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Linda Roorda

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  1. Linda Roorda

    Your Family Tree #1

    By Linda Roorda,

    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! 
  2. Linda Roorda
    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.
     
  3. Linda Roorda

    The Master Tailor

    By Linda Roorda,

    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 
     
  4. Linda Roorda

    You Lead Me On

    By Linda Roorda,

    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.
  5. Linda Roorda
    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.  
  6. Linda Roorda

    I Searched...

    By Linda Roorda,

    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.
    ~~
  7. Linda Roorda

    I Cannot See

    By Linda Roorda,

    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.
    ~~
  8. Linda Roorda
    As you begin your research, document everything, every step of the way.  Keep some paper files readily accessible, but enter data in a genealogy computer program; I have an older Family Tree Maker version.  I also have “tons” of file folders filled with family research data gleaned from online resources and reputable books, emails with fellow researchers, data from visits to or purchased from historical societies, cemetery data from personal trips, etc.  And then there’s the shoebox filled with several hundred census records on 4x6 index cards.  I also found it helpful to paperclip together each family’s successive census records. 
    As we’ve been discussing, the key is to seek documentation from reputable sources.  Try to clarify data accuracy yourself as even the best author makes a mistake.  I was very frustrated when the new editor for the New York Genealogical and Biographical Record, who oversaw my McNeill article, rewrote part of my work and erred in what I had originally said – instead of asking me to rewrite.  Not being as familiar with the family as I was, she also tied some footnote documentation to the wrong facts, which I somehow overlooked in my final editing, necessitating a correction in a subsequent journal issue, making me look inept.  I was not pleased, but kept my thoughts to myself. That’s why it’s important to use even the best of documentation as a place to start, and which you can document/prove by your own research.
    As we said previously, it’s helpful to use a family history form, like these at Genealogy Search. http://www.genealogysearch.org/free/forms.html.  This website has numerous forms to record your data, including blank census forms.  When I first began dabbling in genealogy research, I didn’t have this resource available, or at least didn’t know where or how to find it.  I initially did everything the old-fashioned way by writing it all out on paper.  It wasn’t until I’d typed most family histories for my tome that I was introduced to Family Tree Maker, something which I highly recommend obtaining at the start.  It stores your data, connects extended family ties, tracks individuals and families, makes multiple descendancy charts from any progenitor, includes photos, and helps you make a nice family booklet.
    To publish research as I did, you must prove new data (i.e. previously unpublished) or correct previously published data which you’ve proven is in error – both of which I did.  Every fact and every statement you make must be backed by solid documentation, with the source noted for each fact in a respective footnote.  If you make a habit of doing this right from the beginning of your research, you’ll at least prove your own lineage definitively without scrambling around for misplaced evidence.
    Edit, edit and re-edit your story.  I cannot stress that enough.  Every so often I’d print out my research, using color-coded paperclips to track each family branch of one progenitor in said draft copy.  Focus on one ancestral line until it’s as complete as possible before moving on to the next line. Believe me, it keeps you sane and less confused!  Back then, I had so many individual names and family ties in my head that I was a walking ancestral encyclopedia for a time… sharing a lot of early New Netherlands/New York history at the drop of a hat, and perhaps a bore to some listeners.
    After gathering as much data as you can about known ancestors, a good place to start researching further is at Ancestry.com.  www.ancestry.com.  They have free 1880 census records available, but paying their annual subscription fee will provide access to a greater wealth of records.  As a member, at your fingertips will be census records from 1790-1940 (excluding the lost 1890 records), certain military records, city and national records, land records, international records, submitted family trees, baptisms, marriages, social security death index, phone book data, some books, etc.  These resources were vital to my research, thanks to the generosity of a distant cousin and dear friend, Mimi, who shared her Ancestry site with me.  You will also find family lineages posted at this website; but, be aware that submitted family data can definitely be incomplete and inaccurate as I also discovered.
    Another good resource is Family Search, www.familysearch.org, a free website by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.  Search this website for the free down-loadable Personal Ancestral File (PAF).  Their data includes 1880 census records, baptism and marriage records, death/cemetery records and submitted family data, etc.  Again, be cautious as not all data submitted by individuals is accurate.
    Books and documents on microfilm can be ordered and viewed at a local LDS family history center.  Their resources can be invaluable as they include public records not readily available otherwise.  I used the Owego LDS church’s family history center, ordering several manuscripts/books on microfilm.  The editor for my McNeill article routinely flew to the main family history center in Salt Lake City, Utah to aid her editorial work, finding documentation from New Hampshire I had missed on prior researches.
    Your local public library is also a great resource of interlibrary loans.  I cannot say enough about the helpful ladies at my local Spencer Library.  They ordered many genealogical and historical books for me.  These books included invaluable town and county backgrounds from New York and other states from their earliest beginnings, including generational documentation on early families.
    Elmira’s Steele Library is among those in New York State which maintains a viable genealogical section, and I availed myself of their records for hours many Saturday mornings.  Their great collection includes the “New York Genealogical and Biographical Record”, the journal which published my articles, the “New England Genealogical Record”, early New York county history books, transcribed manuscripts of early New York City records, many family surname genealogy books, books on how and where to search, histories of family names and how they changed over the centuries, D.A.R. lists, and so much more. 
    Another resource is Cornell University’s library system.  My fear of getting on campus and finding my way around prohibited any attempt at investigating their tremendous genealogical and historical collection.  Most of their material is held in the Olin/Kroch building.  However, just as I was able to do, many of Cornell’s genealogical holdings may be ordered through your town library. 
    Coming Next – Brick walls...
     
     
  9. Linda Roorda
    PART I - Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “We are determined to work and fight until justice rains down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.”  Paraphrasing the Biblical book of Amos 5:24, King did just that with God at his side to challenge us to seek justice.  Sadly, slavery is still a profitable venture around the world, including in our nation under various guises.  It flourishes in over 100 countries with India, China, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Uzbekistan, and North Korea topping the charts.  And it continues to survive because of the illicit financial profit it brings to the traffickers.  
    Several years ago, I researched, read, and wrote this article, “The Underground Railroad,” for my historical blog.  In honor of February being Black History month, I’d like to share part of my extensive article in series format. We can collectively learn from history’s mistakes to understand and improve life for our future, but erasing history serves no good purpose.  Just as the slaves arrived with memories of their African homeland, values, religious beliefs, intellect, wisdom, music and song, artistry, and skills, so their old ways were fused with the newly learned, blending and creating a new way of life as they strove for freedom.  (My resources available on request, books listed at article’s completion.)
    Just mention the Underground Railroad and the words evoke images of slaves huddled together, speaking in hushed tones, making plans with great fear and yet tremendous hope, depending on certain symbols to guide them… of those with unspoken plans to escape entirely alone… of lonely walks through the dead of night… of traveling with extreme vigilance in broad daylight… of being concealed under the false bottom in the bed of a wagon carrying produce, hay or bricks, etc… of stowaways hidden aboard ships bound for northern cities… of being hidden in a home or barn until it was safe to move on again… all while living under the overwhelming fear of discovery at any moment by both passenger and conductor/stationmaster alike.
    In reality, the abolitionist movement took tremendous faith and courage on the part of every participant on this train of sorts.  Most often, it was facilitated by one’s faith in God and knowing that “all men are created equal…” as the U.S. Constitution avers.  There was a spiritual impetus in seeking emancipation for a people who should not be held captive as someone’s possession, regardless of how ancient the tradition of slavery might have been… even from Biblical times.  But it also took bravery and self-sacrifice for a seemingly “hodge-podge” system to thrive in secrecy while operating within plain sight of those vehemently opposed to its intrinsic value.  Unfortunately, many who considered themselves “good Christians” were just as adamantly opposed to freeing the slaves. 
    Abolitionists were involved in an act of civil disobedience like no other, punishable by fines and/or imprisonment upon discovery, never mind the slave who was disciplined/punished in varying degrees of severity, even death.  With all of that at stake, how did the “underground railroad” ever manage to pull out of the station on such successful clandestine lines? 
    In 1823, the British Anti-Slavery Society was established by William Wilberforce, a former member of Parliament.  Having become an evangelical Christian in 1785, Wilberforce carried on a 20-year fight against the evils of slavery.  In 1787, after meeting with a group of British abolitionists, he recorded in his diary that his life’s purpose was to end the slave trade.  Becoming a leading abolitionist in parliament, he saw his cause through to the passage of the Slave Trade Act of 1807.   He continued to support the full abolishment of slavery even after his retirement from parliament in 1826. When his efforts were rewarded with passage of the Slavery Abolition Act of 1833, slavery ended in almost every corner of the British Empire, and Wilberforce died three days later. 
    Meanwhile, it was the notorious 18th century captain of a slave ship, John Newton, who realized the gravity of his evil ways as a foul-mouthed captain of ill repute when he, too, converted to Christianity.  Captured and pressed into service for the Royal Navy in 1743 at a young age, he led a hard life, once being whipped on board ship for attempted desertion. 
    In March 1748, Newton called out to God during a severe storm when his ship almost sank.  Every year thereafter, he recalled March 21st as the anniversary of his spiritual conversion to Christianity.  (Parker, p.12)  Though continuing in the slave trade despite his new-found faith, he treated others better, refrained from certain vices, and worked his way up to become captain of his own slave ship.  Newton felt he was doing nothing different from other Christians at the time in both owning and selling slaves, eventually retiring from the sea in 1754. 
    Yet, it was Newton who later penned the words in 1772 for one of our all-time favorite hymns as evidence of God’s grace in his life. “Amazing grace!  How sweet the sound that saved a wretch like me!  I once was lost, but now am found; was blind, but now I see.” 
    In 1788, Newton published a pamphlet, “Thoughts Upon the Slave Trade,” describing the appalling conditions of slave ships.  He apologized with “a confession, which…comes too late…  It will always be a subject of humiliating reflection to me, that I was once an active instrument in a business at which my heart now shudders."  Newton became an active supporter of Wilberforce’s campaign to end the slave trade, dying December 21, 1807 well before Wilberforce’s end to slavery was realized in 1833.
    Mistreatment of slaves was universally known.  Being in the hold of a ship was difficult enough of a trial being typically pressed in together with barely enough room to move.  Sickness and death, tossed overboard for infractions, jumping overboard in suicide, or being jettisoned overboard as unnecessary cargo were just some of the fates awaiting the slaves en route.  Then, being put on the auction block under close inspection, they were forced to endure yet more humiliation. In addition, there were often agonizing family separations of spouses and of parents and children. 
    Any slave found guilty of infractions (from some simple error, running away or murder) was punished, some more severely than others.  Should a slave not perform up to expectations, he or she often met with discipline.  Floggings or whippings, branding, mutilation of the ears or hands, cutting off of the ears or hands, hanging, overwork, and many other unsavory forms of punishment were meted out as seen fit by frustrated, angry and authoritative owners.  Man’s inhumanity to man was evidenced in untold suffering, too despicable to enumerate here, something which we cannot begin to fathom or contemplate.  To their credit, however, there were those who treated their slaves in exemplary fashion and whose slaves in turn were loyal and faithful servants, albeit still in bondage.
    And yet, this evil was part of normalcy for many centuries.  We are able, with hindsight, to see the injustice forced on fellow humanity through our combined modern ideology and spiritual insight.  Then, it was considered part of the established way of life, a substantial and valuable labor force.  Their times and understandings were so different from our perspectives.  Thankfully, there were those who saw the inequalities inherent within the slave trade even then, despite popular opinion to the contrary; and, gradually, the early abolitionists’ ideas took root and grew from their understanding of God’s inherent biblical truths.
    In 1619, “The White Lion” seized 20 African slaves from a Portuguese trading ship, the Sao Jao Bautista, selling them to the English settlers at Jamestown in Virginia.  Slaves began to arrive in New Netherlands as early as the 1630s by the Dutch West India Company.  The company was more interested in the labor that slaves could provide, not perpetual ownership.  Roughly “two thousand American and British ships were engaged in transporting between forty thousand and fifty thousand Africans to the Americas every year” during the 18th century. It was even this tremendously profitable venture which fed England’s industrial revolution of the 18th century. 
    In 1784, Thomas Jefferson, a member of the Continental Congress, helped draft a plan for settlers of the nation’s new lands between the Appalachians and the Mississippi River.  The plan was meant to prohibit slavery in all western territory.  Then, defeated by only one vote, hopes were dashed for preventing the spread of slavery.  Out of this dichotomy with which our nation struggled, Jefferson wrote he “feared that the continuation of slavery would inevitably lead to bloody rebellion and race war.” 
    Long before that bloody civil war began though, there was a movement afoot to assist slaves in escaping their plight rather than turning them in to the law for bounty money, or back to their masters for certain discipline, aka punishment.  Even most northern states had passed helpful laws by 1800 for the gradual abolition of their slaves.  
    PART II to follow...
    Feature photo courtesy of www.history.com
  10. Linda Roorda
    Thomas Jefferson embodied the dichotomy of struggle about slavery within our nation.  Acknowledged in his writing of the U.S. Constitution is the biblical premise that “all men are created equal; that they are endowed by their Creator with the inherent and inalienable rights; that among these are life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness…”  Though he owned slaves, he struggled with how to end the institution of owning another human.  He called it a “hideous evil,” yet, like others, saw blacks as an inferior race and necessary to a superior way of life.
    In 1784, Thomas Jefferson, a member of the Continental Congress, helped draft a plan for settlers of new lands between the Appalachians and the Mississippi River. The plan was to prohibit slavery in all western territory.  Defeated by one vote, hopes were dashed for preventing slavery’s spread.  From this dichotomy with which our nation struggled, Jefferson wrote he “feared that the continuation of slavery would inevitably lead to bloody rebellion and race war.” 
    The Fugitive Slave Act enacted by the United States government in 1793 was followed by state laws passed to aid the free blacks.  But this act also allowed slave owners, especially kidnappers, to obtain legal papers for returning fugitive slaves in the North back to their owners in the South.  Kidnapping blacks, both free and fugitive, went unabated as it was often difficult to prove one's legitimate freedom.  New York’s Manumission Society provided helpful legal assistance, but their efforts were often thwarted by claims of kidnappers who simply did not care that they might be sending the wrong person into slavery. 
    Bursting onto the scene with a great labor-saving device, Eli Whitney’s invention of the cotton gin that same year of 1793 propelled the southern cotton industry prodigiously forward.  While the machine contributed to the growth of cotton, it also enhanced expansion of slavery.  In 1800, there were just under 900,000 slaves in the U.S.; this grew to around 1.2 million by 1810, increasing to just over 2 million by 1830.  By the time the Civil War began, there were about 4 million slaves in our nation. 
    It wasn’t until 1799, after the Revolutionary War, that New York State passed the Gradual Emancipation Act, with the final state of New Jersey passing it later.  A subsequent law enacted in 1817 freed all slaves born before 1799, but that did not take effect until July 4, 1827.  In March 1820, Pennsylvania became the first state in the nation to pass a law to defeat the purpose of the Fugitive Slave Act.  In other words, slave hunters and kidnappers in Pennsylvania could face felony charges for their actions, be levied with a fine up to $2000.00, or spend up to 21 years in prison. 
    Six years later, the religious Quaker influence reinforced the law by making it even more difficult for a slave owner to "retrieve" his former property without a legally executed warrant and sufficient court witnesses for corroboration.  These laws allowed Pennsylvania citizens involved in underground activity to act without fear of reprisal, especially in the rural areas near their southern state line, though still necessitating they operate discreetly.  In northern states, blacks were considered free, but they kept one eye always alert, aware that at any time they could be tripped up, caught, and taken south. 
    During the early half of the 19th century, the dreams of slaves for freedom continued to grow.  In answer to these dreams came certain whites, along with free blacks, willing to assist them despite threats and their own arrest and imprisonment.  Unfortunately, in the summer of 1800, a plan for a major rebellion by slaves was discovered in Virginia.  Hundreds of blacks were arrested without solid evidence, and twenty-six were executed for their supposed involvement.  Any free black who traveled without authorization was arrested and fined, or sold back into slavery.  Even those with freedom papers were kidnapped and sold unless another white was willing to fight and/or pay for their rights.  Laws were still not conducive to assisting the free blacks, let alone aiding those who sought to obtain their freedom. Efforts to provide help to fugitive slaves took a great amount of personal conviction and determination to go against the norm.  
    Noticeably, the percentage of free blacks in northern cities rose dramatically – some were free by manumission (released from slavery by their owners), others escaped bondage during the Revolutionary War, some fought with colonial troops during the war and rewarded with freedom, while others were fugitives who had made their way north.  In northern cities, former slaves were treated as near equals by people who believed slavery was truly an evil.  Fugitives realized they could disappear among their new-found friends, especially in areas settled by other free blacks. 
    Almost by accident, it was the Quakers who initially led the early abolitionist work in the City of Brotherly Love… Philadelphia.  How fitting!  Their clandestine activity was based on religious faith and a belief they were honoring God by assisting slaves to freedom... while most of the rest of the nation believed it was criminal activity to harbor and assist a runaway slave, thus punishable by law. 
    As a group, it was the Quakers who held to a higher standard of education amongst their own people, men and women alike, and this naturally extended to the blacks whom they helped rescue.  With education, the blacks proved they were quite as capable as the whites in every endeavor, a novel idea to many who felt they were an inferior race.
    In the early 19th century, Quakers found safe homes and jobs for fugitives in Pennsylvania or in parts of New England.  They worked fearlessly, tirelessly, and surreptitiously to help untold hundreds flee while living under threats against themselves and those who assisted.  Along with some Methodists and Baptists who joined the Quakers, they felt morally bound by their faith in God to do everything within their power to help these poor people… one by one.  This cooperation enabled the Abolition Society and their non-member friends (including wives behind the scenes) to aid the fugitives as they passed from one home to another until reaching a safe destination.  Along the way, they were fed, clothed, sheltered, protected, and assisted in assimilating into northern society as free people.
    In due course, Quakers became the hands and feet of the abolitionist movement.  Not realizing they were creating a “railroad” of sorts, they set up a series of safe homes/havens.  In this way, escaped slaves could travel safely from the southern slave states into the northern/northeast free states, often into Canada to begin a new life. 
    In the south, a group of abolitionist Quakers from Nantucket, a whaling port in Massachusetts, led the anti-slavery movement known as the North Carolina Yearly Meeting (NCYM).  They met in the town of New Garden, N.C. and became instrumental in assisting slaves on their way north.  One young lad from this Quaker group, Levi Coffin, heard his father speak kindly to men in a “coffle” (i.e. gang of slaves chained together).  Retaining an understanding in his heart of the inequality and devastating effect on the men being led away from their families, this incident played a major role in young Levi’s life. 
    By about 1808, the NCYM Quaker members began owning slaves in a trusteeship for the sole purpose of granting their freedom in assisting them northward.  Some of these Quakers removed to the border states, i.e. lands north of the Ohio River, taking their “slaves” with them.  Once in non-slave-owning territory, the trusteeship slaves were given their freedom or assisted in reaching the northeast or Canada. Gradually, word spread of assistance for slaves as the North Carolina Quakers were familiar with the efforts by their Philadelphia Friends in transporting slaves to freedom.  Yet, “no blueprint for the network… [they] created survives, no map showing routes of escape, no list of safe houses.” 
    Soon, the American nation became embroiled in a bitter dispute over new states and their right to own slaves or not.  Reminiscent of today’s political animosity, Congressional debate in 1820 raged on both sides of the aisle.  Sen. Nathaniel Macon from North Carolina insisted that if restrictions were imposed on slavery, “[it] could only lead to a national catastrophe.”  Henry Clay from Kentucky felt that “the spread of slavery into western territories would actually benefit the slaves themselves…reducing whites’ fear of free blacks…” 
    Still, the overriding question remained whether Congress had “the power to restrict slavery when it admitted a new state to the Union.”  To compromise, Missouri allowed slave ownership.  The flip side of the compromise was that southern states grudgingly agreed to an exclusion of slavery in land north of what became known as the Mason-Dixon line as it extended westward.  Ultimately, the compromise angered men on both sides of the argument rather than appeasing anyone, and there the matter festered. 
    From Boston in 1831, William Lloyd Garrison led the way with strong anti-slavery convictions in his first issue of “The Liberator,” America’s first abolitionist newspaper.  “I will be as harsh as truth, and as uncompromising as justice.  On this subject, I do not wish to think, or speak, or write with moderation… I am in earnest – I will not equivocate – I will not excuse – I will not retreat a single inch – AND I WILL BE HEARD.”
    In August that same year of 1831, Nat Turner, a slave from Virginia, led a bloody revolt against whites as the assailants horrifically killed 60 men, women and children.  Turner was executed after his confession, while up to 200 additional slaves were killed in retaliation without proof of their involvement. This event only led to further restrictions on the slaves in every way possible, making life often more unbearable for the slaves as a whole. 
    The next year, 1832, Garrison founded the New England Anti-Slavery Society.  The New York City Anti-Slavery Society was established in 1833, the American Anti-Slavery Society in December of the same year, with the New York Vigilance Committee forming in 1835.  The cause which Garrison and others so avidly promoted garnered not only American but now international support.  
    Just as the abolitionists began to speak out more fervently against the evil of slavery, so the “railroad” become more active.  Yet, blacks who reached the northern free states continued to live in fear that even those who were kind to them might recapture them at any moment for bounty money.  And, more often than not, those men and women traveling north went without spouse and family – it was simply too difficult a journey to escape together.  After earning enough money, they attempted to purchase freedom for their loved ones, or hired someone to bring their loved one(s) safely north, albeit not always successfully.
    As noted above, though there were no definitive routes north, but typical avenues – with a different path for each person or group going north so as to avoid capture.  The slaves often had little to no knowledge of what to do, nor how and where to go in order to obtain the freedom for which they yearned.  They often heard through the “grapevine” who to contact for assistance, but fear of recapture and discipline lay over their heads like a death pall.  Because of that fear, and the fear of never seeing their family again, most refused to escape their bondage even when offered the chance.
    It is also believed slaves made “freedom quilts” to display specific patterns giving directions for when, where and how slaves could flee, even which homes were safe.  It seems logical despite recent research claiming this may not be reality.  As most slaves could not read or write, communicating through code via quilts is plausible.  They brought fabric and skills with them from Africa, handing down oral traditions through the generations with descendants of slaves attesting to a quilt code validity.  “Ozella McDaniel of Charleston, South Carolina, was taught the story of a system of quilts used to direct escaping slaves to freedom by her grandmother, a former slave… Different quilt patterns conveyed specific instructions for each stage of the journey.”  With little past black history deemed worthy of maintaining, much has come down through oral and private documentation with research to celebrate their history in America.
    The work of what we now call the “underground railroad” was done by word of mouth… knowing those along the way willing to assist blacks to freedom in the north… and those willing to provide a safe haven, willing to harbor a slave despite threat of law.  Even Harriet Tubman never went the same way twice, nor did they know exactly when she or others might appear. 
    Often, slaves escaped alone with no direction except to follow the north star.  At times, waiting for clouds and bad weather to clear held the inherent risk of being recaptured.  Few fled in groups or as families; it was too risky.  It took great courage to calmly outsmart the bounty hunters/traders, for the journey north was fraught with danger at every turn.  They traveled silently from one place to another, through rough terrain of forest, marshes, creeks and rivers, and into towns where professional slave hunters and informants lurked.  Whether alone or with a “conductor,” they carried very few possessions, wearing out their clothing and shoes (if they were lucky enough to have even one pair) from briars and simply walking, being fed, clothed and hid along the way by the kind souls at various stops on the line.
    Gradually, the number of people willing to assist the fugitives grew over the decades as multiple routes with safe havens became available.  Each successful step on the journey took the wit and cunning of those willing to give of their time in offering respectful assistance to another human.  It took ingenious ways to hide the fugitives and assist them from point A to point B to point C and so on until their destination was reached.  The fear of being found out and of being reported to authorities was overwhelming at times to most, if not all, participants on both sides.  For the conductor on the railroad, it might mean a steep fine or jail time, while for the slave it would mean punishment and the possibility of being sold into the “deep south,” far away from family and friends, or death.
    Even the abolitionists who assisted fugitives were at times beaten, stoned, egged, fined and served time behind bars for their work.  It was not easy being involved in this “openly clandestine” business to help fugitive slaves.  Many people knew exactly who was involved in the conveyance of fugitives on the road to freedom.  At times, the slave hunters knew who was providing aide, keeping an eye on their activity, while those either on the sidelines or involved in transport knew who to direct fugitives to for assistance.  Out of fear for their lives and those of the people they assisted, utmost secrecy was crucial when there came a knock at the door from a fugitive seeking help.
    The work took a firm determination and absolute conviction that what they were doing in these acts of civil disobedience was ordained by a higher power… that they were doing God’s will in helping to free the slaves.
    Next week: Part III – Frederick Douglass, Harriet Beecher Stowe, Harriet Tubman
  11. Linda Roorda
    As we noted earlier, most of the early conductors on the Underground Railroad were Quakers, but their early numbers steadily grew to include Methodists, Presbyterians and many other denominations, anyone interested in helping free the slaves.  Both preachers and abolitionists spoke publicly despite threats against them as they made inroads into the hearts of Americans.  William Lloyd Garrison was one such man who influenced untold thousands of people with his abolition work, as did others who shared his sentiments.  Obviously, their stand was unpopular as the news media proclaimed them "fanatics, amalgamists, disorganizers, disturbers of the peace, and dangerous enemies of the country."  Riots during convention meetings and attempted murder of abolitionists were not uncommon.
    But there were also black men who reached the forefront in speaking against the cruelty of slavery.  One of them was a former slave himself, Frederick Bailey.  At age 18 in 1838, Bailey left behind his common-law wife, Anna, escaping from Baltimore to freedom in Philadelphia and then to New York City, two of the most important northern freedom cities.  Meeting with men who could assist him, help was obtained for Anna to travel north where they were reunited and married.  Encouraged to change his name, he became Frederick Johnson.  
    Bound for Newport, Rhode Island, he presented a letter of introduction to Nathan Johnson, a prominent black man who would next assist the couple.  Noting that Johnson was a very common surname among blacks in New Bedford, Massachusetts where they were to settle, Bailey again changed his name – to that of Frederick Douglass, destined to become one of “the most famous African American of his generation.”  Ultimately settling in Rochester, NY, Douglass started a newspaper, supported women’s rights, and became a much-sought speaker on the abolitionists’ circuit throughout America, also having the ear and admiration of President Abraham Lincoln.  To honor his legacy, on February 14, 2021 it was revealed that the Rochester International Airport has been renamed Frederick Douglass Greater Rochester International Airport.

