“If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride,” goes an old Scottish proverb. The beggars in this case could be those who love genealogy…right at the moment they discover an old photograph that becomes an instant treasure. The wish granted would be the ability to step into the picture and to experience the sights, sounds, smells along with those ancestors. I found such a picture five years ago when I was cleaning out my mother’s house…slipped into an envelope that had been tucked into an old, musty dresser. Since I had been purging and cleaning out for over a month, I almost threw the envelope along with other tossables in the trash. Maybe by sheer magic, the picture’s subjects called to me to pull out the contents. Why, it was a panoramic photo of a farmstead and its inhabitants. The photographer had signed and dated his work in the bottom right-hand corner just as an artist signs his masterpiece…Photo by Parratt, February 19,  1917. Later, I asked my mother the who, what, where, and why questions about the picture. Her answer was that it was Grand Storer and family on their farm in Tilden Township, Osborne County, Kansas: Grand Storer, my great grandfather. So I decided to let the magic begin…

February 19, 1917, was a bone-chilling Monday. Wash and Mina Storer had contacted the photographer from the Cozy Studio in nearby Downs to take a home portrait. Roy H. Parratt instructed them to have the family members space themselves out by their home along with prized possessions. The light of a dreary February day could be tricky so the right time of the day for taking the photograph was estimated. What if each person were to share his/her story with me?

Wash: I bought this land from my father and my older brother a few years before I married Mina in 1891. I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to be a farmer. For the first year and a half of our marriage, we lived in Louisiana where I worked on building levees on the Mississippi River along with my uncle and cousins. This work was not for me so Mina and I along with our newborn son Roy Eugene headed back to Kansas. We lived for awhile on a farm near Mina’s parents before we came to this land. Once we settled on this property, we lived for a few years in a cave…yes, a cave where I reinforced the ceiling with stone from my quarry. Imagine that! We built a new large house and three big barns just seven years ago in 1910. Now my farm consists of 240 acres with milch cows, Holsteins, chickens, and pigs. I make most of my money from the cows…I am not a wheat farmer. Both my son Roy Eugene and daughter Myrtle Mary are married and live nearby. Our remaining six children live and work on the farm.

Mina: Can you imagine setting up house in a cave? Many early Kansas settlers did that, you know. Why I gave birth to my twin babies Angie and Andrew in that cave…won’t that be a story for them to tell their grandchildren some day! Being a farmer’s wife is a joy to me, and I am mighty proud of our big house. I love to invite family and neighbors over for Sunday dinners after church. Making fried chicken and mashed potatoes with white gravy is my specialty. I am also known for my sugar cookies. Yes, we also enjoy inviting neighbors to barn dances here on a Saturday night. The ladies bring special desserts. We have three neighbor men who are the musicians for square dancing. Today for this picture taking, Wash and I decided that I would drive out our Model T loaded up with our baby Leslie and my daughters Angie Pearl and Hattie Della. I asked one of my boys to crank it up for us. Don’t it beat all to have a picture taken of our little paradise!

Angie: Papa and Mama told us to gussy up for this picture…make sure our hair is done up…just as if we were meeting our beaux on a Saturday night. Hattie here, she is the one who can really fix hair.  Says she wants to be a beauty operator and not a farmer’s wife. Me…my sweetheart Carl wants us to have our own farm and settle in with a little family.

Hattie: Now, it isn’t too often that our pictures are taken. We have been doing chores since sunup when we went to the hen house to gather eggs for breakfast and to help Mama get everything ready to feed the men. Also, Monday is wash day so soon we will be headed off to heat water and scrub. Yes, sir…I am counting on leaving the farm life one day and moving west…California dreaming, I am.

Marvin and Hillis: Each day, we prove to our pa that we can handle this hard work. We ride out to check on cattle in the pastures. We look for broken fences. We bring cows into the barn to milk. When school is in session, we ride double to the one-room schoolhouse that we attend. Sometimes when we are riding across the fields, we talk about our dreams for the future. We would both like to see new places…explore a little. Pa likes to quote that saying, “The grass is always greener in your neighbor’s pasture.” Us…we want to see if that is true.

