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Linda Roorda

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  1. Linda Roorda

    The Adulteress

    By Linda Roorda,

    Forgiven!  Can you imagine how she must have felt?  So close to being condemned to death, now free to go… forgiven a heavy burden of sin… free to overcome her past… and free to share the love of her Savior with everyone she comes in contact with!
    “The teachers of the law and the Pharisees brought in a woman caught in adultery… ‘In the Law, Moses commanded us to stone such women.  Now what do you say?’  They were using this question as a trap, in order to have a basis for accusing him.  But Jesus bent down and started to write on the ground with his finger.  When they kept on questioning him, he straightened up and said to them, ‘If any one of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.’ Again, he stooped down and wrote on the ground.  At this, those who heard began to go away, one at a time, the older ones first, until only Jesus was left, with the woman still standing there…”  (John 8:3-9)
    We’ve all done something in our past we’d just as soon forget.  We may still feel the sting of shame.  I can think of many public figures who disgraced themselves including President Nixon, Lance Armstrong, Pete Rose, Bill Cosby, Ravi Zacharias, and now New York’s Gov. Andrew Cuomo.  But, how much better that they and we face our wrongs… our sins… head on.  Admit them and repent, ask for forgiveness, stop blaming others, walk away from wrongful behaviors, and feel the loving grace of our Lord.
    So, what about the men who brought the adulteress woman to court?  Well… they simply walked away and left her standing alone with Jesus.  I’ve always wondered if Jesus was writing a list of their sins in the sand.  If so, that would have made them more than a little uneasy.  They would have stood in amazement, and perhaps felt shame as their secret thoughts and sins were written in the sand, available for all to read.  How did this man know so much about them?
    They had brought this woman to condemn her for adultery, a sin punishable by stoning to death.  And yet, where was the man from the tryst?  Didn’t his sin matter to them, too?  Or, was he among her accusers, blaming her?  Rather than face the depth of hypocrisy in their own heart, each man turned and simply walked away.  They didn’t want others to learn the weight of their own brokenness.  But, as they silently walked away, no contrite heart or apology was expressed.  Did they not realize that God sees and knows the truth?
    What a mockery they made of justice… fingers pointing at another while being guilty themselves.  So typical of abusers who hide behind their mask of piety.  They were so focused on trying to get Jesus to incriminate himself with a response, they didn’t understand the depth of their own sin.  They walked away from seeing who Jesus truly was, and their own need of grace. 
    Both civic and religious leaders fail us then as now.  Leaders who call themselves gifted exude an arrogance with pride. (Proverbs 16:18)  Leaders who fail to hold themselves and others around them accountable lack integrity and humility.  Often, they can be classified narcissistic, being more than simply self-centered.  They feel entitled to praise or special treatment.  They lack empathy, are abusive, liars who do not take responsibility for their own behavior, take advantage of others, lash out at criticism or perceive they’re not getting the attention they deserve with a behind-the-scenes retaliation and perpetual blame shifting.  Underneath the egotistic façade, they are usually deeply insecure and use a faux cover to present themselves as more worthy than they really are.
    Yet, what a powerful picture of mercy and grace Jesus gave us all as He forgave the woman.  All she had to do was repent.  In doing so, leaving her old life behind to follow the Teacher, our Lord, she would gladly share with others what He had done for her.
    Because she now had a future!  A life to look forward to!  She’d lived her past under whispered labels.  She’d heard the mocking voices deep in her soul… stupid, worthless, trash, adulteress, prostitute.  Yes, she’d lived a life of ill repute.  But, the Teacher… He respected her!  So, what did He see in her?  He saw someone who’d been taken advantage of to benefit others… someone weighed down by a heart of sorrow and shame… someone willing to openly shoulder responsibility for all of her own wrongs.
    This Teacher, the man named Jesus… He saw what she could be when cleansed of her past.  He saw her broken heart longing to be made whole.  He stood her up tall so she could start anew.  Just like our Lord does for us.  He forgives the heart that repents, no matter the charge… that longs to make amends… that longs for a closeness with God.  He holds out His hands to draw us near… setting us back up on our feet as He guides our path with flawless wisdom…  Forgiven!
     
    The Adulteress
    By Linda A. Roorda
     
    I met him today, the greatest Teacher!
    My life was a mess, but He picked me up.
    He gave me hope... He gave me vision.
    He freed my soul from sin’s dark snare.
     
    Dragging to court they brought me up front,
    My accusers smug turning to the crowd.
    With taunting words they scoffed and accused
    Revealing my life, my sin and my shame.
     
    How could I have reached such fallen depths?
    He told me he cared.  I believed his lies.
    His words were glib with flattery smooth
    But now I was caught, ensnared in a trap.
     
    Stating that stoning was punishment fit
    They asked the Teacher his thoughts on the law.
    Instead He stooped and commenced to write
    Words hid from others, known only to them.
     
    Yet, as they questioned, He continued to write.
    On standing tall, He peered in their eyes.
    “If any one of you lives without sin,
    Let him be the one who casts the first stone.”
     
    Slowly the elders and then the younger
    Quietly fled until only two,
    The Teacher and I, we alone stood still.
    From silence He spoke, my soul deeply touched…
     
