Independence Day in Old Florida

July 2, 2016 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers, This & That

What do you think Independence Day celebrations were like for those who actually fought in the Revolutionary War? Or for the signers themselves? What was the 4th of July like ten or twenty or fifty years after the signing when some of these men were still living?

Today, we meet as communities or families to celebrate our nation’s birthday. The holiday, though, is actually the day the initial signatures were placed on the Declaration of Independence.

But how did our ancestors celebrate this day? And what happened when the north was fighting the south during the Civil War? Did we quit celebrating down here in the south during those War years?

I’ve been researching the time period in North Florida between 1827 and 1871 for my book “Palmetto Pioneers.” It was a time when Florida was a territory until 1845, when the Seminole Wars raged until the late 1850s, and when Florida seceded from the nation to join the Confederacy in the early 1860s. We call these eras Territorial Florida, Antebellum Florida, and War & Reconstruction Florida.

Remember, though, that 1827 was only about 50 years after the Revolutionary War. To Floridians in 1827 the American Revolution would have been remembered much like some of us today remember the assassination of President Kennedy or the Vietnam War, both of which happened only 50 years ago.

So the 4th of July celebration to these Floridians would have been valuable indeed. There would have been veterans of that war living in their communities and maybe even within their families.
In some of their home states, there would still have been scars from the battles which were fought in these areas. Mary’s family came from near Kings Mountain and the Cowpens, both well remembered Revolutionary Battles.

So just how did they celebrate the 4th of July over 150 years ago? I found several pieces of research to give us an idea–most of which were newspaper articles, but one of which was an actual program used in 1851.

My main character Mary Adeline Walker came to Monticello, Florida about 1828, and the first recorded Independence Day Celebration there was one year later in 1829.
Jefferson County and Monticello were named after President Thomas Jefferson and his home respectively. The county itself had just been formed in 1827 from Leon County just one year after President Jefferson died.

The newly formed county originally stretched from its original western boundary near its current western boundary just east of Tallahassee all the way east to the Suwannee River.
Of course, every school child knows that Thomas Jefferson wrote the Declaration of Independence, but did you know that Thomas Jefferson died on July 4th in 1826, the very day we celebrate his actions for signing the Declaration of Independence. It was an amazing coincidence.

Original first draft of the Declaration of Independence

There is also something else very interesting about Monticello and the 4th of July. There were people living around Monticello who were kin to Thomas Jefferson. Thomas Jefferson’s mother’s maiden name was Randolph and his grandson Francis Eppes moved to Florida along with the Randolphs establishing a plantation about 12 miles northeast of Monticello called L’Eau Noir (Black Water).

Chart Showing Who was Buried in the Jefferson Graveyard at Monticello in Virginia

I’m very familiar with this beautiful land where the Black Water Creek flows east of Tallahassee. It crosses US 90 between Tallahassee and Monticello west of Balm. I’ve hunted turkey near and along the banks of that creek both immediately north and far south of that crossing.

This is the land where I cut my teeth–calling birds for the first time. I could shoot turkeys all day with a guide, but the real challenge was to call in a bird all by myself. This is where I got the most practice. I bumped birds all over this land and got to know it intimately. Some of my best turkey hunting stories took place on this property. At the time I had no idea that this land once belonged to Thomas Jefferson’s grandson.

So a lot had happened to little Monticello in the three short years after Jefferson County was formed; and Monticello became the place to observe Independence Day as early as 1829. People from all over Middle Florida came there to celebrate. The little town was not much more than a crossroad then, only a village. But Independence Day in America at that time was a very important event.

Normally, the people gathered in the center of the village for Independence Day. A parade was staged to begin at the edge of town and to end at the appointed place at the appointed time, which was noon. So at the center of Monticello and beginning at noon and after the prayer, the Declaration of Independence was read. In every 4th of July celebration, I noticed that this was the highlight–the reading of the Declaration.

Afterwards, a chosen orator spoke. He (yes, it was always a man) talked about the Revolutionary War itself or the people who fought or the founders or any other topic related to our nation’s independence. Afterwards, there were numerous toasts, most of which were followed by liberal quantities of spirits. Most of the toasts and speeches were directed at the nation’s birthday.

We know that in 1829 in the center of the town Rev. William Mathers opened the ceremony at noon with a prayer. The Declaration was read and Philip Willie delivered a rousing address tracing the history of the US from Columbus’ voyage down to an “animated picture of the present”.

