Wednesday, 23 November 1955 Falls Church, Fairfax County, Virginia

Dear Mother and Father,
Once again as we ready for Thanksgiving, I have created my special pies. Yes, I learned it all from you, Mother. I want to thank you for those cooking lessons…I would often protest and wanted to be out riding my horse Beauty as cooking was too girly for me. Dang it, I just couldn’t be bothered. I must add “however” as those lessons paid off. My pies are now as delicious as your Osborne County Fair blue ribbon winners.

There is such a calmness in my kitchen… like being in an oasis as I blend the ingredients. I enjoy making my own pie filling as I am in harmony with the sweetness of the fillings. Loving to play the radio while I work, I enjoy singing along with Jo Stafford, Kay Starr, and the wonderful Nat King Cole. I am in heaven at the moment!

Today my little Mary Anne is working at her own children’s table. I give her scraps of piedough to turn into her own homemade “cookies”. She rolls out the dough, cuts it with a cookie cutter, and adds a raisin to each one. Baking them for her, she waits patiently from the cookies to cool from the oven. She cannot wait for the days before Christmas so we can make real cookies.

Meanwhile, little Michael is in the corner of the kitchen playing with his plastic cowboy figures. Sound effects of shooting pistols and Indian war whoops are blazing through our once quiet space. Love it when my little family is all together.

Waiting for Eddie to come home from work at Arlington Hall, he and I will be getting some food ready for Thanksgiving tomorrow. It will be just the four of us…lots to be thankful for.

With love,
Merna Mae

Note: My mother was Merna Mae (Storer) Slabik, and she was famous for her pies…both making and eating them. She loved her desserts. Thank you, Mom, for these wonderful memories of making homemade pies!

 

10 March 1887                Alton, Osborne County, Kansas

To my dearest great great granddaughter MaryAnne:
As I come to the closing chapter of my life, I am leaving some breadcrumbs for you to follow so you can meet me in the future. You will discover, if you dig deep enough, about my childhood in New York…about my traveling down the Erie Canal…about my late teens in the Minnesota Territory where my mother and I were the first White women to live in that area. You will uncover in a family history book how I meet my husband Andrew and how our marriage was not a love match…it was a marriage of mutual convenience. Through records you will meet up with my nine children…3 girls and 6 boys. You will locate newspaper articles in The Osborne County Farmer that relate what a successful sheep and wheat farmer my Andrew was. There is even an article about an evening spent with the editor of that same paper who writes about how we raised God-fearing, hard working children. Yes, these breadcrumbs were left for you to find.

There are also segments of my life story that were not written down and recorded. Some events you have to read between the lines to piece together clues. Then, there are what is not written…and I know you will have questions. Here are a few of the questions you might have: why did we move from territory to territory before we settled happily in Kansas? What was it truly like for a farmer’s wife to live in isolation from other women? What were my true talents as a woman, a wife, a mother? Did I ever fall in love with my husband Andrew? How did I make our farmhouse a home? What stories did I tell my children? How would I raise my daughters differently from my sons? How would I wish to tell my life’s story? How would I wish to be remembered? Oh, I know you will be full of questions that will never be truly answered…the answers for you are not written down.

And so I end this letter to you with prayers and blessings for you as you try and bring me to life…often just piecing together clues and finding those magical bread crums.

Love,
Your Second Great Grandmother
Mary Etta Soule Storer

 

26 May 1852                                                                                  Morristown, Rice County, Minnesota Territory

Dear sister Elizabeth,
How my heart is full as I share my thoughts with you! It was heartbreaking when Mother decided that we were leaving the comforts of New York to come west five years ago after Father’s death. I often wondered what made her choose this place for us. Being among the few women in this territory, life has been harsh and at times unbearable. Now I have to make a hard choice for myself.

As you recall, our brother has taken employment at the brickyard. Mother and I have helped out there on occasion. The man who is our foreman is called Andrew Storer, a Mainer who has traveled these western territories. He has wanderlust in his blood. His wife Abigail died in childbirth several years ago. He has told me that he wishes to marry again to have company as he moves on, possibly to Wisconsin. He asked me to marry him. Now I have to make a hard choice for myself.

I have asked for time to consider his proposal. Accepting it would mean that I might never see Mother and Brother again. Also, I am 19 while he is 35. He is much set in his ways. Now I have to make a hard choice for myself.

My next letter to you may come from Miss Mary Etta Soule or Mrs. Andrew Storer. What will I choose?

Affectionally your sister,
Mary Etta

Note: Mary Etta Soule was my 2nd great grandmother. She did become Mrs. Andew Storer in July, 1852. After moving to several more places, their final move and home was in Osborne County, Kansas, where they would be successful farmers and the parents of 9 children. They were married for 35 years when Mary Etta passed on in 1887. Andrew would pass 8 years later. So…Mary Etta in making that hard choice would be the mother, grandmother, and great grandmother to many. 

