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Linda Roorda

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  1. 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
  2. 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.
  3. 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.
  4. 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
  5. Linda Roorda
    In researching your ancestors, you will hit brick walls – guaranteed!  When you do, think about who the most recent known ancestor was.  Remember that we discussed previously how the Dutch used a specific naming pattern.  Each child was named after the grandparents, alternating back and forth to include each of the child’s grandparents, great-grandparents, then aunts, uncles and parents, the parents' names, etc.  Other ethnic groups, including the Germans, often used a similar pattern, but did not follow it as consistently.  By searching census records of the community where a particular family was known to live, I found the probable paternal grandfather of a friend’s ancestor.  It appeared her ancestor’s middle name was that of the probable grandfather, thus creating a crack in her brick wall.
    Often, names changed spelling over time depending on the speller’s knowledge, or were changed to reflect the pronunciation.  Your surname today may not be how it began a few centuries ago.  My maternal family name of Tillapaugh began as the Swiss Dällenbach, being changed in the early 1800s among several lines, including the usual Dillenbeck/Dillenbach, etc.  Another example is the German Jung, pronounced and often Americanized as Young.  From the 1600s New Amsterdam, my Dutch VanKouwenhoven morphed into Conover.  My French DeGarmeaux from the Albany area became DeGarmo, while my German Richtmyer became Rightmyer in other lines. 
    Another example of surname change is found in my Revolutionary War families.  The original Swiss Dübendorffer became Diefendorf after arrival here in the 1730s.  My ancestor Georg Jacob Diefendorf remained loyal to the crown during the Revolutionary War.  However, his son, a staunch patriot, took his mother’s surname (his own middle name) as his new surname, becoming John Diefendorf Hendree, to disassociate himself from his father.
    Paying close attention to details helped me find the marriage date for my ancestors Christina Dingman and Jacob Kniskern.  Sorting book by book in one row of the genealogy section of the Steele Library in Elmira, I saw a tiny church book for Montgomery County, New York.  This is a typed transcription of original handwritten church records.  Having seen these church records online, I knew exactly what I was holding.  Searching page by page, I saw the name of “Conescarn.”  Suddenly, I realized that I was looking at the phonetic spelling for the old pronunciation of Kniskern; now the “K” is silent.  I’d discovered what no one else had recognized before - my great-great-grandparents’ marriage date of October 17, 1840!
    My family's Kniskern name began as Genesgern in church books from the 1500s in Germany.  It is one of the oldest documented pedigrees of any New York 1709/10 Palatine emigrant according to the author Henry Z. Jones, Jr. in his personal email to me.  See his two-volume set “The Palatine Families of New York 1710” which I own with invaluable family data.  Mr. Jones and his assistants went to Germany and systematically searched records in every town and old church to document as many Palatine-region emigrant families as possible to provide solid documentation for today’s researchers.
    When researching old families, it is also helpful to know that Sr. or Jr. and Elder or Younger do not necessarily indicate father and son as it does today.  Often, this title was used to differentiate between extended relatives or unrelated men within the same community who happened to have the same name.  With the old naming pattern, it was not uncommon to find “umpteen” men and boys by the same name in town and church records.  Without the title or other differentiation, it can be difficult to place them correctly in their family of origin, though key is noting the birth parents and baptismal sponsors.
    Census takers frequently wrote a surname based on their own spelling ability, which, I discovered, was often quite atrocious!  Be flexible.  As you search records, try various spellings as names were often written as they sounded.  That fact alone can make all the difference in finding your ancestor.  Even my McNeill name, consistently signed by the oldest family members with two “l”s, was spelled variously on census records as McNial (likely written as pronounced by the old accent), McNeal, McNiel or simply McNeil (without the second “l”).  Several years ago, I transcribed the online 1810 census for Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York and posted it on the county genweb page.  Some names were very misspelled; but, being familiar with many of Carlisle’s families from research, I understood the intended names and put them in parentheses.
    However, in hitting your brick wall, do not jump hastily into accepting published genealogies.  If there is evidentiary proof with solid documentation (like I provided for my published genealogies in footnotes) from reputable journals or well-documented books or actual hard proof in family Bibles and church records, then you should be able to accept them.  But, again, beware!  I found false leads, fake ties, and erroneous data which I proved wrong with personal old-fashioned research, part of my published thesis.  It pays to put in the extra effort to prove your data.
    I also want to stress that I do not readily accept claims of family ties to famous historical folks, Mayflower ancestors, or royalty - nor should you.  Maybe you truly are connected, and know that I'm excited for you! But I want to see sound documentation, preferably family Bible records, church records, baptismal, marriage and death records, or cemetery records for every generation backward as possible. Also know that most well-documented earliest generations in America begin in the 17th or 18th centuries.  Viable records previous to those centuries in Europe are not always available.
    Since Ancestry.com has records from Britain, Ireland, Wales and several European countries, it is a valuable subscription resource.  You can also hire one of their professionals should you feel the need for their assistance.  A general search online for records from a particular nation may also be helpful as I found a reputable website with documented birth and marriage records from the Netherlands for my grandmother’s lineage.  I purchased the book on my paternal ancestry documented by a woman married to my direct cousin; she just happened to work in the genealogy division of The Hague, and we are now friends.  Though her work can definitively trace my paternal ancestry only to the early 18th century, I’m satisfied.  And I was amazed to see the book held the photo of a Dutch constable, a brother of my great-grandfather, who looked uncannily like my Dad, even to how he stood!! 
    Some of your best resources can be found in books containing transcripts of original documents and/or in legitimate family records placed at historical or genealogical societies.  Unless you know that what you hold in your hands is truly legit, do like I did to prove my lineage beyond a doubt – tackle the hard work yourself to prove every ancestor.  Yes, it’s time consuming and takes years, but the end result is truly worth the effort! 
    May I also suggest that once your research is done, give a copy to the local historical society where your family originated. I donated a copy of my 600+ page manuscript on my mother's family to the Schoharie County Historical Society at the Old Stone Fort in Schoharie, and eventually plan to donate all my numerous file folders full of research and correspondence (whatever my family does not wish to keep). By doing so, you will aid future generations of seekers.
    Again, many genealogies were written in the past with ties to royalty and early American Mayflower ancestors which have since been proven false.  A number of resources regarding what to look out for are available at the following websites:
    LDS Family Search “Fraudulent Genealogies.”
    Genealogy.com’s “Fraudulent Lineages” by Nicole Wingate.
    Genealogy’s Star blog:  Genealogy as a Fraud.
    Tips on accuracy of research in “Bogus Genealogies” by George C. Morgan.
    COMING NEXT:  County Historical and Genealogical Society holdings.
  6. 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
  7. Linda Roorda