Andrew: Since my older brother married and has his own farm, I have been Pa’s right hand man. My hands are calloused, and there is not much time for daydreaming. Been thinking about the prospects of having my own place a few years down the road. Got a cousin who has a farm nearby that he would like to rent out…maybe, that could be me. At several of our barn dances, I noticed a little girl…she’s younger than me. Says she is going to Kansas City soon to help out her married sister. I really do not have a lot of time for courting, but I have her sister’s address so I can write her when she leaves. Understand from the paper that Europe is at war. President Wilson says that we are going to remain neutral…keeping out of it. Speculation around here is that time may tell. Been notified by the local draft board that I need to come register soon. All I really want is to stay here and hug the soil and the neck of a good horse. (Andrew winks at me as he walks away. In 32 years’ time, he will become my grandfather.)

Postscript: A copy of that panorama picture hangs in our home. It is over 100 years old and part of my legacy. The thoughts and feelings of my ancestors are just pure speculation and fantasy on my part. If only wishing could always come true…

The domino effect reverberated through the events of my 2nd great aunt’s life and that of her family. Mary A. Boultinghouse would live only 28 years, yet a ton of tragedy would envelop her and those she loved.

Mary grew up on the plains of Illinois on a farm with her parents and nine siblings. Her father was born in that state while her mother was born in France. Did her mother teach her French phrases? Her mother was skilled in needlework. Did she pass that on to Mary? Her life there would seem idyllic compared to what would be her future.

Sometime during the Civil War, she became the sweetheart of Daniel H. Warden, who was a sergeant in the 20th Illinois Infantry. He was eight years older and hailed from the county in which she lived. Did they exchange letters and a vow that they would marry upon his return? He suffered a foot and a hand wound in the Battle of Shiloh that hindered his ability to walk…yet he remained with his company. Five days after he was discharged from service, they married in DuPage County, Illinois. At some point, they moved to Chicago where he was employed as a carpenter-joiner. How did the couple struggle because of his disability?

In the summer of 1871, Mary and Daniel decided to migrate to Osborne County, Kansas, where they would claim land under the auspices of the Homestead Act. They traveled by covered wagon along with Mary’s parents and siblings. Mary and Daniel were accompanied by their children Anna Laurie (age 5) and Peter Tecumseh Sherman (age 3)…sadly, their infant daughter Gertrude had died the year before. How did they manage to travel with Daniel’s disability?  Life was harsh on the prairie, but they managed to build up a small homestead. Their son Walter was born within the next year. Then in 1873, tragedy struck. Daniel noticed ducks had landed on their pond, and he asked Mary to bring him his rifle. While Mary was carrying the gun, it discharged…”Oh my God, I have shot myself.” She died within moments. She was buried on her parents’ homestead. A few months later, the Warden house burned down.

Two years after her death, the tragedy in Mary’s family continued when her son Peter was bitten by a poisonous rattlesnake. He lived a few days and was buried near his mother. Daniel decided that he could no longer remain on the farm so he moved his family to Leadville, Colorado. He earned his living with his carpentry skills. At some point, he realized that he could no longer care for his children. He adopted out Anna and Walter to strangers. Anna was taken to Chicago and Walter to Kansas. All of this became too much for Daniel…he died of a gunshot wound in 1879.

As a postscript to this story: their daughter Anna Laurie lived to be almost 90 years old. She lived most of her life far from the Kansas plains in New York. In her obituary, it stated that Anna would give talks to school children about being a child during the Great Chicago Fire…that fire happened in October 1871…Anna and her family moved to Kansas in the summer of 1871. Also, she talked about witnessing Indian raids…the last recorded raid in Osborne County was in 1870. Did her imagination cover up the tragedies of her life?

Many of my ancestor great grandmothers I know only through research. My third great grandmother, Rhoda Howell, is one of those women. On paper, she is a few dates and a name in a probate journal. Who was she really? I can only assume and speculate.