A sumptuous dinner was served, after which Dr. Thomas White and James Parish began the toasts. White praised the “venerable sage of Monticello” after whom the county was named. Parish toasted Joseph White (Florida’s representative to Congress) as “in every respect white, clear white.” Other toasts were delivered to Florida “the youngest child of this great family of States”. They also toasted several of the founding fathers and prominent men of the day.

After 1829 people began coming from all over the territory to celebrate the nation’s birthday in Monticello. Year after year they came. It was a tradition. Although it began in the center of town, years later it was moved to a nearby park. A crowd gathered wherever it was held.

By 1832, the day began with the firing of a cannon and small arms at noon in the center of town. I wonder what happened to that cannon. I grew up in Monticello, and I can’t remember there ever being a cannon fired in town except for when the local team took the field down at the football stadium on Friday nights in the 1980s. That one was bought while Kelly Kilpatrick was the principal.
Then a procession formed in front of Martin Palmer’s tavern and moved to a stand prepared for the occasion in the center of town. We know from research that there still was no courthouse, and that court was held in this tavern when needed. I wonder if that raised platform set where the courthouse sits today? I also wonder if the toasts had gotten out of hand so they moved it indoors away from the women and children.

After Rev. Mather’s prayer, the Declaration of Independence was read and then George Warner spoke about the oppressed colonies in the days just before the revolution. It is believed that the women and children were there for this part of the celebration, but not for what followed as discussed earlier.

After the oration the men moved on to Palmer’s Tavern where Thomas Randolph and William Bailey presided over a dinner. It was recorded that 13 toasts were drunk. The one receiving the most attention was to “The Tariff may it be immediately adjusted to the satisfaction of all”. Darius Williams toasted “public school, the best guarantee of social progress.”

And Giles Easter toasted, “May we act with reason while the bottle is circulating.” That was probably the toast right around the sixth round, and obviously they paid it no heed.

There is mention years later that maybe the toasts were getting out of hand. I imagine the women added their own thoughts to this. So later they decided that there should be a committee for toasting.

The earlier orations stayed to the revolution itself or to the freedom that all Americans cherished; but later, the speeches began to more accurately reflect the issues of the day.

By 1838 there was concern about statehood and at 11 a.m. a large Independence Day procession of inhabitants and visitors from adjoining counties formed at the courthouse under the direction of Minor Walker, marshall of the day. It moved to a grove of oaks near a spring outside of town where a preacher opened the ceremonies with a prayer. The Declaration was read and an oration delivered. A barbecue dinner followed, again followed by the toasts.

4th of July Celebration in Orlando in the 1880s. Florida Memory Collection

By 1839, they decide to form a committee for toasts to try to keep the number of libations within bounds. It must have helped though because by 1841 the Tallahassee Star of Florida reported that at the Independence Day festivities in Monticello 50 men drank four toasts each.

At the 1839 celebration they held an old fashioned Virginia barbecue which was planned by Smith Simkins, Zachariah Bailey, W. C. Smith, John Cuthbert, William Ware, John Tucker and J. R. Rowles. The committee on toasts was comprised of R. B. Houghton, B. C. Pope, B. Waller Taylor, W. H. Smith and William Wirt, Jr.

The orator and reader were selected by R. W. Tone, Andrew Denham, John Palmer, Ware and Cuthbert. Houghton delivered the oration and Abram Bellamy read the declaration. The Tallahassee press again carried this news.

These Monticello celebrations continued until the Civil War, but the town was not the only city in Florida to hold such August celebrations. While researching I ran across an actual program for the 4th of July Celebration held in Madison, just east of Monticello.

I often wondered if the south continued to celebrate Independence Day during the Civil War, and I ran across an editorial in the “Family Friend”, Monticello’s weekly newspaper, dated in 1861. It said that Florida’s legislature did propose in 1861 to strike out the 4th of July from the days which public offices should close, but the proposal was ultimately rejected.

The newspaper’s publisher went on to say that Independence Day should be held in perpetual remembrance. He pointed out that the south holds claim to the author of the document just as much as the north.

He added that our declaration sets forth that when a government becomes subversive, as had the north, then it was the right and the duty of the people to throw off such a government. He said that the south had done just that. And that as a body of people the south should cherish the declaration and continue to celebrate it.

He added that these principles which gave birth to our former union can never be destroyed until we all are slaves or are left to submit to tyranny and oppression.

