Linda Roorda

LOL!!!! No, no, no 🙂 but then again... 🙂 Just trying to say some data in my research that others had accepted as legit, I proved otherwise by doing further research - like a 63-yr-old woman giving birth to one of my ancestors? What a record for Guiness that would be!! When you know the old Dutch naming pattern, you quickly realize she and hubby were more likely the child's grandparents! Another ancestor b. 1746 had a nephew by same exact name b.1764 - both served in Rev.War under same battalion or whatever it's called but each in a different smaller unit under different captains - kind folks who put up a big tall monument to my ancestor b.1746 in Carlisle, NY cemetery, near Cobleskill, used the wrong data from the nephew b.1764!! and etc...

Good for you!! It sure is fun and exciting!! And nice to have some of the footwork already done for you, plus making contact/friendships with extended rellies! But I have to add, part of my thesis for being able to have 3 articles published in the N.Y. Genealogical & Biographical Record was proving some data wrong that folks had believed to be correct, along with putting family data together that no one else had done. Keep reading each series in this section as I talk about it. I spent many Saturday mornings at Steele Library's genealogy section which holds the NYGBR that my articles are published in. I always wanted to go back and tell the workers thanks for their holdings which assisted me 🙂

It sure is Mahatma!! Very addicting 🙂 I assume you've "been there and done that" with your ancestry? I've been out of research work for several years, once upon a time being a walking encyclopedia of my mom's early New Netherlands' Dutch, Palatine Deutsch/Swiss, and New England Scots-Irish ancestry. But now enjoy helping beginners with these articles that were from my past newspaper column, providing a few extra tips for anyone needing them, just as friends/distant relatives helped me along my journey 🙂

Unless you’ve experienced what someone else has dealt with, you cannot make a valid judgment against them. We take so much in life for granted… especially in what we can see and do. But reflect with me for just a few minutes on what it would be like without one, or more, of your senses. What if you could not smell, taste, hear, speak, or see? What if you couldn’t walk, or move your arms? What if the simplest tasks became so much more difficult due to a new disability? As I’ve mentioned in other blogs and poems, my husband, Ed, is blind and my mother is paralyzed on the right side from a stroke. Thankfully, my mom is left-handed and propels her wheelchair with left hand and foot to visit her friends – and let me tell you, that left hand and arm of hers is so strong I have had to remind her not to squeeze my arthritic hand so tight when we’d say goodbye! This poem was written one day as I contemplated Ed’s dark world of blindness, and the vision I take for granted, even now. I have to remind myself of his limitations because I’ve become accustomed to how good he is at getting around the familiarity of our home without sight in a world that depends on vision. Even though he had limited vision in his only usable eye when he farmed with his dad (20/200 with glasses), he managed to make barn and field chores look easy. In reality, it wasn’t. He made accommodations and learned to live with very blurry vision. As a family, we learned to remember to put something back in its original place so he could find it again, and not to move the furniture without telling him, or leave a door ajar for him to walk into. Yes, we learned the hard way to make those issues priorities… and sadly, I still forget on a rare occasion. I would also put bump dots on digital dials of appliances so he could do minor cooking and laundry, while he uses rubber bands of different sizes to tell his medications apart and to distinguish salt and pepper. He wants to be as independent as possible, though now his permanent statin-drug muscle damage has taken more of a toll and he’s struggling to get around, very limited in what he can do. But, there once was the day he made his usual big pot of chili… with a twist. When the kids came home from school, he heard, “Oh Pop! You put fruit cocktail in the chili!” The can of fruit had gotten too close to the cans of tomatoes and he had had no idea. We ate it anyway. And, it wasn’t too bad, just a little sweeter than usual. Who knows… maybe it would be worthy of winning a competition! But, yes, life has been interesting in learning to accommodate his needs… for all of us. When he went to The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, Massachusetts for six months of training in the fall of 1989, we family members were given occluders to cover our eyes for a while. (Actually, each staff member is required to wear them one day a month.) At the end of the exercise, the kids and I, and Ed’s parents, could take off our occluders. But, Ed could not… his vision loss was permanent. It was a stark reminder to us with sight as to how blessed we really are… and how to better understand his loss and frustration in recovering and learning a new way to function. For it’s been hard for Ed to face the world without vision along with his other disabilities. Our world is not always as understanding as we would like to think. There are folks who rush past as I guide my husband, and their feet have become entangled in his outstretched cane which feels ahead for obstacles... and I have had to stop unexpectedly because someone cut us off sharply in their hurry, throwing him off balance, nearly falling. We have found that people will sometimes talk louder to him; he’s blind, but not hard of hearing. Once, when he was hospitalized, the nurse’s aide actually said to him, “Hey! What’s the deal with the sunglasses? Think you’re a movie star?” Ed calmly replied, “No. I’m blind.” And she stumbled profusely trying to apologize. Then there are the adult stares, which I hope are due to their being impressed with his ability. Once during mobility training with his specialist, he was learning to find his way through the mall while she followed from a distance. A kind gentleman came up to him, grabbed his arm and started walking, i.e. pulling, him along, asking where he wanted to go. Ed thanked him, but gently explained he was learning to find his own way around. As for the children who stare and ask their curious questions, we explain why he uses a white cane to help them understand what it’s like to live in a world without sight. But, there are so many limitations placed on someone with any disability that we often don’t think about. Ed simply cannot do whatever he wants. He cannot get in the car and drive wherever and whenever he wants. Without sight, there is so much that is missed… in the beauty of a sunny day, of flowers blooming in multitudinous hues, of storm clouds gathering, in watching brilliant flashes of lightning, of seeing a rainbow at the storm’s end, seeing the beauty of a freshly fallen snow… of loved ones’ dear faces… of a newborn’s precious face, never having been seen before to hold onto the memory… of having lost the ability to simply pick up any book or paper to read, or a pen to write, now having to take the time to accomplish those tasks a new and slower way by having them read to him or by listening to books on cassette… and so much more. And, to be honest, he generally prefers we not describe the beauty around him for the painful reminder of what he’s missing. In time, though, an understanding and acceptance is gained by going through the vital grieving process, as for anyone with any loss. Life is no longer the same, and never will be. We also learned the hard way that grief over a loss is important. It’s a key process in learning to deal and grow, and should not be rushed. Simply be there with support. For acceptance comes with the change by gaining confidence in the ability to move forward a new way… in learning new processes for what was once familiar and easy. Our faith in the Lord has been our support when we feel overwhelmed… when Ed can’t do what he’d like and I’ve been stretched to the max to pick up the slack. The Lord has listened to our prayers in the needs of every-day life. He’s been at our side to see us through this journey we never expected. Ask how you can pray for the one on the journey. Don’t assume to know what they might need. Take the time to understand life for someone with a disability of any kind. Take the time to put yourself in their shoes… to walk their path and understand their limitations. Take the time to love them, to share and question… and then listen between the lines for what they might be hesitant to express. Encourage them, and laugh with them. Walk with them, and you will both be blessed on the journey. I Cannot See Linda A. Roorda I cannot see this beautiful day And I long to bask in its brilliant glow Taking in rays that uncover the dark But instead I feel its warmth like flames. I cannot see tender smiles that beam As voices carry the tones of your heart, And tears that flow in sadness or joy Are a gentle touch felt deep in my soul. I cannot see love’s beautiful face Though I hold you near in image faded. I take your hand and with gentle kiss Shower affection from memories dear. I cannot see what your eyes behold As the world moves on and leaves me the past, So let me borrow your words to describe Changes in life without an image. I cannot see somber cloudy days Instead I hear your voice cheer me on. You tenderly hold my heart in your hand For without your strength I could not go on. I cannot see the path that we walk Yet wisdom shared from the depth of trust Embraces our hearts to cover what lacks As you guide with love in step at my side. ~~

