I Almost Missed an Opportunity...Because of the Accent

I almost missed an opportunity today because of a foreign accent.

My phone rang, the area code was one near the Columbus, Ohio exchange.  I live an hour north of Columbus.

I didn't recognize it, so I didn't answer it.

Less than five minutes later, the same number called me again.

Oh, alright.

The absolute thickest accent I have ever heard began talking.  I was nearly ready to just thank them for calling and hang up when I heard, "Peggy?  Is this Peggy?"

Pressing the phone to my ear as tightly as I could, I tried to listen as she explained she had met me once at the Columbus, Ohio temple, and that I knew her husband.

Though I had to have her repeat herself a few times, I began to remember that her husband was born and raised in Mexico, and it was likely that she had been, too.

She was working in the local Family History Center, and a gentleman had come in that she was unable to help.  

Of course!

He had ancestors in southeast Ohio, and also had a Kentucky connection.  He wasn't sure what other sources could help him, so he needed some direction.  I told him to send me an email with what he has found so far, and what he is looking for.

Now, why is this important?

1.  I almost didn't answer the phone, thinking it was someone I didn't want to talk to.

2.  When I did, I had to work hard to understand.

3.  This wonderful lady of Hispanic descent was willing to spend her time in a Family History Center, where it is likely she wouldn't be able to help someone with Appalachian research questions.

4.  The man was patient enough with her limited knowledge and didn't walk out thinking no one could help him.

5.  I could possibly have a new relative, since he's looking in the area where most of my people are from!

I told the FHC worker to call me anytime she needed some help.  She may not have been the most talented researcher in her area, but she's willing to try.

I applaud her.

And, I actually applaud my own self for picking up the phone!

The Kentucky Research Adventures Never End

15 Sep 2016

MissPeggy and her sisters are at it again. This time,we are in eastern Kentucky, where I am speaking at a conference tomorrow.

Conversation in library:
First man: Well, if it's your baby you need to make things right.
Second man: Well, it just might be.
First man: What are you going to do to make it right?
Second man: Well, I can give her a goat right now, maybe another one later.
First man: That's a good start. It will let her know you're not going to leave her without something to get along with.
Second man: I don't want her to think I'm a knucklehead.

(I know. I shouldn't be eavesdropping. My sisters and I are trying to hold our faces together.)

And, our memories when we passed a familiar town...
Betty: Oh, this is where we followed a man on a horse!
Me: That's right. I turned around in a gas station and got behind a man on a horse. We followed him all the way into town.
Fern: It seems like something else happened here.
Me: Yes, we ended up in the middle of a parade.
Betty: I remember that! It seems like it was a noisy one.
Me: Betty, you had the trombone section beside your window.

We all nod our heads in fond and solemn memory.

16 Sep 2016

I'm fixin' on crying.

There is a young man in the library with us. He is trying to reconstruct his life.

First, his house was flooded and filled with mud. They tried to save what they could

When he finally got it all dried out, it caught fire and he lost everything.

Now, he is here with us trying to copy photos out of school yearbooks so he can have some sort of memory of his life. This is one of many things he's using, besides just trying to find any relative that may have a photo of him.

I'm telling you, I'm fixin' on crying.

AND

This is a library like no other I have ever been to.

They have fed us since we walked in the door. We have had grapes, cheddar cheese, bottled water, granola bars, plus pork chops. Yes, pork chops. Someone brought in extras they had fixed for lunch and asked if we all would like somethin' to eat.

Of course!

Then, she opened up this big tray and there were pork chops an inch thick, with mashed potatoes, green beans with bacon, and biscuits.

Now, she walks in with a box of donuts.

We don't ever, ever want to leave. Please let us roll out and spend the night, for we want to know what's for breakfast!

Oh, and we have found lots of genealogy, too!

17 Sep 2016

We enjoyed a wonderful dinner at the Ramada Inn in Paintsville, Kentucky. We enjoyed something we hadn't had since our grandmother was alive -- potato salad made with mashed potatoes.

I know it may sound a bit odd, but one bite into it brought back every memory we had of visiting her during the summers. The restaurant here had the absolute perfect blend of the pickles, two kinds of onions, etc. Oh, it was good!

Opening festivities tonight included a "Meet and Greet", again with all sorts of foods. I can't remember a time when I have grazed every moment since I pulled out of my driveway. (My mom used to get so mad at my dad when we traveled. She would pack it all up, and he would have it gone before we got out of town.)

