Gratitude Day #6 - The Sisterhood - November 2017

Today I am grateful for my three sisters.

The Sisterhood.

They were nearly grown and out of the house when I was born. Betty was 16, Jean was 19, Fern was 21. Both Fern and Jean were in Nurse's Training, and Fern was present when I was born.

She was the first one to hold me. And, I was the first one born in a hospital.

From the beginning, I had four mothers -- my own and three others. I was an only child with three sisters.

We were one generation apart in our ages, but that has changed through the years. I remember the day we were looking at nursing homes for my dad, who was living with me. The owner asked a question, and all three of my sisters turned and looked at me, and asked, "Peggy, what do you think?"

I nearly fell over! I was the youngest! No one had ever asked me what I thought.

We have caught up in age through the years. Fern, Betty, and I go on genealogy trips -- though not as often as in the past. And, when I go with Mr. Kerry, they will ask me, "Now, Peggy...did you pack your medicine? Will you have enough for the time you're gone? Do you have emergency supplies? Now, don't drive too late at night..."

Yes, my dears...

These three little hillbily girls grew up to be the best of women. Fern and Jean worked as RN's, Betty was an x-ray technician. They married good men and have good families.

They taught me to have class, which Mom taught us was grace under pressure.

They taught me how to act when something is free, something again that Mom taught. (i.e. Don't go grabbing everything just because you can.)

Fern taught me how important it is to behave around people of all stations of life, and how you want to be remembered when you leave a room. Her husband was a judge, and I had plenty of opportunities to be around people who some would term to be *popular*. I saw him in action on the bench, and I saw the fair way he treated people of every station in life.

Fern also taught me how to wear a hat.

Jean taught me to hold my ground and not back down when I know I'm right. She has always been the one on her hind legs with her paws in the air. She married a man who ran Buckeye Bakery with his brother.

Betty taught me to see right through people -- a trait my mother had. Talk all you want, but I hear what you're not saying. Her husband and his associates owned a roofing company -- not the kind you put on houses. The kind you put on factories and malls.

These are good, good women.

And, I know they won't be around forever. They are my link to the family's history.

And, people still laugh when they see us together, for we act like we haven't seen each other in a year.

Even though we are on the phone every day, several times.

And, once again my mom's words ring true..."If you can get along with the members of your own family, you can get along with anybody in the world."

Gratitude Day #5 - Dad - November 2017

Today I am grateful for the father that I had.

Dad was a hillbilly boy, raised in the hills and hollers of eastern Kentucky.  He only went to 8th grade, and spent three years in fourth grade.  But, some of the greatest lessons I ever learned came from an uneducated man.

Dad was the fifth child born out of eleven children, just like Mr. Kerry.  By the time he was born, one of his older brothers had already succumbed to whooping cough.  The sister born right after him died at age three when a pot of beans cooking on a pot-bellied stove fell on her and burned her badly.  She had been sitting on her big sister's lap and they were rocking away in a rocking chair, pushing off on the stove.  It was enough to rock the beans each time to the edge of the stove.  It took her three days to die.

Dad valued education, though he had but little.  He always said he went to college, something that I scoffed at -- until I went to Berea College in Kentucky and learned that he had been enrolled there for seven months.  A few months later he married my mom.

Dad was a coal miner, a sailor at Pearl Harbor, manager of a Pepsi-Cola bottling plant, a donut maker, a maintenance worker at Westinghouse, and owned his own refrigeration/air conditioning business.  

He was also an engineer.  The best wheat grinder I've ever had is one he built out of two burr stones, a washing machine motor from the dump, plywood, and a long funnel.

Dad was a boy when the Battle of Blair Mountain took place in West Virginia.  He was only six years old.  Here is a quote from his journal:

"As well as I remember we lived there about one year or more before trouble started, the union was trying to organize the coal fields and the coal companies didn’t want that to happen and there was fighting all around, the union men were coming over Blair Mountain into Logan County and all who would not join the union were called red necks and my uncle Arthur Fitzpatrick, a big Irishman who had just gotten out of the army in 1918 and he was tough but they arrested him because marshal law had been declared and him and me started to walk to Logan about four miles away and a deputy sheriff inquired where we was going and he told him it was none of his business and he arrested him, and he handed me his big 45 army colt and he told me not to let anyone take it from me and I took it back to my aunt Etta Bee and gave it to her and they blackballed him out of Logan County and never would let him come back, it was not easy living under marshal law but we did it for about two years or more.