    A Friend

    By Linda Roorda,

    There is something truly special about the love of a friend… something to treasure and be thankful for!  The bond that develops is hard to break… especially when tested by time and circumstances in all of life’s ups and downs. 
    A friend shows empathy and genuine concern for another’s well being.  A friend understands the other’s need of a quiet respite for a time when life comes hard against them.  A friend reaches out in those difficult times to say, “I’m here… whenever you need me.  I won’t interfere… just know that I’m here for you.  I love you, and support you with my thoughts and my prayers.”  A friend once told me when we were both going through extensive health issues, “Now you’ll learn who your true friends are,” and she was so right.
    A friend shares your joy, while you share a gladness of heart when they are blessed, even during times of your own hardship.  Encouragement flows from one heart to another and back again for the endeavors you each pursue… strengthening the bond between both, sharing peace, joy and contentment. 
    A friend speaks truth to settle disputes.  A friend does not begrudge another their needs.  A friend does not mock, lie, retaliate, or deceive for personal gain.  A friend is willing to apologize, recognizing their own failings.  A friend forgives, yet discerns with God’s wisdom when the relationship is abusive.  And in forgiving, with or without apologies from the other, establishes boundaries of responsibility and accountability with honesty… for there are times when a relationship is detrimental and one must walk away, even when no one else understands, allowing God to work His healing.  He will give you strength and courage… for trust and respect are earned and maintained within a healthy and stable relationship, bringing honor to God.
    A friend listens with a servant’s heart… not for what they can get or take, but for what they can offer from their heart… whether with contemplative quiet or words of wisdom... without expecting anything in return.  Which all reminds me of a good marriage when you each give 100%. Needless to say, we all have times when we give less to our spouse, or to a friend.  But we don’t stay there.  We discuss and overcome what has upset us, knocked us down, and we apologize, forgive, and move forward with 100% once again.  With accountability, and that kind of trust and giving, we exhibit God’s love as He intended.
    And dear are the friends who, on getting together even infrequently, love each other enough to pick right back up where they left off as if there had been no time or distance between their meetings.  As Eleanor Roosevelt once said, “Many people will walk in and out of your life, but only true friends will leave footprints in your heart.”
    Such a friend is a blessing from God… someone who understands your heart… who complements what you already have or perhaps are lacking… who is able to wisely point out where you may be in the wrong… who can share in your joy… who can simply and quietly be there when your heart is breaking… who can give loving support to help accomplish a task when your skills might be limited… who will gladly come alongside with no expectation of repayment or recognition in any manner for a good deed… being someone who simply loves the other just for who they are.
    And so, we give a heartfelt “Thank you” to each of our dear friends who have stood by us, and supported us, through the numerous life challenges we have faced over the years. Such a friend… a spouse… can be so like our Lord… the One who blesses our heart with abundant love… who comes alongside, gently calling us away from life’s harms… who loves at all times… and who lays down His life to cover our sins… as we seek Him for all of our needs.  A friend like no other…
    A Friend
    Linda A. Roorda
    A friend reaches out to touch your soul
    As you share a love and a bond that twines
    From the time you meet you’re drawn in close
    You want to know more about this new friend.
    ~
    A friend is one who will ever be near
    Ready with kind words and a caring heart
    A friend will share the depths of your soul
    Midst tears that flow and the days of joy.
    ~
    A friend is waiting with arms held out
    To listen with care and understanding
    To hold you tight when life overwhelms
    To never let go no matter the trial.
    ~
    A friend gently holds your heart with joy
    Like a rose in bloom with beauty fragile,
    Yet strongly stands to face stormy days
    That test the strength of ties that bind.
    ~
    A friend is there to listen at length
    When anger erupts like a storm at sea
    And days arrive with hurts that steal joy
    To clear the heart of issues that strain.
    ~
    A friend will wait no matter how long
    To regain the lapse when life interrupts
    As you pick back up where you both left off
    Not missing a beat with hearts in tune.
    ~
    A friend’s precious words lift up your heart
    To heal the wounds and cover the scars
    With guiding wisdom extended in love
    To cheer the soul and renew the joy.
    ~
    A friend brings peace for a troubled soul
    To share quiet time and ease tensions tight
    To calm the fears and carry the loss
    And help you walk a difficult path.
    ~
    A friend shares the joy that floods your soul
    The blessings of life in showers rich
    Those unannounced and those from long hope
    As you give sweet praise for heaven’s ways.
    ~
    A friend will give their life as a gift
    To sacrifice self for the gain of all
    A friend clings to hope that the best in you
    Will still shine bright when all else seems lost.
    ~
    A friend there is no greater than this
    Than the Lord above with His love divine
    He holds out his hands, draws us to His side
    And blesses our hearts with joy from a friend.
    ~~
  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

    Your Family Tree #3

    By Linda Roorda,

    Okay, let’s start researching!  As you ponder a few names in your ancestral tree, the burning question may be, “How do I start looking for ancestors I don’t even know about?”  Actually, the best way is to begin working backward from what you do know.  Start with your birth certificate to prove your parents.  Obtain copies of birth, baptism and marriage records, newspaper death notices or obituaries, and cemetery records of your near relatives. 
    Research can be an expensive endeavor and I will admit I’ve not done all I’d like to simply for that reason.  I’m able to join the DAR with about ten ancestors who served in the Revolutionary War; and, though I have a good deal of documentation, I’ve not been able to afford all that which is necessary for the DAR forms.  I know that I have DAR status with the evidence in my hand, and don’t need to prove that fact to an association.  Yet, even on a limited budget, you can accomplish a great deal like I did with the resources available - particularly as my initial online research of records for several years was done using the painfully slow dial-up internet service!  Along with meeting extended distant relatives with whom you may be able to share data like I did, and with whom I remain in contact.
    Make a list of your known and extended relatives.  Talk to the older folks and write down their memories and stories, especially before they are no longer here to share their memories.  They are a wealth of information, and will be honored to have you ask.  But, again, research helps validate the truth from “stories” which might have snippets of reality amongst exaggerated stories passed down as family history.  Check out Cyndi’s List for a great listing of various types of charts and forms which can be printed off to help you keep records.
    I also wish I had had an interest in knowing my family history when I was younger and my grandparents were still alive.  With my mom born as child 11 of 12 in a large farming family, her parents were long gone by the time I finally developed an interest.  And, since both her parents were only children, there’s a paucity of extended “rellies” for me to speak with. Yet, I’ve met other extended cousins and have enjoyed getting to know them while we compare our family lineage notes.  
    With her own family history interest, my mom recalled bits and pieces, but that’s why the original family tree mentioned in my first article was vital.  Working through the known three generations to prove their accuracy, my empty-nest project evolved into a 600-plus page manuscript.  I documented historical family backgrounds and descendants from church and cemetery records, historical records, census records, and books, etc. for every known surname branch.  Don’t research just the male lineage as some folks prefer; the women are equally as important to your heritage!  I even included research on the extended families as a record of their historical times and how families became intertwined.
    If you are fortunate enough to have access to them, search old diaries and letters which may reference family members.  Old family Bibles often list family births, marriages and deaths, but not all do.  For example, an old Bible found in the brick McNeill house in Carlisle, NY by the current owners (with whom I became friends) held no data other than three McNeill obituaries, two of whom were known to be related.  Yet, the obits became key evidence in my search as one obit was for a Martha McNeill Tillapaugh Seber of Decatur, New York.  That little piece of paper gave credence to my theory that she is related!  She is the presumed daughter of Samuel McNeill as she fits the age of a female born 1814 on his census records, the only McNeill family in Decatur at that time.  This gave a descendant, who I was assisting, substantial probability for Martha’s birth family since his family papers noted Martha McNeill was born about 1814 in Decatur, thus lending credence to our being distant cousins.
    The following also shares how one clue leads to another in research.  Based on a gut feeling, I purchased Robert McNeill’s War of 1812 pension application file after finding him on the 1820 Carlisle, New York census.  He lived very near my ancestor, John C. McNeill (typical of the old generations), and was listed on the War of 1812 muster rolls. 
    In pension application affidavits, Robert noted service at Watertown and Sackett’s Harbor, New York and as a guard of prisoners on a march to Albany.  He made no mention of service on any ship.  Sadly, I had to break the news to a descendant, cousin and now friend, that Robert’s claim to be in a famous battle on Lake Erie during the War of 1812 was not backed up by documentation in any of his records.
    Also, unfortunately, he served only 53 days of the required 60, making him ineligible for a pension.  However, additional key data found in his affidavits note Robert served in place of his brother, Samuel McNeill, of Decatur, Otsego County, New York, and that he, Robert, lived first at Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York.  Thus, he was born about 1794, after his parents removed from New Hampshire to New York.  Bingo!!  I now had two more presumed brothers of my known Jesse McNeill!  When Robert enlisted in September 1813, it appears he was about 18, unmarried, willing and able to serve for his brother, Samuel, who had a young family per the 1810 Decatur census and who presumably had farm crops to harvest.
    By census records, we track Robert and family on the 1820 census in Carlisle, Schoharie County, New York, the 1830 census in Conesus, Livingston County, New York near his wife’s relatives, and the 1840 census in Dundee, Monroe County, Michigan.  After his first wife died, he lived near his sister’s family in Wayne County, New York where he remarried, moving his family back to Michigan per 1860 census.  I like to think of them as “frequent flyers” on the bustling Erie Canal, sailing Lake Erie from western New York to the frontier in southeast Monroe County, Michigan.  Curiously, his second wife is later found without Robert on census and cemetery records with their children in Wayne County, New York.  As Robert is listed on census records in the homes of his first wife’s children, dies and is buried in Michigan, his descendant (Marjorie, my distant cousin and friend) and I have concluded that he and his second wife separated, but never divorced, as she died and is buried in Wayne County, New York.
    There is so much to be gleaned by searching for and finding actual records.  
    Coming next:  Document everything, every step of the way!
  10. 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.
    ~~
  11. 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.
    ~~
  12. 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.  
  13. 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.
  14. 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 
     