There was a wonderful man and woman who spent an hour playing Civil War songs. Both of their voices were good and quite clear.

Another conversation I was part of today:

Man (from a county I'm researching in): Ma'am, what are the names of the people you're looking for?
Me: (I rattled off about a dozen from that county)
Man: I know ever (yes, ever) one of them.
Me: How do you know them?
Man: I drive past their graveyard.
Me: I know right where it's at!
Man: I drive a school bus there ever day.
Me: Are you serious? I've been on that road! Your front end meets your hind end comin' around those hairpin turns.
Man: I know, ma'am. I have to get out and pull my mirrors in.
Me: On your bus?
Man: On my bus. I have to squeeze between two trees. If they get much bigger I'm going to have to figure out how I'm going to do it, for I'm tired of getting out and bending those mirrors in.
Me: Which county do you drive for?
Man: Depends on which curve I'm on.

Good grief.

Later on...

Me (talking to an older woman): I think my tooth is flaring up on me.
Woman: Do you have any sheep dung?
Me: Sheep dung?!?! (trying to recall my mom talking about it)
Woman: I can bring you some tomorrow if it's still a-painin' you.
Me: Uh, no. I do believe I brought something with me to help it some.
Woman: Well, you just let me know.
Me: Oh, I will...

Now, I'm not telling you these things to make fun of the conversations I've had. Not at all. This is Appalachia, and sometimes things run at a different speed here.

These are fine, fine people with deep German and Scots/Irish roots. And, if I ever had to live off the land during famine or a depression, this is where I would want to be.

God bless them all.

AND...

Speaker at conference giving directions to his bookstore...
Man: It's just around the corner from...
Audience: ?
Man: It's two blocks from ...
Audience: ?
Man: It's just down the road from ___ Gun's Supply.
Audience - all in one voice: Oh! We all know where that is! We'll find your shop!!!

18 Sep 2016

Miss Peggy is reflecting after a whirlwind three days with her sisters.

After my sisters fell asleep Friday evening, I thought I heard someone singing. I went to the door, and went out to the hall (like an indoor courtyard) and followed the singing down to where I looked over an atrium. There was a bunch of people attending a Baptist convention, and they couldn't sleep. So, they got up, went downstairs, and started up singing. I stayed upon the balcony and sang right along with them.

As I got back to the room, I tiptoed back to the side of the bed by the wall and window, and got stuck. Something was sticking down my back in my nightgown holding me hostage. I called for Betty, and she jumped up asking what in the world had happened.

That stupid rod that you pull the curtains back and forth with somehow got wedged down my back, and was holding me like a puppet, not able to move.

She got me out of my fix, only to have the same thing happen about ten minutes later.

Fool.

The next morning, a couple were standing behind us at breakfast when the woman said, "You look so familiar. Were you the one on the balcony singing with us?"

Me: (Sheepishly) Well, yes it was. I apologize for being in my nightgown.
Woman: Well, honey...you looked a heck of a lot better than the folks at Walmart!

I have stepped up.

Breakfast was to die for this morning. It was all of the stuff I grew up on - bacon and eggs, sausage, biscuits and gravy, fried apples, waffles, etc.

After being interviewed by the local television station, I began my series of talks, beginning with "Following the Money Using Tax Records". I had these people hollerin' and slappin' the legs - over tax records! Probably because so many of mine were listed as "Distillers" on the actual records.

In between classes, a woman came up to me and asked me if I knew much about "those Mormons". I responded that I did, for I am one. She then proceeded to tell me all about "those Mormons" digging up their dead folks. I assured her that WE didn't, emphasizing that she was indeed talking to one. She said a friend of a friend of hers told her they did, so it must be true.

Honey, just go sit back down.

Soon it was time to leave. After eating and talking and laughing and eating some more and laughing some more, we drove with the beautiful moon shining on us through the hills.

We reminisced about an earlier time...

A turkey buzzard swooped down across the windshield, lodging in the front left fender.
Me: (driving Fern's Toyota van) Good grief!
Betty: What in the world was that thing?
Me: I think it was a teradactyl.
Fern: Is the van okay?
Me: I'm going to pull over and check.

Me...pulling feathers and body parts out of the grill. My sisters are freaking out.