During the war between the union and non union there were many people killed on Blair mountain, the sheriff of Logan county and some of his deputies was killed and many coal miners went to work and never returned.

The army moved heavy artillery right by our house by mule team and we could hear the heavy artillery being fired from our home, nothing looked good at all for along time but we finally come out all together."

(When the tv special aired, I wrote to them and told them I had a first-hand account my father had written.  They asked if they could use it on their site, and I gladly shared it with them."

In West Virginia, mom and my three sisters joined the LDS Church -- a brave act for a woman going against the wishes of her husband in 1948.  Dad wanted nothing to do with it.

He later made a trip to Ohio for three reasons:
1.  To look for better employment.
2.  To ensure better education for my three sisters.
3.  To scope out and make sure there was no Mormon Church.

He moved the family up during a blizzard on New Year's Day in 1950.  In April, two missionaries knocked on my mom's door.  The area had just been opened up.

Two years later dad was baptized.  I came along three years later.  He was bishop of the local congregation when I was baptized.

I was my dad's "boy".  He taught me how to fish, how to hunt, and how to build things.  I went along with him on service calls, where I learned something very important:

"Don't ever be afraid to take something apart to see why it's not working right.  Then, put it back together the right way and trust it."

I have applied that sage advice in all areas of my life -- my family life, my genealogy research, and my own self.

It's okay to take segments of your life apart, so you can have the experience of reassembling it and making it work right.



I miss my dad.  I had him longer than I had my mom.  But, both made profound influences in my life.  I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for them.

They taught me commitment.  If you say you're going to do something, do it.  Be the type of person no one ever has to worry about when you've said yes.

They taught me by example to never waver.  When they joined the LDS Church, they jumped in with both feet and never looked back, never went inactive, and were faithful followers all of their lives.


They taught me to love and know God, and trust in Him.  I can vividly recall my parents on their knees in gratitude, and asking Him to bless their children and grandchildren.

My two uneducated parents immersed themselves in the scriptures, and always had a book in their hands.  I still struggle understanding Isaiah and Revelation, books they clearly understood.

I couldn't have asked for better parents.  They did the best they could at their age to raise a squirrely little girl.  And, they taught me nothing wrong.

I hope with all of my heart I have made them proud of me.

Love you, Dad...

Gratitude Day #4 - Grandchildren - November 2017

Just when we thought our hearts couldn’t expand with any more love to give, along comes grandchildren!

They are perfect, as all grandchildren are.  They live as far apart in the continental United States as you can possibly get, which is one of the reasons I’m always on the go speaking at genealogy venues.  It affords us to be able to visit them.  One set lives in Maine, the other in California.

They are being raised by very good parents, and as far as we’re concerned, this is the best we could ever imagine for them.  Opportunities abound for these children, for they are in the best of circumstances.

They are in large families, which I also think is ideal.  I grew up alone, and I personally wouldn’t wish that on anyone, if it can be helped.  It took me awhile to learn how to work with people.   My mom used to tell me if you can get along with the members of your own family, you can get along with anyone in the world.

So true.

These grandchildren have taught me to laugh and giggle again after experiencing teenage years and young adult years with their parents.  And, just like with us, they are teaching their own parents things they also need to learn – patience and pure love.

When Jordan and family were moving to California a few years ago, baby Madelyn was only a few weeks old.  My job was to hold her while the truck was being loaded, which I gladly did.

One of the photos below is of my hands holding hers.  I sat there and thought for awhile as our hands touched.

My mom’s great-grandfather fought in the Civil War, and she knew him.  He stayed with mom and her family for awhile.

My mom’s hands would have touched his.

I touched my mom’s hands.

Madelyn touched mine.

Baby Madelyn’s hands have touched my hands, who touched my mom’s hands, who touched her great-grandfather’s, who was in the Civil War.

When any of my grandchildren touch my hands, they are touching history.

I am their link to history. 

Gratitude Day #3 - My Family - November 2017

Gratitude Day #3

Today I am grateful for my children.