I do know that Rhoda was born to Amos and Mary Howell in Tennessee. The date for that is sketchy. Her family moved to Illinois, and she met Daniel Boultinghouse. Daniel was born in Pennsylvania and had moved across to Ohio and into Illinois. He had been married twice before and was the father of 10 children, ranging in ages from 21 to nine years old. He and Rhoda married on 31 January 1813 in Gallatin County, Illinois. Rhoda gave birth to Matilda in 1814 and Amos in 1818. (Amos is my second great grandfather.) They would settle in the Fox River district of White County, Illinois. Daniel was a militia member whose chief job was to ward off Indian attacks. Daniel died in May, 1823, just ten years into the marriage. Probate records show that Daniel left no will. They also show that Rhoda appeared at the courthouse with a list of people to whom Daniel owed money, and the debts were paid. Record-wise, this is the last mention of Rhoda.

In reading about pioneer women, I discovered over and over again how harsh life was for them. Some historians tout that the women had to be stronger than the men. Certainly, this was true of Rhoda. How was she shaped and molded by life? What was it like to be married to Daniel and to raise his other children? How did widowhood change her worldly circumstances? How isolated did she feel when her husband ventured out to perform his militia duties? My educated, researched guess is that she did all she could to survive. Some of the older children had married and moved on into Arkansas and Texas. Did she stay on their farm and direct the older remaining boys in farming and hunting for food? She had her womenly tasks to perform as well as to educate the girls in housewifery. Did she turn her eyes to heaven each day to ask God to be her guide and strength? Was she sustained by faith, resiliency, and perseverance?

I wonder how Rhoda spent the remainder of her life. It is a fact that her son Amos left home at 19 to join the Army. Records show that her daughter Matilda married a Henry Whetstone, but little is found about them…no census records contain their names so tick marks can be studied for an older woman living in the household.

Rhoda Howell is a woman of unspoken strength…tested strength…enduring strength…even though there are no recorded words to give testimony to her character.

“So that is who he is,” I told myself as the mental clues gelled in my head.  Throughout my childhood, I had heard my grandmother say, “Oh, she/he is related on the Stevens side.” At that age, I had no idea what those words meant nor was I curious. As I fast forward to my “genealogy years”, I was finally able to grasp an understanding and make an introduction.

I first met William when I started grafting branches to my family tree. He was a name with attached dates and places. He had a wife and nine children. He was born in England and died in Kansas. Was that the beginning and end of his story, or was there a crucial middle to his life’s tale? As writers and readers, we know that the middle of a narrative piece holds and embraces the details…genealogists learn that, too.

As I fast forward again, I was to meet live, now-to-me cousins on Ancestry. Here were gals who were related to me on the Stevens side. They held the keys to the middle part  of Will’s life story along with the glorious details. They had portrait photos, wedding photos, letters, family photos of Will and his family. Through them, I met the flesh and blood William Henry Stevens, my second great grandfather.

Where there is a will would certainly be a motivational cry for young Will Stevens. He came to America in 1864 while the Civil War was still waging…an immigrant at the age of twenty-one.  He had been in the British Navy. After being in New York City for six months, he joined the Union Navy. He was assigned to three different ships which were often engaged in blockading Confederate harbors. He spent much time in the crows nest and reported on what he saw. As a result of that job and being close to cannon blasts, he became deaf in one ear. He also sported alligator and cross tattoos…a fun fact for me. After the war, he made his way back to Manhattan, New York, and Jersey City, New Jersey. He worked as a laborer for the American Gas Company.

   Where there is a will…a year after the war, he married his sweetheart, Isabella Anna Couchman. She, too, was an English emigrant; she was a seamstress. They lived for a time in New Jersey as their family grew. Whatever the calling and attraction, the family moved to Memphis, Tennessee. Again, he chose work with a gas company. After the war, Memphis was a place of unrest and Reconstruction change. Did Will and his family feel that? Is that one of the factors that led him to the next family move?