    Sadly, freedom for blacks in the north was still often less than what white society enjoyed.  Josiah Henson escaped the bonds of slavery with his family, removing to Canada where they could truly be free in every sense of the word as Canada refused to surrender former slaves to the United States.  Henson was a born leader, a man who knew how to manage his affairs while assisting others.  Struggling to survive in a strange land, Henson worked hard and ultimately owned land in Colchester, Canada, observing what it required for black communities to prosper.  He, too, became a conductor on the Underground Railroad, assisting many slaves northward to freedom.  His life’s example was used by Harriet Beecher Stowe as “Uncle Tom” in the book which propelled her to fame and which did so much more to push the abolitionist movement forward.
    Another slave, a brave young mother, left her husband and children behind in the dark of night, carrying her young infant tightly in her arms.  It was the winter of 1838, and she left knowing that a slave trader was trying to buy her or her infant separately.  Though fearful of dying in the cold, or breaking through the Ohio River ice and drowning, she knew she had to try.  Along with her infant, she carried a flat board.  As she crossed the river, she repeatedly broke through.  Pushing her baby up onto the ice, she climbed out with the use of the plank.  Slowly she crept across the ice by pushing the baby ahead of her and using the board to move herself along, pulling herself up on it when she fell through the ice.  Finally, reaching the northern shore, she collapsed, freezing cold and utterly spent, but on the free side of the river. 
    What she did not know was that a slave hunter had been watching her, and she was about to be captured.  As he approached her, the man’s heart inexplicably softened when he heard her baby’s soft cry.  Instead of capturing her for reward money, and returning her to meet certain punishment at the hands of her master, he unexpectedly told her, “Woman, you have won your freedom.”  What compassion!
    On bringing her to the village, he pointed out a farmhouse in the distance, a haven of safety and rest, a home on the Underground Railroad.  Assisted by the Rankin family in fleeing onward into the arms of freedom, she became the inspiration for Harriet Beecher Stowe’s “Eliza.”  Her treacherous crossing over the ice-covered Ohio River became “the most famous rendering of a fugitive’s escape ever written.”  
    Written in the Victorian era, and considered a romanticized version of actual events, Stowe’s 1852 novel, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin, or Life Among the Lowly,” accomplished a tremendous feat.  It not only brought respect to the abolitionists and their moral outrage at slavery, but it shed favorable light on the secret operatives of the Underground Railroad.  On the other hand, it greatly angered those in the pro-slavery camp.  Stowe’s very popular book prompted President Lincoln to remark when greeting her at the White House that she was “the little lady who wrote the book that made this great war.”  
    Knowledge of Stowe’s story left Harriet Tubman unimpressed.  Refusing to go with friends to see a play in Philadelphia based on “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” Tubman stated, “I haint got no heart to go and see the sufferings of my people played out on de stage.  I’ve seen de real ting, and I don’t want to see it on no stage or in no teater.” 
    Despite her husband’s threat to report her should she ever escape, Tubman (born ca.1821) left him behind in 1849.  She quietly fled during the middle of the night to the home of a white woman who had previously proffered help should she desire it.  From Dorchester County in eastern Maryland, she both walked alone and was taken 90 miles north into Pennsylvania with the kind assistance of many along the way.  She crossed into the land of freedom as the sun rose, remembering always that “I looked at my hands to see if I was the same person now I was free.  There was such a glory over everything, the sun came like gold through the trees, and over the fields, and I felt like I was in heaven.” 
    Though of short physical stature, Tubman was a woman capable of hard physical labor, proud to swing an axe like a man, preferring outdoor work over women’s housework.  Having known much hardship as a slave, having been lent out in early childhood, having been whipped and beaten repeatedly, and having had her skull bashed in by a thrown keg meant for a fleeing man, Tubman knew how to survive.  And, ultimately, she gained great success on the stage of life in assisting her people to their freedom. 

