How did they not stink?

I love to soak in a wonderful bubble bath...

But, my ancestors didn't.

I grew up in an older family.  My parents were born in the early 1900's, and their parents were born in the late 1800's.  People are amazed when I mention that I knew people that were born in the 1800's.  But for me, it was the norm.

Because they were of a generation quite a bit older than most of my friends, their ways, habits and traditions were also a bit out of touch.  My parents were the age of most of my peers' grandparents.

One of the things I grew up with was a generational line drawn between bathing every day and bathing every now and then.  My parents followed the tradition of their parents by taking their last bath of the year sometime in the late fall and not bathing again until spring.  In his later years, my father lived with our young family and followed this same tradition.

But, never once did my parents or their parents ever have a bad odor.  How did they not stink?

I really don't know.

They didn't pile on lots of powders or perfumes, and they did use deodorant.  They were not offensive in any way concerning their hygiene.

So, how did they do it?

Well, I'm sure this was one way, but this would have occurred mostly in the summer months.  Dad told me he learned how to swim because his brothers threw him in the Upper Tygart Creek in Kentucky.  One either learned how to swim or drown.  That was their choice.

I watched my mother and her mother make batches of lye soap - something I cannot stand to this day.  She would render lard in a cast iron skillet, also saving the ashes.

It was used for scrubbing just about anything.  When I used it on my skin, it would be quite abrasive and seemed as though it burned my skin!

And then I ran across the web site for Colonial Williamsburg, where it described in detail how one would deal with those who did have an offensive odor.  They simply sprayed a lace handkerchief and slipped it up their sleeve.  Then, it would be quite handy to remove the hankie and place it near the nose and sniff the perfume.  Maybe that's why my female ancestors kept hankies close by them, sometimes tucked in their ample bosoms.
http://www.history.org/foundation/journal/autumn00/bathe.cfm

Mom and Dad also believed that bathing too often in the winter months would provide more opportunity for disease and the ague to set in.  For females, a monthly flow meant no bathing, and certainly no washing of hair.  I argued and argued with Mom over this one, but she finally relented to letting me take a short bath, but don't even ask about washing my hair.

Sigh.

Perhaps part of the reasoning comes from just how hard it was to get a bath ready.  In the hills of eastern Kentucky, running water was a rarity.  It meant heating up the water on the stove, perhaps after hauling it in from the creek.  Dad would take a bath first, followed by my three sisters.  Since he worked in the coal mines, the water would readily turn black, so by the time the youngest of my three sisters had her turn, Mom had to really hang onto her so she wouldn't lose her.  Hence, "don't throw the baby out with the bath water!"

I love the cleanliness standards of today.  I grew up feeling greasy and smelly (those teenage years encouraged the oil in my hair and skin), so I love to soak in a wonderful tub and read a book with a candle glowing softly nearby.  My towels are soft, unlike whatever feed sack Mom could find to use as a towel.

But, how did they not stink?

I must thank fellow blogger, Caroline M. Pointer, for her post of today, and for her challenge to write a blog on this subject.  Caroline, I did it.  But, how did they?

Appalachian Feuds - My Take on the History Channel's "Hatfields and McCoys" Miniseries

Wow!  That's my first impression of having watched the "Hatfields and McCoys" on the History Channel this past week.

Let me first point out that I am not from either West Virginia or Kentucky, but my parents and my three older sisters are.  They were born and raised in the area where this infamous feud took place.

Feuds are nothing new.  They have been going on since the days of Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, Isaac and Ishmael, and Romeo and Juliet.  There just doesn't ever seem to be a good outcome.

The Appalachian area was filled in by both Germans and the Scots-Irish.  The Scots-Irish, in particular, has been plagued by feuds for centuries and is not uncommon today.  These feuds existed over land, religions, romance, etc. - and the element of these feuds came right over to America with them.  We've all heard of the 'Fightin' Irish'.

When the area of the Shenandoah Valley was settled, the Germans came southward from the southeastern areas of Pennsylvania and created beautiful farmland.  They were renown for keeping their homes and farms neat, clean, and highly functional.  They were basically peaceful, but still protective.  The Kentucky Rifle was actually fashioned by the Germans.

The Scots-Irish, known for their tempers and their warfare in the old country, were pushed a bit further to settle the frontier.  This helped in the protection of homes against the Native Americans that were being edged further to the west.  They didn't have a lot of fear in the blood.