So I guess that is what I carried away from all this is the realization that it is the Declaration itself that we should celebrate. Our ancestors understood that.

Happy Independence Day–no matter where you are or how you celebrate it!

A Deer In the Cattle Herd

February 4, 2016 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Genealogy, Great Florida Cattle Drive 2016, Palmetto Pioneers

During the Great Florida Cattle Drive one night at dinner, Chuck and I had the pleasure of listening to some young girls from Ocala talk about the excitement of what happened when a deer jumped up in the herd. The girl’s group were riding with the cattle, so they got to experience this first hand. It was exciting listening to them describe the pandemonium it caused.

I walked away that night with a story for my book “Palmetto Pioneers”, and this morning I wrote a brief scene. It is below and is still a little rough, as I will make changes to it as I gather more information; but I thought you might be interested in how I fit their story into mine.

A Deer in the Herd

It has been family lore that several of the Walker brothers came down to Jefferson County, Florida from South Carolina and got things ready for their parents. We do not know if just the men came first and then brought down their wives and parents or if the men brought their wives and families and then sent for their parents. Those particulars have been lost over time.

We do know that Mary’s brother Little James was born in 1826 in South Carolina and that her next sibling William was born two years later in Jefferson County, Florida.

Cattle graze at a rate of about eight miles a day. When driving a foundation herd, such as what the Walkers brought with them in 1827, that is about how fast the family moved daily because there was no way to carry forage for the cattle. The cattle had to literally eat their way over 400 miles to Florida.

This means it took them at least 50 days to drive their cattle from near Walterboro, South Carolina to Monticello, Florida. I believe they probably stopped to rest at least one day a week, which adds seven days. Add a half dozen more days, and we get about 63 days or a little over two months that it took them to make the trip.

Their best time to travel would be in the fall, since it would have been better to get their cabins built before the bitter cold of December to February. By March North Florida is beginning to warm quickly, and it is past time to begin preparing for crops. The families would have wanted to be there in time to plant again.

Below I tried to recreate what a typical moment might have been on the trail as they made their west and south of present day Macon, Georgia. The trail went from Walterboro to Augusta to Macon, down the Hawthorne Trail and down through north of Tallahassee near Coon Bottom. These are all current names, as several these places had different names back then.

This is Mary’s story. She was five when they made the move to Tallahassee.

* * *

I remember it well. Daddy and my uncles came in all excited. Mama and my aunts had them a good pot of stew to warm them up. This morning it was cold and wet, where it had rained the night before. Fall was definitely giving way to winter.

We had been gone almost two months. Last night Daddy talked about how the cotton would have been picked by now. Granddaddy and Grandma Walker were handling it for all of us. We were already missing them.

But today, the conversation around the fire was all about a deer that had jumped up in the herd. The poor thing was probably hunkered down in the wet brush and let the cows almost completely surround her before she decided to make her escape.

Deer were like that. Daddy says that this is how they protect themselves from predators. They just get real still.

One time Henry and I were walking back from Grandma and Granddaddy Walker’s house, and we were walking through the woods pushing our way through some low green vegetation. All of a sudden a tiny fawn just jumped up from under our feet.

We were literally inches away from stepping on the little thing. Mama said that the fawn’s mama was probably out foraging and had put the fawn there for safekeeping. She had probably told it not to move no matter what.

I remember asking mama if animals talk to each other. She said, “Mary, why do you ask such questions? I don’t know. And don’t get too friendly with any of these animals, because that is how we eat.”

Uncle Littleberry, who was standing next to the fire with steam coming off his clothes, said that the poor deer just didn’t know where to go and ended up springing this way and that, bouncing off the cows and causing them to stampede.

He added, “It was wild. The deer bouncing this a way and that’a way, the cows parting and stampeding in different directions, and all of us on horseback not knowing which way to go first. It took us several minutes to get the cattle to settle down and come back together. ”

All of us children were hanging on every word. “Was it hurt?”, said Henry. “No,” said Uncle Littleberry, “it didn’t look like she was; but it sure scared her”.

Mama, Aunt Elizabeth and I were hurriedly trying to keep the men’s plates full and their coffee cups filled. We had had trouble getting a fire going when we finally stopped today. The wind was beginning to pick up, and the temperature was dropping.

We all knew that there would be no fire that night when it was most needed. The front pushing through made a fire dangerous.