We had a houseful! By the time I was 30 years old, our family consisted of four children under five years old -- the last two being ten months apart. Three were in diapers, two were on formula and in cribs, and and I was worn out.

Plus, in between those four children had been four miscarriages.

It was the very best thing I have ever done.

I grew up alone. My sisters were nearly grown and out of the house when I was born, so I grew up a bit spoiled. Not "bratty-spoiled" -- heavens, my mother would have made me into a greasy spot. But, spoiled in the fact that every single toy, dress, girly-thing, whatever...that came into the house belonged to me. I had no one I had to share with.

Kerry grew up in the middle of eleven children. We were polar opposites.

So, when as a young married woman I was shocked beyond belief that half of my bed, closet, bathroom space, etc. would now be going to someone else, Kerry was satisfied that he would only have to share with one, rather than ten others.

Then, here comes the children.

I can honestly say I wouldn't be who I am today if I had not had the experience of having a family. I learned fairness -- and unfairness. I learned deeper frustration -- and purer joy. I learned how to truly care about someone else to the point of feeling their pain, and wishing it upon myself.

And, I learned to serve.

Peter was the guinea pig I made most of my mistakes on. My tears would mix with his as I tried to figure this motherhood thing out. I cheered him on as he took his first steps, and wept when he was sick and I didn't know what to do. His life was cut short by the ravages of drugs at age 30, and I knew what true grief was. Me, who had played for dozens upon dozens of funerals in my life, felt mourning and devastation deeper than I had ever known. I can hardly wait to hold him again.

Harmony is our only girl, and brought a personality all her own with her. She made sure she marched to her own drum from the moment she was born. She and I have similar personalities, for when we're in a public place where something will remind us of a certain scenario, we know better to catch each other's eye. We won't be able to contain ourselves. And, we know it.

Jordan was the absolute easiest child to raise that I could ever imagine. He was and is laid-back, but outgoing. Everybody wanted to adopt him, for he was full of cuddles. He is a marvelous and supportive husband and father today, and his family is stellar.

Erik had us to himself the longest, both as a young child, then later as the others began to leave home. I will always cherish road trips and lunches with him.

The tide has now turned. It is they who are concerned about us. It is they who call home checking in on mom and dad. It is they who turn around when we are touring Fisherman's Wharf in San Francisco to see if we are keeping up and are not lost.

These marvelous children have turned into marvelous adults. And, I thank the good Lord that they were sent to our home.

Gratitude Day #2 - My Home - November 2017

Gratitude Day #2

Today I am grateful for my home.

My home is my refuge. It is my place of joy, and of healing. It's the place I run to when the world is raging around me.

We have lived here for 33 years. Before that, we lived in an older home in the central part of our town near the hospital. When I was expecting our last child, the sirens, motorcycles, and people walking the streets through all hours of the night had finally gotten to me.

Kerry was delivering mail to a bank one day, and brought home one of those booklets advertising houses for sale. I had no interest, for I was nearing the end of a pregnancy, my third child had been in and out of the hospital, and my mom was dying.

But, we decided to go to an open house that was being held over Mother's Day weekend. The realtor knew the right thing to do, for he had all of the windows open on the first floor where a lilac bush was in full bloom. I swooned over the smell.

It had been a house that had been foreclosed on, and was doing the bank no good. Our first offer was accepted, and plans went into place.

The men from the church moved our items in while I was in the hospital. I'm still trying to locate things.

Our home and its walls has heard a lot of laughter, smelled some delicious meals wafting through the rooms, and heard a few tears being shed. It has celebrated 33 years of holidays and birthdays and graduations. It has welcomed friends and family from across the country. It has sparkled, and it has been cluttered.

And, it mourned with the rest of us when one of those young faces met an early death at the age of 30. It was like its heart and its walls were sagging a little bit with ours.

My parents loved our house. We have acreage behind us, which looks over a ski resort. Once, when my mom and dad were here for a visit, they both said they couldn't imagine living in a house this grand. It was bigger than anything they had ever owned.

In our poorer days, Kerry and I couldn't afford to go anywhere for our weekly "date night". So, we would put the kids to bed a little earlier, and go sit on the deck to talk and drink root beer floats. Their bedrooms were directly above where we were sitting, and we could hear their talks and their chatter as the sun set and the lightning bugs emerged, lighting up their little rear ends for us to enjoy.