    With an unassuming yet authoritative air about her, Tubman had the ability to pass virtually unnoticed through the towns of Southern slaveholders, hiding her identity, “stealing” away numerous slaves on the road to freedom.  But that is not to say she didn’t face difficulties in helping slaves escape their bondage.  It was not an easy venture for any free black, even with proper papers, to maneuver around in slave territory without being apprehended.  Known to live in constant dependency on God during those times, Tubman is quoted as saying simply, “I tell de Lawd what I needs, an’ he provides.” 
    When she brought out her brothers and some of their friends from Maryland, they stayed briefly in her parents’ barn where her father fed them.  Hesitant to see their mother for fear emotions would give them away (Tubman had not seen her mother in several years), they left quietly, walking along muddy roads in the rains, circuitously through the woods to get around towns, eventually arriving at the homes of northern abolitionists.  They arrived in Philadelphia and were given aid by her friend, William Still, of the Vigilance Committee.  Still put Tubman and her fugitives on a train to New York City where Sydney Howard Gay gave assistance, putting them on another train to Albany, then Rochester, and finally taking a boat across Lake Ontario to St. Catharines, Canada.  Canada – where so many fugitive slaves endeavored to establish a life in true freedom, often becoming wealthy in owning their own land and businesses.  
    William Still, a free black and secretary for the Philadelphia Vigilance Committee, kept meticulous records of fugitive slaves and their conductors.  Still published a book in 1872, “The Underground Railroad,” from his extensive trove of information on the fugitives and their experiences.  In turn, Still was in contact with men in New York City who, like Sydney Howard Gay, also kept detailed records of the fugitives they assisted.  The extant records left by such men are among the limited but solid evidentiary proof of those who traveled the elusive and secretive Underground Railroad.  Messages between offices or stops were disguised as to the real purpose, known only to those involved on the “railroad.”  One such example reported by a visiting abolitionist was Still’s telegram to Gay of “‘six parcels’ coming by the train.  And before I left the office, the ‘parcels’ came in, each on two legs.”  
    Tubman was called “Moses” by her people, “General” by John Brown of Harper’s Ferry fame, and “Captain” by Sydney Howard Gay in New York City when he documented those whom she brought north to his office.  Her bold courage and ability to successfully travel unnoticed among the “enemy” was reportedly unparalleled among “conductors” on the “railroad.”
    By the time the Civil War began, Tubman had traveled 13 times into the South since she escaped bondage in 1849.  She is believed to have brought out at least 70 fugitives, among them her siblings and parents, possibly indirectly assisting an additional 50 in leaving on their own.  Supposedly, over 300 slaves were brought north on 19 trips by Tubman as claimed by her first biographer, Sarah Bradford; but these figures are believed to be greatly inflated based on contemporary study of now-known extant records.  
    With the advent of civil war, Tubman became restless, feeling the need to do more for her people.  She became a nurse, cook and spy for the Union in South Carolina, becoming “the first woman in American history to lead a detachment of troops in battle.”  
    The abolitionist issues in Stowe’s book, “Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” also brought legitimacy to the women’s rights’ movement which sprang to life in the 1840s and 1850s.  Men who championed their tenets nationally included Horace Mann, Rev. Harry Ward Beecher, Frederick Douglass, William Lloyd Garrison, and Gerrit Smith (the cousin of Elizabeth Cady).  Women whose beliefs embodied not only the values of abolition but women’s rights included Lucretia Mott, Sarah and Angelina Grimke, Abby Kelley Foster, Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Elizabeth Oaks Smith, Paulina Wright Davis, Lucy Stone, Antoinette Brown, Susan B. Anthony, Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, and Esther (McQuigg, Slack) Morris who grew up on our former farmland, supporting abolition as a young woman while operating her own business in Owego, NY, later becoming the first woman Justice of the Peace in 1870’s Wyoming Territory.  These are just a few of the many whose belief in equality for the blacks seemed to naturally extend into rights for women who were unable to legally own property or to vote.  
    Yet, even the cause of women’s rights created division within the nation just as the abolitionists’ work had done.  For troubled times were about to become even more turbulent.  During the 1850s, issues arose about the need for increased funding in the work of the abolitionists and the Underground Railroad. Funds were sorely needed to meet needs of slaves who fled northward to freedom, and to assist them once they were free.  Disputes also erupted as to whether enough was being done to rid the nation of slavery as a whole.  And dissension even arose amongst the white and black abolitionists during this period.  
    Blacks felt the whites were not doing “enough to combat racial prejudice,” while the whites “were appalled by the controversy.”  Many white abolitionists felt they had willingly placed their lives, their family, and their property on the line to follow their heart’s leading to assist the slaves, asking nothing or little in return.  To be vilified for not doing enough to help the plight of the black man was abhorrent to them.
    Before elections in the fall of 1860, debate upon debate was held as the option of state secession was also discussed.  Southern newspapers began warning that if Lincoln were elected president, they expected the Fugitive Slave Act would not be followed, and the Charleston “Mercury” opined in October that “the underground railroad would operate ‘over-ground.’”   
    Then, to the pleasant surprise of some and the disgust of others, Abraham Lincoln was elected president on November 6, 1860.  Though Lincoln intended to hold the country together as one nation, he would not end slavery nor was he inclined to end the Fugitive Slave Law.  He did, however, wish to amend the law so that no free black could ever be forced into slavery.  
    With feelings running high, Southern states began to secede from the Union after South Carolina was the first to leave on December 20th.  Together, they formed the new Confederate States of America.  Shortly thereafter, federal troops arrived at Fort Sumter in the bay outside Charleston, S.C. to defend federal property.  With ongoing dispute between the Union and the Confederacy over ownership of Ft. Sumter, President Lincoln faced a dilemma in how to respond.  After Lincoln ordered aid sent to the federal troops at Ft. Sumter, the Confederate Army opened fire on the fort early in the morning of April 12, 1861.  And thus began the American Civil War… 
    After so many sacrifices were made to escape the bonds of slavery, and with the nation’s first civil war, clarity was ultimately expressed when President Lincoln signed the Emancipation Proclamation on January 1, 1863.  Freeing all slaves (except in Maryland and Kentucky which had not seceded), his proclamation essentially proved that the work of the Underground Railroad was done.  The abolitionists had accomplished what they’d set out to do.  They had gained freedom for all enslaved African Americans, the fulfillment of dreams for thousands upon thousands when their work began inauspiciously so many decades ago. 
    At President Lincoln’s second inaugural address on March 4, 1865, he stated, “…These slaves constituted a peculiar and powerful interest.  All knew that this interest was, somehow, the cause of the war.  To strengthen, perpetuate, and extend this interest was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union, even by war… It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces; but let us judge not that we be not judged… With malice toward none; with charity for all; with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in; to bind up the nation’s wounds; to care for him who shall have borne the battle, and for his widow, and his orphan – to do all which may achieve and cherish a just, and a lasting peace, among ourselves, and with all nations.”  
    Afterward, Lincoln asked Frederick Douglass what he thought of his speech.  Douglass replied, “Mr. Lincoln, that was a sacred effort.”   (“Absence of Malice,” Adapted from “Lincoln’s Greatest Speech:  The Second Inaugural,” by Ronald C. White, Jr., Smithsonian, April 2002, p.119)  Ultimately, all former slaves received their full legal freedom with passage of the Fifteenth Amendment to the U.S. Constitution in April 1870.  They could now appreciate their hard-won liberty; and yet, they continued to struggle for their rights over the next century, culminating with the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 1960s.  And even now, many continue to feel a prejudice.
    Harriet Tubman, former slave, a free and fearless woman, died March 10, 1913 in her new hometown of Auburn, New York.  She was essentially the last survivor of an unprecedented era, famed conductor on the Underground Railroad, having lived her life to help others attain the very freedom she had gained.
    Fittingly, the town of Auburn erected a monument to the auspicious career of this amazing woman.  “In memory of Harriet Tubman.  Born a slave in Maryland about 1821.  Died in Auburn, N.Y., March 10th, 1821.  Called the Moses of her People, During the Civil War.  With rare courage she led over three hundred negroes up from slavery to freedom, and rendered invaluable service as nurse and spy.  With implicit trust in God she braved every danger and overcame every obstacle.  Withal she possessed extraordinary foresight and judgment so that she truthfully said “On my underground railroad I nebber run my train off de track an’ I nebber los’ a passenger.”  [As noted above, the figure of 300 blacks is considered an exaggeration by 20th century researchers.  lar]
    NEXT WEEK:  Part IV, conclusion.
  12. Linda Roorda
    County historical and genealogical societies are another great repository of data to aid in your research.  Among their resources are town and county historical books which often include brief lineages of early settlers, donated private family records, old family Bibles or transcripts of family data, transcribed census records, church and cemetery records, microfilm of various records including old newspapers, donated copies of wills or abstracts of wills, maps, rare books, donated specialty items, published family genealogies, and unpublished family manuscripts which can often be as accurate as any published composition, and so much more. 
    But, please remember that any family genealogy is only as good as the family’s recollections and the ability to provide solid documentation, so personal footwork is still necessary to clarify or prove data if source documentation cannot be provided.
    If you know where an ancestor lived, contact the corresponding county historical society.  You might be amazed at what may have already been researched, or what the folks can help you with, and how well they can point you in the right direction.  There is a research and copy fee at a historical society, though it is always less expensive to do your own research on the premises.  When I researched in the early 2000s, an average fee of $25/hour was charged by most societies to have their staff do your research (may cost more now).  I personally traveled to several historical societies; but, since that was not always feasible, I also paid for some to do my research. 
    Visit the online website for the town and county historical societies where you wish to obtain data.  If you want them to research, write a brief letter of request, include their base fee as listed online, and a self-addressed stamped envelope along with a brief description of information you seek.  As they respond in the order requests are received, it may be a few weeks before you receive a reply noting your request for research has been placed.
    By clarifying data on a family record form filed at both Tioga and Schoharie, NY county historical societies, I proved someone wrongly placed a daughter in my McNeill family.  I wrote the submitter for more information and her sources, but never received a reply.  There were two McNeil(l) families in Schoharie County.  Ruth McNeil married Matthew Lamont, removing to Owego, Tioga County, New York by 1825.  Matthew and his son, Marcus Lamont(e), purchased Hiawatha Island east of Owego on June 23, 1830 and operated a ferry across the Susquehanna River.  Marcus Lamont(e)’s son, Cyrenus McNeil Lamont, purchased the island in 1872 and ran the famous Hiawatha Hotel until 1887. 
    I proved Ruth (McNeil) Lamont did not belong to my McNeill family as had been listed on the above family history form.  Instead, I believe she was more likely the daughter of John and Ruth (Reynolds) McNeil, and thus named for her mother.  John and Ruth McNeil were originally from Vermont as per that McNeil family history writeup which I purchased from Montgomery County Dept. of History & Archives.  Per her sons’ census records, Ruth was born about 1782 in New York, the same year as my John C. McNeill’s proven daughter, Betsey, his oldest child. Betsey was actually adopted by her mother Hannah’s childless sister per New Hampshire records.
    Historical societies often have microfilm of local newspapers for birth, marriage, obituary and death notices.  Newspapers are a great source of collateral family data found in ads, public notices, or community event columns, i.e. the old-fashioned “gossip” columns which note the hosts and attendees of fashionable events.
    Other important historical society holdings include old church records which provide vital information for births, baptisms, marriages, deaths and burials.  Old baptism records often include not only the name of the infant and parents, but the sponsors/witnesses who were usually relatives or close friends.  Churches do not provide this data, but many older church records have been donated to historical societies.  Often, you will find that someone with an interest in preserving this information took the time and effort to transcribe original handwritten records into a neatly typed report.  The transcriber certifies his/her work to be true and accurate, retaining all original errors.  These records may be in manuscript form or in a published book.
    Town and county clerks’ offices are also invaluable resources.  Check the respective website for who to contact and what records they retain.  Marriage, birth and death records are typically kept by the respective town clerk where the event took place.  County clerk websites provide information on who to contact for genealogical research purposes.  The county clerk’s office maintains original state and federal census records, public land records (deeds, mortgages, liens, and maps), tax records, and wills, etc.  Family documentation can be found in wills (sometimes found at surrogate’s court), estate records for those who died intestate (without a will), inventories of estates, letters of administration, guardianships, etc.
    Always note the source to document your facts, i.e. book, author, publisher, date, page, for example:
    1. William E. Roscoe, History of Schoharie County, New York, 1713-1882. (Syracuse, NY: D. Mason & Co., 1882), p. 54. 
    2. John C. McNeill, Revolutionary War Pension File 20246.
    3. Mortgage Book B, pgs. 69-70, Schoharie County Clerk’s Office, Schoharie, Schoharie Co., NY.
    4. U.S. 1790 Census, Weare, Hillsborough Co., NH, p. 5, handwritten p. 332, line #9, NARA roll M637_5 (ancestry.com census record).
    When appropriate, you may certainly state data was found on personal visit to a specific named cemetery (be sure to include the address), a personal conversation with someone specific, or in a box of letters found in Grandma’s attic.  Don’t forget to also note dates of visits and conversations, and full names, including maiden and married surnames.
    By keeping solid research documentation, it will always be available to validate your findings as needed.  You will never regret the extra effort.  Because, now, a number of years after I concluded my family research, my memory is not as great as the walking encyclopedia of family data that it once was.
    NEXT:  Cemetery Records.
  13. Linda Roorda
    Many communities in states above the Mason-Dixon line had safe homes to assist slaves fleeing north to freedom, like Portland, Maine.  A center of activity, the city was important to blacks fleeing slavery for not only safe homes enroute to Canada, but also employment in the rail and shipping industries.
    Recently, I learned from friends near Portland, Maine that the city’s Underground Railroad Abyssinian Meeting House/Church, built during 1828-1831, is undergoing restoration.  Noted to be “Maine’s oldest African-American church building and third oldest [standing African-American meeting house] in the nation”, it held worship services, abolition and temperance meetings, Portland Union Anti-Slavery Society, a school for blacks from 1846 until the 1856, and much more.  Recognized as Maine’s only Underground Railroad site by the National Park Service, it is also on the National Register of Historic Places.  (Wikipedia)
    The Abyssinian church was dealt a devastating blow, however, when the SS Portland sank off Cape Ann in 1898, taking 17 male parishioners.  One of New England’s largest ocean steamers with side-mount paddlewheels, she provided a luxury service for passengers between Boston, MA and Portland, ME.  When the powerful “Portland Gale” blizzard struck the New England coast November 26-27, 1898, more than 400 people and 150 vessels were lost.  (Wikipedia)
    Locally, Tioga County, New York can also claim involvement in the Underground Railroad.  But, as historian, Ed Nizalowski, noted online, “…as is the case in so many other parts of the country, actual documentation and credible evidence for involvement can be very difficult to verify.”  According to Nizalowski, Hammon Phinney of the Baptist Church in Owego, NY was a strong leader among local abolitionists.  Meetings in Owego, as elsewhere, throughout the 1830s and 1840s were rife with “wild confusion and violence.”  Frederick Douglass was forced to cancel speaking engagements “for fear of his physical safety” in 1840, though he did return in 1857, and Garret/Gerrit Smith was hit with eggs. 
    Nizalowski’s research uncovered four homes on Front Street in Owego which are known to have been involved in the Underground Railroad – Nos. 100, 294, 313, and 351.  “At 294 Front Street, a building once owned by the Eagles Club, a brick lined tunnel had been found running along the north wall.”  He also stated that No. 351 Main Street “has the best evidence for being a station for fugitive slaves.”  It was owned previously by Judge Farrington, “a prominent Abolitionist,” and by Hammon Phinney, with the house having “a hidden space in the cellar.”  Nizalowski avers that Phinney’s work as a stationmaster was learned primarily when the property was sold.  “In 1867 when the Hastings family bought the property from Frederick Phinney, Hammon's son, the new owners were told that the home had served as a station for fugitive slaves.  This story was passed on for over 100 years.  The best evidence for Hammon being a stationmaster comes from his obituary that appeared on March 3, 1898 where it also states that his home served as a station.  This is one of the few written references from the 19th century identifying a specific individual.” 
    Tioga County homes in Newark Valley, Berkshire and Richford may well have been involved in the Underground Railroad as Nizalowski pointed out.  There may have been additional safe houses in local communities. Though I have heard of homes used for the Underground Railroad in our town of Spencer, NY, I have no personal knowledge.  I do know the McQuigg house built in 1830s where our house stands today had servants’ quarters; whether they were whites or free blacks I have no knowledge.  At the far eastern corner of the kitchen was a staircase with a door. Taking the stairs up, there was an open area with two separate rooms and a small sitting area, closed off from the other rooms by a different type of door with a different type of latch. Sadly, since the house foundation beams had dry rot, and the structure itself was caving in, the house was not deemed appropriate for renovation by our bank.
    Typically, local history is only gained through stories passed down within families which attest to involvement in the underground.  But there was definitely assistance and support for abolition work throughout our region of New York state, both financially and physically.
    Writing in 2002 for Elmira’s “The Jones Museum” website, Barbara S. Ramsdell quoted Arch Merrill’s book, “The Underground, Freedom’s Road, and Other Upstate Tales.”  “Jones quietly took command of the Underground in Elmira, a gateway between the South and the North.  It became the principal station on the ‘railroad’ between Philadelphia and the Canadian border.  Jones worked closely with William Still, the chief Underground agent in Philadelphia, who forwarded parties of from six to 10 fugitives at a time to Elmira...  The station master concealed as many as 30 slaves at one time in his home, exactly where he never told.  He carried on his operations so secretly that only the inner circle of abolitionists knew that in a decade he dispatched nearly 800 slaves to Canada.”  
    As noted in Part III, I had discovered while researching and reading various books and websites that the Abolitionist Movement and the Underground Railroad are intertwined with the beginnings of the Women’s Rights Movement.  It was a time in history when many good people of faith were not inclined to confront the evils of slavery; it was just the normal way of life, or so they believed.  And, for the most part, it was felt that the place of women was in the home or in limited occupations, often not even given as good an education as their brothers.  It was an era when those opposed to owning another human clashed definitively with those opposed to slavery’s demise. 
    Though slavery has been around since early historical times, even in Biblical history, how thankful we are that some felt a calling in their heart to honor God’s love for all by working tirelessly to free those in slavery.  Were it not for the ardent religious beliefs, persistence and sacrifices of the abolitionists, men and women, white and black, who carried on their work despite great opposition, slavery might have lasted far longer in this nation than it actually did… and thank God it did come to an end.
    Yet, as stated in my preface, slavery is still a lucrative venture around the world, including in our own America.  Under various guises, slavery flourishes in over 100 countries with India, China, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Uzbekistan, and North Korea topping the lists… all for the financial profits gained.  Adult and child sex trafficking (especially of women and young girls), drug trafficking, forced child labor, debt bondage, unlawful recruitment of children for war, and domestic service slavery, are just  a few of the repulsive categories.
    I began this series by noting Martin Luther King, Jr. had said, “We are determined to work and fight until justice rains down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.”  Paraphrasing Amos 5:24, King did just that with God at his side to challenge us to seek justice.  May we do the same.  Never forgetting, we do not erase history.  Without the knowledge and ability to learn from injustice, we are destined to repeat.
    Knowing slavery continues in our world today, may we have hearts that care enough to help in some way.  One avenue we can take to help stop enslavement is by donating to a charity of our choice which specifically works to educate the public and free those held in bondage.  For example, our charity of choice is Samaritan’s Purse, begun by Franklin Graham, son of the Rev. Billy Graham.
    Among the innumerable famous and little-known Blacks who have brought betterment to our world are the following few:
    1. George Washington Carver (1864-1943) – born into slavery, an artist, botanist, teacher, agricultural scientist and inventor with extensive research on over 300 uses for peanuts; created Tuskegee Institute Movable School to teach modern agricultural techniques and tools to farmers in Alabama and around the world.
    2. Edward Bouchet (1852-1918) - son of former enslaved parent, removed to New Haven, CT; accepted at Yale, first African American to earn a Ph.D., 6th American to earn this degree in physics.
    3. Jean Baptiste Point du Sable (1745?-1818) – from Haiti, first to establish a permanent settlement at Chicago, a man of great reputable character and business acumen.
    4. Matthew Alexander Henson (1866-1955) - son of free-born tenant farmers; ran away from abusive home at 11; traveled with Robert Peary in 1891 on first of several trips to Greenland; Peary and Henson took their final trip in 1909; Henson set foot on North Pole first; returning home, Peary took all credit with Henson’s achievements ignored as a Black man.
    5. Bessie Coleman (1892 -1926) - one of 13 children born to Indigenous father and African American mother; educating herself, graduated from high school; not accepted at flight school being black and female, saved money for training in France; first Black woman to earn her pilot’s license in the world.
    6. Lewis Latimer (1848-1928) - son of self-liberated parents, Chelsea, MA; served in U.S. Navy during Civil War; a draftsman with numerous inventions, including filament system to keep carbon filament in lightbulbs lasting longer, only Black member of Thomas Edison’s elite team; improved design of railroad car bathroom and early air conditioning unit.
    7. Jane Bolin (1908-2007) - first Black woman graduate of Yale Law School; first Black woman judge in 1939; with Eleanor Roosevelt, created intervention program to keep young boys from committing crimes.
    8. Alice Allison Dunnigan (1906-1983) – first African-American female White House correspondent; first Black female in Senate and House of Representatives press corps; chief of Associated Negro Press in 1947; served under Pres. John F. Kennedy as education consultant for President’s Committee on Equal Employment Opportunity until 1965.
    9. Wangari Maathai (1940-2011) - first Black woman to win 2004 Nobel Peace Prize for environmental work in Kenya; social, environmental and political activist; founded Green Belt Movement, planting trees.
    10. Irene Morgan Kirkaldy (1907-2007) – July 1944 arrested for refusing to give up bus seat in Virginia; convicted in County Circuit Court, appealed decision to Virginia Supreme Court; Supreme Court ruled in her favor June 3, 1946 aided by Thurgood Marshall and the NAACP.
    11. Claudette Colvin (1939-) - 15-year-old who refused to give up bus seat March 2, 1955, arrested 9 months before Rosa Parks; main witness in federal suit, Browder v. Gayle, ending public transportation segregation in Alabama.
    12. Amelia Boynton Robinson (1911-2015) - tireless advocate for civil rights; first African-American woman in Alabama to run for Congress in 1964; worked with Martin Luther King, Jr. to plan march from Selma to Montgomery on March 7, 1965, severely injured; received Martin Luther King Jr. Freedom Medal in 1990.
    13. Rebecca Lee Crumpler (1831-1895) - earned MD in 1864, first African-American woman physician in U.S.; wrote and published “Book of Medical Discourses in Two Parts”, first medical text authored by African-American.
    14. Otis Boykin (1920-1982) – with 26 patents, developed IBM computers, and circuitry improvements for pacemakers.
    15. Charles Drew (1904-1950) – physician, surgeon, medical researcher with discoveries in blood transfusions, developed large-scale blood banks, blood plasma programs, and bloodmobiles for Red Cross.
    16. Jesse Ernest Wilkins, Jr. (1923-2011) – a genius, youngest student ever at age 13 to enter University of Chicago, earning bachelor, master, and doctorate degree in math at age 19; nuclear scientist, mechanical engineer and mathematician; published papers in mathematics, optics, and nuclear engineering; perfected lens design in microscopes and ophthalmologic uses; involved in Manhattan Project with future Nobel laureate Eugene Wigner with significant contributions to nuclear-reactor physics.
    17.“Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Who Helped Win the Space Race” is a 2016 nonfiction book by Margot Lee Shetterly. It tells about the lives of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, three mathematicians who worked as computers (then a job description) at NASA during the space race. They overcame discrimination to solve problems for engineers and others at NASA. For the first years of their careers, the workplace was segregated and women were kept in the background as human computers. Author Shetterly's father was a research scientist at NASA who worked with many of the book's main characters. These three historical women overcame discrimination and racial segregation to become American achievers in mathematics, scientific and engineering history. The main character, Katherine Johnson, calculated rocket trajectories for the Mercury and Apollo missions. Johnson successfully "took matters into her own hands" by being assertive with her supervisor; when her mathematical abilities were recognized, Katherine Johnson was allowed into all male meetings at NASA.  (Wikipedia)
    BOOKS I’VE READ:
    *Abide With Me, A Photographic Journey Through Great British Hymns, by John H. Parker, New Leaf Press, Green Forest, AR, 2009.
    *Bound for Canaan, The Epic Story of the Underground Railroad, America’s First Civil Rights Movement, by Fergus M. Bordewich, HarperCollins Publishers, New York, NY, 2005.
    *Gateway to Freedom, by Eric Foner, W. W. Norton & Company, New York, NY, 2015.
    *Harriet Tubman, Conductor on the Underground Railroad, by Ann Petry, Harper Trophy of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., New York, NY, 1955.
    *The Island at the Center of the World, by Russell Shorto, Vintage Books Edition, New York, NY, 2005.
    A FEW OF MY WEBSITE SOURCES:
    *“Absence of Malice” (Adapted from “Lincoln’s Greatest Speech:  The Second Inaugural” by Ronald C. White, Jr.) in Smithsonian, April 2002, p.119.
    *“The Underground Railroad in Tioga County, A Piece of History With Many Gaps to Fill” by Ed Nizalowski.
    *John W. Jones Museum, Elmira, NY - “Our purpose is to preserve… related artifacts in memory of his role and the roles of others in the Southern Tier involved in the Underground Railroad and the American Civil War.”
    *Freedom Quilts – “The History of The American Quilt: Part One (Early African American Quilts) - Pattern Observer. History of the American quilt” by Molly Williams.
  14. Linda Roorda
    My first personal-interview article originally published as front-page article in the local newspaper, Broader View Weekly, March 21, 2013:
    “It’s all up to Mother Nature,” said Al Smith.  When the days begin to get longer and stay above 32 degrees, but nights are below freezing, the sap begins to flow.  And it’s then we start to see those long lines of plastic tubing snaking between maple trees in the woods as we drive by.  Did you know it takes about 30 to 50 gallons of sap to make just one gallon of delicious pure maple syrup?
    While a number of maple syrup producers locally have been in the business for decades, for brothers Allan and Albert Smith, Jr. (formerly Smith Brothers Maple Syrup, now Smith Family Maple Products), the sugaring fever hit in their teens.  And they come by it naturally.  Their grandfather, Dayton Smith, his brother Ben, and Dayton’s son Albert Sr. (the twins’ father), operated a small evaporator in the early 1970s.  Ben’s father-in-law, Aubrey Westervelt, had been sugaring for decades.  So, it was only natural the Smiths used his sugar bush, tapping about 250 trees annually with spile and bucket, trees still used by the younger generation.  Dayton, Ben and Albert’s initial evaporator was set up in a garage for a couple years.  Then, Dayton bought a commercial 2x6 evaporator and set it up at Ben’s farm on Sabin Road.  After operating for a few more years, selling by word of mouth, they ended the labor-intensive syrup production and sold their equipment.
    A favorite family story is told of a time Dayton, Ben, and Albert, Sr. went to a meeting at Cornell University’s Research Center.  They brought along a bottle of their maple syrup to show what they’d been up to in the little farming town of Spencer.  On showing their light golden syrup to the Cornell gentlemen, one of the Smiths wryly asked, “Do you know how much brown sugar we need to add to make the color darker?” And a hearty laugh was shared by all!

