The gentle prairie breeze sifted through the air as it cooled all the picnickers. The cottonwoods shaded them and protected them from the harsh sun. Under her watchful gaze, the family gathered to tell tales, recount heroic deeds, and bring their loved ones back to life.

The Boultinghouse family was gathered in the Bloomington Cemetery on a Sunday in July 1916. Three of Amos and Mary’s children and their families were present: Helen, John, and Lafe. They had chosen to gather here to honor their parents, who laid in unmarked graves. “Grandma B is buried by the fence,” Helen stated. John shared with the children stories he had heard this father tell of fighting alongside General Sherman in the War of the Rebellion. Lafe bragged about his being the first white male born in Osborne County, a few days after his parents had made it by wagon train from Illinois. Stories were shared about Grandma being French and marrying her 25 year old groom at the age of 14…she had lied about her age. The adults talked among themselves while the children ran across the fields.

Under her watchful gaze, the family continued to picnic and talk.

The time came for the party to gather up quilts, food baskets, pillows, and other items. In a circle they stood and prayed, ever thankful for their parents and grandparents lying at rest there.

Under her watchful gaze, the family left the hallowed grounds. The silent sentry in the form of an angel stayed behind to bless and guard the souls buried there.

Note: Amos and Mary were my second great grandparents who died in 1893 and 1901. Amos’ grave lay unmarked until 1944, when the Veterans Administration provided markers for veterans. Mary’s grave would be marked after 1990 by family members who wanted a tombstone for the couple.

They were buried in Bloomington Cemetery in Osborne County, Kansas. In 1910, Wash and Almina Storer donated the land where the Boultinghouses were buried to officially designate it as a cemetery. The Boultinghouse and the Storers would then make a connection in 1922. Isabella Mary Boultinghouse, daughter of Lafe and Naomi, would marry Andrew Earl Storer, son of Wash and Almina.

In those years before recreation parks and spaces, families would picnic in cemeteries. It was not unusual for folks to meet for family gatherings…nor for silent angels to keep watch.

I am the storyteller.
I am the storyteller who searches for my ancestors in records.
I am the storyteller who resurrects their voices.
I am the storyteller who narrates their individual tales of victory and struggle.
I am the storyteller who fashions their thoughts on paper and fleshes them out.

I am the storyteller who accompanies them in their immigration passages to America.
I am the storyteller who stands with them at Plymouth Rock and on Ellis Island.
I am the storyteller who walks with them to new lands to settle and homestead.
I am the storyteller who passes on their struggles with nature and illnesses.
I am the storyteller who maps out their migration across this new country.

I am the storyteller who passes them ammunition as they stand with Washington during the Revolution and the creation of a new republic.
I am the storyteller who witnesses their battles of brother against brother during the War of the Rebellion.
I am the storyteller who marches with Doughboys in The Great War.
I am the storyteller who stands with young men in battle fatigues in World War II.
I am the storyteller who cries over losses in the Vietnam War.

I am the storyteller who has been entrusted with their hearts, souls, and minds.
I am the storyteller who will continue to see them in my mind’s eye and hear them in my heart.
I am the storyteller.

21 June 1897 Minnehaha Falls, Minnesota

Hard times have befallen me so I reached out for the best help I could get. As I sit here on the porch in a rocking chair, I can spy the mighty Mississippi River. As the river ebbs and flows, it reminds me of the ebbs and flows of my varied life. I am an inmate at the Minnesota Soldiers Home.

Let me start at the beginning. Born in New York in 1830, I settled in the new states of Wisconsin and Minnesota with my mother and siblings. I was 19 years old in 1849. It was a hard living as my mother and sister were some of the first women in these states…not much civilized. We farmed, we worked in a brickyard, we counted every penny for our existence.

We came to Minnesota in 1855, and I lived a quiet life on the farm. My world would change in six years time. My experiences would reset my life and all its then dreams. In 1861, I enlisted in the First Minnesota Infantry, Company G. It was the start of the War of Rebellion. I was 31 years old.

Letters home to my mother told of what I saw although I did spare her of telling the worst. I had no sweetheart so no letters to write to a dear one. In September of 1862, I witnessed and participated in a terrifying battle where many were lost. At Antietam in Maryland, I was wounded; but my wound was minor so I was placed back in the Company. Three months later, I was wounded once more at Fredericksburg, Virginia. My wound was serious…I was disabled. I was sent home in February, 1863…I was a war hero to my family. I would not march with my brother soldiers to Gettysburg that coming July.

Back home, I managed to support myself by farming as I was able to secure land. I had no family, no wife and children for helpmates. I hired out farm hands. For awhile, I also drove a stage and carried the mail. Finally, my disability landed me on hard times.

Last year, I came to know the Soldiers Home…a place for displaced veterans. I get to live out my days in the company of old soldiers like me who have stories to tell. In my room. I keep a photograph of a “once upon a time, I went to a veterans reunion”. And so…hard times gave me a place to find rest and peace.