Where there is a will…President Lincoln and Congress’ Homestead Act enabled settlers to gain free land in the Midwest. Will accepted that invitation when he claimed land in Kill Creek Township, Osborne County, Kansas, in 1872. I wonder what he knew about farming…an English emigrant, sailor, former resident of four major cities, gas company employee. He came to Kansas by himself and settled in a dugout on his property. A year later, the rest of his family followed. Besides a strong will, what other virtues guided and strengthened him? Did his family feel isolated out on the farm? How did he learn to plow and sweat under the harsh plains’ sun? Did he hunt and fish to feed this family? Buffalo were hunted by early Kansas settlers…were he and his sons hunters…city boys? A family story revolves around Indians coming to their farm and stealing baby clothes from a trunk…clothes surely made by seamstress Isabella’s hands. Strong willed people often possess resiliency and perseverance; surely, Will carried these qualities in his soul, mind, and heart. Were these passed along to his children…and to me? The value of hard work flowed through his veins. Family talk has it that he was a man of few words. But was he a man of many thoughts and feelings?

Where there is a will…Will lived 83 years which is lengthy for a Civil War veteran. In 1916, he and his beloved Isabella celebrated their 50th wedding anniversary. One of the treasures shared by my new cousins is this picture taken at that party. What joy the couple must have experienced when surrounded by their children and grandchildren! Where there is a will, a man wraps strength and serenity in his familial arms.

Post Script: My grandmother, Isabella Mary Boultinghouse (named after her grandmother), is to the right of the woman in the striped dress in the center of the photograph. Yes, she is the one with the flowery hairdo.

Sometimes, Kansas farm boys hear the call of wayward wind voices directing them to new horizons. At the beginning of the last century, my great uncle Edward “Jack” Ralph Boultinghouse heard those voices.  He followed them to the vastness of Wyoming cattle ranches and to booming oil fields where purple mountain majesties embraced him. He has been introduced to this land when he came with his father on a hunting trip in 1916. His father returned to Kansas…Jack stayed. He became a real cowboy who could wrangle and rope. Eventually, he became a roustabout on those oil fields.

Along that journey, he joined the Wyoming National Guard. The United States was drawn into World War I in 1917 despite all of President Wilson’s actions to maintain our neutrality. Suddenly, Jack the bronco buster became Jack the wagoner. His military unit was the 116th Ammunition Train, 41st Division. He lead mules and horses that pulled wagonloads of artillery rounds to cannons in battle zones.

His unit was formed from men from Wyoming and Oregon. These men were chosen to be wagoners because of their experiences with handling horses and mules. The Brits and the French were quite happy to have these Yanks join them in the fight. World War I would be the last war to use horses and mules…the Yanks had lots of these animals to lend to the fight.

Jack and his company left for France on December 12, 1917, aboard the commercial steamer Antigone. How did it feel to be crowded on a ship with a vast ocean before him…how did he compare that ocean to his beloved Grand Tetons? Did he suffer both seasickness and homesickness?

Once in France, he was responsible for caring for his team of mules and driving a wagonload of ammunition. What did that sound like as caravans of teams moved forward through dirt and mud? How did the soldiers’ voices boom out with commands for the animals? When were the days most frightful as the distant thunder of battle filled the air? Did Jack write letters home to reassure his family that he was safe…his hometown paper carried little news of the war?

After the Armistice was signed on 11 November 1918, Jack and his unit remained in France until 24 June 1919. How did his unit spend their days after the war? Was there a somber mood or a celebratory air as they sailed home? How did he envision his future?

After his return, Jack did go back to Kansas for a brief time. Those wayward wind voices called him to return to his beloved Wyoming. Throughout the remainder of his life, he would also live in Nebraska and Colorado…working as a wildlife preserve manager and as an Army consultant for Remington Arms.

My grandmother, Isabella Mary Boultinghouse,  was Jack’s little sister as he was seven years older. How she came to receive his World War I dog tags I do not know. Did he give them to her when he returned from war? How they were passed onto me I do not remember. This little aluminum disk is a precious heirloom to me…it once hugged the neck of my real cowboy and soldier Uncle Jack.

Background Music: “Unforgettable” as recorded by Nat King Cole in October 1951   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aXjdMV7SOfE

He was the first man with whom I fell in love. He loved me at first sight and knew I would always be his. He nicknamed me “Punkie” and enjoyed making me laugh and smile. He was also totally in love with my mother so all three of us formed a family until my two brothers would complete that circle. He was my first Valentine…my dad, Edward Joseph Slabik (1924-2007).