Come forward a few years to the Hatfield and McCoy feud.  The same pride, stubbornness and sense of justice are coming right along with them.

I won't go back and repeat the story, for it is being re-broadcast again tonight, and you can find the story simply by doing a google search on the subject.  It is the most famous of the feuds.

The main story consists of hog-stealing, forbidden love between the families, and killings.

The leaders of the two rival families.

The two who fell in love.  She ended up pregnant.  They never married, the baby died, and it is said she died of a broken heart.

The History Channel's Miniseries was certainly believable, and they were mostly correct.  But, in talking with my sisters, it was easy to tell this was not filmed on site.  It was filmed in Romania.

First of all - the terrain was much too nice.  In West Virginia and Kentucky, the hills are very, very steep and thickly forested.  There are few flat areas for running the horses.   In the late 1800's, when the story actually was in its heyday, the forestation was so thick that one would be hard-pressed to get through it at all.  It's the same today!  The hills are at such an incline that it would have been hard to get equipment to stay on them at all.

Second - the cabins were too nice.  Back then, they would have been hewn logs with every chiseled mark clearly visible.  There were have been mud chinks packed in between the logs.  The cabins in the movie were ones I would like to live in today!

Third - the horses.  I'm just not too sure about the horses.  Most horses were used for plowing.  Mules were the preferred mode of getting through the hills.  My mother much preferred to ride on a mule than a horse, for mules were more sure-footed.  These horses look like they were taken from the Kentucky Derby.

Fourth - the accent.  I'm sure it was just the Hollywood version of the Appalachian "twang" - and it's not easily duplicated.  There was at least one local in the movie, and I could spot him a mile away.

Fifth - the saloon scenes and the "get on your horse and let's go" reminded me of western movies.  This would not be unusual, given Kevin Costner's background in "Dances With Wolves" and others.

But, all in all, I thoroughly enjoyed the miniseries, and plan on watching it again.  I was happy to hear that a truce had been called and a declaration that the feud had ended, but I'm not so sure that feuds really end.  There always seems to be an air of mistrust hanging in the background.

My father liked to relate an incident that happened while living in Logan, Logan County, West Virginia.  He and my mother and sisters lived there in the late 1930's and 1940's.  Everyone knew of this famous feud.  Dad even took my family over to see Devil Anse's grave.

In this part of Logan County where they lived, they lived in a house on a road that was very, very steep.  Mom always said if you open your mouth and talk while walking uphill, you would get a bit of dirt in it.  The house was built on stilts.  The house up on the hill above him had a drainage pipe where sewage would spill over into my family's back yard.

The family's name was McCoy.

Dad told the man on several occasions the problem needed to be solved.  Mr. McCoy replied that once it left his yard, it didn't matter to him.  It was no longer his problem.

Getting nowhere by talking, Dad took matter into his own hands.  He mixed up a batch of concrete and plugged up the pipe.  Problem solved.

Mr. McCoy was furious, but eventually the problem was solved.  Just think - there could have been another feud...

Little did dad and mom know that our family lines have now been researched back into the McCoy line!

For more info on feuds:
http://fixit24.tripod.com/feud.html
http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~kyborn/feuds.html


All pictures are from images.google.com

A Fond and Heartfelt Salute!

It is time to again honor the veterans who have served in our family. I am so grateful for their willingness to put their lives on the line to insure our freedoms we so enjoy today.

Chester Lee Clemens, my dad, who served at Pearl Harbor.

Kerry's dad, Orson William Lauritzen, served on the Naval Transporter Pacific Okinawa Campaign 1945.

Daughter Harmony Rebekah Lauritzen, who served in the Signal Corps.

Son Jordan Christopher Lauritzen, who served in the Army Band.

Son Erik Lauritzen, who served in the Dietary Department.

Kerry's brother, Bill Lauritzen, who was killed in a jeep accident in Germany in 1965.

Kerry's brother, Steve Lauritzen, who served in Viet Nam.

Kerry's brothers, Christopher and Kelly, who are still serving.

Kerry's sister, Charm Lauritzen, who served in the National Guard.

Kerry's Uncle Wilson and his wife, Idona.

Kerry's Uncle Vaughn and his wife, Lona Mae.

My mom's brother, Richard Stevens, who served in the Korean War.

Sister Fern's husband, James Bierce, who served in the Navy.

Sister Betty's husband, Perry Demming, who served in the Air Force.

Ancestor John Littleton, who died when the D A January exploded near Cairo, IL.