  15. 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! 
  16. Linda Roorda
    More than just the popular Christmas evergreen to celebrate the holiday, the Christmas tree has a storied background. Holding treasured memories for each of us, it’s been said to represent strength, perhaps to resist temptations or to remain strong in harsh times.  We often consider it a symbol of our Christian faith, a reminder of Christ’s birth and everlasting life, but it has also been an ancient symbol of wisdom and longevity.  President John F. Kennedy referred to the durable evergreen as a symbol of character by saying, “Only in winter can you tell which trees are truly green.  Only when the winds of adversity blow can you tell whether an individual or a country has courage and steadfastness.”
    Martin Luther, credited with starting the Protestant Reformation in 1517, is said to have begun putting lit candles on his family’s tree to represent twinkling stars. Along with the beauty of candles or lightbulbs, various types of homemade decorations have been strung on trees, including popcorn, cranberries, and fancy ornaments from paper to glass.  To serve their many customers, trees were brought to the cities by traditional means of delivery via teamsters with horse-drawn wagons and the popular steam locomotive.  
    But, of especial interest among old-time city clientele, were the roughly 60 Christmas tree schooners which plied the waters of Lake Michigan between 1868 and 1914.  They were among the nearly 2000 or so beautiful three-masted schooners carrying cargo like tractor trailers on today’s highways.  Sailing south from northern Lake Michigan with loads of evergreens in late November, these hardy mariners risked their lives in stormy weather to bring great joy to their customers.  Far from summer’s calm, late season sailing often became a ride on roiling and dangerous waters described as “hellish death traps [in] violent hurricane-force storms.” 
    Many of us recall Gordon Lightfoot’s song, “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald”, a haunting tale of loss on Lake Superior on November 10, 1975 – “…The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down, of the big lake they called 'Gitche Gumee'.  The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead, when the gales of November come early…”  This last phrase was oft quoted by long-forgotten mariners on the Great Lakes who knew stormy tragedy; and, I’m sure, are among the fears of those who ply the late-season waters even now.  Yet, not many of us know about the tragic loss of the three-masted schooner, “Rouse Simmons”, the famed and fabled Christmas Tree Ship.
    Born after the American Civil War’s conclusion in 1865, Capt. Herman Schuenemann, the son of German immigrants, knew Lake Michigan like the back of his hand. Sailing since his youth, he knew how storms could blow up in an instant, causing havoc with sailing vessels, just as he knew about storms which took ships down to their dark and bitter-cold watery graves.  After all, he lost his brother, August, in the severe gale of November 9-10, 1898.  His ship, the two-masted “S. Thal”, also held Christmas trees bound for Chicago when she sank in a violent storm. 

    Loyal to folks of Chicago, Capt. Herman Schuenemann faithfully brought in his schooner loaded with Christmas trees every year.  While not the only Christmas tree ship on the Great Lakes, the good captain was extremely popular at Chicago’s Clark Street Dock.  The annual arrival of Capt. Santa’s ship was made more popular by the reciprocal love of his many friends and neighbors.  He couldn’t think of disappointing the faithful who hoped to buy his trees for their homes, nor the poor families, orphanages, and churches which welcomed his free gift of a tree.  It simply gave him great pleasure to sail into the Chicago harbor with his cargo of evergreen joy.  
    Yet, some would later claim Schuenemann had overloaded his schooner that year, making her top heavy.  At least one sailor, possibly several, refused to get on board when it was claimed rats were seen deserting while she was docked.  Sailors can be a superstitious lot.  Still, it’s long been known by old sea hands that if rats desert a ship, they know something’s amiss in what the inexperienced or unconcerned observer may overlook. 
    Even so, Capt. Schuenemann set sail on a nearly 300-mile journey from Thompson’s Pier at Manistique, Michigan the week before Thanksgiving… November 22, 1912, a Friday, another bad omen.  To the old mariners, you never set sail on a Friday… just past midnight into Saturday, but never Friday.  Knowing a storm was brewin’, Schuenemann wanted to get ahead of it, ignoring advice from friends in the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  “The people of Chicago have to have their trees for Christmas.”  (See film clip of Classicsailboats.org, “Herman Schuenemann, Captain Santa”) 
    In the captain’s defense, though, even the official weather forecast on the day he sailed was not one that would have given rise to grave concern.  “Washington, D.C., November 22, 1912 – For Wisconsin: Local rains or snow Saturday; colder at night; variable winds becoming northwest and brisk; Sunday fair.  For Upper Michigan: Local snow or rains Saturday; variable winds, becoming northwest and west and brisk; Sunday fair.  This would not be the kind of weather which a recreational yachtsman would relish, but it was hardly cause to stop the merchantmen.”  (“Anchor News”, publication of the Wisconsin Maritime Museum, January/February 1990, by Fred Neuschel; p. 87, Pennington.)
    And so, undeterred, Schuenemann sailed out into the lake with his cargo of roughly 5000 trees… until the 50-60+ mph winds caught up with him.  The gale-force winds laden with snow and ice took their toll on the hardy old ship built 44 years earlier.  She was seen by a steamer about 2 p.m. on November 23, 1912, the car ferry “Ann Arbor No.5.”  Noted to be riding low and listing badly, the captain of “Ann Arbor No.5” later claimed the “Simmons” was not running distress signals.  He didn’t attempt to get closer to offer aid thinking she could make it safely to shore, later taking blame for his decision.  
    Less than two hours after that sighting, however, the U.S. Lifesaving Station had received notice and sent a rescue motorboat out from Two-Rivers, Wisconsin during the fierce storm to find the “Simmons”.  The rescuers briefly saw her riding low and listing with distress flags flying, reporting that “…she was completely iced over, with most of her rigging and sails tattered or gone.”  As they drew within an eighth of a mile of the schooner, a sudden snow squall overwhelmed and “blinded them.  By the time the squall blew itself out, the ‘Rouse Simmons’ was gone… There was no Christmas Tree Ship, no Captain Santa, and no trees for many needy families’”. (p.135, Pennington, quoting U.S. Coast Guard Magazine, Dec 2000) 
    The late-season cold and stormy Great Lakes does not bring a pleasure sail.  High winds angrily whip the lake into a mountainous frenzy, sending waves crashing over ship decks.  The captain and his crew would fight the elements as their ship was tossed to and fro.  Though all hands knew what to do in riding out such storms, surely they must have also realized they could go down at any moment.  Realistically, there was only so much they could do.  “Freezing temperatures would sheet rigging, sails and spars with heavy coats of ice.  The accumulating weight of ice on the ship could ominously drag her deeper into the water, changing the center of gravity and making her prone to a sudden roll, from which she would never recover.  Running any cargo on the old schooners was especially dangerous in the late season.”  (“Went Missing II”, Frederick Stonehouse, Copyright 1984; pg.87, Pennington)
    Actually, four ships with all hands sank in that horrendous storm of 1912 – “South Shore,” “Three Sisters,” “Two Brothers,” and the “Rouse Simmons.”  Having lost sight of the “Simmons” despite an extensive search which risked their own lives, the unsuccessful Two Rivers Point men returned to the rescue house.  When the “Rouse Simmons” failed to appear at any dock after ten days, let alone her destination of Chicago’s Clark Street dock, it was determined she must have gone to the bottom of Lake Michigan.  She was believed to have sunk on November 23, 1912, possibly somewhere between the Two Rivers Point light and Kewaunee along the Wisconsin shore. 

    The Rouse Simmons
    Surprisingly, there were numerous conflicting reports of sightings and stories of her final hours, including supposed sightings that she had braved the storm just fine, confusion on the number of crew aboard, and even confusion as to why she had gone down. 
    For years afterwards, evergreen trees and their remnants, including a few ship artifacts and skulls, were caught up in numerous fishing nets.  Not until October 30, 1971, however, did diver, Kent Bellrichard, accidentally discover the “Rouse Simmons.”  While searching for another ship with his sonar, he dove down into the depths to investigate his target at the bottom.  Quite sure he had found the “Rouse Simmons”, Bellrichard returned a week later for another dive.  This time, with better lighting, he found the schooner’s name and hundreds of Christmas trees in her hold, some tucked deep inside with needles still intact.  (pg. 232-237, Pennington)  
    Many more years passed before a fishing trawler netted a captain’s wheel in 1999.  Determined to be from the “Rouse Simmons” by the year 1868 etched into the wheel’s metal, it was found in an area dubbed the ship graveyard for the many ships which have sunk in storms over the numerous past decades.  It is now believed the “Simmons” did not break apart from age as had been initially surmised.  With her wheel found a mile and a half north of where the schooner rested on the bottom, and noting the specific type of damage to the wheel, there seemed to be sufficient evidence as to why the good Capt. Schuenemann was unable to bring her safely in to shore.  Judging from the damage to the wheel, it most likely broke off and sank when the massive mizzenmast driver boom, which supported the ship’s main sails, broke loose.  Without the vital wheel to guide the ship’s direction, and with her larger-than-usual load of evergreens, being heavily coated with ice, her sails in tatters from gale-force winds, riding low and listing badly, she all too quickly sank below the surface with a total loss of life in the worst storm folks of that day could remember ever hitting their great lake.  (pg. 214-215, Pennington)
    Despite the family’s loss, the captain’s wife, Barbara, was determined to continue her husband’s tradition.  She and her daughters, Elsie, and twins Pearl and Hazel, began their annual trek in 1913 to the Northwoods of Michigan’s Upper Peninsula.  They cut down and loaded a schooner full of Christmas trees for the good folks of Chicago, sending more by train. Over time, fewer schooners brought Christmas trees into ports as the safer railroads took over.  But, for now, Elsie, age 20, the Captain’s oldest daughter, a very capable trained mariner under her father’s tutelage, sailed the lake on a new Christmas Tree Ship to bring home the greens. Bringing shiploads of trees and green boughs to Chicago’s Clark Street dock at least until 1925 before sending all evergreens by rail, Barbara and her three daughters continued to bring the joy of the season to town just as the good Captain Santa had done.  The family was beloved for their kindness and generosity in many ways, but especially during their own time of deepest grief when they thought of others.