My father would pass many interests, talents, and gifts along to me. He filled our home with music, and the stereo would boost the stylings of Frank Sinatra, Joni James, and our favorite Nat King Cole. He would sing along in a rich voice that added to the magic of enjoying the songs. I learned to sing along, too. I became a lifelong music lover. Also, he introduced me to the joys of reading…reading everything from detective novels to road maps to almanacs. Getting my first library card was pure joy to me…I became a lifelong reader. Because my dad read five or more newspapers a day, he would often write letters to the editor to give his slant, opinion, or support to the issues. I learned that writing can be a powerful outlet. I became a lifelong writer.

I miss my father greatly. There is so much more to tell about our father-daughter relationship. Those memories I chose to treasure alone in the recesses of my heart and spirit. One time, my mother told me that I was my daddy’s little girl who grew to be his daughter…a supreme compliment to me and my precious dad.

Exit music/lyrics: “That’s why, darling, it’s incredible that someone so unforgettable thinks that I am unforgettable, too.”

My 2nd great grandfather, Andrew Storer, must have had wanderlust in his soul. Born in Maine in 1817, he would settle in seven different territories and “infant” states before he died in 1895. He would work in a brickyard, operate a sawmill, work on the Erie Canal and Mississippi River, and own a farm. His name can be found on cash sales of land in newly settled territories and on Homestead Act documents. He was active in local government councils wherever he settled.

The 1880 Federal Census contains a Schedule 3, an agricultural record. By that year, Andrew would be settled in his last home in Osborne County, Kansas. He had moved there in 1871 so this schedule measures nine years of his success in settling on the plains. I had wondered what his farm was like…this schedule would complete the picture for me. That year, he reported that his farm and buildings were worth $5,000 while his livestock were valued at over $4,600. His sheep herd was comprised of 1,100 sheep that had yielded over 4 tons of fleece that year. He had 400 lambs with five being killed by dogs. In addition, he had 16 swine…two of his pigs had traveled all the way from Iowa when the family came by wagon train. Also of importance on the farm were 40 acres of forest trees. At that time, trees were still scarce on the plains. The Kansas Department of Agriculture asked farmers to devote lands to the cultivation of trees. Andrew was known for caring for hearty cottonwood and walnut trees. In total, Andrew answered 100 questions about his farm. (A copy of the schedule form can be found at https://www.archives.gov/files/research/genealogy/charts-forms/1880-agricultural.pdf  .)

Many of our ancestors were farmers. The U.S. government recorded agricultural statistics from 1850-1900 on these non-population schedules. These records promise to cultivate and produce glimpses into the lives of those ancestors. What seeds will be planted into the quest for ancestral findings when one reads them?

Postscript: those two pigs were also famous for something else…they were the first pigs brought to Osborne County, Kansas. Never underestimate the value of a porker.

This week’s challenge from Amy Johnson Crow is the theme of “Invite To Dinner”. As soon as I read this prompt, I knew who was coming to dinner: my maternal 2nd great grandparents. Amos Howell Boultinghouse and Maria Magdalina Kramer were born worlds apart…one a member of a patriotic Illinois plains family, and the other from the Alsace region of France. One was educated at home and taught how to hunt and survive; the other was educated in a convent school in the art of fine embroidery work. How they would meet and marry is written in the beginning chapters of their life stories.

Graciously inviting them to dinner, my aim is not the setting of the table and the presentation of a special dinner. Conversation loaded with thinking questions directed at each of them would be the menu. Welcoming them and embracing them for the first time would bring instant tears of joy. I have never found pictures of them, and I would be most anxious to glaze into their eyes and whisper “Grandpapa … Grandmere”.