I then noticed that the fender was dislodged from the main body. I cleaned out more feathers, snapped everything back together like Legos, got in the car and drove on.

Fern: Are you sure it's okay?
Me: Are we driving?
Fern: Yes
Me: Do you hear anything flopping?
Fern: No
Me: We're fine. Let's keep going and find us a cemetery.

I will miss my sisters when they're gone. Of course, I'm assuming they will go before me, which may not be the case. But, I can tell things are a bit harder for them than they used to be.

Perhaps, just perhaps, that is why I was born so many years after them.

Walkin' the Floor

Most of my ancestors are from eastern Kentucky.

It is part of Appalachia (apple-atcha).

Though some came from the Tidewater region of both Virginia and North Carolina, most came in through the Philadelphia, PA area, settling in Germantown, before coming down the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia with thousands of Germans and Scots-Irish.

And, they are a force to be reckoned with.

My mother used to recount a "legend" to us.  

She said that her father's grandfather, Robert H. Stephens, had his body dug up, and the skeleton hung in Doc Brown's office.  He had assembled the skeleton together to prove he was a doctor.

Others could recall a story where a "hand" floated up to the top of a cauldron of water in the woods near a cemetery, and that Robert Stephens' grave had been dug up.

My line would be as follows:

Ida Stevens --> Corb Stevens --> Richard Stephens --> Robert Stephens

I repeat, these are legends that have been passed down through the family.

One day, while visiting my mother's last living sibling, we got around to the subject of Robert.

I asked him if he thought it was true.

He honestly didn't know.

But, he did say a picture of Robert had been found, and that if I wanted to see it, just go "up the road a piece" to Loreada's house.

If she doesn't answer, just peek through the front door window.  The picture is hanging on the opposite wall.

This is Kentucky.  

It's not wise to go peeking in through someone's window.

But, I thought it was worth the effort, so Mr. Kerry and our four children piled into the van and drove "up the road a piece" to Loreada's.

I told them to wait in the van.

I always do.

I knocked on the door.

There was no answer.

I knocked again.

There was no answer.

So, I gave in and peeked through the door.

And, a set of eyes were peeking right back at me!

I thought I might wake up dead.

Once she focused in on me, she exclaimed, "Law, it's Ida's girl!  Get yourself on in here!!"

As I have mentioned before, things move at a slower speed in the south.

You have to move at that speed, or people may be suspicious of you.

I asked how she knew me, and she said she would have recognized me anywhere, for I looked just like Ida - her childhood playmate and cousin.

And, she looked just like Ida, my mom.

We talked for quite awhile, and she told me about some research she had done on the family.

Then, I asked her about the picture.

She went and got it, and I was absolutely astounded.

Loreada holding the picture of Robert Stephens

Robert's grandson, Corb - my grandfather.

She didn't mind me taking lots of pictures of the picture.  I had an old Vivitar point and shoot, so I carefully laid it outside in natural lighting and took pictures from every angle I could.  This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for me, so I had to get it right.

Then, I asked her how in the world she had obtained it.

She said the people up the holler from her had been tearing up their flooring and found it there.

(Note:  Many times, people would use newspapers, magazines, and I guess, photos, to help insulate walls and floors)

Mr. Kerry asked me, "So, were they singing, 'I'm Walkin' the Floor Over You"?

Smart aleck.

Now, the legend of his skeleton will probably remain a mystery.

Although, while visiting my uncle a few years later, he received a phone call asking if he wanted Robert.  I was only half-listening.

He said to hang on, for Peggy's here and I'll ask her.

Someone was cleaning out a closet of an old building downtown and had found pieces of what they thought were a skeleton.

Did I want them?

No.

An emphatic NO.

I have enough skeletons in my closet.

Please, please bury them.

And, let whoever it is rest in peace.

Women's History Month - #4

And, the fun continues...

March 4 — Do you have marriage records for your grandparents or great-grandparents? Write a post about where they were married and when. Any family stories about the wedding day? Post a photo too if you have one.

My good parents, shortly after their marriage in 1932.

My parents lived in eastern Kentucky.  Mom told me they got married because there wasn't anything else to do.

Chester Lee Clemens and Ida Stevens were young hillbillies living in Carter County, Kentucky.  Ida's father was the foreman at the local limestone quarry where Chester worked.  Dad married the boss's daughter.