Okay, let’s start researching! As you ponder a few names in your ancestral tree, the burning question may be, “How do I start looking for ancestors I don’t even know about?” Actually, the best way is to begin working backward from what you do know. Start with your birth certificate to prove your parents. Obtain copies of birth, baptism and marriage records, newspaper death notices or obituaries, and cemetery records of your near relatives. Research can be an expensive endeavor and I will admit I’ve not done all I’d like to simply for that reason. I’m able to join the DAR with about ten ancestors who served in the Revolutionary War; and, though I have a good deal of documentation, I’ve not been able to afford all that which is necessary for the DAR forms. I know that I have DAR status with the evidence in my hand, and don’t need to prove that fact to an association. Yet, even on a limited budget, you can accomplish a great deal like I did with the resources available - particularly as my initial online research of records for several years was done using the painfully slow dial-up internet service! Along with meeting extended distant relatives with whom you may be able to share data like I did, and with whom I remain in contact. Make a list of your known and extended relatives. Talk to the older folks and write down their memories and stories, especially before they are no longer here to share their memories. They are a wealth of information, and will be honored to have you ask. But, again, research helps validate the truth from “stories” which might have snippets of reality amongst exaggerated stories passed down as family history. Check out Cyndi’s List for a great listing of various types of charts and forms which can be printed off to help you keep records. I also wish I had had an interest in knowing my family history when I was younger and my grandparents were still alive. With my mom born as child 11 of 12 in a large farming family, her parents were long gone by the time I finally developed an interest. And, since both her parents were only children, there’s a paucity of extended “rellies” for me to speak with. Yet, I’ve met other extended cousins and have enjoyed getting to know them while we compare our family lineage notes. With her own family history interest, my mom recalled bits and pieces, but that’s why the original family tree mentioned in my first article was vital. Working through the known three generations to prove their accuracy, my empty-nest project evolved into a 600-plus page manuscript. I documented historical family backgrounds and descendants from church and cemetery records, historical records, census records, and books, etc. for every known surname branch. Don’t research just the male lineage as some folks prefer; the women are equally as important to your heritage! I even included research on the extended families as a record of their historical times and how families became intertwined. If you are fortunate enough to have access to them, search old diaries and letters which may reference family members. Old family Bibles often list family births, marriages and deaths, but not all do. For example, an old Bible found in the brick McNeill house in Carlisle, NY by the current owners (with whom I became friends) held no data other than three McNeill obituaries, two of whom were known to be related. Yet, the obits became key evidence in my search as one obit was for a Martha McNeill Tillapaugh Seber of Decatur, New York. That little piece of paper gave credence to my theory that she is related! She is the presumed daughter of Samuel McNeill as she fits the age of a female born 1814 on his census records, the only McNeill family in Decatur at that time. This gave a descendant, who I was assisting, substantial probability for Martha’s birth family since his family papers noted Martha McNeill was born about 1814 in Decatur, thus lending credence to our being distant cousins. The following also shares how one clue leads to another in research. Based on a gut feeling, I purchased Robert McNeill’s War of 1812 pension application file after finding him on the 1820 Carlisle, New York census. He lived very near my ancestor, John C. McNeill (typical of the old generations), and was listed on the War of 1812 muster rolls. In pension application affidavits, Robert noted service at Watertown and Sackett’s Harbor, New York and as a guard of prisoners on a march to Albany. He made no mention of service on any ship. Sadly, I had to break the news to a descendant, cousin and now friend, that Robert’s claim to be in a famous battle on Lake Erie during the War of 1812 was not backed up by documentation in any of his records. Also, unfortunately, he served only 53 days of the required 60, making him ineligible for a pension. However, additional key data found in his affidavits note Robert served in place of his brother, Samuel McNeill, of Decatur, Otsego County, New York, and that he, Robert, lived first at Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York. Thus, he was born about 1794, after his parents removed from New Hampshire to New York. Bingo!! I now had two more presumed brothers of my known Jesse McNeill! When Robert enlisted in September 1813, it appears he was about 18, unmarried, willing and able to serve for his brother, Samuel, who had a young family per the 1810 Decatur census and who presumably had farm crops to harvest. By census records, we track Robert and family on the 1820 census in Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York, the 1830 census in Conesus, Livingston County, New York near his wife’s relatives, and the 1840 census in Dundee, Monroe County, Michigan. After his first wife died, he lived near his sister’s family in Wayne County, New York where he remarried, moving his family back to Michigan per 1860 census. I like to think of them as “frequent flyers” on the bustling Erie Canal, sailing Lake Erie from western New York to the frontier in southeast Monroe County, Michigan. Curiously, his second wife is later found without Robert on census and cemetery records with their children in Wayne County, New York. As Robert is listed on census records in the homes of his first wife’s children, dies and is buried in Michigan, his descendant (Marjorie, my distant cousin and friend) and I have concluded that he and his second wife separated, but never divorced, as she died and is buried in Wayne County, New York. There is so much to be gleaned by searching for and finding actual records. Coming next: Document everything, every step of the way!

Finished a new quilt for my husband to enjoy in his recliner. Started with a center panel, bordered by 2" dark blue edging, then added more fabric that meshed well - panel and fabrics had been donated over the past few years from 4 different people and they all mesh as if bought together, plus backing of my own! Quilted center flag/eagle with 2" diamond design - i.e. using yardstick and quilting ruler, mark with masking tape 2" diagonal lines as guides for sewing each quilting seam, creating a diamond pattern when done. Also used "stitching-in-the-ditch" where you sew in center of long seams and on some of the square straight lines like on the squares above and below eagle/flag on panel. Did not dare use spray basting to hold everything together as using that on a big cross log cabin quilt in Aug 2019, even wearing a carpenter's mask outside on the deck to spray it, I landed in the hospital for several days due to extreme dizziness, and learned that's a side effect of accidentally breathing in the spray. So, tho this quilt was pinned thru top layer, cotton batting inside, and back layer, things shifted some. Border edgings I sew on by machine but then always sew it down by hand to the backing with a hidden stitch. And as the Amish do, leaving mistakes as is just proves we are not perfect 🙂 Any other quilters out there?

"They" call these muscle cars??!!! No way!!! Well the one above is ok, but most in the article are ugly, yes!! Try late '60s/early '70s!!! Like the Pontiac GTO, Firebird, Trans Am, Chevy Camaro, Chevy Corvette, Dodge Charger, mid '60s Ford Mustang like Ed's brother had had - they were some awesome cars!! First car I bought as a senior in high school (in school half days, worked for a lawyer in afternoons plus babysat evenings) was a beautiful black '68 Chrysler Newport, from a neighbor, loved it, washed and waxed it every Sat! but it had some engine problems and, rather than wait for my Dad to get home as an OTR trucker (gone 2-4 wks at a time) to discuss what to do about it, I stupidly traded it in for a '68 Buick Skylark, the biggest lemon on 4wheels. My Dad wasn't happy with me but hey, it's how ya learn from your mistakes.

Even those of us who grew up in a church may go through a time of searching, especially in our younger days. We search for fun, happiness, joy, peace and love in many places and in many ways… and sometimes we search in vain… for what we don’t know. Been there… done that! But did you know that our hearts are born to seek? All the while we grow up and mature, we’re seeking and learning, trying to find our place in this great big world. We wonder if our life makes a difference. Does anyone care? What is our value, and how is it measured? To prove our worth, we may seek wealth, fame, praise, prestige, power… and often think we’ve found it in relationships and possessions. In reality, our search for true peace and joy has nothing to do with these things. That’s where the world finds its value. So, we carry on, as our hearts continually seek something better to fill the void in our soul. In reality, we’re “lookin’ for love in all the wrong places” as the song says. (“Looking for love” sung by Johnny Lee, written by Wanda Mallette, Patti Ryan and Bob Morrison; 1980 movie “Urban Cowboy.”) And we keep searching until we realize the something that’s missing is ultimately only found in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. “But seek first the kingdom of God and His righteousness, and all these things will be given to you as well.” (Matthew 6:33) For God created us and put within our hearts a longing for Him… because, as our creator, He desires to have a close relationship with us. He wants us to give up our futile searching. He wants us to give up the world’s false security, our pride, and our faith in all the petty trinkets which hold no eternal value… to gain something far more valuable when we put Him first in our lives. As we search for God and focus on Him and His love for us, we find that the Apostle Paul’s words “…I no longer live, but Christ lives in me,” say it all. (Galatians 2:20) For as we seek His will in our lives, we discover that our purpose, our joy and our peace, can come only from God. Like C. S. Lewis wrote in “The Problem of Pain” … “God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our conscience, but shouts in our pains.” In seeking and finding our Lord, it’s then that the void in our heart and soul is filled… with a peace that only God can give. Our eyes are opened and we see the Lord’s loving hand working through us as we become more like Him… especially, it seems, through the toughest of times. For so often, that’s when our faith grows deeper as we draw closer to our Lord, and rest in His comforting words of wisdom… His loving embrace. After teaching His disciples to pray, Jesus said, "Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Luke 11:9) As I searched… I found. I Searched Linda A. Roorda In vain I searched the corners of life As my heart yearned for what it did not know But might it be the world cannot give The depth of peace as You hold my soul. ~ In pleasures I searched for the hint of fun The best this world could ever offer But disillusioned it caught me up short When softly I heard Your voice fill the void. ~ In hope I searched for one to carry For I had fallen from heights I had claimed Then helped was I by a tender soul One filled with grace from mercy’s blest store. ~ In silence I searched away from life’s noise Seeking Your voice in solitude’s calm Within my prayers Your words then echoed As You called to me in a still small voice. ~ In forest I searched midst towering trees For there was I enveloped by peace And as the sun broke through the dark depths It mirrored the Son whose light pierced my soul. ~ In valleys I searched along gentle streams Till gazing upward to towering peaks Majestic splendor was captured in view Of stunning vistas, creation’s glory. ~ In faces I searched Your image to find Those with a heart of compassion true The humble and meek without prideful boast Till one in tatters lent a hand to me. ~ In faith I searched for the living truth Of One whose claims have captured my heart For my soul was cleansed when You took my place Lifting me up to heights of Your love. ~ In children I searched for innocence sweet The gift of love not lost in their eyes Like arms open wide are their hearts and souls Freely they give without asking more. ~ In love I searched for the best in You Someone to hold and treasure for life To carry my dreams on the wings of time As ever I cling to faith, hope and love. ~ With joy I found all this and more As my heart sang out its praises of You For is it not true that blessings are mine From the depth of peace as You hold my soul. ~~

70s - "Layla" by Derek and the Dominos - yes, Eric Clapton, but the best of in this guise. 70s - "I Can Help" - Billy Swan 80s - "Take Me On" by the Swedish group a-ha; there's nothing else memorable on that decade's list of one-hit wonders. Not listening to new rock after the '80s, only Christian Contemporary and Classic Rock. 60s - Barry Sadler’s "Ballad of the Green Beret" - once upon a time, knew this song by heart to sing while playing my guitar; but many more one-hit wonders in this decade.