    “Woman, where are they?  Have any condemned?”
    Glancing around, “No one,” said I.
    “Then neither do I.  I condemn you not.
    Go, and leave your sin.  Forgiven are you.”
    ~~
    08/05/17
  2. Linda Roorda
    Many communities in states above the Mason-Dixon line had safe homes to assist slaves fleeing north to freedom, like Portland, Maine.  A center of activity, the city was important to blacks fleeing slavery for not only safe homes enroute to Canada, but also employment in the rail and shipping industries.
    Recently, I learned from friends near Portland, Maine that the city’s Underground Railroad Abyssinian Meeting House/Church, built during 1828-1831, is undergoing restoration.  Noted to be “Maine’s oldest African-American church building and third oldest [standing African-American meeting house] in the nation”, it held worship services, abolition and temperance meetings, Portland Union Anti-Slavery Society, a school for blacks from 1846 until the 1856, and much more.  Recognized as Maine’s only Underground Railroad site by the National Park Service, it is also on the National Register of Historic Places.  (Wikipedia)
    The Abyssinian church was dealt a devastating blow, however, when the SS Portland sank off Cape Ann in 1898, taking 17 male parishioners.  One of New England’s largest ocean steamers with side-mount paddlewheels, she provided a luxury service for passengers between Boston, MA and Portland, ME.  When the powerful “Portland Gale” blizzard struck the New England coast November 26-27, 1898, more than 400 people and 150 vessels were lost.  (Wikipedia)
    Locally, Tioga County, New York can also claim involvement in the Underground Railroad.  But, as historian, Ed Nizalowski, noted online, “…as is the case in so many other parts of the country, actual documentation and credible evidence for involvement can be very difficult to verify.”  According to Nizalowski, Hammon Phinney of the Baptist Church in Owego, NY was a strong leader among local abolitionists.  Meetings in Owego, as elsewhere, throughout the 1830s and 1840s were rife with “wild confusion and violence.”  Frederick Douglass was forced to cancel speaking engagements “for fear of his physical safety” in 1840, though he did return in 1857, and Garret/Gerrit Smith was hit with eggs. 
    Nizalowski’s research uncovered four homes on Front Street in Owego which are known to have been involved in the Underground Railroad – Nos. 100, 294, 313, and 351.  “At 294 Front Street, a building once owned by the Eagles Club, a brick lined tunnel had been found running along the north wall.”  He also stated that No. 351 Main Street “has the best evidence for being a station for fugitive slaves.”  It was owned previously by Judge Farrington, “a prominent Abolitionist,” and by Hammon Phinney, with the house having “a hidden space in the cellar.”  Nizalowski avers that Phinney’s work as a stationmaster was learned primarily when the property was sold.  “In 1867 when the Hastings family bought the property from Frederick Phinney, Hammon's son, the new owners were told that the home had served as a station for fugitive slaves.  This story was passed on for over 100 years.  The best evidence for Hammon being a stationmaster comes from his obituary that appeared on March 3, 1898 where it also states that his home served as a station.  This is one of the few written references from the 19th century identifying a specific individual.” 
    Tioga County homes in Newark Valley, Berkshire and Richford may well have been involved in the Underground Railroad as Nizalowski pointed out.  There may have been additional safe houses in local communities. Though I have heard of homes used for the Underground Railroad in our town of Spencer, NY, I have no personal knowledge.  I do know the McQuigg house built in 1830s where our house stands today had servants’ quarters; whether they were whites or free blacks I have no knowledge.  At the far eastern corner of the kitchen was a staircase with a door. Taking the stairs up, there was an open area with two separate rooms and a small sitting area, closed off from the other rooms by a different type of door with a different type of latch. Sadly, since the house foundation beams had dry rot, and the structure itself was caving in, the house was not deemed appropriate for renovation by our bank.
    Typically, local history is only gained through stories passed down within families which attest to involvement in the underground.  But there was definitely assistance and support for abolition work throughout our region of New York state, both financially and physically.
    Writing in 2002 for Elmira’s “The Jones Museum” website, Barbara S. Ramsdell quoted Arch Merrill’s book, “The Underground, Freedom’s Road, and Other Upstate Tales.”  “Jones quietly took command of the Underground in Elmira, a gateway between the South and the North.  It became the principal station on the ‘railroad’ between Philadelphia and the Canadian border.  Jones worked closely with William Still, the chief Underground agent in Philadelphia, who forwarded parties of from six to 10 fugitives at a time to Elmira...  The station master concealed as many as 30 slaves at one time in his home, exactly where he never told.  He carried on his operations so secretly that only the inner circle of abolitionists knew that in a decade he dispatched nearly 800 slaves to Canada.”  
    As noted in Part III, I had discovered while researching and reading various books and websites that the Abolitionist Movement and the Underground Railroad are intertwined with the beginnings of the Women’s Rights Movement.  It was a time in history when many good people of faith were not inclined to confront the evils of slavery; it was just the normal way of life, or so they believed.  And, for the most part, it was felt that the place of women was in the home or in limited occupations, often not even given as good an education as their brothers.  It was an era when those opposed to owning another human clashed definitively with those opposed to slavery’s demise. 
    Though slavery has been around since early historical times, even in Biblical history, how thankful we are that some felt a calling in their heart to honor God’s love for all by working tirelessly to free those in slavery.  Were it not for the ardent religious beliefs, persistence and sacrifices of the abolitionists, men and women, white and black, who carried on their work despite great opposition, slavery might have lasted far longer in this nation than it actually did… and thank God it did come to an end.
    Yet, as stated in my preface, slavery is still a lucrative venture around the world, including in our own America.  Under various guises, slavery flourishes in over 100 countries with India, China, Pakistan, Bangladesh, Uzbekistan, and North Korea topping the lists… all for the financial profits gained.  Adult and child sex trafficking (especially of women and young girls), drug trafficking, forced child labor, debt bondage, unlawful recruitment of children for war, and domestic service slavery, are just  a few of the repulsive categories.
    I began this series by noting Martin Luther King, Jr. had said, “We are determined to work and fight until justice rains down like water and righteousness like a mighty stream.”  Paraphrasing Amos 5:24, King did just that with God at his side to challenge us to seek justice.  May we do the same.  Never forgetting, we do not erase history.  Without the knowledge and ability to learn from injustice, we are destined to repeat.
    Knowing slavery continues in our world today, may we have hearts that care enough to help in some way.  One avenue we can take to help stop enslavement is by donating to a charity of our choice which specifically works to educate the public and free those held in bondage.  For example, our charity of choice is Samaritan’s Purse, begun by Franklin Graham, son of the Rev. Billy Graham.
    Among the innumerable famous and little-known Blacks who have brought betterment to our world are the following few:
    1. George Washington Carver (1864-1943) – born into slavery, an artist, botanist, teacher, agricultural scientist and inventor with extensive research on over 300 uses for peanuts; created Tuskegee Institute Movable School to teach modern agricultural techniques and tools to farmers in Alabama and around the world.
    2. Edward Bouchet (1852-1918) - son of former enslaved parent, removed to New Haven, CT; accepted at Yale, first African American to earn a Ph.D., 6th American to earn this degree in physics.
    3. Jean Baptiste Point du Sable (1745?-1818) – from Haiti, first to establish a permanent settlement at Chicago, a man of great reputable character and business acumen.
    4. Matthew Alexander Henson (1866-1955) - son of free-born tenant farmers; ran away from abusive home at 11; traveled with Robert Peary in 1891 on first of several trips to Greenland; Peary and Henson took their final trip in 1909; Henson set foot on North Pole first; returning home, Peary took all credit with Henson’s achievements ignored as a Black man.
    5. Bessie Coleman (1892 -1926) - one of 13 children born to Indigenous father and African American mother; educating herself, graduated from high school; not accepted at flight school being black and female, saved money for training in France; first Black woman to earn her pilot’s license in the world.