 

 

She had been with me from the start…kind of like a guardian angel. She and her husband were the first of my people I looked for when I got a subscription to Ancesty. I have been following the bread crumbs of clues she left behind for 20 years now. Little by little I have fleshed out her story.

When I first found her in records based on a clue from my aunt, I was in awe. Here she was…a Polish girl who came to the United States on her own. My aunt stated she came in 1911. I found her on a ship’s manifest from that year. Her name, her age, it had to be her. Looking for her in Census’ records was difficult as I could not find her and her new family. Finally, I had a breakthrough…someone suggested that I just put the first names of the members of her family and the city in which they lived. Bingo…I found her…her new surname was misspelled in the 1920 and 1930 Census. Lo and behold, in the 1920 Census she listed her arrival date to this country as 1906…so for several years, I had the wrong girl. When I requested her naturalization papers, it confirmed 1906 as the year of immigration.

Through census records, city directories, marriage records, and a ship’s manifest, I have been able to glean much about her.  The records unveiled her parents’ names, her brother’s and sister’s names, physical addresses, occupation, children’s names, parish registration, and other little bread crumbs in piecing her story together.

Her naturalization record included her photo. It is the first clear photo of her that I have found. Also this document revealed her physical make-up.

So for the past 20 years, I have been looking for her. She has stayed with me in the search…kind of like a guardian angel. Who is she to me that she stays so close? She is my babcia, Polish for grandmother. She is my dad’s mother. She is my grandmother. Part of my first name comes from her.  She is Anna Mroz (Polish for frost). She married my grandfather, Franciszek Slabik. I have never met her…but I plan on it one day.

28 April 1906                                  Trieste, Italy

Brother Antoni,
We have finally arrived here. The journey here was long and hard and uncertain. We came by foot, by cart, and by train. I am a stranger in a strange place and will travel to an even  stranger country. I am grateful to you for sending money back to Galicia so I could join you in this new land. The possibilites for our futures are such dreams. I pray that much will bless us in America. I understand that we will be sailing on Monday, 30 April, and will arrive about 3 weeks later in New York. I am so glad that I am traveling with Franciska and her brother as being alone would make me very anxious. We were told that the name of our ship is the Georgia. I must confess I told a lie at the ticket office. I stated that I am 16 years old versus the  the truth of being 14. I am so excited that at the end of this journey, I will see The Lady in the harbor. I am told that she is most beautiful.

Until our meeting day,
Your sister Anna

 

Note: Anna Mroz is my paternal grandmother who came from what is now Poland. The address in Greenville, Connecticut, was a post office box for the Saint Joseph Polish Church there. Polish emigrants could have their mail sent there. The Catholic parish also helped the immigrants with adjusting to this new world. Anna and brother Antoni most likely worked at the Shetucket Company cotton mills for a few years. Anna would relocate to Nicetown, Philadelphia. This begins her story in America, when the Georgia finally arrived on 24 May 1906.

17 October 1965 Winchester, Virginia

Note To My Older Self:
The days will come when this sacred name will kidnap you with nostalgia, fill your heart up, and make you yearn to see her once more. You will long to be in her shadow along with the many faces and places that raised you from childhood to young adulthood. She made you who are…you are going to inherit her spirit and soul. Now you are so young and maybe cannot feel it or see it, but you will witness it becoming so. Her name throughout your lifetime will be a seal upon you.

Her name has many different meanings. She was named at one time “the bread basket of the Confederacy”. She was called by the Native Peoples “Daughter of the Stars”. Later in your life, you will assign her a name synonmous for “home”. Her name is…the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. You will always love her. You will always be near to her. You will always revere her as a sacred person and place.

Note: This is where I grew up. I had to leave her when I was young to move to Pennsylvania. I miss her and visit her often.

22 May 1825 Fox River, White County, Illinois

As I work outside in the garden, I do some of my deepest thinking. Just as I do a physical digging, hoeing, and planting, I do the same with my mental thoughts. How in the name of the Lord’s Providence am I going to weed out all the unthinkable that will come our way? I have little recourse. I have little powers as a mother and a woman. I have little abilities that can save us.

This is the third summer my husband Daniel is not here. In that time, I have learned that I am entitled to one third of the farm as Daniel left no will. All the goods in the house do belong to me. Who doesn’t belong to me is our children…my precious son and daughter. The children are the property of their father. Without his protection, my son can and probably will be taken from me to be bonded out to a farmer as an apprentice. My boy Amos is only 7 years old…how could this happen? In the meanwhile, my adult stepsons have promised on their word that they will help out.