~Balthus Keefer Soule, Minnesota Soldiers Home

Note: Balthus was my second great uncle. When I came across his reunion photograph, it prompted me to research his life. I was unable to find exactly what his wounds were at Antietam and Fredericksburg. Obtaining his military pension record will shed light on this aspect of his story. When I have the rest of the answers, his story will be further told in a later blog.

2 June 1946 Bloomington, Osborne County, Kansas

Staring outside the farmhouse window, I am numb. I can see the windmill, barn, and the other outbuildings, but I do not see him coming in from the fields. Where is he? His hat and coat are hanging by the door. Where is he? Then the terror and panic grab my heart. He is gone…he is not coming back.

I settle into a chair and try to think, to focus, to recall. I remember the sheriff speaking to me in solemn tones and telling me that my husband Wash was no longer living. I faintly recall my children and grandchildren coming to take care of me. I can hear in my mind the minister speaking of God’s love as we sat in the church and went to the cemetery. My mind simply cannot comprehend…where is he?

Looking back, I can hear the doctor’s words as we went together for Wash’s health exam. “Mr. Storer, you have Farmer’s Lung. It is a breathing disease with no cure. We have some medicines to keep you comfortable. You best give up farming.” I thought to myself, “Heavens to stars, this is a death sentence. How can that be?” Then, my mind totes me back to the present. Just where is he?

My children and grandchildren are urging me to protect my spiritual, mental, and physical health by leaving the farm. My dear Wash died in the kitchen…he wanted to spare me his suffering…he took his own life. My soul just cries out…where is he?

I have decided that I will move away from Kansas. One of my daughters lives near Los Angeles, California. It will be sunny and warm all year round…no more brutal winters…just sunshine. Perhaps this last part of my life, I will be blessed with kindness, love, and caring. I will take my precious Wash with me and live in good health for the both of us.

~Sarah Almina (Nickel) Storer

Note: Sarah and Wash are my great grandparents. Sarah was born in Ohio while Wash was born in Iowa. Their families moved to Osborne County, Kansas, in 1871 and 1875. They met and married in 1891. They were married for 55 years.

July 26, 1935 Bloomington, Osborne County, Kansas

Between my husband Lafe and I, we have managed to rise literally out of the ashes. More than three months ago, we attended a family funeral. When we arrived home, our store and home were in flames. Everything was lost.

So many things are happening at once here in Kansas…the Depression along with Black Sunday when huge winds moved millions of tons of soil across the southern part of the state. We are calling it the Dust Bowl. We are losing some of our family who are moving onto California and Oregon. Now this: unknown men set fire to our store and house. Everything is lost.

One blessing that is helping us rise is the two of us have the ability to make something new out of this loss and mess. Lafe is an excellent carpenter. In his hands lies the talent to build us a new store and house. In my hands lies the talent to sew, plant, and paint. As he builds, I sew curtains and quilts…as he makes furniture, I paint walls…as he creates store shelves, I plant a yard full of shrubs and roses. Folks have remarked on our creativity. We have remarked on our blessings. All is not lost.

So in a few days, we shall rise and welcome customers to our new store. I will continue to welcome townspeople to my cafe inside the store. Our creativity will have helped us rise. All has been found.

~Naomi Ruth (Stevens) Boultinghouse

Note: Naomi Ruth Stevens Boultinghouse is my great grandmother, whom I never met. I am proud of how she used her creativity to overcome a personal loss.

September 6, 1955 Falls Church, Virginia

Starting kindergarten today, our little Punkie is excited beyond belief. She gets to ride the bus, and I am a little nervous for her. Somehow, that little kid has an air of confidence and seems fearless. Wishing her the best of days…

At birth, we named her after her grandmothers, Isabella Mary and Anna. As a toddler, she explored everywhere. She never crawled and took off walking. She climbed up everything and would put a monkey to shame. She would go out back and literally play in the mud. One time, we had to bathe her to make sure she was our kid. That child is always barefoot. She will climb over chain link fences by placing her toes through the openings as if they are steps, roll to the top, and drop over. We think we gets her fearlessness from watching her TV heroes, the Lone Ranger and Davy Crockett.

Our little Punkie can entertain herself. On her little green phonograph she plays her father’s Frank Sinatra albums and sings. She is becoming a Nat King Cole fan, too. She can be quite the little songstress. She likes to write stories; of course, the words are just gibberish on paper…she does not know her letters or how to spell yet…give her time.

Some of my fondest memories of her early childhood, she loves to go to her grandparents’ farm in Kansas. My dad, her grandfather, enjoys taking her with him on his horse. They go out for long rides as her grandfather goes out to different pastures to check up on cattle and the wheat crop. She likes to play with their dog and go out to her grandmother’s hen house to gather eggs. Country farm life looks good on her.

I guess it is time to put her nickname aside since she is headed to school. She will learn to spell her birth name…MaryAnne. So as our little Punkie becomes a kindergartener, we will wrap all those little girl memories in tissue paper to store away in our memories. Wonder how long it will be until we unwrap them and enjoy them once more…grade school-high school-college graduations or even wedding day?