Mom's great-grandfather Robert H. Stevens, who was a POW in the Civil War.

Oh, I could go on and on and on....

And, there are many, many, many more...As a matter of fact, I have begun a spreadsheet where I list all of my military finds, the war they served in, their rank, etc. I am now up to 86 ancestors that have served in everything from the French and Indian War to the present.

I honor them. I thank them. I salute them.

My Dad, Had He Lived to be One Hundred

Today is the100th  anniversary of my father birth.

Chester Lee and Ida Stevens Clemens, 50th Wedding Anniversary, 1984

He was born into a large family, the fifth child into what would become eleven.  The house he was born in no longer exists in Lawton, Carter, Kentucky, but he often showed me where it was located.  It wasn't really close to anything.

Chester as a baby in a dress.

Chester as a young farm boy, right around the time he married in 1932.

Chester, after working in the coal mines in West Virginia, early 1940's.

Chester in the U.S. Navy.  He served in Pearl Harbor.

He was baptized into the Mormon Church in 1951, later serving as a Bishop.

When he served as Bishop, he baptized me in 1963.

He spent his later years serving as a temple worker in Washington, DC.

Instead of going over a prologue of his life and accomplishments, I chose to go to the website:  www.ourtimelines.com and see what was going on in the world during his lifetime.

1912:             He was born during a worldwide cholera pandemic.

                     William Howard Taft was President.

                     The Titanic sunk the month before he was born.

1914:            WWI began when he was 2 years old until he was 7.  He had relatives who served.

1918-1920:   He survived the Spanish flu pandemic.  Others in his family did not.

1920:            Women received the right to vote when he was 8 years old.

1922:            Insulin was made available to diabetics.  This would have great bearing on his family, as many  were diabetics.

1926:            Movies with sound were beginning to be made.

1927:            Charles Lindberg made the first Transatlantic flight.

1928:            Television was invented. 

                     Penicillin was invented.

1929:            The Stock Market crashed.  The Great Depression begins.

1930:            Pluto was discovered.  Dad always loved astronomy.

1939-1945:  WWII years.  Dad served in the Navy at Pearl Harbor, the only coalminer from the coal camp in West Virginia to be drafted.

1948:            They began to make 33 1/3 records.  Dad LOVED music.  I get my love of all types of music from him.

1955:            The Sale Polio Vaccine becomes available.  One of his children would become mildly afflicted with polio.

1969:            The moon landing!  Dad was fastened to the television, not believing his eyes.

Dad died in 2002.  He was born in the days of horses, mules and wagons, yet lived long enough to see men walk on the moon.

Some of the above events may or may not have directly affected his life.  I have listed the ones that I remember talking to him about.  He was an avid reader, always having a book or a magazine or a newspaper in his hand.  As a matter of fact, ten years after his death we are still receiving some of his magazines in the mail.  He had them paid that far ahead so as to not expire.

Dad was a poor boy that was born in poverty in the eastern hills of Kentucky - but what a rich life he lived.  He saw quite a lot during his 90 years.  

We miss you, Dad...

                           

Mapping Our Ancestors

There is nothing I enjoy more than working with maps.

When my sisters and I are on a genealogy trip through Virginia and Kentucky, it is not unusual to find us all spread out on our beds in the evenings as we peruse maps of the area we are in.  Many of those maps are the type you can pick up at the local Chamber of Commerce or public library for no cost at all.

Those maps can take us into every little nook and cranny and hill and holler of these ancestral places.

Once, while giving a genealogy class on maps, a man raised his hand and mentioned that I needed to get some Hildebrand maps.  Okay.  What's a Hildebrand map?  He told me to just call the public library in Roanoke, Virginia and they would point me in the right direction.

So, I did.  And, they did.

Apparently, J. R. Hildebrand was a cartographer who meticulously drew maps of several Virginia counties.  It was hard for me to find out any more about him, as most google hits took me to a race car driver of the same name.

These maps are wonderful!  One map of Franklin County, Virginia has at least a dozen of my ancestors on it.  It covers the time period 1786 - 1886, includes the owner's name on each parcel of land, and the year he first appears in the county.

I realize this may be a bit difficult to view in this venue, but these maps are quite large (card table size) and easy to read.  My sisters and I would be lost without them, for we use a yellow highlighter each time we make a new discovery.