    6. Lewis Latimer (1848-1928) - son of self-liberated parents, Chelsea, MA; served in U.S. Navy during Civil War; a draftsman with numerous inventions, including filament system to keep carbon filament in lightbulbs lasting longer, only Black member of Thomas Edison’s elite team; improved design of railroad car bathroom and early air conditioning unit.
    7. Jane Bolin (1908-2007) - first Black woman graduate of Yale Law School; first Black woman judge in 1939; with Eleanor Roosevelt, created intervention program to keep young boys from committing crimes.
    8. Alice Allison Dunnigan (1906-1983) – first African-American female White House correspondent; first Black female in Senate and House of Representatives press corps; chief of Associated Negro Press in 1947; served under Pres. John F. Kennedy as education consultant for President’s Committee on Equal Employment Opportunity until 1965.
    9. Wangari Maathai (1940-2011) - first Black woman to win 2004 Nobel Peace Prize for environmental work in Kenya; social, environmental and political activist; founded Green Belt Movement, planting trees.
    10. Irene Morgan Kirkaldy (1907-2007) – July 1944 arrested for refusing to give up bus seat in Virginia; convicted in County Circuit Court, appealed decision to Virginia Supreme Court; Supreme Court ruled in her favor June 3, 1946 aided by Thurgood Marshall and the NAACP.
    11. Claudette Colvin (1939-) - 15-year-old who refused to give up bus seat March 2, 1955, arrested 9 months before Rosa Parks; main witness in federal suit, Browder v. Gayle, ending public transportation segregation in Alabama.
    12. Amelia Boynton Robinson (1911-2015) - tireless advocate for civil rights; first African-American woman in Alabama to run for Congress in 1964; worked with Martin Luther King, Jr. to plan march from Selma to Montgomery on March 7, 1965, severely injured; received Martin Luther King Jr. Freedom Medal in 1990.
    13. Rebecca Lee Crumpler (1831-1895) - earned MD in 1864, first African-American woman physician in U.S.; wrote and published “Book of Medical Discourses in Two Parts”, first medical text authored by African-American.
    14. Otis Boykin (1920-1982) – with 26 patents, developed IBM computers, and circuitry improvements for pacemakers.
    15. Charles Drew (1904-1950) – physician, surgeon, medical researcher with discoveries in blood transfusions, developed large-scale blood banks, blood plasma programs, and bloodmobiles for Red Cross.
    16. Jesse Ernest Wilkins, Jr. (1923-2011) – a genius, youngest student ever at age 13 to enter University of Chicago, earning bachelor, master, and doctorate degree in math at age 19; nuclear scientist, mechanical engineer and mathematician; published papers in mathematics, optics, and nuclear engineering; perfected lens design in microscopes and ophthalmologic uses; involved in Manhattan Project with future Nobel laureate Eugene Wigner with significant contributions to nuclear-reactor physics.
    17.“Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Who Helped Win the Space Race” is a 2016 nonfiction book by Margot Lee Shetterly. It tells about the lives of Katherine Johnson, Dorothy Vaughan, and Mary Jackson, three mathematicians who worked as computers (then a job description) at NASA during the space race. They overcame discrimination to solve problems for engineers and others at NASA. For the first years of their careers, the workplace was segregated and women were kept in the background as human computers. Author Shetterly's father was a research scientist at NASA who worked with many of the book's main characters. These three historical women overcame discrimination and racial segregation to become American achievers in mathematics, scientific and engineering history. The main character, Katherine Johnson, calculated rocket trajectories for the Mercury and Apollo missions. Johnson successfully "took matters into her own hands" by being assertive with her supervisor; when her mathematical abilities were recognized, Katherine Johnson was allowed into all male meetings at NASA.  (Wikipedia)
    BOOKS I’VE READ:
    *Abide With Me, A Photographic Journey Through Great British Hymns, by John H. Parker, New Leaf Press, Green Forest, AR, 2009.
    *Bound for Canaan, The Epic Story of the Underground Railroad, America’s First Civil Rights Movement, by Fergus M. Bordewich, HarperCollins Publishers, New York, NY, 2005.
    *Gateway to Freedom, by Eric Foner, W. W. Norton & Company, New York, NY, 2015.
    *Harriet Tubman, Conductor on the Underground Railroad, by Ann Petry, Harper Trophy of HarperCollins Publishers, Inc., New York, NY, 1955.
    *The Island at the Center of the World, by Russell Shorto, Vintage Books Edition, New York, NY, 2005.
    A FEW OF MY WEBSITE SOURCES:
    *“Absence of Malice” (Adapted from “Lincoln’s Greatest Speech:  The Second Inaugural” by Ronald C. White, Jr.) in Smithsonian, April 2002, p.119.
    *“The Underground Railroad in Tioga County, A Piece of History With Many Gaps to Fill” by Ed Nizalowski.
    *John W. Jones Museum, Elmira, NY - “Our purpose is to preserve… related artifacts in memory of his role and the roles of others in the Southern Tier involved in the Underground Railroad and the American Civil War.”
    *Freedom Quilts – “The History of The American Quilt: Part One (Early African American Quilts) - Pattern Observer. History of the American quilt” by Molly Williams.
  3. Linda Roorda
    Each one of us encounters failures and losses in life.  Each one of us encounters disabilities in ourselves or those around us.  But it’s what we do with, and how we react to, all that comes our way that makes a difference... in our lives and in the lives of others.  We can carry on with selfish pride in what we can do, we can roll over in defeat at failure... or we can face the challenge in humility, asking God to guide us along a broken and difficult path.
    For 27 years (from 1982 to 2009), we burned wood to heat our house.  When my gentle giant husband, Ed, farmed with his dad, he cut his own firewood with a chainsaw despite limited vision of 2/200 with correction in only one viable eye.  Came the day, though, that Ed lost the balance of his limited vision, and was completely blind.  He could no longer use a chainsaw after the first several years, and later had to stop using an axe to split wood, and it remained to be seen how he would handle the other obstacles that faced him being totally blind. 
    Initially, he went through a difficult transition and grieving process, common to all with any serious loss.  None of us knew how best to handle the change.  It was a learn-as-you-go process until we found professional guidance specifically for the blind at A.V.R.E. in Binghamton, NY and The Carroll Center for the Blind in Newton, MA.  And then, his old self rose up to meet the challenges, determined to do whatever he could to face whatever came his way… with a catch.
    As he stacked firewood one day without any remaining fragments of light and color to guide him, the rows kept collapsing.  He simply could not get the pieces of wood to fit together well enough to stay in neat upright rows.  In utter frustration, he sat down and put his head in his hands, feeling like an utter failure.  All of his life he’d had to struggle with limited vision, being classified legally blind from infancy on.  He struggled in the classroom, not being able to see the board, often refusing to ask for help.  He wanted to be just like everyone else.
    Most of us can tackle any activity, job or hobby with ease.  But my Ed was denied what he longed to do… he couldn’t play football or basketball with his 6’7” height.  He could swim like a pro, but wasn’t allowed on the team for fear he’d hurt himself or others if he strayed from his lane.  Instead, the coach made him manager of their state division championship team from Warwick, NY.  But, at other times, peers mocked and belittled him.  Why couldn’t he be accepted just for who he was?  Why did everything have to be so hard?  Why couldn’t life be easier and simpler… like it was for everyone else?  It wasn’t fair, he thought.
    Yet, he had accomplished so much with so little for so many years!  He could milk the cows, climb the silos, drive tractor and do all the field work except plant corn, and that was only because he couldn’t see where the last row left off.  With his limitations, he knew to be extra cautious and it always paid off.  But, now it seemed that even this last bit of enjoyment in stacking firewood was being taken from him, too. 
    Except, while sitting there, with the wood he’d stacked falling down, he decided to pray and ask God for help in this seemingly simple, but now very challenging task.  He prayed that God would guide each piece of wood he picked up so it would fit and the rows wouldn’t fall down… so that he could stack the wood himself without having to ask yet again for more help.  As he stood up and once again picked up the firewood, he soon realized that every piece he stacked fit… well, actually, fit perfectly!  When he was done, his rows stood straight and tall without collapsing! 