We were lucky that the rain stopped about mid-morning. At least least we had a fire to cook up a good dinner. Mama, Aunt Elizabeth, and Aunt Mary Jane cooked double so we would have enough for supper tonight. It wouldn’t be as good as having it warm, though.

While we were cooking, the little kids gathered firewood, berries and anything else that might be usable. I helped with the cooking when I could but it was my job to keep Sarah Jane from getting into trouble and to listen out for Little James. Mama had just nursed him, and he was asleep under the wagon by one of the back wheels.

As soon as the men finished they went back to the herd and all of us packed the wagons back up and began following. My mama and all my aunts could handle the oxen. Mama said that the soreness she felt those first weeks was gone now. She also said that her hands would never be the same again. They were rough and calloused.

Hostilities in the Neighborhood

October 18, 2015 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers

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?”

A Book Update on “The Palmetto Pioneers”

June 25, 2015 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books, Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers

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!

An Update on the Book: Mary Hobnobs with Some Washington Elite

April 7, 2015 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Books, Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers

About the book I’m writing, I apologize that you haven’t heard from me since late January. Problem was, though, I got myself involved in the Family History Writing Challenge, which asked me to pledge how much I would write daily. Since I’m a fast writer, I signed up for 500 words a day. No problem writing that many words a day, but I did struggle with acquiring the needed research for the exercise.

By the end of February, I compiled 28 different scenes for the book. However, the research still isn’t complete; and I’m sure I’ll have to rewrite every one of those scenes.

Also, each morning I received an email with suggestions on how to proceed. These emails were entitled, for example, “How to Find Your Focus”, “Creating Your Authentic Ancestor”, and “How to Begin Your Story: A Checklist”. These emails were like workbook pages, and I was unable to go through the exercises that quickly. So this past month I’ve been going back to each of these emails and filling out the information. This exercise has been so helpful.

One of the exercises required some thought into the process of naming the book. It strongly encouraged picking out a name, even if I plan to change it in the future. So I picked out a temporary name. I chose this name because Mary came to Florida from the South Carolina low country southwest of Charleston near the Little Salkhatchee River. South Carolina is also known as the palmetto state. The family moved to Jefferson County in Florida and settled west of the Aucilla River, an area where palmettos grow thick, especially on the river’s flood plain. They arrived there around 1828, so they were Florida pioneers. From here on I will refer to the book as the “Palmetto Pioneers”.

Oak Hammock with a Palmetto Floor

Hopefully, I will do better at keeping everyone posted more often.

Below is another scene from the book–a first draft. First, though, here is a little information to give a little setting.

One reason I chose Mary for my main character was because of her station in life, which changed dramatically when she married. As mentioned earlier, she was raised the daughter of a South Carolina/Florida planter/cattleman. Her family settled in the wilderness in eastern Jefferson County. She had lived in Florida since she was six years old.

Mary married, though, the son of a Washington, DC merchant. William Andrews had joined the army with his friend Robert Gamble when they were both in their earlier 20s. Robert Gamble and William first came to Florida to fight Indians in the 1820s, but they went back to Washington, DC/Baltimore, married and later returned to Florida with their families to settle.

William’s spouse died and left him with four children. That is when he married Mary, whose family lived nearby. Mary and William’s first years were spent living near her father, but by the mid 1850s they had moved into Monticello where William became a sheriff of Jefferson County.

Below is a scene from when they lived in Monticello. We know that they lived near the Cuthbert’s house which was next door to the Episcopal church. Today, the Cuthbert’s house is the house where the attorney Mike Reichman used to practice law. It is still standing.

The scene is a first draft, and it is meant to reflect the differences in the ladies, including Mary and her guests. Robert Gamble’s wife Letitia and her niece Laura come to visit Mary. Laura’s complaints are authentically hers. In real life she kept a diary, and this is what she thought of the area. Here is how it goes.

Mary listened to Laura Randall complain and kept silent. She couldn’t quite understand why the woman was so unhappy. “Mary, I don’t know how you and your family stood it all those years. The mosquitoes scarcely retire in the morning before the yellow flies begin. This is certainly the country for studying entomology. There is an infinite variety of insects.”

Laura Randall was wearing a gown of lilac cotton trimmed in burgandy. It was beautiful, and Mary had never seen one so beautiful up so close. No one from where she lived out in the country dressed like this. She knew that Laura’s father was federal Attorney General William Wirt and that Laura’s family was from Baltimore.

All of this was so new and so very interesting. All the talk from William about these big cities and their beautiful buildings. The information spun around in her head like the setting of a fairy tale, and yet here was one of the fairy tale princesses sitting right here in her living room.