     
    Having grown up with sugaring in the family, Allan Smith decided to build a small homemade evaporator in 1992 for his B.O.C.E.S shop class.  With twin brother Albert’s help, they set it up in an old woodshed to see if they could actually make syrup.  One day, grandfather Dayton happened to visit and discovered the boys’ secret.  Seeing their homemade evaporator, he got excited and motivated them to continue their endeavors.  The following season, Dayton purchased a 2x6 commercial evaporator for them.  They boiled sap the old way, using about a wheelbarrow load of well-seasoned firewood every 15-20 minutes.  It took roughly an hour to make about one gallon of syrup.  As Smith Brothers Maple Syrup, the brothers tapped annually, selling by word of mouth just as the older generation had done.
    In 2010, Allan and Albert, Jr. sold their old equipment and purchased a 2-1/2 x 10 natural gas fired evaporator, capable of producing about 8-9 gallons of syrup per hour.  With this expansion in the family business, they changed their name to Smith Family Maple Products.  In 2011, they remodeled an old machine shed on their parents’ property into a modern sap house.  They love what they’re doing from the mundane aspects to operating the high-tech equipment.  And their excitement is contagious!  I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of the two evenings I spent learning from the Smiths.
    Starting in 1992 with about 30-40 maple trees using spiles and buckets, they now have about 10 acres of sugarbush (maple trees), tapping about 500 trees, hoping to add another 500 next year.  Initially, they used a hand-turned brace with a 7/16ths drill bit, pounded the spile into the tree, and hung a covered bucket.  Later, they tried a chainsaw with an attachment to do the drilling.  It worked well, but the saw was a bit heavy to lug around all day.  Now, they use a lightweight cordless drill with a smaller 5/16ths bit that is much easier to handle.  The smaller hole also causes less damage to the tree.  
    In 1999, they bought a filter press which does a better job than the prior hand filter to strain the processed syrup of undesirables.  Their new sap house, with running water, and hot water at that, is a major change from the original old woodshed.  They now have a kitchen area with a work table, sinks, counters and kitchen stove to process their syrup into candy and other sweet confections.  Stainless steel containers store the maple syrup before it’s packaged into bottles and made into other products.  They’ve added machines to make maple sugar candy, maple snow cones, maple cream (equipment built by their dad), maple cotton candy, and granulated maple sugar.  The Smith family is constantly upgrading, hoping in the next few years to add a bottling facility for a bigger and better kitchen processing area. 
    In 2012, they added a vacuum pump to the sapline which pulls sap off the trees for increased production. With plastic tubing strung between the trees, the pump draws the flowing sap downhill to the large stainless-steel bulk tank.  From there, it is siphoned into a large plastic tank on a trailer and hauled to their sap house.  Sure beats the days of handling all those buckets!  From this large tank, the sap is run up into an insulated stainless-steel storage tank that stands about 15 feet above ground next to the sap house. 
    From the elevated storage tank, sap is fed downline into the Piggy Back Unit in the sap house which sits above a 1 million BTU natural gas boiler pan.  The steam created from the lower pan heats the cold sap in the upper pan.  As the sap heats, water is boiled off the sap, condensing it down to the beginning stage of syrup.  Hot air is forced through the sap in the Piggy Back Unit with a high-pressure blower, helping bring the sap to boil.  Sap usually boils at 212 degrees like water, but that changes with atmospheric pressure.  At the time of my first visit, Sunday, March 10, 2013, based on the barometric pressure in the sap house, the sap boiled at 210.8 degrees.  As the sap continues to boil and water evaporates, the sap thickens.  Reaching about 7 degrees higher than standard boiling temperature, or about 219, the sap reaches syrup stage.  Thermometers in the pans are constantly monitored as they measure the temperatures.  It’s a very delicate process.

     
    As the boiled sap loses water content, it flows from the Piggy Back rearward pan into the front syrup pan directly over the fire.  Floats regulate the sap levels as sap is divided into channels to cook evenly.  If it were to cook too hot or too long at this stage, it would blacken and harden like concrete.  As it continues to cook, syrup is pulled from the front pan and drips down into a stainless-steel container.  The syrup in this container is then poured into the finishing pan over a smaller fire where it is slowly boiled and refined to become the sweet taste we know as pure maple syrup. 
    All this while steam from the boiling process emanates from the venting cupola above the building, permeating the outside air with the delicious aroma of sweet maple syrup.
    A daily log book is kept annually to record temps, weather (sunny, cloudy, windy, rainy, snowy), amount of sap collected and syrup made, the sugar content of the sap, barometric pressure, etc.  I asked about the average amount of sap collected daily, and Allan simply looked it up in his log.  Roughly 400-800 gallons are collected daily with a total last year (2012) of 4516 gallons of sap equaling about 70-80 gallons of syrup.  The high boiling temperatures kill any bacteria that might come along with the sap.  They also clean the equipment before each season starts, during the season on slow days with no sap to boil, and again at the end of the season.  It is still a labor-intensive venture.
    The weather patterns make a difference as to the amount of sap and its quality.  A good sap run begins after a cold winter with sufficient precipitation throughout the year.  With the dry summer of 2011, followed by a warmer-than-usual winter and no deep cold spell in January 2012, the production of sap was down, though “still pretty good,” and the Smiths were pleased.  Allan told me, “Every year’s production is different, and every night’s boiling is different.”  They have definitely seen seasonal ups and downs, as does every farmer, but cannot say they have seen an overall “global warming” pattern. 
    Usually they tap around Valentine’s Day, occasionally not until late February.  This year they tapped February 8th and had their first sap run on February 16th.   Sap collected in the raw state is about 2-3% sugar; the maple syrup stage is 66% sugar.  The lighter grades of syrup are made earlier in the season, with grades darkening as the season goes on.  The grades include Grade A light amber, most sweet; Grade A medium; Grade A dark with the most maple flavor; and Grade B dark, a cooking syrup.
    I asked about disasters, and they’ve had a few.  When boiling, the sap can quickly burn if the temperature goes up too high too fast.  What you’re left with is a pan of black goo that sets up like concrete, permanently ruining the evaporator pan.  I can sympathize as I once accidentally overcooked some sugar water for my hummingbirds.  Turning my back on the boiling sugar water for just a few minutes longer than expected, I returned to find it had become a thin layer of solid black concrete in a good pot.  I used a screwdriver to scrape hard and long, but got it all off.
    The Smith brothers faithfully attend the New York State Maple Producers’ Association every January, the largest convention in the U.S.  The two-day event, held at the Vernon/Verona/Sherril High School, brings in speakers and specialists from Vermont, Cornell University, and Canada, etc.  Highly educational, it is for anyone who taps from one tree to 10,000 trees.  The Smith brothers have been learning as much as they can about the business, including the latest technology available, constantly seeking to improve and grow their business.  They also learn about industry standards in order to meet government regulations so they can market their products commercially.
    Smith Family Maple Products are sold by word of mouth and at Family Farm Mercantile on Townline Road between Spencer and Van Etten.  A few years ago, a woman visiting from Ohio happened to see the Smith’s maple leaf sign on Sabin Road and stopped.  Now she faithfully orders maple syrup every year from her home in Ohio!  Eventually, they hope to build up a large enough volume to sell online.
    If folks want to try making syrup just for home consumption, there are no regulations.  Basically, Allen and Albert told me, “You need to boil the sap to 219 degrees, keep everything clean, without contamination, and enjoy!  Maple syrup is good on anything!”  There are many websites which can provide information, along with Cornell’s Cooperative Extension offices.    
    Being rather technologically challenged, I was very impressed with the Smith Family Maple Products’ operation.  From simple and humble beginnings, it has grown to encompass today’s modern technology in order to produce more syrup, more efficiently.
    Next week: Part II
  15. Linda Roorda
    Each one of us encounters failures and losses in life.  Each one of us encounters disabilities in ourselves or those around us.  But it’s what we do with, and how we react to, all that comes our way that makes a difference... in our lives and in the lives of others.  We can carry on with selfish pride in what we can do, we can roll over in defeat at failure... or we can face the challenge in humility, asking God to guide us along a broken and difficult path.
    For 27 years (from 1982 to 2009), we burned wood to heat our house.  When my gentle giant husband, Ed, farmed with his dad, he cut his own firewood with a chainsaw despite limited vision of 2/200 with correction in only one viable eye.  Came the day, though, that Ed lost the balance of his limited vision, and was completely blind.  He could no longer use a chainsaw after the first several years, and later had to stop using an axe to split wood, and it remained to be seen how he would handle the other obstacles that faced him being totally blind. 
    Initially, he went through a difficult transition and grieving process, common to all with any serious loss.  None of us knew how best to handle the change.  It was a learn-as-you-go process until we found professional guidance specifically for the blind at A.V.R.E. in Binghamton, NY and The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA.  And then, his old self rose up to meet the challenges, determined to do whatever he could to face whatever came his way… with a catch.
    As he stacked firewood one day without any remaining fragments of light and color to guide him, the rows kept collapsing.  He simply could not get the pieces of wood to fit together well enough to stay in neat upright rows.  In utter frustration, he sat down and put his head in his hands, feeling like an utter failure.  All of his life he’d had to struggle with limited vision, being classified legally blind from infancy on.  He struggled in the classroom, not being able to see the board, often refusing to ask for help.  He wanted to be just like everyone else.
    Most of us can tackle any activity, job or hobby with ease.  But my Ed was denied what he longed to do… he couldn’t play football or basketball with his 6’7” height.  He could swim like a pro, but wasn’t allowed on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or others if he strayed from his lane.  Instead, the coach made him manager of their state division championship team from Warwick, NY.  But, at other times, peers mocked and belittled him.  Why couldn’t he be accepted just for who he was?  Why did everything have to be so hard?  Why couldn’t life be easier and simpler… like it was for everyone else?  It wasn’t fair, he thought.
    Yet, he had accomplished so much with so little for so many years!  He could milk the cows, climb the silos, drive tractor and do all the field work except plant corn, and that was only because he couldn’t see where the last row left off.  With his limitations, he knew to be extra cautious and it always paid off.  But, now it seemed that even this last bit of enjoyment in stacking firewood was being taken from him, too. 
    Except, while sitting there, with the wood he’d stacked falling down, he decided to pray and ask God for help in this seemingly simple, but now very challenging task.  He prayed that God would guide each piece of wood he picked up so it would fit and the rows wouldn’t fall down… so that he could stack the wood himself without having to ask yet again for more help.  As he stood up and once again picked up the firewood, he soon realized that every piece he stacked fit… well, actually, fit perfectly!  When he was done, his rows stood straight and tall without collapsing! 