On the morning of 1 Feb 1932, Dad was working on the car that would take them to neighboring Morehead in Rowan County.  Battery acid spilled into his eyes.  They flushed them out, but his eyes continued to tear up all day, and he spent the day wiping them.

The judge kept reassuring him that it wasn't going to be that bad.

They married during the Depression, but Mom always said they never knew there was a Depression going on.  They made do on very little.  They had $7 to their name, and bought a hog with that money.

Their long marriage survived economic bad times, illnesses, World War II, Dad's service in the Navy at Pearl Harbor, poverty, working in the coal mines and living in the coal camps.  

Through it all, Mom was a strong woman who raised four strong daughters.

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

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...



Learning the Hard Way - Again!

I guess I've always been one to learn things the hard way.

During this time of year, my parents' garden would have been pretty much over and cleaned up.  The final weeks of summer would have been spent "puttin' food by".

But, the apples kept on producing for a bit longer.

We had thirteen apple trees on our property.  Most of them were the Golden Delicious variety, and in my opinion there is none better!  All of the delicacies that can come from an apple came from that particular apple - applesauce, apple butter, apple pies, apple crisp, fried pies, sausage and apple stuffing, you name it!

But, I learned a very hard lesson from dried apples, i.e. dehydrated apples.

My mom and her mom kept a supply of dried apples to make stack cakes.  At many southern funerals, a stack cake was almost always on the food table.  It was a staple.  It required dried apples.

Mom would peel, cut and slice bushel after bushel of these beautiful apples.  We had no dehydrator, so most of the time she used the oven - sometimes even the back window of our car.  If it happened to be humid, which it often is in Ohio, it would take a little longer.  Dad did build some screens to dry them outside.  This helped to prevent flies from getting on them.  Sometimes they even dried them in front of the fireplace. 

Mom stored these dried apples in big, half gallon jars or plastic wear. 

One day, I happened upon some and decided to eat some.  She warned me not to eat too many.  I also had a bottle of 7Up. 

Big mistake.

She warned me to slow down on the apples, and for goodness sakes, don't drink the 7UP!!  But, I was thirteen years old, and I knew more than her.

So, I thought.

Oh, I can't even begin to describe the pain and misery I was in as those apples began to rehydrate!!!  I laid on the bed and rolled back and forth all night trying to calm everything down that was going on inside of me.  I just had to let nature take its course, and watch my mom wagging her head with that "I told you so" look.

I guess I should have listened and watched the older generation better than I did.  They preserved and prepared so they would never have to depend on anyone else to take care of them.

I miss them...

Dried Apple Stack Cake
1/2 cup shortening
1/2 cup sugar
1 egg, well beaten
1/3 cup molasses
1/2 cup buttermilk
3 1/2 cups flour
1/2 teaspoon soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon ginger
1 teaspoon vanilla
Cooked dried apples

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Cream shortening and sugar; add beaten egg, molasses, buttermilk, and mix well. Sift flour, soda, salt, and ginger into a big mixing bowl. Make hole in center of dry ingredients and pour in creamed mix, stirring until well blended. Add vanilla, stir well, and roll out dough as you would for a piecrust. Cut to fit 9-inch pan or cast-iron skillet (this amount of dough will make 7 layers). Bake layers for 10 to 12 minutes, or until lightly browned. When cool, stack layers with spiced, sweetened old-fashioned dried apples. (See recipe below.) Spread between layers and smooth around sides and top. Sprinkle with powdered sugar, if desired, or beat egg whites into a meringue and spread on outside of cake. You may brown the meringue if desired. Prepare cake at least a day before serving it and put in refrigerator (it will keep several days, if necessary, in a cool place). To serve, slice into very thin layers.

Cooked Dried Apples*

Put 1 pound apples in heavy pan and cover with cold water. You may need to add water several times to keep apples from sticking to pan. Cook until soft enough to mash. While still hot, mash apples and add 1 cup brown sugar, 1 cup white sugar, 1 teaspoon cinnamon, ¼ teaspoon cloves, and 1 teaspoon allspice.
*If dried apples are not available, cook several pounds cooking apples with a little water. Add spices and sugars as listed above, and cook until mixture is very thick.
http://www.community.berea.edu/, "Appalachian Heritage, A Literary Quarterly of the Appalchian South", Fall 2004.