Mary looked around her and was immediately embarrassed. Her living room was sparsely appointed with four wooden chairs, a fireplace, a desk where William worked at home and a small table where she kept her sewing. In one corner was a weave, and on the floor was a new woven rug that she had made herself. Laura was obviously used to much better than this, and yet this was so much roomier and better than what Mary was used to having.

Laura continued “and there is not a piece of rope to be had in this place, but what we really need is a tavern. Just yesterday five men rode up to our door and gave their horses to the servant as if he were an hostler of an Inn. Then they walked right in to breakfast, which was just ready; and we had to make room at the table.”

She shook her head and added, “They had all stayed the night before at Colonel Gadsden’s, riding up at nine o’clock just when the family was going to bed. I really think our neighborhood would do well to support a tavern for these intruders.”

Letitia Gamble added, “I thought a lot of that had stopped. I guess we are too far off the main road now.” Letitia, as if she knew what was on Mary’s mind said, “I do remember though how hard it was in those early days after we first arrived. The house at Welaunee was a double log cabin, daubed with mud and surrounded by dead trees. We finally replaced it moving farther away from the road, and though this land was difficult at first, we finally learned to adapt. Robert was certainly never disappointed. He loved it from the first time he laid eyes on it.”

Then Laura said, “Well, I have to admit that it finally grew on me, too. I do love my garden, and thank goodness we started butchering cattle and hogs and learned to share with others so the meat never spoils. This seems to always put good meat on the table.”

Mary remembered what William had told her about these families, that they were all raised high on the hog, and they didn’t seem to know what to do or how to live in such difficult surroundings. Laura added, “I even learned how to make beer, thanks to you Aunt Letitia.”

Letitia said, “I guess if there is one good thing about this country, it is that it made us all realize the importance of sharing and taking care of each another. One can afford to be an individualist when one is wealthy and live near the finer things of life, but out here with only ourselves and nature, it is an entirely different situation. One must learn to share and to rely on others.”

Laura was looking off in the distance. “Laura, a penney for your thoughts?” said Mary.

Laura looked back at her Aunt Letitia. “Do you remember when I had to nurse your Cecily.” Letitia smiled at her neice, “I sure do.”

She turned to Mary, “That was something unheard of where we’re from, but now we know that it is a commonplace thing down here.” I was depending on a milch cow to feed Cicily, and Laura was visiting. Well, anyway, that afternoon we discovered that the milk supply had spoiled, and Cicily was screaming and wouldn’t stop. Laura, here, just said, ‘Give me Cicily’, and she disappeared. The crying stopped. I knew right then that this country was going to be totally different from anything we had ever witnessed.”

Laura added, “The last time I went to visit mama in Baltimore, we had to take along two milk goats to help me nurse Jonathan. Those goats sure didn’t like that ship and the bleating was horrible.”

So there you have a brief scene from the book. It will change a lot over the next few weeks. The transitions from one person to the other need a lot of rewriting, which will help the reader follow who is talking. Each of these characters will be fleshed out so one gets a better picture of what they look like and how they are expected to act.

There’s Something About Mary

February 3, 2015 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers

My main character’s name for the book I’m writing is Mary. As you may remember, she is Mary Adeline Walker; and she is also my great-great-great grandmother. Using what I learned from the workbook, “Authentic Ancestors” by Lynn Palermo, “The Armchair Genealogist”, it was time to develop my protagonist, my central character.

Since Mary is the one individual who ties all my family’s lineages together, she is central to my story. Here’s the rub, though. How do I describe her physical characteristics? I have no pictures of her, and there are no written descriptions, either. What’s a girl to do?

Turns out my mentor had a good suggestion. She suggested an “Authentic Ancestor Collage” board, a tool to bring all the physical details together to create a visual for further reference while writing. I have done storyboards before, so that is what I quickly thought of, until she suggested that Pinterest might be a good place to pin any evidence found. So I placed what evidence I had in a new public Pinterest board entitled, “Something About Mary”. You can find it here.

It turns out that I do have pictures of others in Mary’s family. For example, I have a picture of one of her brothers, three of her children including a daughter, a granddaughter, a great-granddaughter and a great-great-great granddaughter. I pinned all of them on the board. Then I also pinned a picture of a flowering bush that I will use in my first story about her.