Your Family Tree #2 Growing up knowing that my dad was a first-generation American born to 1920s Dutch immigrants, I’ve always been partial to all things Dutch. Then, researching my mom’s ancestors, and discovering the several nationalities in her lineage along with many New Netherlands’ Dutch and their part in building America, has been even more of a treasure. So, why is genealogy so important to us? Put another way, why is history important? To quote David McCullough in the Reader’s Digest, December 2002, author of John Adams and 1776: “The best way to know where the country is going is to know where we've been…But why bother about history anyway? …that's done with, junk for the trash heap. Why history? Because it shows us how to behave. [It] teaches and reinforces what we believe in, what we stand for. History is about life – human nature, the human condition and all its trials and failings and noblest achievements… Everything we have, all our good institutions, our laws, our music, art and poetry, our freedoms, everything is because somebody went before us and did the hard work... faced the storms, made the sacrifices, kept the faith… If we deny our children that enjoyment [of historical story telling]… then we’re cheating them out of a full life.” We cannot walk in our ancestors’ shoes; we can only imagine the way their life was from recorded history. And, though their life seems from a simpler time, it was much more difficult, even harsh, in so many ways. We can also look back with knowledge gained from their experiences, both good and bad. With stoic determination, our ancestors left families and homes behind to sail across an ocean with hopes of building a better life in a new country, tame the wilderness, and push back the western frontier. Typically, they never again saw the “old country” or family left behind. How easy it is for us just to hop in the car for a visit to relatives, or take a flight to faraway places! We have no idea what hardships our ancestors truly faced. As you research, consider the reasons your ancestors left behind all they knew. This will give you a better appreciation for the people and their times. We know the Pilgrims arrived at Plymouth in 1620 seeking religious freedom. In 1609, sailing for the Netherlands, Henry Hudson explored the Atlantic coastline and river which bears his name, looking for the Northwest Passage. Soon after, the Dutch built their vast empire, establishing a presence in New Amsterdam and New Netherlands that helped create New York what it is today, especially the city and eastern half of the state. But, few realize it was the Dutch influence on our early legal and governmental systems, the city’s early design, free trade, individual rights, religious liberty, and language that made New Amsterdam a world hub well before the 1664 British takeover and renaming it New York City. A must read is the excellent book in my personal library by Russell Shorto, “The Island at the Center of the World”, to understand the influence and legacy of that little Dutch colony. The idea of a district attorney or public prosecutor began as the Dutch Schout (Scout). A home’s front stoep/stoop or step often held hearings to settle neighborhood disputes. Baas/boss is Dutch, koekjes/cookies are Dutch, and even our Santa Claus evolved from the Dutch Sint Nicklaas. New York City’s Bowery district was part of Pieter Stuyvesant’s bouwerij, aka farm, cared for by my ancestor, Pieter Claesz/Claesen Wijkoff (Wyckoff). Pieter sailed October 8, 1636 from Texel, Netherlands as a teen to work on the Rensselaerswyck plantation. Owned by Dutch financier, Kiliaen van Rensselaer, it was located where the city stands today. Pieter’s house, now the Wyckoff House Museum at Clarendon Road, Brooklyn, built c.1652, displays a collection of early Dutch artifacts reflecting New Amsterdam’s history. Guns at New Amsterdam Fort formed the battery on Manhattan, today’s Battery Park. Wall Street was de wal, a row of palisades erected to protect the burgeoning town against Indian raids. Brooklyn was Breuckelen or broken land; Harlem was Nieuw Haarlem named for the city in the province of Friesland; Flushing was Vlissingen. Albany, founded by early Dutch, is the oldest continuous settlement in the original 13 colonies. The Hudson valley region up through the Mohawk River and Schenectady was settled by early Dutch before other nationalities arrived to claim their place in history. Throughout the entire New Netherlands region, my maternal Dutch, German, Swiss, French, English, and Scots ancestors settled and established their presence extensively in and among Native Americans from the 1630s. Searching for your ancestors will help show when, where and how your family fits into America’s history. We are a nation built by immigrants of various ethnic backgrounds seeking a better way of life. Essentially, there were four major waves of immigrants to our American shores over the last several centuries. Colonial immigration, begun in the early 17th century, peaked just before the Revolutionary War broke out in 1775. The second wave began in the 1820s, lasting until the depression of the 1870s. The greatest influx of immigrants came in the third wave from the 1880s through the early 1920s (with my and my husband’s Dutch immigrants arriving in the early to mid-1920s), while the fourth, and continuing, wave is said to have begun about 1965. Our ancestors immigrated for religious, economic and political reasons. They sought to enjoy our government-protected freedoms, to escape wars and famines and diseases, to own land, and to seek employment opportunities to provide a better way of life for their families. Ultimately, we were melded together to form a blend of cultures and ethnicities which have become uniquely American. Our next segment will begin to look at specifics on how and where to search for your elusive ancestors.

As each year draws to a close, we tend to be a bit nostalgic, looking back to remember where the prior year has taken us. This past year of 2020 marked the emergence of new problems we’d never dealt with before… a contagious world-wide pandemic called Covid-19, perhaps akin to the Spanish flu problems of a century ago. Along the way, businesses were burned and destroyed by demonstrations and riots. Cancel culture decided who and what we can remember. Small businesses were shuttered for good after devastating losses from governmental lock-downs to prevent disease spread, while larger stores remained open. We were afraid to venture out for work, school, and necessary staples; but, when we did, we wore masks and sanitized everything we could to help control virus spread. Too many lives were lost, while many more of our loved ones did survive the coronavirus. And, a new normal was born. We despaired. We became depressed. Yet, despite all the negatives we lived through, we have hope as we face an uncertain future. We have our family and friends, and the love we share will see us through many a change. But we also have our Lord at our side, ready to take our hand and walk with us across the threshold of a new year and into the unknown. It was a simple photo of a wooden fence taken by my friend, Fran Van Staalduinen. But it said so much. The remaining section of an old weathered wood fence stood without a gate, enveloped by a dense hedgerow of lush green bushes and vines. Nearby stood a tree in full leaf as I imagined ample branches out of view reaching upward and outward, overshadowing all to provide cooling shade. Sunlight managed to penetrate the thick canopy of leaves, spreading out a dappled glow at the foot of the tree. And through the aperture left by the open gate, my gaze was drawn to a matted path as it wound its way into a bright sunny field of rich grasses growing wild and free… beckoning us to venture out into the unknown. Fran’s photo taken in 2015 instantly drew me in – I loved it at first sight! And it’s literally worth a thousand words. Immediately, I felt that the tree resembled the family patriarch with an overarching reach, covering his children and their children and their children (you get the idea) with his love… rather like our God and His love! And, then I saw the open gate as indicative of life… for life is like an open path set before us. We can either sit back, be afraid to take hold of life’s possibilities and stay safe, sheltered by the familiar… or, we can move forward through the open gate as we find our way out into the world, often by trial and error among life’s vicarious ups and downs. These thoughts fittingly reminded me of the song by David Gates (of the 1970s rock group, Bread), “If a picture paints a thousand words…” Derived from an axiom we’re all familiar with, “A picture is worth a thousand words,” that phrase aptly fits Fran’s photo. American in origin, the phrase became popular in the early 20th century with its initial use attributed to Arthur Brisbane (editor of the Syracuse Advertising Men’s Club). In March 1911, he instructed fellow newspapermen to “Use a picture. It’s worth a thousand words.” As I continued to contemplate Fran’s photo and the imagery the scene created, I realized that we most often gain wisdom along our journey of life when we travel the unknown and difficult paths. Yet, we can also simply take that first step forward in faith knowing that, no matter what lies ahead, there is Someone, our Lord, who will guide our steps along the way. Which, in turn, brought to mind a few of my favorite Scripture verses: “Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path” (Psalm 119:105) as we “Trust in the Lord with all [our] heart and lean not on [our] own understanding. In all [our] ways acknowledge Him and He will direct [our] paths.” (Proverbs 3:5-6) For “Blessed is the man who does not walk in the counsel of the wicked or stand in the way of sinners or sit in the seat of mockers. But his delight is in the law of the Lord, and on his law he meditates day and night. He is like a tree planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in season and whose leaf does not wither. Whatever he does prospers.” (Psalm 1:1-3) Especially as we begin a new year, “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace so you trust in him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.” (Romans 15:13) What fitting reassurance we find as we look to our Lord to guide and lead us through the open gate of life! A very Happy and Blessed New Year to each of you! You Lead Me On Linda A. Roorda You lead me on through an open gate To a world beyond that beckons my heart Where sunlit vistas and dappled shadows Reveal rich treasures along life’s journey. You lead me on over paths unknown To guide my steps as I learn from You You light my way that once seemed dark As joy I find with You at my side. You lead me on and guide my voice For only when I seek Your heart Is wisdom gained to handle life When darts assail and cares weigh me down. You lead me on so I may know That even though my feet may stumble You care enough to pick me back up As loving grace and mercy set free. You lead me on to praise your name Within the turmoil and waves of despair For it’s often then I know You carry My reeling heart through pain and loss. You lead me on that I may learn The lessons found in trials faced For wisdom gained first walks the path From troubled storm to the heart at peace. You lead me on to songs of joy As morning dawns with light of day Hope in the truth, cleansing for the soul And faith in Your love to guide my way home.