    Hazel and Pearl Scheunemann, 1917
    Yet, one little girl clearly remembered waiting for Capt. Scheunemann’s Christmas Tree Ship to sail into the Chicago harbor back in 1912.  At age 5, Ruthie Erickson held her father’s hand as they waited at the dock for hours only to have her father finally say, “Ruthie, everybody is gone.  It’s cold.  The wind is blowing.  We should go home now.”  “But Daddy,” she replied, “it isn’t Christmas without a Christmas tree!”  (p.316, Pennington)  
    Decades later, 83-year-old Ruth (Erickson) Flesvig attended a play in 1990 about the beloved Captain Santa and his Christmas Tree Ship.  As the play concluded, her presence unknown to anyone, the real “little Ruthie” walked up onto the stage to say that she had been there at the docks waiting and waiting for the good captain and his trees.  Portraying Capt. Scheunemann was Capt. Dave Truitt, former Chairman of the Christmas Ship Committee who, in conjunction with the U.S. Coast Guard, helped restore the annual Christmas Tree Ship event in 2000.  (p.304-305, Pennington).  With tears in his eyes and everyone else’s, Capt. Truitt took one of the Christmas trees on stage and handed it to Ruth.  With these words, he spoke for Capt. Scheunemann by saying, “I couldn’t give you a Christmas tree in 1912 when you were five because of reasons you now know, but I give this tree to you today.  Merry Christmas, Ruthie!” (p.316-137, Pennington)  
    Donating free trees to Chicago’s needy, the U.S. Coast Guard’s annual Christmas Tree Ship continues Capt. Schuenemann’s beloved tradition.  Since 2000, the U. S. Coast Guard Cutter Mackinaw, an imposing icebreaker, arrives at Grand Avenue’s Navy Pier bearing a banner proclaiming her “Chicago’s Christmas Ship”.  As large crowds gather, a memorial ceremony pays tribute to the “Rouse Simmons,” the lives lost when she sank, and others in the merchant marine trade who have lost their lives over the decades on Lake Michigan.  Then, a large number of volunteers help deliver free Christmas trees to needy families throughout the city of Chicago in honor of Capt. Santa, their dear Capt. Herman Schuenemann. 
    As author Rochelle Pennington concluded, “Captain Herman Schuenemann touched the lives of people he would never know, and the volunteers of Chicago’s Christmas Ship are doing the same… dispelling some of the darkness in this ‘weary world’ that there may be rejoicing in The Season of Miracles…  [For] the strength of humanity lies herein:  in the willingness for each of us to leave the walls of our own hearts, and our own lives, and connect with the hearts and lives of others.  A Babe born in Bethlehem told us so.  The Life born in the hay had come to say, ‘Feed the hungry, clothe the naked, serve one another in love, and share.  And do unto others, for it is more blessed to give than it is to receive.” (p.317, Pennington)
    Merry Christmas and blessings to all!
    From the larger article, Of Christmas Trees and Christmas Tree Ships, on my blogsite, Homespun Ancestors, 12/14/2018.
    Painting used for featured image is by Charles Vickery
     
  17. Linda Roorda
    What does an old broken antique rocking chair have in common with Christmas? Read on... 
    Christmas is the most wonderful time of the year!  We all have special memories wrapped up like treasures from holidays past - the smell of fresh pine when just the right tree is brought in and set up, strands of beautiful colored or pure white lights, decorations from gorgeous and fancy to simple and elegant in an array of colors and styles, scrumptious cookies and candy being made with their aromas wafting through the house, busy days of shopping, and either making or looking for just the right gift for each loved one on our list, the stores beautifully decorated like no other time of the year, gifts wrapped and topped with beautiful bows and placed gently beneath the tree, Christmas music filling the air as we sing favorite carols, a fresh layer of snow to reward us with the white Christmas we’ve been dreaming of, as children (and adults) wait in eager anticipation of Santa’s arrival…  Ahh... memories!  Aren’t they wonderful?
    But, in the hustle and bustle of the holiday season, I long for quiet time to pause and reflect on why we celebrate Christmas.  It’s too cold to sit out in one of my gardens to contemplate, so thoughts run through my mind as I sit in an old rocking chair.  
    My antique wooden rocker reminds me of when my dad brought it home from one of his cousin Howard’s auctions in Nichols 50-some years ago.  It was broken.  Needed one of its rockers replaced.  So, he fashioned a new rocker to make the chair whole again.  Then, my mom lovingly restored the dark mahogany wood to its natural shining luster.  There’s a second rocking chair I often sit in to be near my husband in his recliner.  Outwardly, it looks like new; nothing broken - but it squeaks if I rock too slowly.  My in-laws knew how much I liked to sit in it over the years in their home, so they blessed me with it.  
     But, why am I talking about rocking chairs, and a broken one at that?  And at Christmas time no less!  Because they remind me that that’s why Jesus left His heavenly home and came to this earth as a wee tiny precious baby to live among us.  Our lives are broken… though perhaps not outwardly evident.  We need someone to lovingly restore us… back to the luster and shine that we were intended to have, just like that old rocking chair.  There is Someone willing to come alongside us, to forgive us on our repentance, to walk with us… gently calling us to Himself… a Savior ready to tenderly restore us with His gift of love…  
     I have often wondered what it was like to have been Mary and Joseph, traveling from Nazareth to Bethlehem, their first baby due soon.  It was census time, and Bethlehem was Joseph’s home town.  Caesar Augustus had decreed that every citizen should be counted in the entire Roman world.  And so they went.  I cannot imagine Mary riding a donkey all that distance, heavy with child, only to learn that they had arrived too late to get a clean, warm room.  Ever have that experience?  Traveling on the spur of the moment without making reservations ahead of time for your hotel of choice, only to find some convention has slipped into town, filling every room available?  Now what do you do?  Where do you go?  Well, just maybe the next hotel will have a room…
    But, Joseph kept getting turned away, again and again, from every inn where he stopped.  He must have felt so frustrated.  He couldn’t even provide a warm, clean room for his dear wife, who was likely in labor by then.  Finally, an innkeeper took compassion on the young couple and told them they could find shelter in his stable out back.  Oh great!  This was not exactly what they had hoped for, especially for the birth of their first child.  But, at least it was warm, dry and quiet.  Well, sort of…  There were all those animals they’d have to share the smelly stable with – donkeys, sheep, oxen, a few cats chasing mice hither and yon, maybe even a few roosting chickens – and animals at night are not exactly that quiet.  But, it was warm and dry.  And, at least there weren’t hordes of people rushing around, talking loudly and keeping everyone else up all night long while they partied.  Yes, a lowly stable would have to be good enough.  Now, they could finally get some rest for the night and find a little peace and quiet…  
     And then, in the dark of night, with only a small torch for light, Mary gave birth to her first-born son.  She wrapped him in swaddling cloths and snuggled him close.  After he fell asleep, she kissed his precious little face and lay him gently on the hay in a manger.  And then came the visitors, some local shepherds, who told them how they’d heard about their baby’s birth.   
     The shepherds told Mary and Joseph that while they were out in the fields, watching over their flocks for the night, they saw the angel of the Lord in all His glory.  He shone so brightly that he lit up the world all around them!  And they even admitted to Joseph and Mary how afraid they had been.  Nothing like this had ever happened out on the hills before!  What could it mean?  But then they told how the angel had spoken gently to them saying, “Fear not!  For behold, I bring you tidings of great joy which will be to all people.  For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, which is Christ the Lord.  And this shall be a sign unto you.  You shall find the babe wrapped in swaddling cloths lying in the manger.’”  Then, all of a sudden, a multitude of bright angels appeared in the heavens, surrounding them, praising God and saying, “‘Glory to God in the highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men.’”  [Luke 2:8-14] 
    Mary pondered all that had happened in her heart and soul during the days and years ahead.  If we could only know what she was thinking as she watched her precious baby boy grow up, as she wondered about the life her Son would live… and ultimately give… for her… for us…  just to make us whole again.
    ONE HOLY SILENT NIGHT
    Linda A. Roorda - 12/11/10
     One bustling and boist’rous night
    A man sought a room,
    A special room for his wife
    About to give birth.
     
    No room! No room at the inn!
    Joseph kept hearing,
    But go look for your shelter
    With cattle o’er yon.
     
    A warm and pungent stable
    Mangers filled with hay,
    Peaceful, serene, inviting,
    Cattle mooing low.
     
    A cry pierces the darkness
    Mary tenderly smiles,
    A precious baby is born
    Jesus, Emmanuel, God with us.
     