I wrote the story using some of the facts that I do know, such as the birth dates of her children. Like most women in her time, she was pregnant a lot. Also, I know that she lived in Monticello; and that at the time of this child, her parents lived out in the country north of where Elizabeth Church sits today near the Old Salt Road. I believe the Yauns own that property now.

Another fact is that her husband was constable during this time and that the first Governor of Florida was from Jefferson County. I wove them into the story as well.

I also used a story about a black snake that actually happened to me personally. I was trying portray her as a strong woman, but also a loving mother.

Last, please don’t hesitate to let me know if you find something that you believe is inaccurate. The point here is to be as factual as possible, and for that I certainly could use your help.

Enjoy! The story is below.

Mary knew what this feeling meant. She had had it four times before, but this time it was too soon. She looked down at the baby suckling at her breast and their eyes locked. She always loved this time, when the little feller could stare and grin. He smiled his toothless grin and drooled milk out the corner of his mouth. She smiled at him, but thought that it was too soon for another to come.

Until now every baby except James had come an easy two years apart. Even little Jesse here came an easy two years after his brother Zach, and Zach came two years after Val, and Val after James. Six year old Sarah wanted to help, and she was already doing what she could. The real help, though, came from Mary’s step-daughters Ellen and Florry, who were twelve and eleven respectively.

Mary found it hard to believe that she was only one year older than Sarah when her family came to Monticello. Much had changed in those two decades since. Just in the last seven years she met William, married, became a mother to three motherless children and had five more babies . She looked back down at Jesse. Poor thing. He would be booted out of the cradle long before the others had.

It was a warm day. Winter had lingered too long, but outside her window a wild azalea was already blooming. The delicate pinkish blossoms stuck up like someone had picked a little bouquet of flowers and attached it to one single long stem sticking up from a bush of green. Each little star shaped flower looked as if it were poking out its delicate whiskered tongue.

What a blessing to have this here. Where she grew up out in the woods, these azaleas were everywhere, especially in the areas near the swamps. She missed living there with her parents, so two winters ago her dad dug one up and transplanted it by her back window. Every spring she waited for its blooms and subsequently missed home all the more when they quickly faded.

Her parents didn’t live far away, and she saw them and her brothers and sisters anytime they came to town. The home place was only a little more than a half days ride to the east by wagon or carriage and even less by horseback. Between town and her parents’ home was a wilderness of cypress swamps, towering pine forests, palmettos so thick that it was almost impassable and always the moss floating down from the massive oak limbs. In the pines she knew there would be wild dogwoods blooming, and she wished she could make the trip this warm day to see their blossoms peeking around the trunks like white lace. The silence was what she missed most. It would be deeply silent except for an occasional wind whispering through the pine boughs.

The road there was barely more than two ruts, and traveling by horseback was easier. Wagon wheels either bogged down into the shifting sand when dry or slid off the slick red clay when not. The rains here came suddenly and frequently often with little warning. Horses and mules were the transportation of choice, but women were seldom seen straddling either.

Outside her window here, though, there was always chattering and yelling, constant clanging of metal harnesses, and the dull thud of horse hooves on dirt. Monticello’s streets were dusty when it was dry and muddy when it wasn’t. Her house was an easy distance from the center of town, and nothing much happened that she didn’t see.

Jesse was much more interested in the noises outside, and she realized that he was done so she pulled down the soft fabrics of her chemise and bodice and handed him to Florry who had just walked into the room. Mary noticed that Florry always seemed to know when she was done.

Florry was born Florida Mae, though she didn’t much like the name. Mary didn’t think it was a bad name. Florida seemed pretty, enough. After all, it was Spanish for flowers; but Florry knew that she was named after the Territory, not flowers. Born in 1840, Florry’s father along with some of the other men in town, worked hard to achieve statehood, which finally happened five years later when Florry was only five.

Mary stepped out into the warm sunshine on the front porch just as Governor Moseley and another man walked by leading their horses and wearing buckskin leggings and homespun blouses. Moseley tipped his hat and continued talking to the stranger as they made their way toward the center of town. Mary arched her back with her hands at the small of her backside and stretched her shoulders as she wondered when William would be home for dinner or if his business would keep him away again tonight. There were no set hours for a Constable, so she never knew.

She stepped back inside just as Ellen started screaming from the kitchen. Running into the room, Mary saw a black snake halfway up the back steps with his head held up about a half foot off the floor just inside the door. He was a nice one, all black and shiny, almost blue. He quickly turned his head from Ellen to Mary with his half-lided gaze.