I trust you had a blessed Christmas with your family, or even celebrating from a distance but still keeping in touch! It always brings joy to hear from our kids and Grands : ) I also started sewing a new recliner quilt for Ed (photo attached) – the center panel and fabrics from three different friends, yet they mesh so well as if purchased together! But, I made a mistake in sewing. Had to rip it out and redo a side panel. Isn't that how God takes the pieces of our life and fits them all together perfectly?! And that got me thinking about this old blog, The Master Tailor. Enjoy! Sent with much love and hugs, Linda I love to sew! And to think it all started in 7th grade Home Ec sewing class in Clifton, NJ. Making a simple A-line skirt and a beach wrap (displayed on the wall by the teacher) were the humble beginnings of better things to come. With my mom too busy caring for a new baby brother to teach me more, my dad’s mother took me under her wings. A former professional seamstress, Grammy helped me sew a western shirt, not an easy project with those angled points, and taught me well to use the seam ripper. I learned to rip out my mistakes, start over, and make it right! After all, in making life mistakes, it’s how we accept correction or change that makes all the difference. So, when I tried to make a quilt on my own, totally wrong, my Grammy taught me the correct way. She gifted me with several fabrics as I made a cardboard template to cut out 6-inch squares. Laying the fabric squares out on the living room floor, I set them in a pattern, sewed up the long strips, and then sewed each long strip side by side. With that success, Grammy then gifted me with fabric every Christmas over several years for yet more skirts and dresses. After my family moved to Lounsberry, NY in 1969, I bought a c.1900 treadle machine that my auctioneer cousin, Howard, was selling for only $3. My dad oiled it, fixed the tension, got a new leather belt for the wheels, and my sewing obsession took off. More skirts, suits and dresses were made on that treadle machine to carry me through high school, including my prom gown and wedding gown. Turning 20 on my first birthday after we married, my husband bought me a new Singer electric sewing machine! And oh, if it could talk, the miles of thread and fabric it has sewn in clothes for myself, shirts for my husband, clothes for my children, and tiny clothes for their dolls. And, now, using this same sewing machine, I’ve been making quilts in log cabin and prairie window designs, along with simple and more-detailed table runners. And how I wish my dear Grammy could see them for she taught me well! Have you known that feeling of contentment as you worked to create something of value for yourself or others? Have you known what it feels like to be so engrossed in a project that you lose all sense of time? Have you known the frustration of having to take the time to rip out a seam, or correct something that just wasn’t right? And, because you did so, you then felt the satisfaction of seeing your finished project in all its beauty? Maybe that’s how God views us when we recognize His hand guiding us through life’s ups and downs. David said it so well, “If the Lord delights in a man’s ways, he makes his steps firm; though he stumble, he will not fall, for the Lord upholds him with his hand.” (Psalm 37:23-24) This poem was written in a reflective moment, remembering that various mistakes, hardships, and testing over the years have helped define character and create who we are deep in our soul. At times, I’ve not paid sufficient attention to my sewing, made mistakes, and had to employ that seam ripper. I’ve also realized what a life lesson that holds… because admitting I’ve made an error is the first step to correcting it, and then learning from it. I may not want to face the trials which might be coming in the future; but, in looking back, neither can I imagine life without the hardships we have worked through. They refine our life and shape us for the better… just like the seam ripper’s cutting edge. And I also can’t help but realize that the Lord knows what He’s doing as He works His will through those trials which He allows each of us to face. “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him...” (Romans 8:28, NIV) For through these difficulties, He shapes and molds us into the unique and special person He means for us to be. The Master Tailor Linda A. Roorda As the seamstress sits and begins to sew Her loving care goes into each stitch And correlation stirs within her thoughts Of the Creator’s design deep in her soul. In her mind’s eye she sees it take shape From simple concept to finished result And beams with joy, her dream made complete As she holds with pride her creation dear. But what the world just cannot see Are errors which loomed about to destroy For outward beauty can never reveal The seam ripper’s hand in disciplined cuts. When I beheld what the seamstress had wrought I could not miss the significant key Of one who deftly shaped my own soul From even before my life came to be. The Master Tailor gazed into the future And pondered the me who I should be. He planned and designed each path for my good As He cut and sewed the fabric of me. He carefully stitched and eased the seams And reigned in penchants of wayward threads, But now and then along the way The seam ripper’s edge He gently employed. For don’t you see without the hardships Life’s burdens and pain cannot reflect The greater good down deep in my heart As seam ripper cuts shape my will to His. On a journey I am, a work in progress For someday when my time has come He’ll gaze upon His workmanship And see exactly who He planned me to be. ~~ 2013