    And then he began hearing comments from neighbors who marveled at how great his stacked firewood looked.  By a man who couldn’t see, no less!  As Ed told anyone who commented, “It wasn’t me; it was God.”  It was only after he prayed each time before he picked up the first piece of wood that he was able to manage this seemingly impossible task.  But, if he forgot and just delved right in to stacking, the wood invariably collapsed… until he sat down and had a little talk with God.
    My poem below is reminiscent of a story floating around the internet of violinist Itzhak Perlman performing with a broken violin string.  Though that feat was unable to be confirmed by reliable sources, the concept is worthy of illustrating our brokenness in disability.  Another young man, Niccolo` Paganini, was an Italian child prodigy who played mandolin and violin from ages 5 and 7 respectively.  Supposedly, he once played with three broken strings, refusing to allow the handicap to end his serenade.  Paganini excelled in part because of Marfan’s Syndrome which gave him his height and extra long fingers, a genetic syndrome also found in our families.  The elasticity of joints and tissues allowed Paganini the flexibility to bend and extend his fingers beyond the norm as he used the disability to his benefit.
    Like Ed and others with disabilities, we can either resent our situation or we can have a little talk with God, asking Him to guide us through whatever we face. 
    The Broken String
    Linda A. Roorda
     
    Four strings create beautiful music
    Perfection in pitch, magnificent tone
    All they expect, not asking for more
    Performing with pride just as it should be.
     
    Pulling the bow across the taut strings
    Gently at first, then faster I stroke
    The symphonic sound brings tears to their eyes
    This is my gift to their list’ning ears.
     
    Closing my eyes to the beauty of sound
    Caressing the strings, deep feelings evoked
    From graceful and light to dramatic and rich
    Till one string popped, now what shall I do?
     
    Adversity gives a chance to prove worth
    As now I’ve lost a string that flails free.
    In silence all eyes are riveted on me;
    Would I be angry or would I accede?
     
    Silently I prayed, God give me the strength
    I’ve been disabled, humbled before all.
    Help me I pray to carry on well
    Let them now see You working through me.
     
    Adjusting my bow and fingers for sound
    Quickly I learned to amend my strokes,
    As to my ears a beautiful tune
    Emanates yet while focused on God.
     
    When the finale at last had arrived
    With a soft sigh I played my last note,
    And as it faded they rose to their feet
    With wild applause from their hearts to mine.
     
    Perhaps it was all intended to reach
    This attitude of pride within myself.
    A lesson was learned in how to react,
    Adversity’s gift to sink or to soar.
     
    For without You what does my life mean?
    What value is placed on my outward skills?
    Do You not, Lord, see deep in my heart
    Where my soul reflects my pride or Your grace?
     
    My attitude then a choice I must make
    Embrace gratitude or sink in despair.
    For I cannot change what happens to me
    Instead I’ll play while focused on You.
     
    Humility grows by resigning pride
    As a broken string reflects trials of life.
    Others I’ll serve as You did for me
    For in You is found the selfless way of life.
    ~~
    First published as a shorter version in the Spring issue of “Breaking Barriers”, March 2016,
    for the Christian Reformed Church newsletter and online Network website.
     
  4. 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
  5. 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.
  6. 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.
  7. 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
  8. 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.
  9. 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.
    ~~
  10. 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...
     