    And then he began hearing comments from neighbors who marveled at how great his stacked firewood looked.  By a man who couldn’t see, no less!  As Ed told anyone who commented, “It wasn’t me; it was God.”  It was only after he prayed each time before he picked up the first piece of wood that he was able to manage this seemingly impossible task.  But, if he forgot and just delved right in to stacking, the wood invariably collapsed… until he sat down and had a little talk with God.
    My poem below is reminiscent of a story floating around the internet of violinist Itzhak Perlman performing with a broken violin string.  Though that feat was unable to be confirmed by reliable sources, the concept is worthy of illustrating our brokenness in disability.  Another young man, Niccolo` Paganini, was an Italian child prodigy who played mandolin and violin from ages 5 and 7 respectively.  Supposedly, he once played with three broken strings, refusing to allow the handicap to end his serenade.  Paganini excelled in part because of Marfan’s Syndrome which gave him his height and extra long fingers, a genetic syndrome also found in our families.  The elasticity of joints and tissues allowed Paganini the flexibility to bend and extend his fingers beyond the norm as he used the disability to his benefit.
    Like Ed and others with disabilities, we can either resent our situation or we can have a little talk with God, asking Him to guide us through whatever we face. 
    The Broken String
    Linda A. Roorda
     
    Four strings create beautiful music
    Perfection in pitch, magnificent tone
    All they expect, not asking for more
    Performing with pride just as it should be.
     
    Pulling the bow across the taut strings
    Gently at first, then faster I stroke
    The symphonic sound brings tears to their eyes
    This is my gift to their list’ning ears.
     
    Closing my eyes to the beauty of sound
    Caressing the strings, deep feelings evoked
    From graceful and light to dramatic and rich
    Till one string popped, now what shall I do?
     
    Adversity gives a chance to prove worth
    As now I’ve lost a string that flails free.
    In silence all eyes are riveted on me;
    Would I be angry or would I accede?
     
    Silently I prayed, God give me the strength
    I’ve been disabled, humbled before all.
    Help me I pray to carry on well
    Let them now see You working through me.
     
    Adjusting my bow and fingers for sound
    Quickly I learned to amend my strokes,
    As to my ears a beautiful tune
    Emanates yet while focused on God.
     
    When the finale at last had arrived
    With a soft sigh I played my last note,
    And as it faded they rose to their feet
    With wild applause from their hearts to mine.
     
    Perhaps it was all intended to reach
    This attitude of pride within myself.
    A lesson was learned in how to react,
    Adversity’s gift to sink or to soar.
     
    For without You what does my life mean?
    What value is placed on my outward skills?
    Do You not, Lord, see deep in my heart
    Where my soul reflects my pride or Your grace?
     
    My attitude then a choice I must make
    Embrace gratitude or sink in despair.
    For I cannot change what happens to me
    Instead I’ll play while focused on You.
     
    Humility grows by resigning pride
    As a broken string reflects trials of life.
    Others I’ll serve as You did for me
    For in You is found the selfless way of life.
    ~~
    First published as a shorter version in the Spring issue of “Breaking Barriers”, March 2016,
    for the Christian Reformed Church newsletter and online Network website.
     
  16. Linda Roorda

    The Adulteress

    By Linda Roorda,

    Forgiven!  Can you imagine how she must have felt?  So close to being condemned to death, now free to go… forgiven a heavy burden of sin… free to overcome her past… and free to share the love of her Savior with everyone she comes in contact with!
    “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery… ‘In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women.  Now what do you say?’  They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.  But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger.  When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, ‘If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’ Again, he stooped down and wrote on the ground.  At this, those who heard began to go away, one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there…”  (John 8:3-9)
    We’ve all done something in our past we’d just as soon forget.  We may still feel the sting of shame.  I can think of many public figures who disgraced themselves including President Nixon, Lance Armstrong, Pete Rose, Bill Cosby, Ravi Zacharias, and now New York’s Gov. Andrew Cuomo.  But, how much better that they and we face our wrongs… our sins… head on.  Admit them and repent, ask for forgiveness, stop blaming others, walk away from wrongful behaviors, and feel the loving grace of our Lord.
    So, what about the men who brought the adulteress woman to court?  Well… they simply walked away and left her standing alone with Jesus.  I’ve always wondered if Jesus was writing a list of their sins in the sand.  If so, that would have made them more than a little uneasy.  They would have stood in amazement, and perhaps felt shame as their secret thoughts and sins were written in the sand, available for all to read.  How did this man know so much about them?
    They had brought this woman to condemn her for adultery, a sin punishable by stoning to death.  And yet, where was the man from the tryst?  Didn’t his sin matter to them, too?  Or, was he among her accusers, blaming her?  Rather than face the depth of hypocrisy in their own heart, each man turned and simply walked away.  They didn’t want others to learn the weight of their own brokenness.  But, as they silently walked away, no contrite heart or apology was expressed.  Did they not realize that God sees and knows the truth?
    What a mockery they made of justice… fingers pointing at another while being guilty themselves.  So typical of abusers who hide behind their mask of piety.  They were so focused on trying to get Jesus to incriminate himself with a response, they didn’t understand the depth of their own sin.  They walked away from seeing who Jesus truly was, and their own need of grace. 
    Both civic and religious leaders fail us then as now.  Leaders who call themselves gifted exude an arrogance with pride. (Proverbs 16:18)  Leaders who fail to hold themselves and others around them accountable lack integrity and humility.  Often, they can be classified narcissistic, being more than simply self-centered.  They feel entitled to praise or special treatment.  They lack empathy, are abusive, liars who do not take responsibility for their own behavior, take advantage of others, lash out at criticism or perceive they’re not getting the attention they deserve with a behind-the-scenes retaliation and perpetual blame shifting.  Underneath the egotistic façade, they are usually deeply insecure and use a faux cover to present themselves as more worthy than they really are.
    Yet, what a powerful picture of mercy and grace Jesus gave us all as He forgave the woman.  All she had to do was repent.  In doing so, leaving her old life behind to follow the Teacher, our Lord, she would gladly share with others what He had done for her.
    Because she now had a future!  A life to look forward to!  She’d lived her past under whispered labels.  She’d heard the mocking voices deep in her soul… stupid, worthless, trash, adulteress, prostitute.  Yes, she’d lived a life of ill repute.  But, the Teacher… He respected her!  So, what did He see in her?  He saw someone who’d been taken advantage of to benefit others… someone weighed down by a heart of sorrow and shame… someone willing to openly shoulder responsibility for all of her own wrongs.
    This Teacher, the man named Jesus… He saw what she could be when cleansed of her past.  He saw her broken heart longing to be made whole.  He stood her up tall so she could start anew.  Just like our Lord does for us.  He forgives the heart that repents, no matter the charge… that longs to make amends… that longs for a closeness with God.  He holds out His hands to draw us near… setting us back up on our feet as He guides our path with flawless wisdom…  Forgiven!
     
    The Adulteress
    By Linda A. Roorda
     
    I met him today, the greatest Teacher!
    My life was a mess, but He picked me up.
    He gave me hope... He gave me vision.
    He freed my soul from sin’s dark snare.
     
    Dragging to court they brought me up front,
    My accusers smug turning to the crowd.
    With taunting words they scoffed and accused
    Revealing my life, my sin and my shame.
     
    How could I have reached such fallen depths?
    He told me he cared.  I believed his lies.
    His words were glib with flattery smooth
    But now I was caught, ensnared in a trap.
     
    Stating that stoning was punishment fit
    They asked the Teacher his thoughts on the law.
    Instead He stooped and commenced to write
    Words hid from others, known only to them.
     
    Yet, as they questioned, He continued to write.
    On standing tall, He peered in their eyes.
    “If any one of you lives without sin,
    Let him be the one who casts the first stone.”
     
    Slowly the elders and then the younger
    Quietly fled until only two,
    The Teacher and I, we alone stood still.
    From silence He spoke, my soul deeply touched…
     
    “Woman, where are they?  Have any condemned?”
    Glancing around, “No one,” said I.
    “Then neither do I.  I condemn you not.
    Go, and leave your sin.  Forgiven are you.”
    ~~
    08/05/17
  17. Linda Roorda
    As we noted previously, studying census records plays another key role in searching for ancestors.  Census records track families as they grow, move to new frontiers, into the cities, or perhaps just stay put on the farm with family members scattered within walking distance nearby.
    Study the old handwriting, compare unknown names or words to letters and words which you clearly know.  But, know that the old fancy cursive is different from what we’re familiar with in today’s handwriting.  I became familiar with it when researching and copying old deeds as a young secretary years ago, learning the old language of legal documents in the process.
    I use two methods for keeping census records – one is to write all data on 4x6 lined index cards, and the other is using blank 8x10 census forms.  I eventually acquired several hundred index cards filed alphabetically in a handy large shoebox.  I find them easier to refer to than the large census forms which, admittedly, are the more accurate, though they can be placed alpha order in a 3-ring binder.  The large blank forms are also used as a guide to what data to include on index cards from each census. 
    Before searching census records, you should also know they, too, may contain errors.  At times, the enumerator may have been given wrong information, or misspelled first and last names depending on his own abilities.  When copying data, be sure to include the way names were misspelled, along with the known correction.
    For example, I tracked a McNeill descendant whose father had removed his family from Carlisle to Decatur, New York and later to the state of Maine.  I knew his daughter, Appolonia Livingston McNeill, by baptism record.  She married William Smyth(e) and lived in Bangor, Maine.  By census records, her unmarried sister, Sarah McNeil(l), lived with them.  I followed the Smyth(e) family in Bangor by census, and the family’s billiard hall by city business directory.  I could not locate Appolonia in the important 1900 census, assuming she died after 1880.  Searching for her sons, I was surprised to find Appolonia as a widow, listed on the 1900 census by her middle name as Livingston A. Smyth.  She then resides with her twin sons in Portland, Oregon where she dies and is buried per death record I purchased.  Wondering what brought them to the far side of the continent, I can only speculate that perhaps they later enjoyed Portland’s 1905 Lewis and Clark Exposition.  I have not had time nor funds to pursue further research on the family among Maine or Oregon records, though I did obtain a few free cemetery records online. 
    Every ten years since 1790, our federal government has gathered a national census.  Very few records remain of the 1890 census as most were destroyed by fire and water damage in 1921.  In 1934, rather than make attempts to restore the balance of records, they were destroyed by the U. S. Department of Commerce despite a public outcry.   The 1890 census was different from previous with in-depth questions about each family member and Civil War service, and would have been invaluable to researchers!
    State censuses are equally as important.  Taken randomly, they are a little-known or seldom-used resource.  Typically collected by states every ten years, in years ending in “5,” New York did so in 1790, 1825 through 1875, 1892, 1905, 1915, and 1925. 
    For privacy reasons, census records are not available to the public until 70 or so years later, the 1940 census being released in April 2012.  Records available to the public from 1790 through 1940 are found at a county clerk’s office, online by subscription at Ancestry.com, on microfilm through the Family History Center of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, with some census records transcribed and placed online at county genweb sites.  As a way to pay back other generous contributors, I transcribed the 1810 census for Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York.  I’ve wanted to do more, but have not had time to go back and transcribe additional census records for online usage. And that was back when I had the slow dial-up internet, not my fast click’n-go high speed!
    Initial census records provide limited data.  The 1790 census includes city, county, state, page, date, name of head of household, males under and over age 16, free white females, all other free persons, and slaves.  
    The 1800 census begins to break down age groups by years, with 1820 including occupations in agriculture, commerce, manufacturing.  The 1830 census includes the deaf and blind, but no occupations.  The 1840 again includes age groups for males, females, free colored persons and slaves, but also occupations of mining, agriculture, commerce, navigation of ocean, canals, lakes and rivers, learned professional engineers; pensioners for Revolutionary or military services; the deaf, dumb, blind and insane; data regarding one’s education, and those who cannot read or write.
    The 1850 census is also a key census as it’s the first to list the name and age of every household member along with numbering the dwellings/houses and families of a town.  From 1850 through 1940, data may include the name of each household member, age, sex (which helps when a given name is not gender specific or is illegible), number of children born to a mother, marital status, years of marriage, state or country of birth, birth places, year of immigration, street address, occupations, value of the home, etc.
    The 1880 census is free at both Ancestry.com and the LDS Family Search website.  The 1900 gives month and year of birth along with other family and professional data.  The 1910 through 1940 are more in depth than previous.  Regardless, all census records contain a wealth of vital information on your ancestors!
    COMING NEXT – Military Records
  18. Linda Roorda
    Treasures – we all have them… they’re what our hearts hold dear.  Treasures are often found within the important things of life – our family, friends, hobbies, and even little trinkets. Yet, what value do we give them?  Are they all encompassing, devouring our time and energy… or are they like gifts in the backdrop of a life rich and full from serving others?
    One of my favorite verses from childhood has been, “But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moth and rust do not destroy, and where thieves do not break in and steal.  For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  (Matthew 6:20-21)  In all honesty, though, I have not always looked at life from that perspective.  But God never fails to bring something to mind which helps us remember His great and awesome treasure.
    I have many treasures, things I hold dear.  One special treasure is a small collection of Delftware.  Since both my husband and I are second-generation Americans of Dutch immigrants, I want to preserve our heritage.  Though patriotic American, I also value the Dutch as my most prominent ancestry.  My dad was full Dutch, while my mom is a mixture of many German/Swiss Palatines, a few Scots-Irish, English and French, and many early-17th century New Netherlands’ Dutch.  
    Yet, as much as I treasure my family and its heritage, this is not where my greatest treasure is found.  Instead, I have learned to “seek…first the kingdom of God, and His righteousness...”  (Matthew 6:33)  Storing up treasures through the gift of Christ’s love and sacrifice leaves me to understand everything else is simply an accumulation of stuff.  I can’t take any of it with me when I pass away from this earth. 
    By trusting, believing in, and accepting Jesus’ death and resurrection, we affirm His assertion to all the world that “I am the Way, the Truth and the Life.  No one comes to the Father except through me.”  (John 14:6)   Nor can we escape the simple truth that, as Jesus told his followers, “where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.”  (Matthew 6:21, Luke 12:34)  That treasure I can take with me!  And may we always hold the greatest treasure this world has ever known close to our heart.
    Heaven’s Treasures
    Linda A. Roorda
     Treasures are in the heart’s secret things
    The special thoughts, the riches valued
    But whence the source a difference makes
    For what the heart seeks, there lies its treasure.
     
    What do I value above all the rest?
    What would I give for my heart to follow?
    What is the worth of a sacrifice
    Among life’s stuff that draws me away?
     
    Is it my self, an ego to fulfill,
    Or is the choice of eternal value?
    Do I hold tight trinkets of this world,
    Or release them all for greater reward?
     
    Within this life are choices to make
    Whom shall I follow, to whom give my heart?
    To that which I seek will loyalty go
    Whether in pleasure or by wisdom’s light.
     