If there’s anything that exemplifies the Christmas season, it’s the music. The familiar faith-based carols and popular melodies embody the meaning of a beloved holiday as well as add to our joyous spirits. But Christmas music back in the early days of America wasn’t what we think of today. Obviously, there were no radios for listening to popular tunes, no records, cassettes, CDs or MP3s to buy. And, if anyone was dreaming of a white Christmas, it certainly wasn’t with a popular tune! It was simply the beauty of a night made more silent by the pristine-white ground cover, and the time it took to harness the horse and ready the sleigh for a trip thru the woods and over the river to Grandma’s welcoming arms. It’s hard to believe now, but centuries ago the singing of Christmas carols was officially banned from the medieval church! Undeterred, hearty souls who loved to sing songs of their faith went door to door, singing to their friends. That is, until Oliver Cromwell put a ban on this activity in 17th century England. Even the early American Puritans did not celebrate Christmas, and William Bradford ordered those slackers back to work who dared to celebrate – after all, Christmas was not a holiday… not yet, anyway! It wasn’t until 1870 that we Americans officially recognized Christmas as a “Federal” holiday. Prior to that, festivities began to be popular about 1840; previously, celebrations were considered “unchristian.” Biblically, early Christians were encouraged to “speak to one another with psalms, hymns, and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord…” (Ephesians 5:19 NIV) So, it’s really no wonder songs of joy have been in the hearts of those who celebrated Christ’s birth over the centuries, including our ancestors. In the Roman Catholic Church, perhaps the oldest Christmas song was written by St. Hilary of Poitiers in the early 4th century. The Latin “Jesus refulsit omnium” or “Jesus illuminates all” is believed to have been written by St. Hilary in 336 AD for the first Christmas celebration. Aurelius Prudentius, a Christian poet also of the Roman Catholic Church, wrote “Corde natus ex Parentis” (i.e. Of the Father’s Love Begotten”), a 4th century hymn, not a Christmas carol per se`. A few years later in 354 AD, the Roman Catholic Church drew up a list of bishops, with a note for 336 AD: "25 Dec.: natus Christus in Betleem Judeae." (i.e. December 25, Christ born in Bethlehem, Judea.) Thus, December 25, 336 is believed to be the “first recorded celebration of Christmas” (i.e. Christ’s mass) even though no one knows the actual date of Jesus’ birth. In the early 13th century, Italy’s St. Francis of Assisi used live “Nativity Plays” with singing of carols to revive a Christmas spirit among his parishioners. As Christianity spread, the Roman Catholic Church began singing “Angel’s Hymns” at the Christmas mass, and other churches followed the example across Europe. Over time, new carols were written with Scripture-based themes, and traveling minstrels shared the music on their travels. Though once banned, the old carols regained popularity as common folk sang privately or in special bands for Christmas Eve services. Eventually, Christmas carols were welcomed in the church worship service, and continue to thrive today not only in our many church hymn books, but have also been made popular via modern media. Most carols we sing today are only a few centuries old, written in the 18th and 19th centuries, while many newer carols and popular songs were written in the latter 19th through the 20th centuries, with even newer and more contemporary Christmas music written in the mid-20th century through this current 21st century. With carols being songs expressing our joy, and knowing their origins, they are especially meaningful to us as we sing our favorites during the Advent and joyous Christmas season. Only one verse is shared of each song except the last two; you will easily find the balance in your hymnbook or in an online search. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel – a long-time favorite, a song of the medieval era, perhaps written in the 9th century by a monk or nun. John Mason Neale, an Anglican priest of the early 19th century in the Madeira Islands near Africa, translated this Latin poem from an ancient book of poetry and hymns he had discovered. Neale is believed to have used musical accompaniment from a 15th century funeral hymn of French Franciscan nuns, as per a manuscript at the National Library of Paris. The tune we still sing today is based on the ancient “plainsong” rhythmic style. There are eight or nine original verses, but the typical church hymnal uses five. Oh, come, oh, come, Emmanuel, And ransom captive Israel, That mourns in lonely exile here Until the Son of God appear. Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to you, O Israel! God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen – though the composer of both this carol and the tune are unknown, it has been sung in churches as far back as the 16th century. First published in 1827 or 1833 (source difference), it was traditionally sung in the streets of London by watchmen and among revelers in taverns. In fact, Charles Dickens referenced it in “A Christmas Carol.” When Ebenezer Scrooge heard this song being joyfully sung in the street, something he could not abide, he threatened to hit the singer with a ruler! It has been popularized by numerous 20th century recordings. Originally, there were eight verses. God rest ye merry, gentlemen, let nothing you dismay, Remember Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day; To save us all from Satan's power when we were gone astray. Refrain: O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy; O tidings of comfort and joy. Joy to the World – this favorite carol by Isaac Watts was published in 1719 in his book, “The Psalms of David.” Based on his paraphrase of Psalm 98, it does not reference the traditional Christmas story found in Luke 2. Though not being written for Christmas per se`, it celebrates Christ’s coming again as all earth rejoices – completing the reason for His humble birth in Bethlehem. There are four verses to this very joyful and beloved carol. Joy to the world! The Lord is come; Let earth receive her King; Let every heart prepare him room, And heaven and nature sing, And heaven and nature sing, And heaven, and heaven, and nature sing. Hark! The Herald Angels Sing – one of over 6000 hymns written by Britain’s prolific hymnist, Charles Wesley, this carol was penned in 1739 as a poem of ten verses. An original line, “Glory to the newborn King” was later changed by Wesley’s student, George Whitfield, to “Glory to the King of kings.” That change led to a rift between the two men with Whitfield eliminating some of the verses, yet this carol is considered one of the richest theological assets to the church hymnal. Its melody was written by Felix Mendelssohn, a familiar name as he was quite the musician and composer himself. Hark! The herald angels sing, “Glory to the newborn King; Peace on earth, and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!” Joyful, all ye nations, rise, Join the triumph of the skies; With the angelic host proclaim, “Christ is born in Bethlehem!” Hark! The herald angels sing, “Glory to the newborn King.” Angels We Have Heard on High – this popular nativity carol originated in 18th century France among the people who truly love to sing their “Chants de Noel” or Christmas carols. The title is taken directly from Scripture, Luke 2:14, using Latin for the chorus: “Gloria in excelsis Deo” (i.e. Glory to God in the highest). The carol entirely references Luke 2:6-20, and was first published in North America for the Diocese of Quebec in the “Nouveau recueil de cantiques” (i.e. New Hymnal) of 1819. It was first published in the Methodist hymnal in 1935. There were four original verses. Angels we have heard on high Sweetly singing o’er the plains, And the mountains in reply Echoing their joyous strains. Refrain: Gloria in excelsis Deo! Gloria in excelsis Deo! Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht! or Silent Night, Holy Night! – the simple yet elegant words to this beloved carol were written as a poem in 1816 by Joseph Mohr, Catholic priest at Mariapfarr. Two years later, Mohr had become priest for St. Nicholas’ Church at Oberndorf in the beautiful Austrian Alps. When the organ broke just before Christmas, Mohr took his poem to the organist, Franz Gruber, asking him to write an easy tune for singing with guitar. Gruber then composed the organ accompaniment several years later. But, if it were not for the organ repairman taking a copy of the song with him and sharing it with others, one of our favorite carols might have remained a seldom heard Austrian folksong. In 1859 or 1863, Mohr’s original poem of six verses was translated from German into the familiar English version by an Episcopal priest, John Freeman Young - verses 1, 6, 2 being what we sing today. Read more history at Stille Nacht Gesellschaft. This carol was sung during a WW I truce between American and German troops. Men climbed out of battlefield trenches to celebrate their beloved holiday together, while the war carried on as usual the next day. The Austrian von Trapp family (of The Sound of Music fame) included this carol in their singing tours, helping to popularize it in the U.S. after they had escaped the Nazi regime during WW II. Silent night, holy night, All is calm, all is bright Round yon virgin mother and Child. Holy Infant so tender and mild, Sleep in heavenly peace, Sleep in heavenly peace. Cantique de Noel, or O Holy Night – my absolute favorite, this poem was written in 1847 by Placide Cappeau de Roquemaure, priest in a small French town, for mass that Christmas Eve. His friend, Adolphe Charles Adams, was asked by Cappeau to write the musical score. Unfortunately, learning that Cappeau was a socialist and Adams was a Jew, the church leaders banned the song, proclaiming it was not appropriate for worship services. Fortunately for us, the parishioners loved the song so much they sang it anyway! John Sullivan Dwight, an abolitionist, was deeply moved by the phrase, “chains shall He break, for the slave is our brother, and in His Name all oppression shall cease,” and published the song in his American magazine during the Civil War. Across the sea, O Holy Night was sung by a French soldier on Christmas Eve in 1871 during war between France and Germany. Climbing out of the trenches and walking onto the battlefield alone, the brave young man began singing, “Minuit, Chretiens, c’est l’heure solennelle ou L’Homme Dieu descendit jusqu’a nous,” the first line in French. Then, a German soldier climbed out of his foxhole to sing another carol, “Vom Himmel noch, da komm’ ich her. Ich bring’ euch gute neue Mar, Der guten Mar bring’ ich so viel, Davon ich sing’n und sagen will.” “From heaven to earth I come” is a carol written in 1534 by the reformationist, Martin Luther. Feeling the bon homme of Christmas, fighting ceased for 24 hours, with the French church subsequently welcoming this beautiful and popular carol in their worship services. O holy night! The stars are brightly shining It is the night of the dear Savior's birth! Long lay the world in sin and error pining Till he appear'd and the soul felt its worth. A thrill of hope the weary soul rejoices For yonder breaks a new and glorious morn! Refrain: Fall on your knees Oh hear the angel voices Oh night divine Oh night when Christ was born Oh night divine Oh night divine What Child is This? – this poem was written by William C. Dix in 1865 (1837-1898), an Anglican layman born in England, who lived and worked in Glasgow, Scotland. It is believed the hymn was written to fit the tune of Greensleeves, a traditional English melody which dates to the 16th century. Shakespeare actually referred to this particular tune in his play, “Merry Wives of Windsor.” Though Dix references the traditional Nativity scene of Luke 2:8-16, the original poem entitled, “The Manger Throne,” also refers to Christ’s later suffering on the cross. What Child is this who, laid to rest On Mary's lap is sleeping? Whom Angels greet with anthems sweet, While shepherds watch are keeping? (The following section of this first verse is used as chorus for each subsequent stanza): This, this is Christ the King, Whom shepherds guard and Angels sing; Haste, haste, to bring Him laud, The Babe, the Son of Mary. I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day – In 1861, tragedy struck America’s beloved poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, author of “Paul Revere’s Ride” and “The Song of Hiawatha.” In July, the flame from a candle ignited his wife’s dress. She ran to her husband’s study where he tried to put out the flames with a small rug and then by wrapping his arms around her. She died the next morning, but his face was so injured he could not attend her funeral. After their eldest son went off to war, Lt. Charles Longfellow was nearly paralyzed by a bullet passing between his shoulder blades in November 1863. Traveling to Charley’s side, a still grieving widowed father sat down Christmas Day 1863 and wrote this poem from personal anguish, yet with a heart of hope as the church bells rang out… for God is not dead! Peace on earth, good will to men. I heard the bells on Christmas Day Their old, familiar carols play, and wild and sweet, The words repeat Of peace on earth, good-will to men! … …And in despair I bowed my head; "There is no peace on earth," I said; "For hate is strong, And mocks the song Of peace on earth, good-will to men!" Then pealed the bells more loud and deep: "God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; The Wrong shall fail, The Right prevail, With peace on earth, good-will to men." Away in the manger – traditionally thought to have been written by Martin Luther in the 16th century, it first appeared in a Lutheran Church hymn book in 1885. It is now believed the song was not written by Luther, but was a song published anonymously in the Lutheran children’s songbook and given the title of Luther’s Cradle Song. The third verse was written by Dr. John T. McFarland, a Sunday School superintendent. Long considered a child’s hymn, and perhaps the best well known, it captures our hearts with its simplicity. Christmas is not about the gold, glitter and gifts. It’s the story about God humbly coming to earth as a newborn baby for our redemption. His earthly parents found no room of comfort in the inn for the birth of their first child. Instead, baby Jesus was born in a stable, surrounded by cattle, donkeys, and likely cats, mice and other animals, and was laid to rest upon a humble bed of hay in a manger, a feed trough. (Luke 2:1-7) Away in a manger, no crib for a bed, The little Lord Jesus laid down His sweet head. The stars in the sky looked down where He lay, The little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay. May each of you and your families be blessed with a most wonderful Merry Christmas! With much love, Linda and Ed.