Our home is not a fancy one. It is not filled with expensive artwork or marble countertops. It is filled with pictures of the things that mean the most to me -- my family.

I am grateful for it, for I know there are many in the world who have no place to lay their head tonight. I will go to bed, thanking God again that I have been blessed so abundantly.

Gratitude Day #1 - My Mom - Nov 2017

Today I begin my month of Gratitude Posts, which I have been doing for the past few years. There will be one each day in November, so if they get old to you, just scroll on by.

Gratitude Day #1

Today I am grateful for my mom, Ida Stevens Clemens. It's appropriate to begin with her, for today is her birthday! If she were alive, she would be 104 years old!

She was born in the days of buckboards and mules, and lived long enough to see men walk on the moon.

She was a Kentucky hillwoman, and a force to be reckoned with. The oldest of eight children, she only had one sister - the youngest - who only lived three years. She knew how to deal with boys, and taught me that I didn't have to be stronger than them -- just louder.

She taught me how to shoot, and I spent hours out behind the tobacco barn in Kentucky practicing until I met the targets she set up for me.

She taught me how to survive in the woods if I was ever lost, which included the things I could forage and the things I needed to stay away from. Little did I know how her advice would come in handy when I met up with a copperhead. (Ask me about it sometime.)

She married my dad and raised three girls in the hills of Kentucky and the coal camps of West Virginia. During WWII, she was on her own when dad was drafted and sent to Pearl Harbor.

It would be when those girls were 16, 19, and 21 that she would give birth to another little girl - me. She was in her forties, and the picture on the bridge was taken four days before I was born.

I once asked her if she ever got depressed. She looked at me with an incredulous look on her face, and I received a lecture that lasted about 2 1/2 days. I never asked again.

There are times when I am whining when I can just see her in my mind's eye giving me "the look". Then, I straighten right up and become the daughter she expected me to be.

I miss her. I sure could use her on some days. She died in 1984, the year my youngest child was born.

It is an honor to be called her daughter, for she taught me things the world teaches the opposite of. She turned me into a "don't mess with me" person, while still remaining a lady.

I am grateful that I was born to such a woman, who raised me when she was "old". I know it couldn't have been easy.

But, she did it.

Love you, dear mom...happy heavenly birthday!!!

Camping with George Washington

I have a particular love for my military ancestors.

Throughout my family's history, I have men and women 

who have been in battle

since the French and Indian War

in the mid-1700's.

As I have done more and more research,

I began to realize that I had many more than I could keep track of,

so I asked Mr. Kerry for some help.

I asked him to bring me a list of all of the wars

America has been involved in 

since the French and Indian War and up to the present;

and to include the dates, as well.

Before long, he returned with a list.

And, I made a spreadsheet.

Across the top I made a column for the wars.

Across the side I began to list the members of the military.

I can now include 186 ancestors,

and shirttail relatives

who served our country.

Tonight, I was checking for some shaky leaves

on Ancestry.com.

Normally, I glance through other people's trees,

preferring to look at original records.

But, tonight it proved quite fruitful for me.

I carefully checked through another person's family tree that included the name of Joseph Goddard.

He was the son of John Goddard,

who had been shanghaied from England with his brother, Joseph.

Those Ancestry hints led me to some military records I had not previously been aware of.

And, which told me the Joseph had been a member of the 

10th Virginia Regiment during the Revolutionary War.

The FamilySearch Wiki is filled with good information on

military regiments.

So, I looked it up.

It was an informative article, that told me its history.

It also led me to another interesting site.

If you look closely, you can see where it directs you to another site.

The Valley Forge Legacy Site.

There he is!

Corporal Joseph Goddard of the 10th Virginia.

And, it shows a map where he was encamped.

Just this past year, we visited Valley Forge, PA,

and we stopped in front of these exact reconstructed cabins

where another one of my ancestors was encamped.

John McKissick had been close to the same area.

They were camped next door to each other!

I find this so fascinating!

Did they know each other?

I'm sure they did.

Did they suffer through the cold?

I'm sure they did.

Did they know George Washington?

I'm sure they did.

This is how I spent a blustery autumn evening...

researching and appreciating my ancestors

for their service to our country.