Amos came from a family that had migrated from western Pennsylvania, settled for a time in Ohio, and made a home in White County, Illinois. His father passed away when Amos was five years old. “What impact did your father’s death at your early age have on you? How did your mother compensate for this loss? How did your stepbrothers take you under their wings?”  Amos came from a patriotic family whose grandfather served in the American Revolution and his father in the War of 1812. I would ask, “What steered you toward enlisting in the the Army in 1837 (age 19) and again with the Illinois Infantry during the Civil War (age 43)? What were your lessons of war? What did you regret?”  Finally, when he was 53 years old, he took advantage of the Homestead Act to move his family to Osborne County, Kansas. “Describe moving your family and going by wagon train to your new home. What challenges presented themselves to you and your family? What did you tell yourself so you could succeed in Kansas? What was the measure of that success? Surrounded by your children and grandchildren, share your memories of the later years of your life.”

Maria was born in a part of France near the German border. Her surname is of German derivation. Even her first and middle names are in the German naming pattern. At times, this land switched hands between the two countries. “Who are your parents as I have found nothing about them? Why did you immigrate to America? Do you speak French, German, or both? Tell about your convent school education.” Maria, who would go by Mary, married Amos when she was 15 years old, and he was 25. “How did you meet Amos? On your marriage license, you stated that you were 22 years old…you were only 15…what prompted you to falsify your age? What prepared you to move from the bustling streets of Manhattan to the plains of Illinois? What prior knowledge did you have about being a farmer’s wife? What skills?” As the years advanced, Mary moved with her family to Kansas. Some of her children were married adults who did not join them. She was with her 10th child. “Describe the trip by covered wagon. Did you fear giving birth along the journey? What did you tell yourself so that you would remain positive, strong, and resilient? Surrounded by your children and grandchildren, share the memories of the final chapters of your life.”

It would be a great blessing if this dream dinner would come to pass. As a spiritual person, I know that one day we will dine at the banquet table of the Lord…all these questions will be answered.

Turning to my Aunt Emily as the family historian, I had asked her when her parents/my grandparents had immigrated to America. She responded that my grandmother had come in 1911 while my grandfather came in 1912. She further stated that my grandmother had gone from Ellis Island to Rye, New York, to become a domestic.

A few years later, my father passed away. I decided to create a heritage scrapbook about his life; I felt that it would be great grief therapy. Where to begin his story? Why, with his parents, of course! I headed for the Ellis Island records to look for Anna Mroz in 1912. When coming across her records, I read and studied the ship’s manifest very carefully. Yes, Anna was from Galicia. Yes, Anna was born about 1892. Yes, she was meeting her brother-in-law to go to Connecticut. (So far, the facts checked off with what I knew.) The document showed that she had purchased the ticket herself and had $9 in her pocket. She traveled with other young women from her village aboard the S.S. George Washington from Bremen, Germany. On the double spread scrapbook pages dedicated to Anna, I created a beautiful display of pictures of Ellis Island and her story. I patted myself on the back for my great detective work and storytelling abilities.

As I advanced in my researching skills, I found Anna in the 1920 Census…remember my story about that search? One of the questions was, “Year of immigration to the United States.” Right there in Anna’s row of answers was the year 1906. What?! Who reported that? Is that right? My Aunt Emily said… After regaining my thinking processes, once again I headed to the Ellis Island records. There she was…Anna Mroz on the 1906 records. She claimed to be 16 years old when she was actually 14. She had come with other girls from her village. She would be meeting her brother Jan. She had boarded the S.S. Georgia in Trieste, Italy. She had little money, but had at least the $25 that was required to make the journey. Her parents were deceased as recorded on the manifest. Was this really my babcia (Polish for grandmother)? How did this little teenager get from a tiny village in Poland to the seaport of Trieste? How did that feel to walk away from her family to the big unknown of America? Our immigrant ancestors must have been made of strong mettle.

As time went by, I was able to obtain a copy of my babcia’s naturalization papers. Applicants were asked to supply the name of the ship, departure point, and date of arrival in New York. Her answers complemented the information that I had found. Success…Anna did immigrate in 1906. The Case of the Baffling Babcia had been solved!

Oh, those beautiful scrapbook pages…they are waiting to be corrected.

Genealogical lessons learned: family stories need to be verified with documents…be prepared for some errors and surprises.