Glad you like our little Spencer! I, too, love Owego with its quaint and updated shops down Lake and Front Streets 🙂 Otherwise, since Ed can no longer travel, I'm content at home here too enjoying my gardens 🙂

Welcome to the world of genealogy research where your ancestors come alive! It’s exciting to put names, faces, and personalities to your family’s past. Here, we’ll delve into clues to find those whose genes flow through your veins, and who contributed their part to who you’ve become today. But, I need to warn you – it’s addicting! I used this poem, Dear Ancestor, in the 600+ page manuscript I wrote on researching my mother’s complete ancestral history. Your tombstone stands among the rest, Neglected and alone. The name and date are chiseled out On polished, marbled stone. It reaches out to all who care It is too late to mourn. You did not know that I exist You died and I was born. Yet each of us are cells of you In flesh, in blood, in bone. Our blood contracts and beats a pulse Entirely not our own. Dear Ancestor, the place you filled One hundred years ago Spreads out among the ones you left Who would have loved you so. I wonder if you lived and loved, I wonder if you knew That someday I would find this spot, And come to visit you. By: Walter Butler Palmer (1868-1932), written in 1906 Several years ago I gave a two-part seminar for the Spencer, New York Historical Society on researching ancestors. In this column, I’d like to revisit that arena because you may be starting your research journey, may have hit a brick wall or two or more, or maybe just want to find a little more information on your elusive ancestors. The key to starting a study of your family’s history is through personal research of family records, census records, church records, cemetery records, and war records, etc. This series was originally published biweekly in the former local newspaper, “Broader View Weekly.” My intention is to expand the articles and provide interesting historical backgrounds. Many of you know I also wrote other personal interest/interview articles for that paper, and began a blog, “Life on the Homestead/Homespun Ancestors”. To introduce my genealogy work and credentials, I researched and documented both of my mother’s parents back to the early 1600s Dutch of New Amsterdam and the greater New Netherlands, including founders of New York City and the Albany and Schenectady area. Along the way, a few French, Belgian and English folk became part of my family with their own fascinating histories. My lines next include numerous 1710 German/Swiss Palatine immigrants documented from church records in Germany and Switzerland as researched and published by Henry Z. Jones, Jr., and the ca. 1718-1720 Scots-Irish immigrants to Massachusetts Colony, founders of the Londonderry, New Hampshire region. Among various genealogy reference books, there are two books in my personal library which were invaluable to my early research: “The Palatine Families of New York, 1710, Vols. I and II” by Henry Z. Jones, Jr., and the incomparable background history of the Palatines and their travails in “Early Eighteenth Century Palatine Emigration” by Walter Allen Knittle, Ph.D. I am not a professional genealogist, but a hobby researcher who loves history. I had no prior training, but learned along the way with the help of kind strangers met on my journey. Several even turned out to be distant cousins with whom I continue to maintain a close friendship. My quest began with my mother’s family tree in hand. Though I never saw the actual tree (which now belongs to one of my cousins), it hung on the wall in my maternal Tillapaugh family farmhouse in Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York. In 1969, my Mom carefully copied down all the names from the tree for my first Bible. Then, in 1998, I purchased a book on my paternal Dutch Visscher genealogy from a distant relative who works at The Hague’s genealogy center. I also have “The Dallenbachs in America” which documents my maternal Swiss Dallenbach/Tillapaugh ancestry. It includes a photo showing my mom’s parents at the 1910 Tillapaugh Reunion on the Hutton Homestead, settled in the early 19th century. My mother’s two oldest brothers inherited this dairy farm, and my cousins continue to run it. But, it was another item which actually launched my deeper research. In 1999, a photo was offered on the Schoharie County Genweb email site noting these words penciled on the back: “First Tillapaugh Reunion July 1910, Hutton Homestead.” As noted above, my uncles inherited this farm from our Hutton ancestors, and my cousins still farm it today. Informing the seller (a professor and antique enthusiast) of my immediate family ties to the photo (showing my grandparents and paternal great-grandparents), he offered it for my purchase, and I was determined to learn more about my ancestors. And part of that photo is featured above as my header image. (see photo attached.) Out of my several years of extensive research and documentation came three articles published in the “New York Genealogical and Biographical Record” (NYGBR), which are in Elmira’s Steele Library Genealogy Section where I researched many Saturday mornings. You can also find the NYGBR in Cornell University’s genealogy library, or other libraries with such holdings. If there is no viable genealogy library near you, your local library can obtain various books and journals for you through the inter-library loan system which I also used extensively. My first article was titled, “Which Elizabeth Van Dyck Married John Hutton?” (NYGBR REC.135:31 – REC indicates the volume, followed by the page on which the article appears). It documented use of the Dutch naming pattern to clarify which of three Elizabeth Van Dycks married the shipwright John Hutton, not the goldsmith, of the same name. They were all of New York City and documented in records of the late 1600s and early 1700s. Though this naming pattern is endemic to the Dutch, other ethnic groups used a similar pattern, but not as consistently or as extensively over the centuries as the Dutch. They faithfully followed a pattern of naming the first two sons after the children’s grandfathers, and the first two daughters after the grandmothers. Thereafter, children were named after the respective great-grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles, or even the baptism sponsors. I absolutely enjoyed mapping families using this naming pattern in the online baptismal records of the early Dutch Reformed Churches of New York City, Albany and Schenectady. My second article, “The Family of John Hutton and Elizabeth Van Dyck,” (REC.136:45; 136:135; and 136:193) again used the Dutch naming pattern to determine that Elizabeth Deline Hutton’s parents most probably were William and Ariantje Deline. I could not accept that a prior researcher had published as fact (and believed by multiple genealogists with whom I was in contact) that she was the daughter of 63-year-old Margrietje Clute Deline, a woman who was more likely Elizabeth Deline’s grandmother. If mother of Elizabeth, Margrietje would’ve held a world record for sure if that were true! This article delineated John Hutton’s descendants (some not previously documented in this family), including my ancestors who settled on the above-noted Hutton Homestead in Carlisle, New York in the early 19th century. My research article also corrected other mistakes in lineage, and corrected wrong Revolutionary War data chiseled onto my ancestor’s tall obelisk monument. There were two Lt. Timothy Huttons, my ancestor and his younger nephew. I proved the military data on the monument is actually that of the younger Lt. Tim Hutton. Oh, but it pays off to do your own thorough research! My third article, “The McNeill Family of Carlisle, Schoharie County,” (REC.139:123; 139:217; 139:313) documented the descendants of John McNeill, mariner, of Boston [Massachusetts] and New Boston [New Hampshire]. John’s wife, Hannah Caldwell McNeill, died (presumably) soon after childbirth, while John likely died at sea as per estate records purchased (no cemetery record available). This left their only son, John Caldwell McNeill, an orphan, raised by his mother’s parents in and around Londonderry, New Hampshire. About 1795, John C. removed his family to Carlisle, NY. The McNeills had never been documented as a family, and I knew of only one son, my ancestor, Jesse. But, piece by piece, a family was built from John C.’s Revolutionary War pension file (which had an affidavit by son Jesse, no other children’s names), census records, cemetery stones, other family war pension files, obituaries, historical society data, out-of-state historical books the local Spencer Library graciously ordered for me, and from other descendants who replied to data I posted online. Unfortunately, I know nothing about one daughter, and only the nickname of one other daughter. Again, there is no substitute for the hard work of personal research and documentation; but, making friends with researchers of the same lines, and sharing data, goes a long way to helping you find your ancestors! It is my hope to inspire you by providing valuable tips on researching your ancestors in future articles. But, again, fair warning – it’s addicting!