We ordered the entire set, which came to $96.  Here is a list of the maps available:

• Roanoke Farms
• Fincastle County
• Wythe County
• Town of Salem
• Original Grants, Roanoke
• Beverly Patent, Orange & Augusta
• Borden Grant, west of Blue Ridge
• Pulaski County
• Rockbridge County
• Franklin County
• Augusta County
• Botetourt County
• Bedford County
• Montgomery County

And I ordered them from:
Roanoke Public Library
706 South Jefferson Street
Roanoke, VA   24016
540-853-2473

Ask for J.R. Hildebrand Settlement Maps.  If they don't have them anymore, they can point you in the right direction.

My father taught me how to read maps.  He felt it was important, since neither of his parents or his 10 siblings could read a map.  In turn, when my own family traveled, my husband would outfit each of the kids with their own atlas and quiz them on how far it was to the next exit, the next rest area, the town we would be stopping at.  They were all excellent with maps and geography in high school, and when three of the four would enter the U.S. Army, their orienteering skills were impeccable.

Gotta love maps!

Keeping and Writing a Journal

I admire my husband, Mr. Kerry.

He is truly the best person I have ever known in my life!

One thing that he is very disciplined about is keeping his journal.  Each day, while I am still lollygagging in bed, he has been up for awhile writing in his journal.

Even in this day of technology on every hand, Kerry has chosen to handwrite his journals.  His penmanship is impeccable - almost unheard of in today's world, where handwriting can be a lost art.

Kerry and I have similar handwriting.  When we would write letters or send cards to his family, they would always be guessing to see who wrote the message.

Kerry's journals go back several years.  He has kept a daily journal for the past ten years.

But, his record keeping goes back much further than those ten years.  He served as a missionary for our church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormons).  Each day of those two years is covered in his journals from 1971-1973.

As you can see, those earlier journals were all done in very meticulous printing, whereas now they are all done in cursive handwriting.

I am unsure who will inherit these journals.  I am just hoping that whoever does inherit them will be able to read them.  The threat of dropping the teaching of cursive handwriting in school is quite disturbing to both of us, for contrary to what may be the norm today, there I simply cringe at the thought of not being able to decipher the court records, marriage records, census records, etc.

Yes, Mr. Kerry is quite the example for me, for he is far more consistent than I am.  I have chosen to do it the easy way - through newsletters and blogs.

And though it is so fun to trace our histories back to a different time, there will be a time when someone will be researching us.  Have we left them a record that will tell them of our lives?  Our feelings?  Our concerns?  The things we hold sacred?  The things we detest?

After all, I want my posterity to know me through me - not through my children!!

Dad went to college?

Dad always told me he went to college.

Um-hmmm.  Dad, who always said he spent three years in 4th grade and finally had to be asked to leave.  Dad, who was not educated beyond 6th grade.  Dad, from the hills of eastern Kentucky where education was not always a priority and opportunity was just not there.

Chester Lee Clemens

On a recent genealogy trip to Kentucky, we thought we would broaden our usual route to include Berea College, where Dad said he attended.  Even if nothing panned out, we enjoy researching at college libraries, which can certainly be a treasure trove of information.

Berea College, from the web site

The first thing we noticed was the beauty of this community.  It was founded in 1855, and the trees and the buildings were stately on this autumn day. 

The second thing we noticed was the beauty of the students.  They were modestly dressed, dripping with manners, and they seemed so happy.  One of the things that sets this college apart is the work ethic.  Students may attend for free, but are expected to work a minimum of 10 hours each week in campus and service jobs. 

The college was the first interracial and coeducational college established in the south.  Its purpose was to help the youth of Appalachia gain education and better their lives.  There are now students from all over the world.  Every one that we encountered had a story to tell, and seemed to be grateful for the opportunity to attend there.

Although it took some effort, we found our way to the area where the student records would have been.  We weren't aware that we should have let them know ahead of time that we would be coming to look for our father's records, and that even some of those might not be available to us.

In the end, our trip was not in vain.  Dad was indeed a student at Berea College.



Chester L. Clemens' name is found just below the point of the pencil.

Unfortunately, Dad's stay at Berea College during the school year 1930-1931 didn't last very long.  He had been enrolled in the Junior High Program, Industrial Arts, but withdrew in the spring.  He went home to Olive Hill.  It was plantin' time.

Dad was never able to return to Berea.  And, the following year, in February 1932, he married my mother.

Both of my parents truly valued education.  They wanted their girls to have every opportunity to learn, and to keep on learning throughout their lives.  Mom and Dad tried - but times were different. 

They did the best they could...