~Merna Mae Storer Slabik (Punkie’s Mom)

Note: About 70 years ago, my parents called me “Punkie”. Where that nickname came from, I do not know. I do know that my parents let me grow and flourish under that pseudonym.

April 28, 1973 Greencastle, Pennsylvania

Nervously and anxiously, he looked at his watch as he waited for the magic time of 1:30 to arrive. Seated beside him was his childhood friend. The photographer snapped away pictures to last a lifetime. He felt in his pocket for the ring that would be a pledge of their future together.

Nervously and anxiously, she waited in the driveway for her father to pick her up. She, her dress, veil, and train would sit in the backseat to make it to the magic time of 1:30. Her three special friends would be waiting to proceed with her down the church aisle. She would soon walk arm in arm with her father to meet the man she loved. She felt on her thumb for the ring that would be a pledge of their future together.

At last, 1:30 and all its magic arrived to take them away to their future. Their Earthly time together would last 48 years while their forever time will never cease. “At last, my love has come along, you smiled and then the spell was cast, and here we are in heaven…for you are mine at last,” sings Etta James as the background music plays softly.

Note: On this 51st anniversary, I am grateful that this week’s prompt was Love and Marriage. How blessed!

June 15, 1969 Waynesboro, Pennsylvania

I have to write down these thoughts to sort things out and bring a certain calmness to my being. Early in our marriage, I had to send my husband off to war to fight against a dictator. Now, I have sent my son Daniel off to war to find against Communism. Will God answer a mother’s prayer for the safety of her son?

Each evening as I watch the news with Walter Cronkite, I see images of war that hold a mother’s heart hostage in terror. The daily newspaper contains headlines that speak of young men being sent home to their families…dead or injured. Stationed in a communications bunker is Saigon, my son is doing his best to protect himself from harm. Will God answer a mother’s prayer for the safety of her son?

I hear on the television and the radio of demonstrations against the war on college campuses and on the city streets. Flags are being burned. “Hell, no…we won’t go!” rings in my ears. Our neighbor who is Canadian (and not a naturalized American citizen) told my husband that he is glad he will not have to send his sons to war. Slaps in the face from all around. Will God answer a mother’s prayer for the safety of her son?

Next, I will send off a letter to my Dan and tell him of our everyday happenings, such as his little sister’s high school dance and his niece’s toddler antics. I will send CARE packages of cookies and other homemade delights. As I seal the letter, I will send a prayer. Will God answer a mother’s prayer for the safety of her son?

~June Marie Yeakle Haffner, Daniel’s mother

Note: June would become my mother-in-law. I would meet her son Daniel two years later…safely home from Vietnam. God did answer a mother’s prayer for the safety of her son.

15 April 1862 DuPage County, Illinois

She stepped out of the cabin so she could clear her head. Many thoughts had pitched a claim in her mind. A gentle breeze touched her face and cheeks, a gentleness that was much needed. Now just to calm her thinking.

Maria Magdalena took a step back in time to focus on the beginning. The breeze reminded her of another place…the breeze and winds that enabled her ship from France to deposit her in Manhattan, New York City, 42 years ago. The 12 year old knew little of this strange land. What was to happen to her?

Opening her eyes, she surveyed the prairie surrounding their homestead. She stepped into the present and the reality of this day. She was the sole keeper of her nine children with the oldest being 15 years old and the youngest 3 months. Her husband Amos was away at war. She was their protector, their strength, their love. It was her God-given role to step up and be her family’s all. What was to happen to her? To them?

If she could step forward in time, where would she land? What would happen to her?

Note: Maria Magdalena Kraemer was my second great grandmother. And this was what would happen to her…she would give birth to two more children with her Amos being safely home from war. She would be among the many pioneer families who migrated to Kansas in 1871. She would live until 1901. Stepping back in time, I wish to meet her and the breezes on the prairie.

If faith in the Lord could be delineated on a family tree, there it would appear. A seed of faith as small as a mustard seed would grow into a sturdy branch. In 1866, John Francis Nickel and his family of Williams County, Ohio, would worship the Lord in the Methodist faith.

As John traveled his life, he carried that faith to Osborne County, Kansas. He was a widower who settled his three sons and their families there. All remained parishioners in the Alton Methodist Church. They served on committees that provided for the needs of others. Praying, reading Scripture, they became God-fearing members of the community. John, my third great grandfather, passed the faith onto this son James.

James, my second great grandfather, passed the faith onto his daughter Sarah Almina. Sarah, my great grandmother, and her husband passed this gift onto their son Andrew Earl Storer. Andrew and his wife placed this faith into the hands of their daughter Merna Mae Storer. (Andrew is my grandfather and Merna my mother.)

And in time, I would receive the gift of faith from my parents. I would not follow the Methodist faith. I would be led in a different direction by my father’s people…I would be Catholic. As I embrace my faith, I share with my ancestors the same beliefs in God and the Trinity. Amen.