More than just the popular Christmas evergreen to celebrate the holiday, the Christmas tree has a storied background. Holding treasured memories for each of us, it’s been said to represent strength, perhaps to resist temptations or to remain strong in harsh times. We often consider it a symbol of our Christian faith, a reminder of Christ’s birth and everlasting life, but it has also been an ancient symbol of wisdom and longevity. President John F. Kennedy referred to the durable evergreen as a symbol of character by saying, “Only in winter can you tell which trees are truly green. Only when the winds of adversity blow can you tell whether an individual or a country has courage and steadfastness.” Martin Luther, credited with starting the Protestant Reformation in 1517, is said to have begun putting lit candles on his family’s tree to represent twinkling stars. Along with the beauty of candles or lightbulbs, various types of homemade decorations have been strung on trees, including popcorn, cranberries, and fancy ornaments from paper to glass. To serve their many customers, trees were brought to the cities by traditional means of delivery via teamsters with horse-drawn wagons and the popular steam locomotive. But, of especial interest among old-time city clientele, were the roughly 60 Christmas tree schooners which plied the waters of Lake Michigan between 1868 and 1914. They were among the nearly 2000 or so beautiful three-masted schooners carrying cargo like tractor trailers on today’s highways. Sailing south from northern Lake Michigan with loads of evergreens in late November, these hardy mariners risked their lives in stormy weather to bring great joy to their customers. Far from summer’s calm, late season sailing often became a ride on roiling and dangerous waters described as “hellish death traps [in] violent hurricane-force storms.” Many of us recall Gordon Lightfoot’s song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”, a haunting tale of loss on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975 – “…The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'. The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead, when the gales of November come early…” This last phrase was oft quoted by long-forgotten mariners on the Great Lakes who knew stormy tragedy; and, I’m sure, are among the fears of those who ply the late-season waters even now. Yet, not many of us know about the tragic loss of the three-masted schooner, “Rouse Simmons”, the famed and fabled Christmas Tree Ship. Born after the American Civil War’s conclusion in 1865, Capt. Herman Schuenemann, the son of German immigrants, knew Lake Michigan like the back of his hand. Sailing since his youth, he knew how storms could blow up in an instant, causing havoc with sailing vessels, just as he knew about storms which took ships down to their dark and bitter-cold watery graves. After all, he lost his brother, August, in the severe gale of November 9-10, 1898. His ship, the two-masted “S. Thal”, also held Christmas trees bound for Chicago when she sank in a violent storm. Loyal to folks of Chicago, Capt. Herman Schuenemann faithfully brought in his schooner loaded with Christmas trees every year. While not the only Christmas tree ship on the Great Lakes, the good captain was extremely popular at Chicago’s Clark Street Dock. The annual arrival of Capt. Santa’s ship was made more popular by the reciprocal love of his many friends and neighbors. He couldn’t think of disappointing the faithful who hoped to buy his trees for their homes, nor the poor families, orphanages, and churches which welcomed his free gift of a tree. It simply gave him great pleasure to sail into the Chicago harbor with his cargo of evergreen joy. Yet, some would later claim Schuenemann had overloaded his schooner that year, making her top heavy. At least one sailor, possibly several, refused to get on board when it was claimed rats were seen deserting while she was docked. Sailors can be a superstitious lot. Still, it’s long been known by old sea hands that if rats desert a ship, they know something’s amiss in what the inexperienced or unconcerned observer may overlook. Even so, Capt. Schuenemann set sail on a nearly 300-mile journey from Thompson’s Pier at Manistique, Michigan the week before Thanksgiving… November 22, 1912, a Friday, another bad omen. To the old mariners, you never set sail on a Friday… just past midnight into Saturday, but never Friday. Knowing a storm was brewin’, Schuenemann wanted to get ahead of it, ignoring advice from friends in the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. “The people of Chicago have to have their trees for Christmas.” (See film clip of Classicsailboats.org, “Herman Schuenemann, Captain Santa”) In the captain’s defense, though, even the official weather forecast on the day he sailed was not one that would have given rise to grave concern. “Washington, D.C., November 22, 1912 – For Wisconsin: Local rains or snow Saturday; colder at night; variable winds becoming northwest and brisk; Sunday fair. For Upper Michigan: Local snow or rains Saturday; variable winds, becoming northwest and west and brisk; Sunday fair. This would not be the kind of weather which a recreational yachtsman would relish, but it was hardly cause to stop the merchantmen.” (“Anchor News”, publication of the Wisconsin Maritime Museum, January/February 1990, by Fred Neuschel; p. 87, Pennington.) And so, undeterred, Schuenemann sailed out into the lake with his cargo of roughly 5000 trees… until the 50-60+ mph winds caught up with him. The gale-force winds laden with snow and ice took their toll on the hardy old ship built 44 years earlier. She was seen by a steamer about 2 p.m. on November 23, 1912, the car ferry “Ann Arbor No.5.” Noted to be riding low and listing badly, the captain of “Ann Arbor No.5” later claimed the “Simmons” was not running distress signals. He didn’t attempt to get closer to offer aid thinking she could make it safely to shore, later taking blame for his decision. Less than two hours after that sighting, however, the U.S. Lifesaving Station had received notice and sent a rescue motorboat out from Two-Rivers, Wisconsin during the fierce storm to find the “Simmons”. The rescuers briefly saw her riding low and listing with distress flags flying, reporting that “…she was completely iced over, with most of her rigging and sails tattered or gone.” As they drew within an eighth of a mile of the schooner, a sudden snow squall overwhelmed and “blinded them. By the time the squall blew itself out, the ‘Rouse Simmons’ was gone… There was no Christmas Tree Ship, no Captain Santa, and no trees for many needy families’”. (p.135, Pennington, quoting U.S. Coast Guard Magazine, Dec 2000) The late-season cold and stormy Great Lakes does not bring a pleasure sail. High winds angrily whip the lake into a mountainous frenzy, sending waves crashing over ship decks. The captain and his crew would fight the elements as their ship was tossed to and fro. Though all hands knew what to do in riding out such storms, surely they must have also realized they could go down at any moment. Realistically, there was only so much they could do. “Freezing temperatures would sheet rigging, sails and spars with heavy coats of ice. The accumulating weight of ice on the ship could ominously drag her deeper into the water, changing the center of gravity and making her prone to a sudden roll, from which she would never recover. Running any cargo on the old schooners was especially dangerous in the late season.” (“Went Missing II”, Frederick Stonehouse, Copyright 1984; pg.87, Pennington) Actually, four ships with all hands sank in that horrendous storm of 1912 – “South Shore,” “Three Sisters,” “Two Brothers,” and the “Rouse Simmons.” Having lost sight of the “Simmons” despite an extensive search which risked their own lives, the unsuccessful Two Rivers Point men returned to the rescue house. When the “Rouse Simmons” failed to appear at any dock after ten days, let alone her destination of Chicago’s Clark Street dock, it was determined she must have gone to the bottom of Lake Michigan. She was believed to have sunk on November 23, 1912, possibly somewhere between the Two Rivers Point light and Kewaunee along the Wisconsin shore. The Rouse Simmons Surprisingly, there were numerous conflicting reports of sightings and stories of her final hours, including supposed sightings that she had braved the storm just fine, confusion on the number of crew aboard, and even confusion as to why she had gone down. For years afterwards, evergreen trees and their remnants, including a few ship artifacts and skulls, were caught up in numerous fishing nets. Not until October 30, 1971, however, did diver, Kent Bellrichard, accidentally discover the “Rouse Simmons.” While searching for another ship with his sonar, he dove down into the depths to investigate his target at the bottom. Quite sure he had found the “Rouse Simmons”, Bellrichard returned a week later for another dive. This time, with better lighting, he found the schooner’s name and hundreds of Christmas trees in her hold, some tucked deep inside with needles still intact. (pg. 232-237, Pennington) Many more years passed before a fishing trawler netted a captain’s wheel in 1999. Determined to be from the “Rouse Simmons” by the year 1868 etched into the wheel’s metal, it was found in an area dubbed the ship graveyard for the many ships which have sunk in storms over the numerous past decades. It is now believed the “Simmons” did not break apart from age as had been initially surmised. With her wheel found a mile and a half north of where the schooner rested on the bottom, and noting the specific type of damage to the wheel, there seemed to be sufficient evidence as to why the good Capt. Schuenemann was unable to bring her safely in to shore. Judging from the damage to the wheel, it most likely broke off and sank when the massive mizzenmast driver boom, which supported the ship’s main sails, broke loose. Without the vital wheel to guide the ship’s direction, and with her larger-than-usual load of evergreens, being heavily coated with ice, her sails in tatters from gale-force winds, riding low and listing badly, she all too quickly sank below the surface with a total loss of life in the worst storm folks of that day could remember ever hitting their great lake. (pg. 214-215, Pennington) Despite the family’s loss, the captain’s wife, Barbara, was determined to continue her husband’s tradition. She and her daughters, Elsie, and twins Pearl and Hazel, began their annual trek in 1913 to the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. They cut down and loaded a schooner full of Christmas trees for the good folks of Chicago, sending more by train. Over time, fewer schooners brought Christmas trees into ports as the safer railroads took over. But, for now, Elsie, age 20, the Captain’s oldest daughter, a very capable trained mariner under her father’s tutelage, sailed the lake on a new Christmas Tree Ship to bring home the greens. Bringing shiploads of trees and green boughs to Chicago’s Clark Street dock at least until 1925 before sending all evergreens by rail, Barbara and her three daughters continued to bring the joy of the season to town just as the good Captain Santa had done. The family was beloved for their kindness and generosity in many ways, but especially during their own time of deepest grief when they thought of others. Hazel and Pearl Scheunemann, 1917 Yet, one little girl clearly remembered waiting for Capt. Scheunemann’s Christmas Tree Ship to sail into the Chicago harbor back in 1912. At age 5, Ruthie Erickson held her father’s hand as they waited at the dock for hours only to have her father finally say, “Ruthie, everybody is gone. It’s cold. The wind is blowing. We should go home now.” “But Daddy,” she replied, “it isn’t Christmas without a Christmas tree!” (p.316, Pennington) Decades later, 83-year-old Ruth (Erickson) Flesvig attended a play in 1990 about the beloved Captain Santa and his Christmas Tree Ship. As the play concluded, her presence unknown to anyone, the real “little Ruthie” walked up onto the stage to say that she had been there at the docks waiting and waiting for the good captain and his trees. Portraying Capt. Scheunemann was Capt. Dave Truitt, former Chairman of the Christmas Ship Committee who, in conjunction with the U.S. Coast Guard, helped restore the annual Christmas Tree Ship event in 2000. (p.304-305, Pennington). With tears in his eyes and everyone else’s, Capt. Truitt took one of the Christmas trees on stage and handed it to Ruth. With these words, he spoke for Capt. Scheunemann by saying, “I couldn’t give you a Christmas tree in 1912 when you were five because of reasons you now know, but I give this tree to you today. Merry Christmas, Ruthie!” (p.316-137, Pennington) Donating free trees to Chicago’s needy, the U.S. Coast Guard’s annual Christmas Tree Ship continues Capt. Schuenemann’s beloved tradition. Since 2000, the U. S. Coast Guard Cutter Mackinaw, an imposing icebreaker, arrives at Grand Avenue’s Navy Pier bearing a banner proclaiming her “Chicago’s Christmas Ship”. As large crowds gather, a memorial ceremony pays tribute to the “Rouse Simmons,” the lives lost when she sank, and others in the merchant marine trade who have lost their lives over the decades on Lake Michigan. Then, a large number of volunteers help deliver free Christmas trees to needy families throughout the city of Chicago in honor of Capt. Santa, their dear Capt. Herman Schuenemann. As author Rochelle Pennington concluded, “Captain Herman Schuenemann touched the lives of people he would never know, and the volunteers of Chicago’s Christmas Ship are doing the same… dispelling some of the darkness in this ‘weary world’ that there may be rejoicing in The Season of Miracles… [For] the strength of humanity lies herein: in the willingness for each of us to leave the walls of our own hearts, and our own lives, and connect with the hearts and lives of others. A Babe born in Bethlehem told us so. The Life born in the hay had come to say, ‘Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, serve one another in love, and share. And do unto others, for it is more blessed to give than it is to receive.” (p.317, Pennington) Merry Christmas and blessings to all! From the larger article, Of Christmas Trees and Christmas Tree Ships, on my blogsite, Homespun Ancestors, 12/14/2018. Painting used for featured image is by Charles Vickery