     
  11. 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!
  12. 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.
    ~~
  13. 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.
    ~~
  14. 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.  
  15. 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.
  16. 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 
     
  17. 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! 
  18. 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
     
  19. 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.
  20. Linda Roorda

    I Am A Woman

    By Linda Roorda,

    “You never think of your parents as much more than parents. It isn’t until you are older yourself that you begin to realize they had their hopes, dreams, ambitions, and secret thoughts. You sort of take them for granted and sometimes you are startled to know they were in love a time or two…. You never stop to think about what they were like until it is too late…” (Louis L’Amour in “Tucker”)  Oh how true!!
    The tomboy that I was while growing up in my teens, working and learning beside my Dad, prepared me for later becoming a farmer’s wife.  After all, the love of farming is in the blood of both my parents! I was not fond of housework, much preferring to be outside or in the barn. Yet we women fill so many different roles.  Not all of us are wives and mothers.  Some of us remain single.  Some of us are meant to pursue life-time careers.  Some of us work to support our family, when we would prefer to be at home raising our children. Often, our likes and dislikes, and even careers, change throughout our lifetime. 
    Typically, we women are great multi-taskers, but I’m not sure whether that’s good or bad! We come from different walks in life, and we’re very different from each other in feelings, perspectives, and opinions. I’ve had several “big sisters” or “surrogate mothers” in my lifetime who added a special dimension to my maturing and learning - my Dad’s mother, Grammy, with whom I wrote letters every other week for decades from my teens on, who helped raise me as an infant and toddler, and was there with an ear and advice as I raised my own children; my cousin Howard’s wife, Carol, like a big sister to me and whose four children my sister and I babysat during their weekend auctions in our teens, and with whom I continue to keep in touch; and his brother Robert’s wife, Virginia, briefly my hunting partner in my teens, also taught me how to cook certain meals when I lived with their family while working in Ithaca several months before my marriage to Ed, learning to make delicious homemade spaghetti sauce and a down-home scrumptious simple goulash, both a favorite in my own family’s supper menu. 
    But I remember my Mom for many things… as I grew up, she was a traditional housewife, taking care of the home and growing a large garden.  She continued her mother’s example by canning and freezing the produce every summer except the years we lived in Clifton, NJ.  When we butchered chickens, Dad put them on the chopping block, we two sisters were the “dunk-and-pluck” crew, while Mom knew how to properly dress them for the freezer, showing us one hen’s set of graduated eggs sans shells from large to very small!  She was quiet and reserved, did not share much, if anything, about herself or her family as I grew up, but she had a strong faith in God.  Her mother died when I was 9 so I have limited memories of her, though eventually my mother shared stories of growing up and of her mother’s busy life raising 12 children, helping on their large chicken and dairy farm. My mom loved the country/farm life, as I do. And she knew how to deliciously cook up the squirrel I shot, or all game and fish my Dad brought home!
    A few things she shared included making true homemade ice cream (no pre-made mix) as we kids clamored for a turn at hand cranking, bottling homemade root beer, and heating up the best hot cocoa with real cocoa powder, sugar and milk on the stove – all things from her childhood.  She also made a Dutch barley soup with buttermilk and brown sugar that I loved, as well as the most delicious cream puffs in the world using our duck eggs.  She could sew, but it was not her favorite.  She taught me to iron clothes and Dad’s handkerchiefs before permanent press fabrics hit the market.  I loved her homemade bread and made some a few times after I was married, but it was not my favorite venture.  As a kid, I savored her delicious toasted-cheese sandwiches with her homemade dill pickle slices tucked between slices of her homemade bread – long before Vlasic ever thought of selling bottled dill pickle slices for that very purpose!  
    My sister and I did a lot of the bean and pea picking, snapping and shelling.  Though we tossed some of those veggies as youngsters when we were tired of our chore, freshly picked and cooked peas remain my favorite.  I loved visiting the farm my Mom grew up on, and later in life enjoyed hearing stories of her younger days.  She shared some of her wisdom, but typical of teens, I wasn’t always listening or accepting.  I did not hear much of her childhood until I began researching and documenting her family’s genealogy decades after I got married. And treasure the time I drove her around her hometown of Carlisle, NY, sharing and pointing out places connected to her life, as I wrote down her childhood stories.
    My only desire had been to be a stay-at-home mother like my Mom, but circumstances beyond our control put me back into the workforce when my children were very young.  Each of my secretarial jobs (beginning part time as a high school senior in an Owego law office), built the foundation and skills for the next job, preparing me for my final medical transcription career before retiring and changing direction once more - subbing for teachers and their TAs, jobs I love, “being there” for “my” students.  But whether it’s being a mother or having a career, that’s not where all our satisfaction is found.  ewing many clothes for myself, husband and children, and canning and freezing a year’s worth of garden produce and fruit while raising my little ones were all reminiscent of the “good ol’ days.”
    It does our heart good to “be there” for someone else, whether to provide emotional support, bring a meal to a shut-in, or lend aid in other ways to someone in need… sometimes even if only to give an ear and a shoulder for their hurts.  And that doesn’t begin to describe the love felt by the recipients of our gifts of love and time.  But doing good for others is not where we derive all our satisfaction either.
    For several years, a popular women’s Bible study has been the “Proverbs 31 Woman.”  I like this passage of Scripture in Proverbs 31:10-31 (NIV), written by Israel’s King Solomon who had achieved fame as the wisest man in the world.  It speaks about a wife of noble character, and what she does to bring blessing to her husband and children, her family.  She works to care and provide for the needs of her household.  She buys and sells property and goods for a profit.  She respects her husband and brings him good in all she does, whether at home, among her friends, or in the city at large.  She speaks with a wise heart.  She does not sit around in idleness; instead, she demonstrates strength and dignity in all situations.  For "a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised." (Proverbs 31:30b)
    As I ponder this passage, I feel like it shows that I clearly don’t measure up.  For I know all too well my own failings.  Yet, there’s no reason why I cannot pursue change within.  So, I seek that quiet time to study, meditate, pray, and listen to what the Lord has to say within my heart.  It’s the Lord’s approval I long for… to guide my steps, to change my course, to cover me with forgiveness, peace and contentment, and to find satisfaction in doing what He expects of me even when it’s not the easiest path, nor the one I would choose.
    May you be blessed - whether or not you are called Mom - for all the love you share, and for all the time and effort you put into being there for those around you… Happy Mother’s Day!
     