    Shepherds gaze up astonished
    As angels descend
    Amid dazzling-lit heavens
    Singing, Peace on earth!
     
    To Bethlehem town they run
    Lowly stable to find,
    Promised Messiah to see,
    Savior of the world.
     
    Would I have recognized Him,
    This new baby boy?
    Would I have known His purpose,
    My Savior, My Lord?
     
    One holy and silent night
    God came down to man.
    In humility He served,
    His grace-filled plan to redeem.
  18. Linda Roorda
    It’s common knowledge that spring is my favorite season!  I love earth’s awakening from those long and dreary winter days… though this past winter seemed like it just didn’t want to release its hold on the cold and snow.  But now, the sun shines brighter, the sky is bluer, and there’s an obvious warmth that’s beginning to penetrate every fiber of every living thing.  There may be a good deal of rain mixed in now ‘n then; but, with that rain, slowly and surely new growth takes shape as tiny leaves, flower buds, and new blades of grass begin to emerge.  The cold blanket of snow has been thrown off, the creeks and rivers flow abundantly along their way, and sparkling gems of color begin to explode.  It’s a seasonal dance featuring the debutant of spring dressed in her finest!
    Drink in the pleasure of every facet of spring… from the sylvan palette of leaves in multitudinous shades of green, yellow and purple… to blossoms of white, pink, yellow, red, blue and every shade in between… to birds with their various colors and lilting tunes… to skies wrapped in shades of azure with clouds from white to deep gray… to shades of pink, purple, orange and red at sunrise and sunset… to the velvet black night skies of sparkling diamonds… to spring showers bearing fresh aromas as they saturate and nourish the plants and soil… to the tantalizing and aromatic blossoms from lilacs, roses, sweet peas, irises, daffodils, lilies of the valley… and so much more.
    “See!  The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth, the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance…”  (Song of Solomon 2:11-13a)  Enjoy creation’s blessing in every sense of sight and sound, taste and smell, for “[God] has made everything beautiful in its time!”  (Ecclesiastes 3:11a)
    Spring’s Debut
    Linda A. Roorda
    At the dawning of spring’s debut
    The earth awakens from wintry slumber
    She yawns and stretches, throwing off covers
    Changing her gown from white to sylvan green.
    ~
    She welcomes showers of refreshing dew
    As fragrant aromas drift on gentle breeze
    While life’s renewal and emerging growth
    Bring bright adornment for the bleak and barren.
    ~
    Slowly she dons her delicate gown
    Until she’s covered in brilliant hues
    With sunlight’s rays streaming their warmth
    She lifts her face to absorb their glow.
     ~
    Regaled in finery like delicate silk
    She extends a brush to paint her palette
    With every shade of the rainbow bright
    Her crowning glory like entwining tresses.
    ~
    As we gaze in awe at the transformation
    From sleeping beauty to splendor arrayed
    Like multi-hued gems that sparkle and shine
    Is spring’s debut, prepared for the dance.
    ~~
     
  19. Linda Roorda
    Something bad happens to you… and you can’t shake it off.  It’s overwhelming… it’s unfair… it’s painful to think about… and you don’t deserve this.  But down the road, you look back and see all the good that came out of such a bad situation.  How can that be?
    While working on her master's degree in school psychology, our daughter, Jenn, was treated rudely by peers.  What did she do to cause this disrespect from her peers?  She declined to go to bars with them after classes, but would simply go home to her husband… while classmates complained to their professors that Jenn would not socialize with them. 
    Confronted by peers and profs, Jenn remained true to herself and gently explained that she had never been to a bar in her life and was not about to start going just to please them.  She further explained she was married, and that her husband came first.  Professors agreed with Jenn and dismissed the complaints.  In turn, Jenn kindly invited her classmates to her home for study groups and team projects, sharing those scrumptious desserts that she was famous for.
    Over time, the hearts of her friends softened under Jenn’s kindness and love.  In fact, they began to respect her even more for standing up for her faith in God and began asking questions.  A month after earning her school psychologist degree, Jenn passed away at age 25 on June 30, 2003.  Alfred University held a memorial service that October, sharing they had created the Jennifer Hale Literacy Lending Library as a lasting legacy in honor of her dedication to helping children.
    During the memorial service, two young women stood up and shared how they had initially been rude to Jenn.  Instead of retaliation, they saw God's love shine through our daughter’s life such that they both said they had accepted Christ as their Savior because of her.  In memory of Jenn’s gentle loving spirit, they read the Beatitudes and other Scripture as their part in Alfred University’s memorial tribute to Jenn.  They couldn’t understand Jenn’s lack of interest in going to the bars with them and brought complaints against her.  Instead, God used it for His purposes and brought good out of the situation. 
    Which reminds me of ancient Israel’s Joseph who was sold into slavery by jealous brothers. From the School of Hard Knocks, Joseph had graduated from a lowly but respected slave to prison and on to being next in command under Pharoah.  It was his reliance on God, and ability to interpret dreams, which led his success.  Meeting his brothers during the great famine, he reassured them he held no animosity, saying “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”  (Genesis 50:20 NIV)  Similarly, centuries later, the Apostle Paul wrote “we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28 NIV)
    With hindsight’s rearview mirror, we can often see the good that comes out of our bad situations.  Yet, it’s so difficult to understand sometimes how anything positive can come from life’s most painful tragedies.  Instead, when we allow God to work on our behalf, no matter how long it might take, His hand will weave the shattered pieces back together.  And not just to bring about a new beginning, but to bring about something more wonderful than we could ever imagine… as He uses each trial for our betterment, our good. 
    God Meant It For Good
    Linda A. Roorda
     You meant it for ill, God meant it for good
    For all of life has meaning within,
    But it’s how we deal with what comes our way
    When all seems grim or brightly shines clear.
    ~
    You only ask that I would obey
    And heed Your voice when doubts ensnare,
    When storms arrive and the way seems dark
    That to You I turn, Your guidance to seek.
    ~
    When thoughts arise to do life my way
    Let me yet seek Your wisdom as guide.
    Open my ears to the sound of Your voice
    Let me not heed the call of disgrace.
    ~
    May I ever know the path that I take
    Is framed by Your word, a hedge to protect.
    And when my thoughts are prone to wander
    Call me back, Lord, with voice loud and clear.
    ~
    For You meant for good this difficult path
    To test my heart and to try my soul,
    That after all the seeking I’ve done
    Your hand I would see with its purpose good
    ~~
     
  20. Linda Roorda
    I know change doesn’t come easy to me. But, change, like pruning of bushes and trees, is necessary. 
    Inevitable change without and within, As time marches forth on its forever path. But what of our heart when the depth is exposed? Are we bitter in change or more gentle and kind?
    Pruning is vital.  It cleans out dead branches on a bush or tree.  It clears out heavy overgrowth.  Pruning is a necessary step for fruit trees and grapevines, enabling them to produce a bountiful crop of top-quality fruit.  Pruning also helps plants put more energy into growing and showing off their abundance of gorgeous flowers.
    For those unfamiliar with the process, pruning helps a plant maintain optimum health.  While dead branches, or an excessive amount, choke out the sun from reaching the inner depths, pruning opens up the heart of a plant.  Removing or trimming back branches allows the sun’s rays to reach into the heart of the plant in order to revitalize the entire plant.  It may seem harsh when beginning drastic cuts; but, when the task is done, we have a much healthier plant. 

