genealogical blog - Grieving Gardener

When there is nothing to do, try something new. Auntie TJ always told me boredom is a sign of a weak and lazy mind. I think Joni Mitchell sang about that, too. Not wanting to fall into that category, I was busy working on my ancestry yesterday.

Computerized genealogy is the best! I found some paper documents my mother had prepared in the 1900’s. Erasures. Arrows. Unknowns. Very limited in her access to records, she didn’t get further than the 1800’s before becoming frustrated. I’m impressed that she got as far as she did.

Yesterday, I had worked on my maternal side for some time and decided to turn my attention to my paternal ancestors.

Oy. Vey.

Never look to far into family history unless you’re ready to handle what you might find. Again, Oy. Vey.

One day, when I was a young girl, my father told me a story about the day his sister and her husband came from Los Angeles to visit in a Stuts Bearcat. This visit was quite shocking to a family that took their family cow with them to fish at the San Joaquin River. Quite a journey from Los Angeles to the Central Valley, as well.

A true status symbol, the young boy who would later grow up to be my dad couldn’t get over the beauty of the side lights. Probably the most exciting thing to happen to a sleepy little farming town in a very long, long time.

I wondered until yesterday how it was that one brother would be living a farmer’s life while raising eight children while his sister and her husband would be driving around California in a luxury car. I found my answer and it’s a shocker.

It turns out that this uncle was one of the most famous “bookies” on the west coast of America. His lovely wife raised and showed bulldogs as a hobby. They employed a Japanese housekeeper and lived the high life. Zeke and Helen Caress. Now, even as a writer with a great imagination, I couldn’t make up that name. Really? Of course, ZEKE would be a bookie.

Not just any bookie. They were part owners in Agua Caliente in Mexico. Huge racetrack and resort. There is a book written about the place I place to read soon. The bad guys I’d only heard about were doing business on a regular basis with my uncle. Go figure.

They were so wealthy that at one point, they were kidnapped for ransom along with their chauffeur. After a shootout with the police the kidnappers were found and arrested. My relatives went on their merry way, enjoying all the best Los Angeles had to offer, ending up buried in Vesperland at Forest Lawn Cemetery.

Now that I think of it, another Uncle was nicknamed “Slick”.

Oy. Vey. Oy. Vey. Oy. Vey.

Well. With all that information, I had to move on. I decided that HHH’s family might be more down to earth with a bunch of Nebraskan writers. And so, I worked there a little while.

I hadn’t gone very far when I made another shocking discovery. HHH has relatives that were also Germans from Russia. In fact, we both have the “Rudolph” family name in our lineage. You can’t even imagine what a shock that was to both of us!!!!! I guess HHH will need to read “The Last Green Valley”, as well.

Whatever you do today, you might want to take a little time to review your own roots. As Auntie TJ also reminds me often, “A Family is a Family is a Family.” We all have interesting stories just waiting to be discovered. I wonder what I’ll find next! Stay tuned.

More tomorrow.

Last week, as afternoon temperatures soared well above the century mark, I found myself a a little bored. Having almost finished reading “The Last Green Valley”, I found myself haunted by questions about the journey my own ancestors had taken. With a new appreciation for the perils of traveling so far with a baby on the hip, I decided to go to Ancestry.com and begin.

With only my name as a beginning point, ancestors began to appear. In the beginning, they were familiar. Of course, it’s not unusual to be lucky enough to know grandparents. Mine built the very house in which I played as a child and later, grew into a woman raising her own children. My great-grandparents were a little more mysterious, most of them having died before I could memorize their face or voice.

Like images coming out of a fog, a sea of strangers appeared that possessed traits passed down through the ages to me. Reading the names of towns in which they were born, one fact remains. I am of German/Danish heritage, an undeniable fact.

To start your own journey, you simply go to Ancestry.com and choose the plan that works for you. Then you begin by searching your own name.

After a few nights of excitement from the computer, HHH became intrigued. The hook was set when I mentioned he could start his own research off my name now that we are legally hitched. And that we did.

So far, I’m just as enchanted with his stories as those of my own people. You see, he came from a family of writers who created and supported a major newspaper in the countryside of Nebraska. They were the movers and shakers of Nebraska and the East Coast. Some ran for political office, while others farmed.

One ancestor fought for the Union in the Civil War, even being a prisoner of war for a time. So far, only one of HHH’s great-great-great grandfather came from Germany. Surprising, as he is of Scottish heritage, a blue-eyed red head.

While studying different names and families, pictures and stories appeared that were downloaded by other. Details appeared that might shock some and confirm the suspicions of others. Don’t begin this journey unless you can roll with the answers you find which might be different than the ones you were sure you already knew.

One of HHH’s widowed grandmother’s homesteaded land in Nebraska while raising her young son. I would have loved to have been in her class as she taught school, or helped her in the fields after her school day was over.

While discussing these things with Auntie TJ and The Goddess of the Central Coast, the intrigue grew. How blessed I am to have Auntie TJ as a link to those names of long ago. She lived among German-speaking immigrants as the youngest of four daughters born to August and Lizzie.

She mentioned that the attending physician to her birth in a small country home was Dr. Pomeroy. After our conversation, I saw Doc Pomeroy’s name on many birth and death records. He was the country doctor who witnessed it all.

Whatever you do today, consider taking a little trip into the past to discover something new about your ancestors. Stories of those already gone is a lovely gift to share with family. Above all, stay cool while brutal heat of summer blazes on (5:54 am — 78 degrees).

More tomorrow.

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