    For what my heart seeks there is my treasure
    Hidden in depths of awe-filled wonder
    As I gaze upon heaven’s great glory
    The shining home where faith has been placed.
    ~~
     
  19. Linda Roorda
    Who was the carpenter’s son they called Jesus, and what was He really like?  He lived, breathed and walked the face of this earth some 2000 years ago, but how well do we really know Him?  What would it have been like to be around Him, listening to Him, and following Him?  Beyond what we read in our Holy Bible, or what others have written to express their understanding of Scripture’s portrayal of Him, we might wonder what He was like as a child or as an adult facing mundane day-to-day life issues. 
    So, I paused to think about the man named Jesus in a more personal way… like a neighbor would watch this young man’s life from a distance.  Because, sometimes, we may take our faith for granted.
    What made the life of Jesus special?  Why did thousands of people seek him out while others spoke against him?  Why did some ask questions intended to trick him while others clamored for more of his wisdom?  Every time, though, Jesus amazed the questioners, and even pointed out their thoughts. 
    I don’t think I’m alone in seeing myself among the various descriptions of His 12 disciples and their attitudes, nor among the attitudes of the crowds which followed him.  I honestly don’t know how I would have reacted as a contemporary of Jesus.  Would I have believed His message then… like I do now?  Would I have stood on the sideline as a skeptic and mocker?  Would I be afraid to affirm my love of Jesus like Peter did that night beside the fire?  Perhaps these are among the issues any one of us might ponder. 
    Yet, He was so much more… for the other side of the carpenter’s son was Holy.  He had a wisdom, a knowledge, a divinity about Him that was evident to those who believed His message.  He claimed to be the fulfillment of the ancient prophesies about the coming Messiah… in other words, He was born as one of us, yet He was fully God.  Sometimes it may be hard to wrap our finite minds around that concept. 
    He calmly and quietly took the punishment of death on a cross for something He did not do… to pay for my sins… for your sins…  And my heart is forever grateful to the carpenter’s son, the Holy Son of God, for the mercy and grace He extends to each of us on our confession and repentance. As the Apostle Peter affirmed, “Salvation is found in no one else, for there is no other name under heaven given to men by which we must be saved.” (Acts 4:12)
    May you be truly blessed this Palm Sunday as we look toward Good Friday and Easter, and contemplate together all that our Lord has done for us.
     The Carpenter's Son
    Linda A. Roorda
     I watched him grow, the carpenter's son.
    He was lucky, the boy who survived.
    Herod killed them, all boys under two
    But Joseph moved and saved his firstborn.
     
    Back from Egypt to Nazareth town,
    Joseph’s wood shop not far from my dad's.
    Jealous was I of one with no wrong.
    How could this boy always be perfect?
     
    I saw his work, quality unequalled.
    Though younger than I more skilled were his hands.
    His work in demand, mine not so much.
    Frustrated was I; like him I did not.
     
    Found debating the elder rabbis,
    Who was he really, this carpenter's son?
    How could he know such truths at age twelve?
    Puzzled was I, as I watched him grow.
     
    His father died young, with Jesus the oldest,
    Leaving their mother to raise them alone.
    A godly woman, without doubt was she
    A humble woman, with wisdom gifted.
     
    But there came a day when Jesus left home
    Leaving skeptic brothers, the carpenter's sons.
    Now he gathered a group of twelve men
    Teaching the crowds, with miracles, too.
     
    I have to admit my conscience was pierced
    For as I listened among noisy crowds
    I often wondered how had he become
    A man of wisdom, this carpenter's son?
     
    I began to listen a bit more closely
    His words made me think in ways I hadn’t before.
    He knew the Scriptures and taught to our hearts
    Once I disliked him, now I wanted more.
     
    What was the draw?  Why such attention?
    His message simple, to love each other.
    But most of all with heart, mind and soul
    To love our God above all others.
     
    For three short years, I put aside self
    To understand the carpenter's son.
    I had not liked him, but he drew me near
    He opened my eyes to depths of my heart.
     
    But then I heard they’d arrested him!
    What was the crime?  He had done no wrong!
    ‘Twas then I learned false charges were made
    Against our Teacher, the carpenter's son.
     
    The servant of all stood calmly as charged
    When asked who he was, confessed to be God.
    Without fair trial, they mocked and whipped
    And like a meek lamb, faced his own death.
     
    We stood and watched as nails were hammered
    His cross raised high between mocking thieves.
    Taunted was he, called King of the Jews
    Yet humbly forgiving was the carpenter's son.
     
    When they determined death had overcome
    We quietly left to contemplate all.
    How could this happen, we wondered aloud
    As he was buried behind a great stone.
     
    The man of wisdom with a heart for peace
    He who preached mercy was gone from our midst.
    Who could replace the man we once followed?
    Like no one else, our hearts he had touched.
     
    Three days later news came to our ears.
    He was risen, though how I don't know!
    Mary first saw Him in the garden alone
    Our Master and Savior, Redeemer and Lord.
     
    He then appeared to the gathered friends
    To show his scars and express His love.
    But He also spoke of a message now ours
    Of mercy and grace from the carpenter's son.
    ~~
  20. Linda Roorda
    Anything but a boring read, military records are another invaluable source of documentation.  The first step is to determine when and where your ancestor served.  Often clues to an ancestor’s military service are found in family stories, old photos, death records and obituaries, grave markers and/or cemetery records, local town histories, and other family records or correspondence.
    Many military records are available at Ancestry.com.  You will find draft registration cards for WW I and WW II, enlistment and service records, soldier and prisoner lists, casualty lists, pension records, etc.  In searching Ancestry’s records for this article, I found the Revolutionary War pension application file for my ancestor, John C. McNeill.  I had purchased the complete file several years ago through the national archives at NARA.gov.  So much more data has been placed online at repositories like Ancestry.com than was available when I began researching in the late 1990s. 
    When you search for records at the website for National Archives, click on the Veterans’ Service Records section to begin.  You will find military service records, pension records of veterans’ claims, draft registration records, and bounty land warrant application files and records available.  I found the WWII enlistment records at both Ancestry and NARA websites for two of my paternal grandfather’s brothers.  They had served in Europe and the South Pacific.  NARA’s website allows you to download free forms in order to purchase the full military records which may not be available elsewhere.
    Military records can provide a good deal of genealogical and historical data about an ancestor.  The various records may include date of birth, birthplace, age, date of enlistment, occupation, names of immediate family members, and service records listing battles fought, capture, discharge, death, etc. 
    However, bear in mind that military records may not include all data you seek.  My John C. McNeill did not note a date of birth or age in his Revolutionary War pension application affidavit, and stated only that he had “nine children…5 sons and 4 daughters”, without listing any of their names.  Talk about frustration!  However, Jesse McNeill, my ancestor, verified in his signed affidavit that he was a son of John and that was key evidence.  Thankfully, John’s wife, Hannah, noted their marriage date, town, name of the Justice of the Peace who married them, and her sister’s name in her affidavit when applying for her widow’s pension.
    With military records, you can take a little data and round it out with further research.  My John C. McNeill answered the call of fellow patriots to serve with the New Hampshire Line at Bunker Hill (aka Breed’s Hill) in June 1775.  He was a Sergeant under Captain Daniel Wilkins in Colonel Timothy Bedel’s regiment of rangers, in charge of pasturing cattle to feed the men.  In 1776, Bedel’s regiment was ordered to join the Northern Continental Army in New York to reinforce the military presence in Canada.

    McNeill’s pension file affidavits note capture at The Cedars, a fort west of Montreal on the St. Lawrence River, where they were plundered of all possessions.  They were taken to an island and left naked, without shelter and scant rations for eight days.  At The Cedars, “Bedel left the fort, either [to]… seek reinforcements or convey intelligence.  The command devolved on Major Isaac Butterfield… who on the 19th of May [1776] disgracefully surrendered his force of about four hundred men to the British and Indians [who were] about five hundred in number.”  (History of Goffstown [N.H.] by George Plumer Hadley, page 124.)
    Morris Commager’s “The Spirit of Seventy-Six” (pgs. 212-220) provides further corroboration of this capture with many injured, killed, taken prisoner, or dying of disease.  McNeill was among survivors exchanged and returned in a cartel between the British Captain George Foster and American Brigadier General Benedict Arnold.  McNeill then served out his military enlistment at Saratoga, NY.  McNeill’s cousin and friends sign an affidavit in his pension application file stating they survived the ordeal with him, celebrating their release annually thereafter.
    Another excellent source, a great read which confirmed the information I had on Bedel’s New York Regiment, is found in “Benedict Arnold’s Navy:  The Ragtag Fleet that lost the Battle of Lake Champlain but Won the American Revolution” by James Nelson, 2006, The McGraw-Hill Companies. 
    I further assume that, having served in New York for a time, McNeill later sought fertile land in what historians call the “Breadbasket of the American Revolution” – Schoharie County, New York.  After settling in my mother’s home town of Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York in the mid-1790s, one of his neighbors, and likely good friend, was Thomas Machin, whose farmland I have seen on a side road just into Montgomery County and very near Schoharie County.
    Maybe you don't know the significance of Thomas Machin who “supervised the making and laying of The Great Chain across the Hudson River near West Point.”  “W. Thomas Machin, Engineer, Washington’s Staff, Founding Father of Masonry in Schoharie County…Member Boston Tea Party; 1744-1816.”  (Personal view of two New York State plaques commemorating Machin at Carlisle Rural Cemetery, Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY, just a short distance up Cemetery Road from the farm fronting Rt. 20 on which my mother grew up.)  However, Machin was not likely to have been part of the Boston Tea Party per my additional research.  Living in close proximity to each other, I am sure there must have been a good friendship between the two military men and their families – Machin’s grandson, James Daniel Machin, married John C. McNeill’s granddaughter, Lucy Jane/Jeanette McNeill, in 1852.
    There is so much to be gleaned from in-depth research of ancestors, learning about their lives, extended family, and the historical era in which they lived!
    COMING NEXT:  #10 - Last Will and Testament…
  21. Linda Roorda

    Respect

    By Linda Roorda,

    Oh, that we lived in a perfect world! … but we don’t.  Not everything goes our way, but our response can make a difference.  So, why am I hesitant to express my opinion?  There's a place for respectful disagreements, including of each other's faith, or lack thereof as espoused a few years back by Joy Behar of “The View” and those who admire her. They mocked former Vice President Mike Pence for his Christian faith and talking to Jesus, even calling a “mental illness” his listening to Jesus’ voice.  I, too, have heard the "voice" of God... sometimes loud and clear as if someone stood next to me uttering the words, other times nothing more than a gentle nudge in my soul. 
    But, in re: school and public mass shootings, Ed and I have long felt there's something eating away at society, like a cancer.  It’s doubtful if stricter gun laws will make a big difference in overall statistics of violence, since criminals always manage to get them.  Though we do believe some laws strengthened may be more of a deterrent than others, it’s interesting that cities with the toughest gun laws haven’t curbed their gun violence.  But you know, my Dad's guns were freely available to me and my brothers as teens, after training in respectful use, and we never considered using them wrongly. 
    As crime rates increase, we see an obvious lack of respect for the value of another human being… with an increase in bullying and rage issues, taunting, mocking and killing of our law enforcement officers. 
    We can argue gun crime stats, but I don't believe access to guns by teens or any criminal is our main issue.  We have seen over time that any manner of weapon can be used besides guns - knives, a heavy object to bludgeon the victim, vehicles, even a rock by Cain to kill his brother Abel in a fit of jealous rage.  Even in states or cities with the strictest gun control laws, crime rates have risen a good deal lately.
    Many at-risk youths have not learned how to appropriately redirect their losses, upsets or rage other than to lash out at those around them - especially when adults use violence to release their own anger.  There seems to be a lack of discipline – some kids know what they can get away with and readily test the limits.  And, sometimes, kids lack appropriate role models as we adults can also give inappropriate signals.  Too often we, as a society, have given our youth too much, causing an "entitlement" syndrome where no effort is put forth to earn what one desires to gain.
    We witness or become the target of bullying, verbal attacks, abuse and harassment in many forms.  Amidst the violence, angry rhetoric, and sexual harassment and misconduct in our society, something seems to be missing.  What happened to the respect we once showed each other?  Showing courtesy, consideration and honor to others fits together under that one term – respect.  Displaying an attitude of humility with respect shows the depth of our own character and integrity.  Yet, it seems that mocking or hateful vitriol is the language preferred from many directions.  Like you, I find it appalling. 
    Anger against sin and abuse is not wrong, but righteous, an emotional response which God gave us. When anger stems from a heart with sinful intention, therein lies the abuse and lack of respect.  And it should make us stop and think.  
    Perhaps, instead of taking a knee to the American flag and finding fault with America, those with ability, financial or otherwise, could help the underprivileged within current charities or create new ones.  Perhaps, simply from their own heart of love, instead of violence and destruction to have their demands met, they could become a mentor to show the disadvantaged a better way.  I grew up without much of what my peers had.  I’ve been mocked and ridiculed.  But I also grew up with parents who cared and who disciplined.  I grew up with kids of all races, including black friends and those of international heritage, and they and their parents did all they could to accomplish their goals with respect and gratitude to the community.
    Where has morality gone?  Why are certain “politically correct” attitudes condoned while those who disagree are held in disdain?  With the push to set God aside as irrelevant in our lives, to live as if we are unaccountable to anyone and anything, I think we have also brushed moral ethics and values aside.  After all, if we do not believe we’re created in the image of God, but simply exist because a few cosmic molecules exploded with a bang, then of what value is another person’s life.  I find it ironic that huge fines are levied for killing animals, yet our unborn children are aborted/killed because they might be defective or an inconvenience. 
    Is a conscience or a moral obligation obsolete?  Do we do whatever seems right to us alone?  Without moral absolutes and the ensuing guilt regarding what is or is not considered sinful behavior, then we don’t have to hold ourselves accountable to God and His word.  Still, how often don’t those who hold to a belief in God tend to live by certain moral standards that have their very foundation in Holy Scripture.
    With so many accusations of sexual misconduct/harassment among public officials coming to light, has this pattern of behavior become prolific because of Bill Clinton’s ability to “get away with it” during his past presidency?  I remember someone saying to me then that it was no big deal, “Everyone does it!”  Oh really?  Does everyone lie to cover up the truth, or only abusers?  What’s lacking in one’s character to cause such rampant abuse?  The predator or abuser knows how to shame his victims into silence.  Silent no more, many are speaking out more readily, calling attention to the abuse and harassment suffered quietly for too long.  The victims are trying to bring accountability into the picture for restitution and a better way to live responsibly.  Yet, too often victims are still silenced and looked upon as the problem.
    We feel free to disparage and mock the opposition of our dearly-held beliefs, yet we’re appalled if our own perspectives are attacked.  Once upon a time, we honored each other… despite our differences.  Once upon a time, we agreed to disagree.  We were able to debate and argue our points in a respectful manner, but now it seems that mocking, hate-filled rhetoric, and even violence is “de rigueur.”  Why? 
    I’ve pondered the societal denigration which brought about the November 2008 Black Friday shopping stampede.  The epitome of greed fed that mad rush, pushing and shoving throughout the crowd, just to satisfy selfish desires… for Christmas gifts no less… resulting in the trampling death of a Wal-Mart employee.  I remember hearing this story on the news then, and being saddened and appalled that such a tragedy could have even happened.
    But, isn’t it greed and selfishness which results in any crime, whether it be robbery or murder?  We’re jealous.  We dislike.  And we allow minor slights to fester.  We have our rights, hold grudges, and can’t forgive.  Someone has what we want so we take it to satisfy our pleasure, or destroy the one who owns it.  How unutterably sad that society has stooped to this level, even to condemning those who bring attention to abuses they’ve dealt with.  Yet, there’s nothing new under the sun, as Solomon once said. (Ecclesiastes 1:9)  Even Adam and Eve’s son Cain killed his brother, Abel, out of jealousy that festered and grew into a murderous hatred.  (Genesis 4:4-12)
    These thoughts reminded me of the vitriol espoused by and against various public officials, particularly during election time.  There’s a hatred and cancellation of the opposition, those holding and expressing conservative and/or Christian biblical values.  Whether by, or against, the president of our nation or any of our local officials, including law enforcement officers, such words seem to be the norm lately.  With hatred and anger fueled perhaps by abusive rhetoric, and a loathing of that with which we disagree, passions are fed and all manner of evil erupts from the human heart… rather than allowing the opposition time to express their opinion.
    In the Summer of 2017, many thought it was “the right thing to do” by taking down statues erected in memory of our nation’s historical past.  We cannot rewrite history by destroying that with which we disagree, and instead are setting a dangerous precedent.  In removing what is considered a negative, perhaps we miss the opportunity to learn from past mistakes… personal and collective, national and international.  Perhaps there are teachable moments that would draw our divergent beliefs together in common ground.  In the slippery progression to remove more and more references to our historical past, what’s next?  Think long and hard of the consequences… because it just might be us next… me and you…for our beliefs.
    A contrast to such rhetoric and violence can be found in Jesus’ teachings that we call The Beatitudes, especially one simple phrase we all know as the Golden Rule.  “So, in everything, do to others what you would have them to do you…” (Matthew 7:12 NIV)  As the physician Luke expressed in his gospel (17:3), “If your brother sins, rebuke him, and if he repents, forgive him.”  What better way to show Christ’s love to our neighbor or enemy than by lending a helping hand with courtesy and forgiveness… while respecting our differences.
    When an expert in the old Jewish law asked, “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’  This is the first and greatest commandment.  And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”  (Matthew 22:36-39 NIV) With such love, we “encourage one another and build each other up”. (I Thessalonians 5:11) 
    Wow!  What a depth of perfect wisdom we find in Jesus’ words!  In taking them to heart, there’d be no more abuse, petty fights or squabbles among us, or even great wars.  We’d be so in tune to each other’s needs that our selfish ego and desires would vanish.  All out of a simple respect for each other and their needs.  May God bless each of us as we practice that kind of true humility.  
    Respect
    Linda A. Roorda
    It seems we’ve mislaid respect and value.
    We want what we want, and deserve it now!
    We’ll step on your toes, fight and destroy
    Not caring to pause and treasure your worth.
    ~
    Entitled am I, my wants come first
    I rush and push, and trample on through.
    How dare you think that I could be wrong
    I have my rights!  Get out of my way!
    ~
    Oh, to our shame, what have we done…
    We once shared love but now foster hate,
    We once treasured folks for who they are
    And valued their rights as much as our own.
    ~
    Common courtesy, we salute your ways
     With manners polite and outstretched arms
    Welcoming others with civility’s mores
    Regarding humility as our tone of grace.
    ~
    With deference and honor we highly esteem
    Others before self with gratitude’s praise
    Rendering tribute where homage is due
    Tactful and kind, we respect you for you.
    ~~
  22. Linda Roorda
    A Scottish castle on the Hudson?  Drawn to the hazy beauty of this photo, I was mesmerized by the castle’s classic lines… so reminiscent of centuries-old castles scattered around the British and Scottish moors and highlands, intrigued to know it sat upon American soil.  After researching and naming my Mom’s maternal Scots-Irish, I am proud to say that they, too, hold a special place in my heart amongst all my Dutch ancestors.