    Without pruning, any flowering or fruiting plant, vine or tree can revert to a more wild state, putting its energy into unnecessary overgrowth.  With pruning, the focus is on nutrition, feeding and nurturing the  plant so it produces the best flowers and fruit.  Admittedly, I have failed to prune many plants over the years and have ended up with a messy overgrowth that is now a challenge of where to begin.
    And so it is with us.  We need pruning… of our thoughts, words and deeds… a pruning of our heart and soul.  With the trimming away of unhealthy vices, we are more open and receptive to change… change which brings out the best in us.  As Jesus said, “I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener.  He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful.”  (John 15:1-2)  We need pruning to let the Son’s light enter the depths of our heart in order to revitalize us as we begin producing our fruit of the Spirit – “…love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control.”  (Galatians 5:22)
    We’re all branches in the tree of humanity, bearing fruit of various kinds.  We each have something special to contribute to this world around us.  Created unique, we’re endowed with individual gifts and talents.  But, we often need pruning to clear away the destructive debris in our lives.  We need pruning to allow the Son’s rays a chance to enter the depths of our heart… to cleanse and renew… to revitalize us… so that we can shine our fruit, our blessings, out into the world.
    And since God made each of us a unique one-of-a-kind creation, it brings joy to share our special gifts with our family, friends, and others beyond our close circle.  In so doing, we bless them in ways we can’t imagine, so that they in turn are encouraged to use their gifts to bless someone else. 
    The Pruning
    Linda A. Roorda
    He takes out his shears and sharpens the blades
    Ready to trim overgrown chaos.
    He eyes the tree, knows which branch must go,
    Which limb needs space as he trims and shapes.
    ~
    Decisions are made to remove dead growth
    Prune overcrowding and bring in the sun.
    Yet not unlike my life’s debris trimmed
    When clutter is cleared, opened for the Son.
    ~
    Bearing bad fruit shows a branch gone wild
    And bearing none how stagnant we are,
    What benefit then to remain untrimmed
    For lack of growth cannot show God’s love.
    ~
    But if we abide as a branch alive
    Bearing our fruit for the world to see
    The evidence speaks our soul’s depth of love
    That we will prove the Father’s commands.
    ~
    Abiding in love just as He loves us
    No greater gift has one for another
    For You, Lord, above have chosen us
    That we may bear fruit in lasting tribute.
    ~
    Inevitable change without and within
    As time marches forth on its forever path
    But what of our heart when the depth is exposed
    Are we bitter in change or more gentle and kind?
    ~~
  21. Linda Roorda
    There was a time we longed to know more about our loved one, wasn’t there?  When we were dating, we wanted to know everything there was to know about our beloved’s life… from childhood to adulthood… who they were in the depth of their heart, and what made them who they are today.  We often come to know each other so thoroughly that we can finish their sentences!  We know how they think, and why they do what they do.  And we eagerly follow their leading.  How well I remember following Ed in the barn, learning from him… following so close he called me his little shadow! 
    I hope we never lose sight of that longing to know our loved one on a deeper level because life continually changes, and so do we.  And that got me to thinking… and wondering… how well do I know my Lord?  Oh, I know Him… I love Him… and I know His word.  But, do I know Him deeply, as well as I knew my husband?  I know I fall short and cannot live up to His expectations.  But I also sense a need in my heart to continually study the depth of who God is; and, in that way, learn more about Him and His will, His path, His leading in my life.
    In Deuteronomy 6:5, we read, “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength.”  That’s not always easy.  It’s a challenge.  There is so much in life that clamors for our time and attention.  Yet, as the psalmist David expressed his heart in Psalm 25:4, I find it echoes my heart-felt longings:  “Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths.”  While he also wrote in Psalm 63:1-2, “O God, you are my God; I earnestly search for you.  My soul thirsts for you…” 
    Many years later, the prophet Jeremiah heard Yahweh/Jehovah God speak to him with a message for the people of Israel on returning to their homeland from captivity in Babylon.  “‘For I know the plans I have for you,’ declares the Lord, “‘plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you.  You will seek me and find me when you search for me with all your heart.’”  Jeremiah 29:11-13 NIV)  And that’s the heart I want while seeking Him in my life.
    The day I was writing this blog in 2015, my stepmother, Virginia, and I spoke on the phone.  As we reminisced about my father, Ralph, who had died that April 17th, she shared a story about my brother Charlie’s daughter.  At age 3, Nina tagged along behind her grandfather on his way out to the garden.  “What are you doing Pop-Pop?” she asked.  “Picking the Japanese beetles off the tomato plants and putting them in this bucket,” was his reply.  Since she wanted to go in the garden with her beloved grandfather, he told Nina to follow where he put his feet so she wouldn’t get her sneakers dirty from the mud.  Out of love and understanding for his little granddaughter, Pop-Pop then took a shorter stride.  As Nina followed, she stretched her little 3-year-old legs just far enough for her feet to land in Pop-Pop’s big footsteps as he led the way down the path.
    Under Pop-Pop’s guidance, Nina picked beetles off the leaves and dropped them into the bucket.  As she exclaimed to Granny, “I pick Napanese beetles like Pop-Pop!”  Nina was literally following in her grandfather’s footsteps, and proud of it!  And isn’t that what the Lord asks us to do as we seek Him?  That we would love Him enough to follow in His steps, on His path, as He guides our way!
    To Walk In Your Steps
    Linda A. Roorda 
    My soul is thirsting for truth from Your word,
    My daily strength on this path of life.
    A joy with grace and merciful peace
    When in Your will my soul finds its rest.
    ~
    Teach me Your ways, to walk in Your steps
    Let Your light shine as it guides my path,
    May I be used to reach seeking souls
    Others who need the touch of Your hand.
    ~
    May all my words echo Your wisdom
    And may the thoughts within my heart's depth
    Reveal the treasures I’ve kept and pondered
    That all I do will glorify You.
    ~
    So I’ll rise above the fray of this world
    To place my trust in Jesus my Lord
    And even though some days overwhelm
    I rejoice within His absolute love.
    ~
    For gracious is He who pursues my heart
    Just as I am, He embraces me.
    To know His truth with mercy sets free
    Blessed assurance and peace in His will.
    ~~
     