She knew he wasn’t poisonous, but she also knew that a bite from him would hurt bad. Ellen slowly began backing up, never taking her eyes off the snake, while Mary picked up the broom which was sitting by the door she had just entered. She slowly moved toward the snake stomping her feet, but it didn’t back down. Mary said, “Oh, you’re a fearless one. You just need to go back where you came from.” She began to push the broom toward him , but he lunged at the broom. That’s when she gave a big shove, and his body tumbled down between the steps.

When Mary looked back over her shoulder, she saw all the kids standing in the door and hall. John, who was twelve, said, “I’ll go kill ‘em.”, but Mary said, “no, he’s a good ‘un. Let him be.” She knew that the black snake would protect their door from other less desirables. He was territorial and wouldn’t let another snake take residence. Like most of everything else in the Territory of Florida, she knew you often had to take the lesser of two evils.

Mary’s daughter Laura, who was born seven years after Jesse in 1857.

I’m Writing a Book!

February 1, 2015 by oldageisnotforsissies54 Filed Under: Genealogy, Palmetto Pioneers

For most of January I have been getting ready to start writing a book. I have to admit that it has been on my mind for years, but who had any time for such. I was embroiled in a full-time career, raising children, keeping house, traveling and trying to spend time with my husband. There was no time for such extra-curricular activities. Somehow, though, I did find time to research my family. This was my hobby.

This hobby started when I was in my mid twenties, and I’m still doing it today. Problem is, I’m getting old; and now I worry that I may never write any of this down in a way that will interest the rest of the family. My fear is that I’ll die, and the kids will find all these boxes of research. It could happen while they are raising their children, keeping house, working and trying to spend time with their families. They won’t have time, either.

So here I am. Chuck and I retired last May, and I’m finally ready to write. I started before Christmas by joining a group called the Family History Writing Challenge, which is a 28-day commitment to writing about my family history. It runs February 1st to February 28th. I was having a little trouble getting started, so I signed up.

The challenge is designed to help me develop good writing habits, to provide inspiration and to offer pointers to help me write. It helped me organize my thoughts by asking me questions that led me to develop answers, such as whether I wanted to write about a single ancestor, a surname, or an entire branch of my tree.

I began to think about the timeframe or the setting, about any added research needed, and about narrative fiction or nonfiction. I decided to write the book as narrative non-fiction.

It suggested I set a goal, so I decided to write at least 500 words a day.

I started writing this morning. I have a set time on my calendar, and an alarm that sounds like Big Ben in London went off at 1 p.m. to clue me in that I should be sitting at my desk and beginning to write. It worked, because that is just what I did. When the hour was up, I had written 910 words.

I decided that I would begin with Mary Adeline Walker, my third great grandmother. I know that she came with her family to Florida about 1827 at the age of seven. I had planned to begin my story from her point of view, and the setting would be the trail that the family had most likely used as they made their way down from South Carolina. That is when I ran into my first problem. I discovered that I needed more research about this trail–a lot more research about this trail.

So I switched gears, so as not to be thrown off the course so early in the process; and I started writing from a different angle. I simply started writing about something that I knew about–how I arrived at and placed Mary Adeline Walker as my main character. After writing several paragraphs, I realized that I wasn’t writing an intro but instead I was writing a forward.

So below are a few paragraphs of my incomplete intro and almost all of my forward.

What if it’s not good enough? Well, that is for all of you to decide. I try not to play those head games with myself. My pea brain doesn’t fare too well under my own criticism.

Outside criticism works better for me, and so I invite your comments!

Introduction

There was an old Indian Trail that once led from…. It wound through the hickories and oaks of the Piedmont plains of North Carolina down into the hills of South Carolina and on down into the central plains of Georgia. DeSoto took it up for a ways, because there were the whispers of gold up there somewhere and later the white man took it for his own and widened it for his wagons and sleds. To a seven year old girl named Mary Adeline Walker, though, it was the adventure of her lifetime.

(Need to do more research on this trail. What was it really like. What modern roads does it most closely follow today)

She was the first born of Jesse and Elizabeth Wilson Walker, born in 1821 on the Little Saltketchy (sp) River in Colleton District, SC.

(Find out what this area is like today. Who did they leave behind. How many people traveled with them.)