    Photo of Bannerman's Castle  by Will Van Dorp, on his blog, Tugster.
    Think back with me to an earlier day when the adventurous Europeans followed Henry Hudson’s momentous sail north on a river now bearing his name.  It was an era of exploration, a prosperous time for the Dutch and their friends as they established a considerable presence in the settling of Nieuw Nederlands… and traveled freely up and down the North River with its invitingly peaceful, and beautiful, sylvan surroundings.
    Now envision a fairy-tale castle of Scottish design built upon a solid rock foundation, entirely surrounded by a pristine and placid river as its moat.  At times though, depending on the season and storm, the waters become riled and treacherous, perhaps evoking images of an ancient castle set upon the lonely and stormy seacoast of bonnie Scotland.  Such a sighting embodies the ambiance of castle life in the Middle Ages…  a time of chivalry when knights in shining armor went out to battle, bravely protecting their sovereign and his empire, returning home with honor to win the heart of a certain fair young maiden…
    Roughly 50 miles north of New York City lies an island comprising about 5-1/2 or 6-1/2 acres (depending on source) along the eastern shore of the Hudson River as you head north.  Pollepel Island is a lush growth of trees, bushes, flowers and gardens, clamoring vines, weeds, bugs, ticks, snakes, and rocky ground.  Not surprisingly, the hardy Dutch left their influence on our language and place names all throughout the new world in both New Amsterdam proper and environs of the greater New Netherlands.  Naturally this little island, Pollepel (i.e. Dutch for ladle), was named by these hardy early settlers, situated in an area designated as the “Northern Gate” of the Hudson River’s Highlands.  Just like in the Old Country, the island’s natural harbor provides the perfect setting for a castle… Bannerman’s Island Arsenal, to be exact.  Arsenal, you ask?  Yes, a place where knights could well have donned shining armor for their king and perched behind the battlements with all manner of arms.
    Long before there was a castle of dreamy old-world architecture, it was said that Native Americans refused to take up residence on this mound of rock.  Believing the island to be haunted, the Indians rarely dared set foot upon it in daylight, if at all, while their enemies flaunted that fact by seeking refuge on the rocky shore…
    The hardy mariners who once sailed Hudson’s North River left a legacy of legends and tales of this little island.  Washington Irving of Tarrytown told with skillful imagination the story of “The Storm Ship”,  also known as the “Flying Dutchman”.  Fear of goblins who dwelt on Pollepel Island was as real as that of their leader, the Heer of Dunderburgh.  It was well known that Dunderburgh controlled the winds, those furies which provoked the waters, making safe passage of the Highlands a thing to be envied.  With the sinking of the famed “Flying Dutchman” during an especially severe storm, the captain and crew found themselves forever doomed.  And, if you should ever find yourself traveling the river near Pollepel in such a storm, listen closely… for in the howling of the winds which whip the sails, you just might hear the captain and his sailors calling for help.
    Another legend which early Dutch sailors spoke about was that of Polly Pell, a beautiful young lady rescued from the river’s treacherous ice.  Romantically saved from drowning by the quick wit and arms of her beau, she married her rescuer.  Such are the dreams of the romantically inclined…
    From a more practical perspective, Gen. George Washington used the strategically placed Pollepel Island during the American Revolution in an effort to prevent British ships from sailing north.  “Chevaux de frise” were made of large logs with protruding iron spikes which, when sunk upright in the river, were intended to damage ships’ hulls and stop the British from passing through.  However, these particular obstructions, set up between the island and Plum Point on the opposite shore, did not deter the resourceful British.  They simply sailed with ease past the sunken deterrents in flat-bottomed boats.  Washington also planned to establish a military garrison for prisoners-of-war on Pollepel Island, but there is no proof extant that his idea was ever implemented.
    According to Jane Bannerman (granddaughter-in-law of the castle’s builder) in “Pollepel - An Island Steeped in History”, the island had just five owners since the American Revolution era:  “William Van Wyck of Fishkill, Mary G. Taft of Cornwall, Francis Bannerman VI of Brooklyn, and The Jackson Hole Preserve (Rockefeller Foundation) which donated the island to the people of the State of New York (Hudson Highlands State Park, Taconic Region, New York State Office of Parks, Recreation and Historic Preservation).”
    Francis (Frank) Bannerman VI, the island’s third owner, was born March 24, 1851 in Dundee, Scotland.  His ancestor was the first to bear the honored name of Bannerman seven centuries ago.  At Bannockburn in 1314, Stirling Castle was held by the English King, Edward II.  Besieged by the Scottish army, however, Edward II’s well-trained troops were ultimately defeated in a brutal battle.  Less than half the size of England’s army, the successful brave Scotsmen were commanded by the formidable Robert the Bruce, King of Scots.  During that battle, Francis VI’s ancestor rescued their Clan Macdonald’s pennant from destruction.  In reward, Robert the Bruce is said to have torn a streamer from the Royal ensign and bestowed upon Francis’s ancestor the honor of “bannerman,” the auspicious beginning of the family name.
    Fast forward a few centuries and, interestingly, we learn that two years after the February 8, 1690 Schenectady (New York) massacre by the French and Indians, there was a similar massacre in Scotland.  Barely escaping the Feb 13, 1692 massacre of the Clan Macdonald at Glencoe in the Scottish Highlands by the Campbells, , Francis Bannerman I and others sailed to Ireland.  With the family settling in Antrim for the next 150 years or so, it was not until 1845 that Francis Bannerman V returned his branch of the family’s presence to Dundee, Scotland.  There, Francis VI was born into this distinguished family.  When but a lad of 3 years, his father brought the family across the pond to America’s shores in 1854.  Settling in Brooklyn by 1856, the Bannerman family has remained with a well-respected presence.
    Francis V earned a living by reselling items in the Brooklyn Navy Yard which he’d obtained cheaply at auctions.  A few years later, on joining the Union efforts in the Civil War, his 10-year-old son, Francis VI, left school to help support the family.  Searching for scrap items after his hours in a lawyer’s office, young Frank VI also sold newspapers to mariners on ships docked nearby.  In the evenings, he trolled or dragged local rivers and searched the streets and alleys, ever on the lookout for profitable scrap items, chains, and other odds and ends, even sections of rope, all eagerly bought by local junkmen. 
    Returning from war an injured man, Francis V saw how successful his son had become with his scrap business.  By realizing that items he sold held more value than ordinary junk, young Frank had made good money.  To handle the growing accumulations of items his son had collected, and the military surplus purchased in 1865 at the close of the Civil War, Bannerman’s storehouse was set up on Little Street.  Next, a ship-chandlery shop was established on Atlantic Avenue in Brooklyn.  Returning to school with his father at home, young Francis received a scholarship to Cornell University.  However, owing to his father’s disability, family loyalty won out and he declined to pursue the halls of higher education in order to help run the family business.
    In 1872, 21-year-old Francis VI took a business trip to Europe.   Visiting his grandmother in Ulster, Ireland, he met Helen Boyce whom he married June 8, 1872 in Ballymena.  Two of their sons, Francis VII and David Boyce, eventually joined their father in the family business.  A third son, Walter Bruce, took a different path by earning his medical degree.  Sadly, their only daughter died as an infant.  Charles, grandson of Francis VI, married Jane Campbell, a descendant of the ancient Campbells who had attempted to destroy the Macdonald clan (from which massacre Francis I had escaped).  Their marriage showed love was the impetus to rise above the ancient rivalry between the families, reminiscent of the Appalachian’s storied Hatfields and McCoys. 
    Considered the “Father of the Army-Navy Store”, Frank Bannerman VI opened a huge block-long store on Broadway by 1897.  Here, his large building of several floors housed untold numbers of military supplies, munitions and uniforms from all around the world.  Francis/Frank was the go-to man in equipping soldiers for the Spanish-American War.  At that war’s end, the company bought arms from the Spanish government and most of the weapons which the American military had captured from the Spanish.  Printing a 300-400 page mail order catalog from the late 19th century through the mid-1960s,  collectors found a large array of military surplus and antiquities.  As city laws limited Bannerman’s ability to retain his massive holdings within the city proper, a larger facility was sought to store their collection of munitions.  
    As he relaxed by canoeing the Hudson River around this time, David Bannerman observed an inconspicuous little island.  Finding Pollepel Island perfectly suited to their needs, his father, Frank VI, approached the Taft family and purchased the island in 1900.  Designing a Scottish-style castle to honor the family’s legacy, they built an arsenal to store their vast munitions supplies, with a smaller castle providing a family residence.  On the side of the castle facing the Hudson River, “Bannerman’s Island Arsenal” is embedded in the castle façade, clearly informing all passersby of its purpose to this day.
    As the largest collector of munitions in the world, buying and selling to many nations, including Japan during the Russo-Japanese War of 1904-1905, and to private citizens like you and me, even Buffalo Bill Cody, military memorabilia collectors, theatrical establishments, and artists needing props, Mr. Francis Bannerman VI held an in-depth knowledge of the military supplies and ordnance in his possession.  But, not being a man of greed, he refused to arm revolutionaries and returned their money on learning their intention.  At the opening of World War I, he reportedly shipped 8,000 saddles to the French Army and delivered thousands of rifles and ammunition to the British at no cost. 
    Though extremely successful selling munitions, Francis/Frank Bannerman VI considered himself a kind and generous man, “a man of peace”.  It was his intention that such a vast collection of arms as his would eventually be considered “The Museum of the Lost Arts.”   Energetic and devoted to his church and public service, he also taught a boys’ Sunday School class.  He enjoyed bringing friends to the island to experience his family’s hospitality.  His wife, Helen, who loved to garden, had paths and terraces constructed throughout the property.  Even today, tour guides point out the many flowers and shrubs she planted which have survived the decades, the beauty of which enhance the antiquity of the castle ruins.
    With the death of Francis Bannerman VI on November 26, 1918 at age 64, building on the island stopped and many setbacks seemed to befall his estate.  Two years later, an explosion of 200 tons of stored shells and powder destroyed part of the castle. With State and federal laws controlling the sale of munitions to civilians, sales began to plunge for Bannerman’s Arsenal.  Family continued to reside in the smaller castle on the island into the 1930s; but, for the sake of their customers, sold their goods more conveniently from a warehouse in Blue Point, Long Island into the 1970s.  In 1950, a pall fell over the island and its castle when the ferry “Pollepel” (named for the island it served) sank in a storm.  Then, when the island’s caretaker retired in 1957, Bannerman’s island remained abandoned and untended for years. 
    Frank VI’s grandson, Charles, wisely predicted in 1962  that “No one can tell what associations and incidents will involve the island in the future.  Time, the elements, and maybe even the goblins of the island will take their toll of some of the turrets and towers, and perhaps eventually the castle itself, but the little island will always have its place in history and in legend and will be forever a jewel in its Hudson Highland setting.”
    Ultimately, New York State bought the island and its buildings in 1967 after all military supplies had been removed, and tours of the island and castle commenced in 1968.  Unfortunately, a devasting fire on August 8, 1969 destroyed the Arsenal along with its walls, floors and roofs making the island unsafe, and it was closed to the public.  Though the castle now sits in ruins, much of the exterior walls are still standing, accented with climbing ivy, and held up in the weakest sections by supports.  Since virtually all interior floors and walls were destroyed by fire, “vandalism, trespass, neglect and decay”   have continued taking their toll over the decades. 
    In more recent years, the island once again made headlines with a tragic story.  On April 19, 2015, Angelika Graswald and her fiancée, Vincent Viafore, kayaked to Bannerman’s Castle Island.  Attempting to return from their outing in rough waters, Viafore’s kayak took on water and overturned, resulting in his drowning.  Graswald, charged with Viafore’s murder, admitted to removing the drain plug.  Arraigned in Goshen, Orange County, NY, a plea deal was later reached before the case went to trial.  Pleading guilty to a lesser charge of criminally negligent homicide, she was released from prison not long after, having duly served the time of her reduced sentence.
    Few people know and remember “Bannerman’s Island” during its glorious past like Jane Bannerman (wife of Charles, Francis VI’s grandson).  Assisting The Bannerman’s Castle Trust and the Taconic Park Commission to repair the buildings, Jane has noted, “…it all comes down to money, and if they don’t hurry up, it’ll all fall down.  Every winter brings more destruction.”  Unsafe conditions on and around the island are due to both underwater and land hazards, not to mention unstable castle walls.  Due to these conditions, it is advised you do not attempt to visit the island on your own.
    The Bannerman’s Castle Trust has initiated “hard hat” tours along with other entertainment venues.  By making island visits possible, it is the Trust’s hope they will be able to restore the castle, smaller castle home, and gardens for the public to enjoy more fully.  In the interest of preserving the rich history of this Scottish Castle on a small island in the Hudson River, we hope The Bannermans’ Castle Trust is successful in its restoration endeavors.
    Hudson River Cruises advertise a tour from Newburgh Landing: “Ruins of a 19th century castle on Bannerman’s Island can be seen on special guided history and walking tours departing from Newburgh Landing and Beacon.”  For information on 2-1/2 hour guided tours held May through October call:  845-220-2120 or 845-782-0685.
    With my own maternal Scots-Irish McNeill and Caldwell heritage (the Irish only because they settled in the northern Protestant section of Ireland), I was intrigued by the photos of such an old-world castle built on a small, seemingly insignificant island.  The fairy-tale ambiance of this Scottish castle stands out, visible by boat and train, amidst the New Netherlands’ Dutch influence up and down the Hudson River.  I hope someday to take a guided tour on Pollepel Island and see Bannerman’s Castle; but, for now, the photos and articles will have to do. 
    Many thanks to Will Van Dorp, a family friend from childhood, who initially piqued my interest by posting his photos and synopsis of the island, castle, and its environs on his blog, Tugster.  See Hudson Downbound 18b, April 12, 2018 - and scroll down to photo of Bannerman’s Castle prompting my story.
  23. Linda Roorda
    We previously briefly touched on the importance of your ancestor’s Last Will and Testament, an excellent source of family documentation.  Wills are filed at surrogate court or county clerk’s office along with estate records for those who died intestate (without a will), inventories of estates, letters of administration, and guardianships, etc. 
    Some older wills may be found online at Sampubco Wills as posted by W. David Samuelson from whom you may purchase documents.  This site includes wills, guardianships, surrogate’s records/probate files, naturalizations, letters of administration, and cemetery listings.  Records are available for several states via alphabetical name search by county.  From my experience, mostly older wills are available, but not all of them.  I can, however, recommend this site as I purchased several ancestral wills more reasonably than from surrogate’s court or county clerk’s office.  However, it is still advisable to go to the appropriate office to search for and copy complete records, which I also did.
    One drawback can be old style writing and language.  Having begun my secretarial career in an Owego law firm, researching and copying old deeds and wills in shorthand, I was familiar with most of the standard language.  After transcribing eighteenth and nineteenth century ancestral wills I’d purchased, I submitted several online to respective county genweb sites.  They provide an opportunity for future researchers to use this gift, a way to pay back the gifts others have freely placed online to aid in research.  It’s all about helping each other on the journey.
    As for the old language of bequeathing one’s estate, I share excerpts in original format from the wills of a few of my ancestors – original spelling or misspelling retained. 
    Henrich/Henry Kniskern, signed 1780, probated 1784:  “In the Name of  God Amen. I, Henrich Knieskern at Shoharry [Schoharie] in the County of Albany [before Albany became several counties] farmer being at present weak in Body but of Sound Mind and Memory… considering that it is appointed for us all once to Die do this Eight Day of May in the Year of Our Lord Christ One Thousand Seven Hundred and Eighty make and Publish this my Last will and Testament in manner and form following that is to Say I recommend my Soul unto God that gave & my body unto the Earth from whence it came to be decently Interred… I give and bequeath unto my eldest Son… five Pounds Lawful money of New York (I Mean and Understand good hard Silver Money) for his birth Right… it is my will and Ordre that my Wife… shall have her supporting and Maintainment yearly and Every Year for her Life Time of my Estate in Knieskerns Dorph… [Kniskernsdorf is a now-extinct hamlet established on the Schoharie Creek by my ancestor, Johann Peter Kniskern, the Listmaster of one of the original 1710 Palatine settlements on the Hudson River.]  …I Give unto my Two Sons… together Equally my farming utenciels and Tools as both or Two Waggons & Two Sleeds Ploughs and Harrows with all the Tackling and furniture thereof… axes hoes & other Implements of husbandry… I Give to my Two Daughters, as bed Goods, Pewter Goods, Iron pots, Cooper goods & other goods… I give to my Two Sons… Equally my Loom and all & Every articles that belongs to Weavers…”
    Adam Dingman, a prosperous freeholder of Kinderhook and Albany, wrote “...know all men that in the year seventeen hundred and twenty and twenty-one, the twenty-first day of January, in the seventh year of the reign of our sovereign lord, King George, I, Adam Dingeman, born at Haerlem, Holland, sick and weak of body, but having the perfect use of my senses…”  Unfortunately, he did not name his children from whom I have proven descendancy.
    George Hutton, son of Lt. Timothy Hutton, listed all children, with daughters by their married names, a very helpful will.  An interesting inventory with values was attached to his wife Elizabeth’s will from 1845.  Numerous items were listed, including “1 feather bed $7.25, 1 blue and white spread $4.00, 1 straw bed tick $.25, 1 brown calico dress $.37, 1 black cashmere shall $.75, 1 pr morocco shoes $.50, 1 rocking chair $1.00.”
    Other wills bequeath hereditaments (one of my favorite words), i.e. land, crops, tools, animals.  A McNeill family will “allows” an unmarried sister to use half of the house for life.  And an inventory made in 1758 for the estate of John McNeill, an apparently wealthy mariner (father of John C. McNeill), includes “1 Jacket of Cut Vellvet & 1 pair of Black Vallvet Britches, 1 paire of Lether Buckskin Britches, 1 Great Coat of Davinshire Carsey, 1 fine linnin Sheet x3 coarse ones, 1 45 weight of fetther, 1 paire of carved Shew buckells & knee buckells of silver, 1 paire Sleve buttons of gold, 2 Small Bibells w/one Silver clasped, 1 book called fishers Arithmitick, 1 seet of Harrow teeth, 1 Seet of plow Irons.” 
    Old documents do make fascinating reads! 
    COMING NEXT:  Genealogy Websites
  24. Linda Roorda