    I Am A Woman
    Linda A. Roorda
    ~
    I am a woman.  I am a mother.
    I’m a little girl, deep in my heart.
    I am emotions, raw and revealing.
    I am deep strength when life overwhelms.
    ~
    I’ve carried love within my heart
    For family dear, and friends held close,
    For husband wise, light of my world
    And children young, growing their dreams.
    ~
    I see the needs to be fulfilled.
    I reach to you, a life to touch.
    I shed a tear, and hold your hand
    To ease your pain, and bring a smile.
    ~
    In quiet time, I seek Your will, Lord.
    A time to renew, to calm my fears,
    To savor sweet dreams, my hopes and plans
    As You care for me, and meet all my needs.
    ~
    I fail at times to walk the path
    Yet You, oh Lord, are at my side.
    You pick me up each time I fall
    To gently remind, Your child I am.
    ~
    I’ve harbored pain of losses that wound.
    I’ve weathered storms, battered and scarred.
    But my weary soul with peace You fill,
    That I may praise and bless Your name.
    ~
    I hear Your voice and will in Your Word,
    For wisdom I’ve gained upon this road
    Will lead me on to comfort and love
    Others in need with You at my side.
    ~~
  21. Linda Roorda
    Whether or not we had ancestors or extended relatives who served in the American Civil War, it’s only fitting that we commemorate the 159th anniversary of its conclusion this past April.  This was the war that gave freedom to all slaves, despite that issue not being the war’s original intent. 
    It all began when seven states from the south seceded from the bonds of the United States of America upon Abraham Lincoln’s election as president in November 1860.  By February 1861, the Confederate States of America had formed, whereupon the United States government declared its existence was illegal.  Four more states seceded from the Union with the April 12, 1861 firing by Confederates on Fort Sumter in Charleston, South Carolina, a Union-held fort.  Only later did the slavery issue become the leading bone of contention between the north and south. 
    Not until September 22, 1862 did President Lincoln declare that as of January 1, 1863 “all slaves in states in rebellion against the Union ‘shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free.’”  Lincoln was also astute enough to know this would be "the central act of my administration, and the greatest event of the 19th century."
    And so, one hundred and fifty-nine years ago, men on both sides of our nation’s civil war lay down their arms after four long years.  But, few knew when dawn broke on Palm Sunday, April 9, 1865, that it was the beginning of the end.  General Robert E. Lee of the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia was backed into a corner on the battlefield with nothing left to do but accept the offer of surrender to General Ulysses S. Grant of the Union (i.e. Northern) Army. 
    Grant had pursued Lee’s army relentlessly.  In fact, Grant’s troops were entrenched around Petersburg and Richmond, Virginia.  Grant thus kept Lee under a loose siege in an attempt to sever the supply lines which enabled the Confederate armies to remain viable.  As the Union Army drew Lee’s forces into battle on April 1, 1865 and cut their supply lines, Lee had no choice but to abandon ground he had held for virtually ten months.  In retreat, he expected to meet up with other Confederate units in order to regroup as designated supply trains arrived with fresh provisions.  Unfortunately, the Union cavalry found and attacked remnants of Lee’s army enroute, forcing several thousand Confederates to surrender.  Supplies were also captured by the Northern Army, preventing the Southern troops from getting their designated supplies in order to continue fighting.
    On April 7, and after several small skirmishes, Grant sent a message to Lee suggesting that he surrender.  Though Lee refused, he did ask Grant to spell out the terms being offered, hoping to buy sufficient time to meet up with additional Southern troops.  The next day, however, three Confederate supply trains were captured and burned at Appomattox Station by Brevet Maj. Gen. George Armstrong Custer.  This left two more Southern armies which were arriving to support Lee without their desperately-needed supplies of food and more.  Knowing there was just one more supply train available a little farther west at Lynchburg, Lee decided to fight on and push his army through the Northern Army’s lines of defense. 
    On Sunday morning, April 9, the Southern Army forced back a section of the Northern Army’s line of defense.  As they pushed forward, however, the next line of the Union Army slowed the Confederates down.  Desperately continuing their charge forward, they finally broke through the Union defense… only to find that, as their cavalry reached the summit of a hill, the Union Army lay spread out before them fully prepared to repel the Southern Army. 
    Maj. Gen. John B. Gordon sent a message to Gen. Lee stating, “…I have fought my corps to a frazzle, and I fear I can do nothing unless I am heavily supported by Longstreet’s corps.”  Knowing that Lt. Gen. James Longstreet was fully engaged by the Northern Army and unable to come to Gordon’s aid, Lee knew he had no other choice but to surrender.  “Then there is nothing left for me to do but to go and see General Grant and I would rather die a thousand deaths,” Lee replied to Gordon.  [The Appomattox Campaign: March 29-April 9, 1865, by Joe Williams, National Park Service.  Per Wikipedia]
    General Robert E. Lee went to meet Grant that Palm Sunday, April 9, dressed impeccably in full uniform.  General Ulysses S. Grant (having allowed Lee to select their meeting site) arrived as is from the battlefield in an unkempt uniform spattered by mud with his pants tucked into well-worn muddy boots.  Lee’s men had been hounded as they tried to gain the upper hand over his fellow graduate of West Point.  Even supply trains seemed to contrive against him as they were prevented from meeting his Southern troops at designated stops.  The great Confederate effort had begun to unravel… rapidly.  Though his soldiers were bone weary, starving hungry, emaciated, emotionally and physically drained, they were ready to follow their beloved commander wherever he led them.  And this was where Lee brought them… to Appomattox Court House, Virginia, to the country home of Wilmer and Virginia McLean… to surrender.
    The meeting between Grant and Lee was initially emotional as they discussed their only other meeting about 20 years earlier in the Mexican-American War.  Sitting down to business, the terms of surrender given by Grant were more generous than expected.  See Robert E. Lee's Surrender at Appomattox from the pages of Harper's Weekly.