What does an old broken antique rocking chair have in common with Christmas? Read on... Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year! We all have special memories wrapped up like treasures from holidays past - the smell of fresh pine when just the right tree is brought in and set up, strands of beautiful colored or pure white lights, decorations from gorgeous and fancy to simple and elegant in an array of colors and styles, scrumptious cookies and candy being made with their aromas wafting through the house, busy days of shopping, and either making or looking for just the right gift for each loved one on our list, the stores beautifully decorated like no other time of the year, gifts wrapped and topped with beautiful bows and placed gently beneath the tree, Christmas music filling the air as we sing favorite carols, a fresh layer of snow to reward us with the white Christmas we’ve been dreaming of, as children (and adults) wait in eager anticipation of Santa’s arrival… Ahh... memories! Aren’t they wonderful? But, in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, I long for quiet time to pause and reflect on why we celebrate Christmas. It’s too cold to sit out in one of my gardens to contemplate, so thoughts run through my mind as I sit in an old rocking chair. My antique wooden rocker reminds me of when my dad brought it home from one of his cousin Howard’s auctions in Nichols 50-some years ago. It was broken. Needed one of its rockers replaced. So, he fashioned a new rocker to make the chair whole again. Then, my mom lovingly restored the dark mahogany wood to its natural shining luster. There’s a second rocking chair I often sit in to be near my husband in his recliner. Outwardly, it looks like new; nothing broken - but it squeaks if I rock too slowly. My in-laws knew how much I liked to sit in it over the years in their home, so they blessed me with it. But, why am I talking about rocking chairs, and a broken one at that? And at Christmas time no less! Because they remind me that that’s why Jesus left His heavenly home and came to this earth as a wee tiny precious baby to live among us. Our lives are broken… though perhaps not outwardly evident. We need someone to lovingly restore us… back to the luster and shine that we were intended to have, just like that old rocking chair. There is Someone willing to come alongside us, to forgive us on our repentance, to walk with us… gently calling us to Himself… a Savior ready to tenderly restore us with His gift of love… I have often wondered what it was like to have been Mary and Joseph, traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem, their first baby due soon. It was census time, and Bethlehem was Joseph’s home town. Caesar Augustus had decreed that every citizen should be counted in the entire Roman world. And so they went. I cannot imagine Mary riding a donkey all that distance, heavy with child, only to learn that they had arrived too late to get a clean, warm room. Ever have that experience? Traveling on the spur of the moment without making reservations ahead of time for your hotel of choice, only to find some convention has slipped into town, filling every room available? Now what do you do? Where do you go? Well, just maybe the next hotel will have a room… But, Joseph kept getting turned away, again and again, from every inn where he stopped. He must have felt so frustrated. He couldn’t even provide a warm, clean room for his dear wife, who was likely in labor by then. Finally, an innkeeper took compassion on the young couple and told them they could find shelter in his stable out back. Oh great! This was not exactly what they had hoped for, especially for the birth of their first child. But, at least it was warm, dry and quiet. Well, sort of… There were all those animals they’d have to share the smelly stable with – donkeys, sheep, oxen, a few cats chasing mice hither and yon, maybe even a few roosting chickens – and animals at night are not exactly that quiet. But, it was warm and dry. And, at least there weren’t hordes of people rushing around, talking loudly and keeping everyone else up all night long while they partied. Yes, a lowly stable would have to be good enough. Now, they could finally get some rest for the night and find a little peace and quiet… And then, in the dark of night, with only a small torch for light, Mary gave birth to her first-born son. She wrapped him in swaddling cloths and snuggled him close. After he fell asleep, she kissed his precious little face and lay him gently on the hay in a manger. And then came the visitors, some local shepherds, who told them how they’d heard about their baby’s birth. The shepherds told Mary and Joseph that while they were out in the fields, watching over their flocks for the night, they saw the angel of the Lord in all His glory. He shone so brightly that he lit up the world all around them! And they even admitted to Joseph and Mary how afraid they had been. Nothing like this had ever happened out on the hills before! What could it mean? But then they told how the angel had spoken gently to them saying, “Fear not! For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord. And this shall be a sign unto you. You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling cloths lying in the manger.’” Then, all of a sudden, a multitude of bright angels appeared in the heavens, surrounding them, praising God and saying, “‘Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.’” [Luke 2:8-14] Mary pondered all that had happened in her heart and soul during the days and years ahead. If we could only know what she was thinking as she watched her precious baby boy grow up, as she wondered about the life her Son would live… and ultimately give… for her… for us… just to make us whole again. ONE HOLY SILENT NIGHT Linda A. Roorda - 12/11/10 One bustling and boist’rous night A man sought a room, A special room for his wife About to give birth. No room! No room at the inn! Joseph kept hearing, But go look for your shelter With cattle o’er yon. A warm and pungent stable Mangers filled with hay, Peaceful, serene, inviting, Cattle mooing low. A cry pierces the darkness Mary tenderly smiles, A precious baby is born Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us. Shepherds gaze up astonished As angels descend Amid dazzling-lit heavens Singing, Peace on earth! To Bethlehem town they run Lowly stable to find, Promised Messiah to see, Savior of the world. Would I have recognized Him, This new baby boy? Would I have known His purpose, My Savior, My Lord? One holy and silent night God came down to man. In humility He served, His grace-filled plan to redeem.