Each swipe of the hoe on the earth is like a silent prayer being prayed. Each planting of a seed is like asking God to plant strength and resilience inside me. Like the promise of a good yield in the garden, I feel the promise of an unexpected faith and strength to subside me and my family. As I brush my hands together as I end my work, I place the hoe back by the cabin. The hands together are like a silent Amen as I finish my prayer of petition. “Lord, give me unexpected strength to meet this trial.”

~Rhoda Howell Boultinghouse

Note: Rhoda was my second great grandmother. With the death of her husband Daniel in 1823, she had to face many trials alone. Her fears of her son being taken from her were realized on 27 July 1835 when he was bounded out to Benjamin McCallister in Christian County, Kentucky. From Illinois to Kentucky…where will the Boultinghouse story lead next?

30 May 1823 Fox River, White County, Illinois

Dearest Mother and Father,
It is with deepest sorrow that I tell you my beloved Daniel has passed. He was working in the fields with little Amos when he collasped to the ground. Our boy ran to me and his sister for help. We could do nothing. We were helpless and grief-stricken.

Since the children and I are alone on the farm since Daniel’s passing, our neighbors the Ralls have commited him to eternal rest in their family cemetery. I can take the children to the grave to leave flowers and mementos. I fear in time his unmarked grave will become just a part of the plains. With such sorrow in my heart, I can barely think.

My children Amos, who is five years old, and Matilda, who is nine, are so young to be fatherless. I have asked my stepsons to enter into guardianship for them. I am also asking them for protection on the farm. My mind is all discombobulated in trying to figure out what will happen to us. I am relying on God to overshadow us with His Divine Providence.

In a few days, I will journey to the county seat in Carmi as I am accompanied by my stepson Kennison. Daniel’s debts will be paid off and money owed him will be declared. A sad journey, indeed. May God give me the strength to do what is just and right.

In closing, dearest parents, I ask for your prayers and good intentions toward our little family.

Your loving daughter,
Rhody

Note: Rhody (Rhoda) Howell and Daniel Boultinghouse are my third great grandparents. Their son Amos Howell Boultinghouse is my second great grandfather. Together they settled in White County, Illinois and are counted as a founding family in that county. Rhoda’s appearance at the county courthouse in Carmi on 3 June 1823 is the last written record of her. What was her life like after Daniel’s passing?

14 April 1839 Fox River, White County, Illinois

Dearest son Amos,
As I sit here writing to you, I ask the Lord to keep you safe in New York. Since you enlisted in the Army last year, you have been so far away from us. You are seeing places we will never visit. I put my trust in the Lord to keep you faithful and prudent. You are so young yet there is a fire in you.

As I look out over our prairie farm, I notice your absence in the fields as you would work side by side with your brothers. When we have meals, I note that your chair is empty…I long for you to fill it once again. When I want to soothe myself with reading the Lord’s words, I find your letters tucked in our Bible.

My question for you is what sent you so far from us when you enlisted. What made you make that choice? Perhaps, your father’s and grandfather’s senses of defending our peoples and our lands sent you to it. I pray that this decision sends you back safely to us. I long for your homecoming.

Your sister Matilda sends prayers. She and Henry will be married in July as they are most anxious to start farming.

Blessings, my son
Your loving mother (Rhoda Howell Boultinghouse)

Note: Rhoda Howell Boultinghouse was my third great grandmother. She was widowed when her son Amos (my second great grandfather) was only 5 years old. Amos enlisted in the U. S. Army in 1838 when he was 19. He would later reenlist in 1861 as a member of the 55th Illinois during the Civil War. Both are very dear to me.

14 April 1930 Alton, Osborne County, Kansas

Dear Sister Clara,
A quiet morning as I pen this letter…cows have been milked, eggs gathered, boys been feed, got dishes to wash. Looking out my kitchen window as I study the day with a cup of coffee in my hands. Planning my Monday washing, I want to get the clothes on the line early. Then I will spend a magical morning doing an act of love…baking my sugar cookies.

My sugar cookies bring my family to the pantry to rob the cookie jar. Oh, they do not think I notice how quickly they disappear. When my son Andrew’s two girls come for a visit, that cookie jar is the big attraction. Little Merna Mae and Mary Lee just grin and savor those cookies as they visit on the front porch. My boys Marvin and Les, who have worked tirelessly on the farm all day, enjoy them along with a glass of milk in the evening.

I usually bake them on Mondays. Sometimes, I use “the leftover from Sunday” mashed potatoes if my flour supply is low. Nothing like the aroma of cookies being taken out of the oven. So glad Mother taught me how to bake when we were little. Now I am passing this recipe on to my girls.

Breakfast dishes, laundry to hang out, cookies to bake…what a sweet life I lead.

Your loving sister,
Mina

Note: Sarah Almina Nickel Storer (1872-1957) was my great grandmother. A simple life lived on a farm…rich in blessings…loved and cherished by her children, grandchildren, and great grandchildren…what more contentment can one find?