    Written documentation was provided by Grant’s adjutant, Ely Parker, a Native American of the Seneca tribe.  When Lee learned of Parker’s heritage, he commented, “It is good to have one real American here.”  Parker replied simply, “Sir, we are all Americans.”  Grant allowed that each man could keep his own horse or mule, so vital for the spring field work ahead.  The officers could keep their small sidearms, but all men were to leave their larger shotguns, rifles, artillery field pieces, and public property.  They were to refrain from taking up arms in the future against the United States of America, and to respectfully embrace all laws within the state they lived.  After the formalities were concluded inside the house, they stepped quietly outside.  As Grant’s men began cheering in a celebratory manner, he ordered them to stop immediately.  “The Confederates are now our countrymen, and we [do] not want to exult over their downfall.”  Respect was paramount in Grant’s eyes.  He even provided food rations to Lee’s starving army.  [quotes above from April 1865: The Month That Saved America, Jay Winik; New York:  HarperCollins, 2006, p.191.]
    On April 12, 1865, Gen. Robert E. Lee’s soldiers lined up to stack their guns under the Union Army’s watchful eye.  Brig. Gen. Joshua L. Chamberlain, the Union officer chosen to lead the formal ceremony of surrender, wrote a moving tribute:  “The momentous meaning of this occasion impressed me deeply.  I resolved to mark it by some token of recognition, which could be no other than a salute of arms…  Before us in proud humiliation stood the embodiment of manhood:  men whom neither toils nor sufferings, nor the fact of death, nor disaster, nor hopelessness could bend from their resolve; standing before us now, thin, worn, and famished, but erect, and with eyes looking level into ours, waking memories that bound us together as no other bond – was not such manhood to be welcomed back into a Union so tested and assured?  …when the head of each division column comes opposite our group, our bugle sounds the signal and instantly our whole line from right to left, regiment by regiment in succession, gives the soldier’s salutation, from the ‘order arms’ to the old ‘carry’, the marching salute... honor answering honor.  On our part not a sound of trumpet more, nor roll of drum; not a cheer, nor word nor whisper of vain-glorying, nor motion of man standing again at the order, but an awed stillness rather, and breath-holding, as if it were the passing of the dead!”  [Passing of the Armies, Joshua Chamberlain, pp. 260-261; per Wikipedia]
    When the roughly 28,000 soldiers of Gen. Lee’s former Confederate Army of Northern Virginia stacked their arms, they must have done so with tremendous mixed emotions.  It’s not easy to lose.  It’s not easy to have fought so hard and so long for what you believed in with all your heart only to have it come to this... surrender.  But, Grant allowed them to retain their dignity.  As they walked past their former enemies, each man was saluted with respect.  With this solemn ceremony, both sides must have felt a great sense of relief that the long and bitter war was finally over. 
    The Surrender of the Army of Northern Virginia, April 12, 1865.  Painting by Ken Riley.  Courtesy West Point Museum, U. S. Military Academy, West Point, New York.
    The respect that Gen. Grant and his men paid to the Southern soldiers was intended to be taken back home to their countrymen as each man turned and walked away... back to the family each had left behind so long ago… back to a family that might no longer be intact… back to a home or farm left tattered and ruined by the men they were surrendering to. 
    It would be a long road home for men on both sides.  They faced physical and emotional difficulties as they recovered.  But, the road for men traveling south may have been fraught with a depth of anxiety the northerners likely never knew.  What remained of the family and home left behind?  Too often, very little.  It would be a long road ahead to rebuild the devastation of a countryside laid waste by war… crops to plant, homes and farms to rebuild, and cities and business to re-establish.  It would take a lot of determination to move forward, but move forward our nation would. 
    Yet, thousands of men and boys did not have the opportunity to go home.  Many, if not all, of those walking home had family members and/or friends who had given the ultimate sacrifice.
    By April 1865, the nation had been at war for four long weary years.  Additional Confederate armies surrendered over the ensuing days and weeks.  Everyone was tired.  The nation at large was utterly drained.  The war had exacted its final toll from about 630,000 men while over one million were formally listed as casualties of war, i.e. wounded - some with loss of limbs, some in emotional turmoil, some carrying disease that began on the battlefield or in prison.  The after-effects lasted far beyond the cessation of actual physical combat.  And then, just as the end of war was beginning to register in their weary minds, the nation’s much beloved and equally hated president, Abraham Lincoln, was assassinated.  What next?  What was this world coming to?  How would the nation continue to move forward?
    Among my ancestors and extended relatives who fought in the Civil War are two McNeill half-brothers, each of whom spent time in Confederate prisons.  They were sons of Robert McNeill who served in the War of 1812, removing to Michigan with his family; Robert is an older brother of my ancestor, Jesse.
    1)      Chauncey McNeill, b. about 1819, Carlisle, Schoharie Co., NY, son of Robert and 1st wife Matilda (Crego) McNeill.  “Chancy” enlisted in 8th Michigan Cavalry Sep 2, 1864, went missing in action at Henryville, Tennessee Nov 23, 1864.  Imprisoned at Camp Sumter/Andersonville, admitted to hospital Feb 21, 1865, died March 5, 1865 of “Cronick Diarheah and exposure in said Rebel Prison,” buried grave No. 12733 at Andersonville, Georgia, leaving a widow and two young children.  [Above per NARA military service records purchased by Roorda.]
    “12733, McNiell, C, 8 cav, Co M, died March 5, '65, diarrhea c.”
    A List of the Union Soldiers Buried at Andersonville, by Dorence Atwater.  As a prisoner he kept a daily log of all Union soldiers who died in the prison for the commander, given to the U.S. government after the Civil War.  [Gourley, pp.8, 172]
    2)      DeWitt C. McNeill, b. about Dec 18, 1845, Savannah, Wayne Co., NY, son of Robert and 2nd wife Catharine (Vosburgh, Coe) McNeill.  DeWitt enlisted Sep 26, 1862 at Copake, NY, promoted from private to corporal to sergeant Co. E, 159th N. Y. Infantry.  Captured Sep 19, 1864, Winchester, Virginia, released March 2, 1865 at Goldsborough, North Carolina, returned to camp May 4th, mustered out August 4, 1865 at Savannah, Georgia.  He died March 16, 1868 at age 22 of illness from time spent in prison, leaving a young widow.