  22. Linda Roorda
    There is a way that often seems best to us.  It’s characterized by a life of fun as we grab all the gusto this world has to offer.  We deserve it!  After all, we only go ‘round once!  Right?  Except… there’s another way.  It follows our Lord’s path, different from a worldly perspective.  And how often don’t we see the two worlds on a collision course between absolute values and whatever goes… whatever feels right… at any given time.
    Just a thief on a cross, one of two who hung on either side of Jesus.  It’s possible that the thief speaking among us from the cross had spent a lifetime of going his own way, doing his own thing, robbing others, and, with hate and anger, killing those in his way.  His life was spent doing what he wanted, when he wanted… to see what he could get away with… to take his schemes as far as possible… just because he could… for he had lived the darker side of life.
    Until… our thief was apprehended and sentenced for his crimes because there are consequences to all of our actions - for haven’t we read or heard “…be sure your sin will find you out.” (Numbers 32:42, NIV) and “Do not be deceived:  God is not mocked.  A man reaps what he sows.” (Gal.6:7, NIV)  One way or another, God will deal with us.  If we go against His word, our wrongs will either own us and harden our heart, causing us to blame others for our own sins, or will fester and eat away at us until we acknowledge what we have done, repent, ask for forgiveness, and share the peace of God… with a renewed purpose in life.
    Even as Jesus was being crucified between two criminals, He humbly expressed what we so often have trouble doing:  "Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they are doing." (Luke 23:34 NIV)  And, with these simple words, the Son of God forgave those whose intent it was to destroy Him.  Out of a heart of love for every one of us, He simply forgave. Instead, with mocking hearts, our thief and his companion hanging on crosses to each side of Jesus, along with others, railed at Jesus and taunted Him by shouting: “Save yourself…if you are the Son of God!” (Matthew 27:39 NIV)
    But it wasn’t long before our criminal on one of the crosses began to contemplate who the man was that hung next to him.  He had heard about him, after all.  He was amazed that this man didn’t fight back… he’d been mocked and spat upon, had a crown of thorns painfully pushed down upon his head, had been brutally whipped until the flesh tore open across his ribs and back, and had been forced to carry his own cross when he could barely put one foot in front of the other... until the soldiers commanded another man to carry it after he fell.  This beaten man simply accepted what was happening to him even though He had committed no crime.  And it was then our thief truly understood that the man next to him really was the Son of God, just as He had claimed.
    He also realized that there was nothing he could hide from God… the One who knows the thoughts and depths of our heart, even before we say a word or commit an act.  This he recalled from the Holy Word he had heard in his youth:  “O Lord, you have searched me and you know me.  You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar… Before a word is on my tongue you know it completely, O Lord… Where can I flee from your presence?  If I go up to the heavens [or] if I make my bed in the depths, you are there.”  (Psalm 139:1-8, NIV) 
    And his heart and soul were pierced for all he had done with nary a thought as to how his actions would affect others.  He had never understood the pain and anguish he had caused in the lives of those he had taken advantage of for his own pleasure.  And he hung there overwhelmed with guilt for his lies and deception… for a selfish attitude… for arrogant pride… for flattering words used to get his way… for having lied and violated the trust of friends and loved ones … for even using Scripture to get his way… and for blaming others when his schemes failed…  After all, he couldn’t let anyone know how wounded, vulnerable, insecure and ashamed he really felt deep inside his heart. 
    Our thief also recalled hearing how this man had amazed the Pharisees in the temple by saying, “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”  (John 3:16 NIV)  He never understood what others saw in this man, but now it all became clear… and there was nothing left for him to do but to bow his head, confess his sins, and humbly ask for forgiveness… from God and from others… as Jesus accepted him into His heavenly kingdom that very moment.  Oh the joy this former thief must have known!!
    Though I have taken a few liberties in writing up the criminal’s portrayal, this story has features which sound all too familiar to us.  I know I stand guilty of sins.  We each have a choice to make.  We can either remain unrepentant… or bow our head in sorrow and seek forgiveness.  For there is nothing, absolutely nothing, we can ever do that would be too horrible to be forgiven by our loving God. 
    And, if we confess and seek forgiveness from our heavenly Father, and those we have offended, we can be assured of forgiveness with open arms that welcome. We can then move forward in life with a renewed sense of purpose as we serve our Lord and those around us with joy.
    Isn’t this what Easter is all about - the death of Jesus on that horrible cross, followed by His resurrection from the dead. He paid the ultimate sacrifice for my sin and yours… the completion of old Jewish prophecies, proving He is, indeed, the Son of God, our Savior! 
    A Happy and Blessed Easter to all!
     Ode To A Thief
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~ 
    There is a way that seems best to me
    A wider path of pleasant facades,
    A feast for the eyes, the senses to soothe,
    That seems to fill deep needs in my soul.
    ~
    To my own eyes I do what is right
    No disciplined hand can correct my ways.
    Life is for pleasure, the best I can find
    Whatever suits me and gives me a thrill.
    ~
    To take what is yours just because I can
    Excitement and dares are games to be played.
    What do I care if objections are made
    Pushing the limits I will not be stopped.
    ~
    It gives me pleasure to watch your unease
    My life is my own, don’t think I will change.
    Fear in your eyes gives challenge to me
    Warnings I heed not, temptation’s too great.
    ~
    But then I listened one day to a man
    They called him Teacher, the great Son of God.
    Perfect was He, no sin harbored there
    With words of wisdom my soul He did pierce.
    ~
    He understood fears, the depth of my heart
    And tears that I cried in lonely deep pain.
    He reached out to me, and held me so tight
    I felt his love envelope my soul.
    ~
    He gazed intently to depths of my heart
    I felt deep shame for all I had done.
    I bowed in anguish, repenting of sins
    As mercy’s grace washed over my soul.
    ~
    Beaten and hung with no fault in Him,
    We thieves nearby, sentences deserved,
    But with His great love accepted within
    Came the gift of life, an eternal reward.
    ~
    It’s never too late to cry out to God
    Unburden your soul and forgiveness receive.
    Accept His grace, salvation’s free gift
    And live a new life to glorify Him.
    ~
    For there’s a way that seems best to me
    As His Word now guides the path that I walk.
    Not the wide lane, but narrow and straight
    As daily I choose to honor my Lord.
    ~
    And, oh! what a peace he’s blessed me with now
    As His light shines forth from depths of my soul.
    His words I’ll share for others to know
    His saving grace so freely given.
    ~~
  23. Linda Roorda
    Easter is always a special time of year.  It reminds us that warmer weather is arriving after the long winter’s cold, and spring is beginning to show its colors!  It’s a time of renewal as new plant life exemplifies rebirth by poking through the covering of a late snow, leaf buds begin to swell and emerge from their long winter’s sleep, and early flowers showcase their gorgeous array of colorful blooms. 
    It’s a special time for children as they have fun decorating eggs, enjoy the search for hidden eggs to fill their baskets, and savor scrumptious chocolate treats and marshmallow peeps.  I also remember a time, way too many years ago, when it was fashionable to buy a new spring dress and white bonnet for Easter service at church.  When the Covid pandemic kept many of us from attending church, I drew Easter chalk art on our sidewalk to celebrate the joy of Resurrection Day.  And I also admire the Polish/Ukrainian Pysanky a friend makes – gorgeous delicate painted artwork on eggs.
    But there’s so much more to the meaning of Easter.  Each year we are reminded again of all that took place about 2000 years ago.  That precious little baby whose birth we celebrated just a few short months ago grew up with a purpose.  As my husband’s niece, Rebecca, once said, “That God would become a man and understand our struggles on earth just blows my mind.  [That’s] true humble love.”
    Yet, in contemplating God’s love, I sometimes find it hard to think of such unconditional love for me...  After all, what about that little thing I did?  Was it really wrong?  Maybe I can just excuse it away.  Will my family, my friends, or even God, forgive me for certain errors I’ve made?  I know He has, as have friends to whom I’ve apologized over the years.  How could God still love me when my temper flares… again…?  What does He see in me?  I can never measure up…  Well, actually, none of us can.  We “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God” (Romans 3:23) … “for the wages of sin is death, but the gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.” (Romans 6:23) So, why would God care so much for me… for each of us? Because of one man, Jesus…
    That one man, perfect in all he did or said, willingly took my unworthiness, my shame, my heavy load of sin, and endured the penalty of death on the cross, just for my soul, is overwhelming.  I cannot repay such a debt!  Wait… I don’t have to?  My debt is paid in full?  Because Jesus gave His life that I might live, all I have to do is believe and accept His free gift? Jesus really loves me and you that much? Yes! That’s the grace and mercy of God’s love… it does not define and cancel us for our failures, but rather shows that we are each created unique by God, worthy of His love and forgiveness, redeemed through Christ from a life of sin. (Colossians 2:13-14) Now that’s unconditional love… as He blesses us with His wisdom, courage, compassion, and peace.
    I am reminded of Johnny Hart’s “B.C.” cartoon column.  He was a good friend of my husband’s Uncle Mart and Aunt Tilly and their family in Ninevah, NY, members of the same Presbyterian Church where Hart also taught Sunday School.  How succinctly Hart put the thoughts of this holy week into perspective in his comic strip:

    [Johnny Hart in B.C., 04/09/03]
     
    Which brings to mind a similar thought-provoking cartoon from “The Wizard of ID”, a joint venture written by Johnny Hart and Brant Parker, illustrated by Parker:  
    Friar:  “Happy Good Friday Sire!”
    To which the king grumbles:  “What’s so good about it?”
    The friar replies:  “It took an act of God, but they finally found somebody willing to die for you.” ...with the king left standing there speechless.  [Copyright Creators Syndicate Inc.]
    But, after the brutality and agony of Jesus’ crucifixion and death, His friends are devastated. All their hopes and expectations for Jesus as the earthly king of the Jewish nation appear to be dashed.
    Yet, envision with me the beauty of an early morning sunrise.  Birds are beginning to sing as the sun’s first rays appear.  The dew has settled gently on the flowers in the garden as they open their buds to the sun’s warmth.  According to Mark 16:1-5, Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome quietly arrive at the tomb just after sunrise on the first day of the week.  They carry spices with them to anoint their beloved friend and teacher, Jesus, who had died a horribly painful death on a cross… only to see in astonishment that the great stone has been rolled away from the entrance.  Upon entering, they see the tomb is empty.  Already sad, now they are also afraid. 
    Suddenly, two men stand before them in brilliant light.  Knowing their fear, an angel speaks gently to reassure them.  “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified.  He is not here; he has risen just as he said.  Come and see the place where he lay.  Then go quickly and tell his disciples…” (Matthew 28:5-6)  Trembling and bewildered, the women run from the tomb.  Despite their confusion and fear they run to tell the disciples. Peter and John arrive after hearing Mary Magdalene’s report, look into the empty tomb, and also see only the burial cloths which lay neatly in place. (John 20:3-8)  And they wondered and believed.
    As the others return to their homes, Mary Magdalene stays at the empty tomb, crying, missing her Lord.  As a man she presumed to be the gardener speaks to her, she asks where he put him.  On hearing the man speak her name, “Mary,” she recognizes him as her dear friend, Jesus, and calls out, “Rabboni!” (Teacher).  After their conversation, Mary hurries to share the good news with the disciples that she “has seen the Lord!” (John 20:10-18)  Jesus truly is alive!
    And to think that with a simple child-like faith in Jesus who willingly gave His life for me… for each of us… He will live in our hearts now and for eternity. As John 3:16 reminds us, “God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him, should not perish but have everlasting life.”
    What pain there is to realize that I fall short of His tender love every day.  But what joy in humbling myself to recognize and confess my sins, and to ask for forgiveness for the errors of my ways from those around me and from my Lord, and then to feel the forgiveness… as the Lord’s love and peace with mercy and grace surround my soul.  That’s what Easter is all about…  God’s great love!  Hallelujah!!  Christ is risen!!  What a Savior!!  
    Besides… I love you!
    Linda A. Roorda
    Who am I?  My soul doth ask.
    What am I worth? And to whom?
    I see only failure as I take the reins
    And do not give my Lord the lead.
    ~
    How can you love the me who I am
    When all I see are my struggles?
    Yet, Lord, You do love even me
    In ways that I cannot comprehend.
    ~
    To sight unseen You guide my path
    Ever at my side, gently calling.
    And as you wrap loving arms around
    You cover my soul with tender mercies.
    ~
    For You opened wide Your arms on a cross
    Giving Your life that I might live,
    And in return You ask for my love
    With all my heart, my soul and my mind.
    ~
    But you didn’t stay within that tomb
    For on day three You rose from the dead.
    Seen by many, in the hearts of more,
    Eternity waits Your Gift of Love.
    ~
    Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer. 
  24. Linda Roorda
    Idols - we all have them... we just may not realize it.  Idols are anything or anyone which takes precedence over our relationship with God.  And yes, I have them, too.  We tend to see the obvious idols in the "things" we clutch closely... especially that which we enjoy doing or collecting - like our hobbies, collectable antiques, our "toys,” and even people.  They fill a void within us and give us an emotional high… for a while.  None of these are evil in and of themselves, but it’s where and how we put the emphasis on them that makes the difference.
    An idol can also be to whom or where we run when we’re dealing with a problem, rather than turning first to our Lord in prayer.  How often don't we fret and worry, feel sorry for ourselves, and take our pain or loss to nurture it and feed it with a selfish pity party.  Once again, I've been there and stand guilty.
    Coddling our idols is also an easy trap to fall into.  We want what we deserve, and we deserve the best!  Or so we think… But that philosophy is misguided, for there is only One who deserves our best.  “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind and with all your strength.’  The second is this:  ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’  There is no commandment greater than these.”  (Mark 12:30-31 NIV)  And I admit I am not able to unequivocally meet these godly expectations.
    Within these verses above, we are reminded of God’s words in Exodus 20:2-4.  The Ten Commandments, given to Moses during the Israelites’ exodus from slavery in Egypt, remind us that “I am the Lord your God… You shall have no other gods before me. You shall not make for yourself an idol in the form of anything… You shall not bow down to them or worship them…”  It is God our Creator who we worship, and He alone, realizing we cannot meet up to His great expectations.  And in that, we realize our sinful nature like filthy rags, and our great need for His saving grace.
    After writing this poem in 2015, and editing it, I re-read it in its entirety, nearly bursting into tears… for many reasons.  First, because the words touched my heart deeply for their depth of truth.  I firmly believe God gives me the words, and each poem is a moving emotional experience while writing, though some more so than others.
    And second, I wondered why the words for a happy, joyful, praise-filled poem wasn’t coming to mind.  Why did the words that flowed from my brain and out through my fingers once again contemplate our sin? 
    As I verbalized these thoughts to my husband, Ed, he said, “But your poem is the story of our lives.  We are sinners, and God does take us from rags to glory.  And that really is something to be writing praises about!”  It’s often felt or said that Christians talk too much about sin. 
    Yet, knowing that our perfect creator God has said through the Apostle Paul in Romans 3:23 that we “all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God”, it is then we begin to understand that acknowledging we really do sin in so many ways is key.  For in that understanding, it’s also reassuring to know that when we go to God and “…confess our sins, he is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.” (I John 1:9).
    What a blessing to trust in a faithful Lord who isn’t offended by our wayward feet.  He simply loves us deeply while drawing us back to Himself… no matter our sins, our tattered rags… as He washes us clean!  
    Tattered Rags
    Linda A. Roorda  
     