    Colors of Spring

    By Linda Roorda,

    Ahhh, spring!  My favorite season!  And isn’t it beginning to look beautiful outdoors?  I love to see the signs of new life emerging slowly, almost imperceptibly, after earth’s long wintry sleep.  To smell the fresh earthy aroma that follows a gentle spring rain is refreshing, to see the grass almost immediately turning from shades of crisp tan and brown to verdant greens, and to watch the daintiest leaf or flower bud begin to emerge brings joy to my heart. 
    With a bright sun’s nourishing warmth, those leaf buds soon swell and burst open, bringing many more shades of green to life.  Then, as flowers burst open to brighten the landscape, it’s as though all of creation rejoices with an endless bounty of color.  “For behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone.  The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come, and the voice of the turtledove is heard in our land.” (Song of Solomon 2:11-12)
    I’ve often thought about the joy and pleasure it must have given our God as He created every aspect of this world, every plant and creature… each uniquely designed!  After His work of creating separate aspects of this world each day of the week, “God saw all that He had made, and it was very good.” (Genesis 1:31 NIV)  Wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have been a witness as this marvelous creation came to be?  I’ve also imagined that the first week of creation was spring with vivid colors bursting forth in blooms from every kind of plant and flower imaginable! 
    When God created man and woman in His image to tend and care for the beautiful Garden of Eden, ultimately to be caretakers of the new world at large… they were each uniquely created and loved by God… just as we are in our own time.  And to know that all this beauty was created for our pleasure, to treasure and nourish… what an awesome responsibility and beautiful gift we were given! 
    Enjoy the beauty of spring in all its glory as it bursts forth anew to revive and color our every-day world with exhilarating joy!
    Colors of Spring
    Linda A. Roorda
    From brilliant yellow of forsythia arched
    To burgundy red on trees standing tall
    The colors of spring emerge in great beauty
    To brighten our days from winter’s dark sleep.
     
    From chartreuse shades as leaf buds burst forth
    To pink and white flowers in cloud-like halos
    Hovering on branches in glowing full bloom
    Swaying above carpets of undulating green.
     
    From rich azure sky with puffs of white-gray
    To pale blue horizon at forested hills
    With sun-streaked rays like fingers of God
    To lengthening shadows as light slowly fades.
     
    From velvet black night as moon rises full
    To glittering diamonds twinkling bright
    Up over hills on a path through the sky
    Gliding above trees with limbs reaching out.
     
    From earth’s colorful palette awakening clear
    To the crisp and bold and shades of pastels
    Shimmering and dancing to brighten our day
    Created by God, our pleasure to behold.

    Photos by Linda A. Roorda
  25. Linda Roorda
    Yesterday afternoon as I meandered around our yard, checking the gardens, transplanting new offspring, I see all is growing well.  The trees show leaf buds in various stages of growth, and perennial flowers and bushes are growing nicely with more daffodils this year than usual it seems!  The snow with bitter cold winds and temps in the high 20s a week ago left little lasting damage, even to the fragile bleeding hearts.
    I gaze in awe at the beauty of creation on full display all around us.  While contemplating, it becomes clear that this world and we within it are amazingly and uniquely created.  The sun rises in a brilliant display as its rays peak over the horizon, and later that same golden globe slowly disappears on the opposite horizon in a different, but no less dazzling display as the shadows deepen. 
    Then, as the velvet of night envelopes us, to gaze upward at a sky filled with twinkling diamonds while the moon reflects a small fraction of the sun’s radiance is simply heavenly.  But, to know there are more planets and solar systems beyond ours, with more galaxies and individual stars, each established within a specific order, is just too much for my simple mind to comprehend.
    I enjoyed hunting as a teen, with my Dad and on my own.  But, when I shot my first (and only) squirrel, I cried so hard I could barely see to find him on the ground when he fell out of the tree.  After I skinned him, my Mom cooked him up so deliciously.  I did not hunt after I married for the simple reason that my husband was not fond of game, and I don’t believe in mindlessly killing an animal.  But what I enjoyed even more than the hunt was to simply be outside in the fields and woods, even in the deep snow… which led me to share nature walks with our kids, hoping they’d enjoy all of nature in its quiet solitude as much as I do.  Except, I really wasn’t alone… 
    For there all around me were hills covered in various types of underbrush and trees from delicate ferns and flowered weeds to the tallest trees and evergreens.  On stepping inside the shadows of the woods on my cousin Howard’s farm in Nichols, there were deer as curious about me as I was of them.  And, no, I did not bring one home; I missed every time - learning years later from my brothers that they had figured out the old shotgun’s sights were not aligned correctly!  There was a fox trotting along casually, steering clear of that upright stranger invading its territory.  Rabbits were quietly darting and zipping along to hidden homes within the hedgerows, squirrels were chattering, and birds were singing their hearts out to share their joy of a new day. 
    I have enjoyed the seasonal view from my kitchen windows, especially as tom turkeys would strut and display their colorful feathers while the hens strolled and pecked and scratched around the field at the base of the hill behind us, or as an eagle perched on the branches of a dying maple along the creek’s edge.  When we farmed the property, I enjoyed watching the cows and calves go out to pasture, especially on their first spring outing as they ran and jumped with joie de vivre!  And, not long after we moved into our newly-built house in 1982, I saw a black bear lumbering away from the electric fence back to the sheltering protection of that forested hill. 
    I’ve watched the blue and green herons in the creek below us, and the ducks, geese and mergansers paddling around as they stopped for a swim on their migration route.  I’ve seen and heard thousands of snow geese many years ago when they landed in the harvested corn field across the road from us – what a joyous honking they made!  And, I’ve enjoyed the wide variety of birds within my own back yard along with seasonal migratory birds that stopped in for a bite to eat at my feeders, a drink of fresh water, and a brief rest. And then it’s another treat as newly-fledged nestlings are brought to the feeders.  It’s exciting to watch and listen to the youngsters as they wait for mom or dad to feed them, sometimes not too patiently!
    Farther beyond our town, I have waded into the cold waters of both the Atlantic and Pacific oceans – and watched the beauty of waves as they form and roll inward to break along the shore, lapping at the sand, retreating to whence they came – and appreciated and felt the power of those waves and their undertow, an even more dangerous force when whipped into a fury by stormy winds.  I discovered the fun in picking up the variety of shells poking out of the beach sand and admired their stunning colors and differences in shapes and designs.
    I have flown above the clouds, gazing down at the puffy layers of cotton strewn below.  But, mostly I’ve gazed upward from this terra firma to appreciate the many types of summer clouds scattered in a sky of purest blue with clouds that form shapes of animals and more, clouds that look like wispy mares’ tails, clouds of purest white with just a hint of gray, towering clouds with dark shades of gray and black in their underbellies warning of a storm about to break, clouds with rays of sun streaming outward from behind them and through them, clouds which form a solid sheet to shield the blue sky from view, clouds with a corrugated appearance, and clouds which form as jets leave their trails behind.
    I have stood in awe at the foot of the Rocky Mountains, and been amazed at the view beyond each twist and turn of the road as my daughter drove with me along for the ride, only to be in awe at an even more beautiful vista than the one from the turn before.  I have gazed upward in awe at the rocky sheers from the floor of a narrow canyon, the outer western extent of Arizona’s Grand Canyon.  I have admired alpine grassy meadows with mountain peaks jutting precipitously upward as they break the smooth, green, valley-like floor high up along the Continental Divide. 
    I have stood in awe and gazed at endless beauty from the ranger station atop the Glacier Mountains in Montana.  My daughter, Emily, and I had driven upward on the Going to the Sun Road from the valley floor below with its lake and streams and waterfalls amid the forested hills with unbelievable vistas opening anew at every turn of the road.  I saw a mountain goat resting on the bare rocks of a precipitous mountain ridge, so close I could have reached out the car’s window to touch him.  I have admired the high rocky peaks still beautifully snow covered in early August.  I gazed at a hill once covered by thick forest before a fire consumed its vegetation, but which now reveals vibrant new verdant undergrowth of plants, bushes and young trees, the promised renewal in a never-ending cycle of life and death and rebirth.  And, I stared in wonder at the Dakota “badlands,” the many colors of rocky slopes, and at the endless sea of flat prairie grassland and cropland. 
    I am awed by the development of life, whether it be that of our children or of plants and animals.  I am amazed at how life is formed from unseen cells as the tiniest and finest features develop into the minute intricacy of the nerves in our brain which serve every function of our body.  I am in awe of how delicately we are created, from eyes which see to brains which think in complexities.  I am amazed at our ability to view new life forming via the technology of sonograms.  I do not, even for a second, give credence to the postulation of evolution.  I do not believe that from some “big bang” our lives with our fine and complex unique inner structures slowly and gradually evolved over millions or billions of years, or that we then somehow broke off from some lost link into a new line descending from apes. 
    Instead, I stand amazed at our great God of the universe who created each of us to be the unique beings we are.  From the growth and development of those tiny cells as our life begins, to birth, toddlerhood, adolescence, and on into adulthood, He knows us intimately.  He’s numbered the hairs on our head, and is there to care for us at each step of our path.  “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother's womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.  My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place.  When I was woven together in the depths of the earth, your eyes saw my unformed body.  All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.” (Psalm 139:13-16)
    I am awed as I ponder each beautiful tiny snowflake.  The unique design within the structure of each and every single snowflake that has ever fluttered down from the sky is truly amazing.  Like our individual and unique DNA patterns, no two snowflakes are alike…ever… from the beginning of time and on into the future. 
    I stand amazed to watch earth’s transformation from winter’s dreariness into the beauty of spring as new life emerges.  I marvel at the progression of spring’s beauty rolling into summer’s bounty before sliding into the brilliant colors of fall, and then stand transfixed as winter’s first snowfall descends to blanket our earth in pure white.  Once again, I am in awe to realize there are no two leaves, flower buds, plants or trees alike… ever.  For they, too, are created unique in their design by their intricate and delicate cell structures.
    Quietly thinking, I am reminded of God’s questions after being confronted by the suffering Job.  Job was brought face to face with a God whose ways and wisdom are beyond our finite comprehension as reflected in His creation.  “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?  Tell Me, if you have understanding.  Who determined its measurements?  Surely you know!  Or who stretched the line upon it?  To what were its foundations fastened?  Or who laid its cornerstone, when the morning stars sang together, and all the sons of God shouted for joy?  (Job 38:4-7)
    And so, I stand in awe of a Creator who has designed and formed the vast universe, this earth and all its inhabitants, and so much more.  Sometimes I think He had an absolutely grand time creating this world with a wonderful sense of humor - for the variety of animals and plant life, their shapes and colors, each uniquely speaking of the vastness and limitless of His power, glory and love. And with all of this in mind, I bow my head in awe at how He created and knit us together in our mother’s womb, each with our individual uniqueness and idiosyncrasies, gifts and skills.  What an awesome God we serve!
     Creation’s Glory
    Linda A. Roorda
    I gaze around at nature’s splendor
    And cannot miss the beauty displayed
    From universe large to tiniest cell
    Designed with love that we might enjoy.
     
    Come sit with me and take it all in
    As just above trees light pierces the dark
    While breaking of dawn disperses the night
    And morning awakes, in bright vivid shades.
     
    How could the earth, the planets and sun
    Know where to ride their orbits precise?
    For if they move a fraction aside
    Chaos erupts, destruction ensues.
     
    Vast is the world and universe deep
    With fragile life and delicate cell
    Order precise, especially planned
    By One who knows all future and past.
     
    Majestic peaks their beauty display
    In granite sheer and towering summit
    Over valley floor with meadow calm
    And flowing rivers by trees standing tall.
     
    A cell divides, the journey begins
    Its code ordained, embedded within
    And as it grows unique in design
    Soon shall emerge, the miracle of life.
     
    A bud that grows will open in time
    From something plain to grandly transformed
    Dazzling beauty with colorful hues
    Each petal soft in splendor arrayed.
     
    Birds on the wing, a marvel of grace
    Delicate form yet strength beyond ken.
    They do not fret, no worry they keep
    For God doth hold the key to their ways.
     
    Fluttering leaves swaying in the breeze
    With tender veins and edges serrated
    Each leaf unique in color and shape
    Intricate plan, intention divine.
     
    Tiniest flakes among a zillion
    Descend arrayed with no two the same
    Delicate form, beauty artistic
    He alone framed their structured design.
     
    As daylight fades and night settles down
    In twinkling stars and moon rising bright
    Order displayed with balance supreme
    Your hands made all with forethought and plan.
     
    For Thou alone in glory arrayed
    The great I Am, forever Thou art
    ‘Twas Your pleasure this world to create
    As praises we bring to honor Your name.
    ~~
     
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