how the road got its name.  I’ll explain later.

After the library, the librarian suggested I stop by their local archives.  I had found nothing about this online; so I made a stop there, which was directly across the street from the courthouse.  Along with more information, the  archives lady gave me a very good county map showing where Sardis #1 Baptist Church is located.  I lit out and drove straight to the grave of Margaret Whitthus Roe, my fourth great grandmother, who is buried at Sardis Baptist Church on the Yankee Trace Road.

  

Let me tell you about this road and the countryside through which it runs. The road is named Yankee Trace because it was one of the routes taken by a portion of General James Harrison Wilson’s Union Calvary, when it was on its way to the Battle of Selma where later Lt. General Nathan Bedford Forrest was outmanned, outgunned, and defeated.  This Calvary battle was fought in March 1865 and is known as Wilson’s Ride famous for being commanded by one of the youngest generals in history.   It is also known as one of the largest Calvary assemblies in history if not the largest.  I guess that is what it took to finally defeat the Wizard of the Saddle.

I wonder where the family was when this group of men rode down this road.  I also wonder if their foraging units made it to the Lovelady homestead which I believe was a little over three miles away.

The countryside here is very pretty. This is Alabama hill country, and the hills are not small hills.  The road sides are especially beautiful this time of year with Queen Anne’s Lace growing wild.  As cars pass, the wildflowers roll in the wakes made by the wind.  I kept noticing pink roses growing wild in the woods, until I finally stopped and took a picture. I think it is a wild climbing rose. 

  

  
The Sardis #1 Baptist Cemetery is located on US 17 which is also known as the Yankee Trace Road.  The cemetery sits high on a hill next to the church which has sweeping views of the countryside below.  The road curls around the cemetery.  I wondered how loud the Union Calvary was when it passed here in 1865. 

I quickly found Margaret’s grave and took a picture. Then I just took a moment to stand and gaze at the views from high atop this hill. What a beautiful place to go to rest.  

  
It appears that sometime between her marriage and this grave, her name was changed from Whitthus to White.  The marriage record shows her maiden name as Whitthus.  Someone had placed a newer marker at the base of the older one with the basic information that was on the older stone.

  
I found no grave for Solomon, which brings me to the story found in their bicentennial book.  It said that according to family tradition Solomon became ill and died while he was with a son who was moving to Tennessee. They said he is buried in Wayne County, Tennessee.  

So let me try to put this into perspective. If he died on this trip then it had to be after 1880 where I found him in the Winston County census. He was 79 and his wife was 59.  

 I think I must have good genes because this man made that trip over the age of 80 when there was no interstate and when the only way to travel was by either horseback or wagon.  He must have thought he was healthy enough for the trip.  Wayne, Tennessee is 120 miles north of Lynn, Alabama. At about 20 miles a day it took them at least six days to make the journey.

Since Margaret died in 1881 at the age of 60 (I’m glad I have Solomon’s genes, too), I’m wondering if he moved because she was gone and there was less of a reason to stay.

I also found a possible homestead area.    Some archive maps showed where some of the earliest settlers lived.  There were three Lovelady homesteads in the names of three of his sons. I felt certain that one of those was Solomon and Margaret’s original homestead.  One of the homesteads I drove to was over 8 miles away actually closer to 10, and I felt certain this was not where Solomon and Margaret lived. 

Another one that I didn’t drive to was all the way on the other side of the county which was even farther away. The one I think that they lived in was only 3.5 miles away from Sardis. I drove to this land using the county map and a copy of the county plat map showing where the Lovelady land was.  I took some pictures of where I believed it to be.  It was an educated guess at best.  I have been in touch with a Lovelady cousin who may have better information.  He is who posted Margaret’s grave on Find A Grave.  

  

It is a beautiful area with a creek running through the bottom.  It looked like bottomland around the creek, and today it is in pasture.   it was probably a good place to raise crops.   We have had a lot of rain lately, so the creek was muddy.

  
I traveled the two lane road and later gravel road which ran between the church and where they lived. How exciting it must have been for the entire family to go to church and have dinner on the grounds, something that was not done weekly.  It was usually an all day affair and one of the few times that the family got to visit with others in their community.  

Their homestead was way out in the country, and the little road ran high over hills and down into the deep draws crossing little creeks at natural fords.  Today it is a little canopy road in places.  It must’ve been as beautiful back then as I found it today.

Finally, thanks to one of the books, I think I know how they got here.   The original trail into this area was known as the High Town Indian Path. It ran from old Charles Town on the Atlantic Ocean to the Chickasaw Bluffs which today is Memphis, Tennessee.  It was a trading path used by the Indians and later by the European explorers, trappers, and traders.  It followed a divide, a ridge, where water falling north of it ran into the Tennessee River while water falling south ran toward the Gulf of Mexico at Mobile.  The same trail crossed North Georgia close to where the family lived before they migrated west to Alabama.  This trail later became a wagon road.  

Today, one can still hike parts of this trail in the Bankhead National Forest in Winston County.  It is said that Davy Crockett used this trail during the Creek Indian War of 1812.  The halfway point on the trail was the Indian village called High Town near current day Rome, Georgia.


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