Along with her Grandparents Joel and Elizabeth Carter Walker and several of her uncles James, Joel,Jr; LIttleberry and David and their families, they traveled this trail in 1827 arriving at the newly formed Jefferson County in Florida. The new county seat, though, had been here a while. Built next to a little Indian village, the village leaders claimed the high ground for the center of the town.

(Need to do more research on the village in 1827. What did she see when they arrived.)

Foreward

My Grandmother Hamrick was a talker so much so that my dad said that we didn’t need to take the “Monticello News”, because Annis was enough. That is where all of this took place, in Monticello, Florida, a little town in North Florida, almost now a bedroom community of Tallahassee, but in mental miles much more than thirty miles away to the east.

It was Grandma Hamrick who told the family stories, along with my Granddaddy Hamrick, for it was his family that reached back more than four generations in this county, or at least we thought so at the time. By the time I was fourteen, Granddaddy died of a cerebral hemorrhage one Sunday morning in March while the two of them sat watching the First Baptist Church of Tallahassee on their television. He got up that morning and said, “Shug, can we miss church. I don’t feel so good.” Shug was short for Sugar, and it was his pet name for her. From then on, I got all my local family stories from Grandma; and those are the ones I seem to remember the most.

There was never any mention of anyone before Granddaddy’s Grandfather William Aseph Hamrick, except for one story about William’s mother who daringly loaded all her children in a wagon and came to Florida from York, South Carolina, shortly after her husband was killed in an accident. They said that she was mad at her in-laws and that it was before the “War”, which for those of you not from the southern part of America, this means the American Civil War. Stories often went that way. They would say, “before the War…” or “just after the War…”. Needless to say, it was a very important event to folks down here, even those who were born many years after the War.

What we found years later, though, were several more generations; but they materialized through the women of our family, our maternal lines. This led us to Mary Adeline Walker. She is the common denominator, and I had never heard about her until one day when I became a temporary secretary to County Judge Charlie Anderson in Monticello.

I was 25 and married. I had a one year old baby. It was 1978. My friend Pam Cooksey was pregnant, and she was looking for someone to work in her office for about four weeks, until she could return to her job. I was already beginning to go a little stir crazy, so I agreed. What I did on the job is insignificant to this, but the office where I worked became very significant. In a vault next to Judge Anderson’s offices were many of the territorial Florida records for Jefferson County dating before 1845. I began to wonder if there were secrets there about my family.

I started with William Aseph and quickly found him and his family in the years after the War in census records. I had gone to Tallahassee to the Florida State Archives to search through their books. The Hamrick trail ran out before 1850. They were not in the 1840 books, and this fit the story that they had come sometime just before the War.

Well, what about Granddaddy Hamrick’s mother? Her name was Hattie Augusta Lightsey Hamrick. I found that her lineage traced all the way back to George Lightsey, her great-grandfather. I found him in Florida’s 1830 census. Her parents were George Henry and Laura R. Lightsey.

Back at the Judge’s vault, I began looking for anything that had to do with the Hamricks and the Lightseys, until one day I found George and Laura’s marriage certificate. Her name was Laura R. Andrews, and just like that I had another new surname to search. Andrews was a surname I had never heard them talk about, though I knew a lot of Andrews in the area.

Laura R. Andrews in 1850 was still living with her parents’ William H. and Mary A. Andrews in Monticello. With this information I went back to the vault and found a marriage certificate for them dated 1843. Mary’s maiden name was Mary Adeline Walker, and finally I had a surname that fit into some more of Grandma Annis’s early stories.

There are lots of Walkers in Jefferson County, and I noticed that almost any who lived in the northern part of the county were always described to me as “kin”. The exact way I was kin was never explained, but the conversation always went a little like this. Grandma would say, “Oh, you’re kin to him,” which really meant “Honey, you probably shouldn’t date him.” So I thought I took care of that problem and married into the family of Walkers from the southern part of the county.

The northern Walkers weren’t the only ones to whom I were “kin”. It was also the Bishops, Hartsfields, Kinseys, Scruggs, Sledges and too many families to name right here and now.

What I stumbled upon while working for the Judge was that all my family’s roots led back to or through this Mary Adeline Walker. She is the keystone for my family’s lineage in Jefferson County; however, she was not our first Walker to come here. She made the trip down with her father and grandfather. Counting them, I discovered that I was the eighth generation to live in Jefferson County; and my newborn daughter was the ninth.

What I also stumbled upon was a life-long hobby called genealogy. I am now over 60 years old, and it is finally time to write some of this stuff down.

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