    When someday I stand before You, my Lord
    What will You see of my earthly life?
    Will You see rags, the tatters of sin
    Or will I be cleansed, washed pure by the Lamb?
     
    Yet for a while we proudly proclaim
    My will!  My way!  The cry of our hearts.
    We live a life in defense of self
    To gain the best this world can offer.
     
    A sense of pleasure in idols we make
    To soothe our hurts and meet our desires.
    But what we crave in comforts and perks
    Cannot appease the soul’s deepest need.
     
    Then what will fill this void in my soul?
    What could ever control all my steps?
    Could it be true that Your word speaks clear
    To guide and direct feet that stray from You?
     
    Help me to leave the past behind,
    Help me to walk with You at my side.
    Guide all my thoughts, my words and my deeds
    Create in me a heart of pure love.
     
    For there is nothing I could ever do
    That Your greatest gift won’t cover with peace
    As long as humbly I seek you in faith
    And with contrition gain mercy and grace.
     
    As You draw me near with welcoming arms
    To embrace Your child with a love divine
    I see the filth of sin’s tattered rags
    Fall gently away for a gleaming white robe.
  25. Linda Roorda
    Little lambs are so soft, cuddly and cute!  In my mid-teens, my siblings and I were given a lamb which I promptly named “Lambie.”  Very original, huh?!  It was only intended until something better came to mind, but nothing ever did.  She was a twin, abandoned by her mother and given to us by our cousin, Robert, from his flock.  I don’t know the breed, but she had light gray wool with a black face and black legs. 
    As Lambie’s main caretaker, I took responsibility to make sure she was fed.  Following my Dad’s directions, I made a gruel with oatmeal, water and evaporated milk, feeding it to her in a glass bottle which had one of my brother’s bottle nipples attached – we were good at making do.  And I loved to watch her little tail go “ninety miles an hour” while she drank! 
    Lambie was small, not very old, so we kept her in a box near the old-fashioned wood-burning kitchen stove to keep her warm.  It was too cold to put her out in the barn all by herself without her mama.  Even our mutt, Pepsi, of terrier and other unknown parentage, liked nothing better than to jump into Lambie’s box to check out this new arrival to our menagerie.  And I’m sure Pepsi wondered why this little one said “baaaa” and didn’t whimper like a puppy, but she contentedly mothered her adopted baby anyway! 
    Eventually, Lambie went to her pen in the barn, and followed me wherever I went.  It was fun to watch her spring up and down as she played and ran about the yard and nibbled on the grass.  Occasionally, she tried to wander beyond her guardian’s protection until called back to my side.  Though I never considered myself her “shepherd,” in reality I was.  I provided food and water for her, protected her, and kept her from harm… until the vet diagnosed her with Listeriosis, or circling disease.  Nothing could be done for her and we had to put her down.  Crying so hard I could barely see, I insisted to my Dad that I would dig the grave at the edge of the raspberry patch and bury little Lambie all by myself. 
    Such were the thoughts that came to mind after writing the poem below which is based on Jesus’ parable found in John 10:1-21.  Here, we read that the Good Shepherd knows each one of his sheep, and He calls them by name. But the sheep also know their shepherd, recognize his voice, and follow wherever he leads them.  Should a stranger enter the fold, the sheep will not follow him… instead, they will run around wildly or just run away en masse, simply because they aren’t familiar with the stranger’s voice. 
    Perhaps, under cover, a thief may come near the flock, pretending to be their shepherd.  He may disguise himself and draw a few young, inexperienced sheep away who think they’re following their shepherd.  Or perhaps a predator might sneak up on an unsuspecting lamb and lead it astray.  Disoriented and lost, the lamb follows the predator to supposed safety.  Soon it becomes obvious that the predator is not its shepherd… but by then it’s too late.
    Except, the true shepherd with his trained eye realizes what’s happened.  Like another of Jesus’ parables in Luke 15:3-6, He seeks out His precious lamb and brings it back, or willingly fights off the predator to rescue his little lost lamb.  Listening to its Master’s voice, the lamb turns around and joyfully runs back to the safety of the flock… and there it stays, feeling content and peaceful under the watchful eye of its protective shepherd. 
    And I thought, how like those sheep we are…  As Isaiah 53:6 says, “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way; and the Lord has laid on Him the iniquity of us all.”  We have a tendency at times to follow what sounds and looks so good, what seems so right… only to realize later that we’ve been duped… we were on the wrong track… and we need someone to save us.
    That special someone, the Master, the Good Shepherd, would do anything for us, His sheep… especially those who have wandered off or been drawn away by a predator.  Not so the hireling who doesn’t care much about someone else’s sheep.  With only a little provocation, he’d as soon run away than fight for the lives of the sheep under his watch.  Just as my heart ached and cried for the loss of my little precious lamb, so the Good Shepherd of our story aches for the lost, and would lay down His own life to protect and save His precious sheep from harm. 
    And isn’t that what our Lord, our Good Shepherd, our Master, has done for us?  May we always hear the love in our Master’s voice within our heart and follow His leading…
    The Master’s Voice
    Linda A. Roorda
    Like gentle sheep we’re prone to wander
    Easily enticed by things of this world
    But at the sound of our Master’s voice
    Will we then heed or continue headstrong?
    ~
    The Master’s words will not lead astray
    Seeking the ones who meander off
    Softly calling each one by name
    With tender words of comfort and peace.
    ~
    When storms arrive and release their fury
    The shepherd guides his flock to safety.
    How like our Master who longs to embrace
    And bring us home to rest in His arms.
    ~
    When wolves appear like gentle sheep clothed
    With flattery smooth they strike unannounced
    Their intention dark, the naïve to deceive
    Serving their needs, the meek to destroy.
    ~
    Then words of wisdom are soon directed
    At wandering lambs who have left the fold
    Calling them back to a sheltered life
    Protected under the Master’s great love.
    ~
    Unlike the hireling, He lays down His life
    Whatever it takes to gather His own
    Take heed to His call and flee from the foe
    Lean into His arms of mercy and grace.
    ~
    Like a good Shepherd is our Savior Lord
    With care He protects each sheep in His fold
    It matters to Him whose words we follow
    The call of folly or the Master’s voice.
    ~~
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