    Closer to my direct lineage, John and Henry Leonardson went off to war from Montgomery County, New York.  They were brothers of Mary Eliza Leonardson (b. ca. 1832) who married William Ottman (my great-great-grandparents) of Carlisle, Schoharie County, NY.  One brother came home after several years of war, while the younger sibling was killed only six months into his enlistment.  
    3)      John D. Leonardson, b. Jan 10, 1830 in Montgomery Co., NY, son of Arent/Aaron and Lana (Gross) Leendertse/Leonardson.  John enlisted Dec 14, 1861 at Lyons, NY as a musician into F Co., NY 98th Infantry, re-enlisted Jan 4, 1864, serving in siege against Petersburg and Richmond VA, mustered out Aug 31, 1865 at Richmond, VA.  He died August 10, 1899, Sharon, Schoharie Co., NY. 
    4)      Henry Leonardson, b. about 1840, Montgomery Co., NY, son of Arent/Aaron and Lana (Gross) Leendertse/Leonardson.  Henry enlisted as private Jan 4, 1864 into unassigned NY 16th Heavy Artillery, transferred May 10, 1864 to D Co. NY 6th Heavy Artillery.  Killed Jun 22, 1864 at Petersburg, VA.
    NEXT: Read Civil War, April 1865, Elmira Prison vs. Andersonville
  22. Linda Roorda
    When the Civil War came to an end with Gen. Lee’s surrender to Gen. Grant on April 9 1865, the prisoner of war camps in both the North and the South began to empty.  Unfortunately, many prisoners never saw their home and loved ones again after giving the ultimate sacrifice.  Though a multitude of men did make it back to their families, they took with them the emotional and physical scars of prison camp – from starvation to disease, along with the after effects of war’s emotional turmoil for all soldiers. 
    This was a very difficult chapter to write regarding the suffering of America’s men in prison camps on both sides of the American Civil War.  But I believe it is necessary to understand the depths of such tragedies as we honor and respect those of our collective ancestors who were held captive behind those gates.  If only the untold suffering of humanity in war were reason enough to end all wars. 
    As noted in my previous Homestead article, April 1865, the involvement and losses of extended ancestral relatives brings this war and its prison camps just a little closer to home.  Four young men went off to war, but only one survived to live a full life.  John D. Leonardson (survived all 4 years, lived to old age) and his brother Henry Leonardson (died after 6 months on the battlefield), brothers of my gr-gr-grandmother, Mary Eliza (Leonardsona) Ottman.  Chauncey McNeill (died at Andersonville March 1865) and his brother DeWitt C. McNeill (died age 22 in 1868 from effects of Confederate prison camp), sons of Robert McNeill, an older brother of my ancestor, Jesse McNeill. 
    Just the thought of Civil War prisons strikes fear into us as we pause to think about the inhumane conditions inflicted upon those confined behind the four walls.  For over a century, the deplorable and deadly conditions of two major prison camps left a bitter memory for all too many - one was local Camp Chemung in Elmira, NY, a situation where truth was denied and kept from the public, with the other prison being Camp Sumter, aka Andersonville, in Georgia… equally as nefarious as its northern counterpart, each with similarities to the other, yet fraught with many differences.
    Elmira (aka Hellmira) was chosen for southern prisoners by Col. William Hoffman, the commissary general of prisoners in Washington, D.C.  The first captured Confederate soldiers arrived at Elmira’s Barracks No.3 on July 6, 1864, with the last prisoners walking out of camp July 11, 1865. 
    Some prisoners, dishonorably called “oathies” or “oathtakers” by fellow Confederate prisoners, were released early if they took the “oath of allegiance.”  Though very few were actually released early from Elmira, those taking the oath at any prison were required to remain in the North for the duration of the war; in fact, several who took the oath were hired for jobs within the Elmira prison camp at 5 cents a day and given better rations.  [Horigan, p. 32] 
    Before their release at the end of the war, each prisoner was also required to take an oath of loyalty to the Union before being given a train ticket back home.  “I, ______, do solemnly swear, in presence of Almighty God, that I will henceforth faithfully support, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States, and the union of the States thereunder; and that I will, in like manner, abide by and faithfully support all acts of Congress passed during the existing rebellion with reference to slaves, so long and so far as not repealed, modified or held void by Congress, or by decision of the Supreme Court; and that I will, in like manner, abide by and faithfully support all proclamations of the President made during the existing rebellion having reference to slaves, so long and so far as not modified or declared void by decision of the Supreme Court.  So help me God.”  Excerpted from Abraham Lincoln’s “Proclamation of Amnesty and Reconstruction” dated December 8, 1863, wording varying in different locales.  [Janowski, p. 190]
    Today, there are many within the Elmira community who are totally unaware of what once transpired on the ground upon which they live and walk.  There are monuments, stones and plaques scattered on land which once held a Civil War prison camp, and granite markers have been placed at both the northeast and southeast corners of the prison camp.  The original flagpole, on private property, was donated in 1992 to the city of Elmira.  It was placed next to a stone monument on Elmira Water Board’s property near the Chemung River.  The monument memorializes “the soldiers who trained at Camp Rathbun May 1861-1864 and the Confederate Prisoners of War incarcerated at Camp Chemung July 1864-July 1865.”  [Horigan, pp.196-197] 
    Those who died as prisoners are interred at Woodlawn National Cemetery in Elmira; the white gravestones of Union soldiers are rounded on top while the Confederate gravestones are pointed. 
    One of 35 buildings (each about 100 feet long) from the prison compound, stored in pieces, will be reconstructed during 2014-2015 and set up on part of the original prison site along the river.  It will serve as a museum to honor the memory of those Confederate prisoners who once struggled to survive and those who lost their lives.  [WETM-TV Evening News, April 29, 2014]
    But monuments alone do not a story tell.  The lives of our collective ancestors were forever affected by this war fought for the preservation of a united nation, and for the freedom gained by thousands of slaves.  This is but one chapter in our nation’s fallible history as we face the stark realities of life 150-plus years ago.
    Elmira is a beautiful community established along the Chemung River on land once home to the Iroquois Nation prior to the American Revolution.  Canal boats up to 60 feet long and 18 feet wide plied the local waters of Chemung Canal and the finger lakes to connect with the Erie Canal, a route of great importance in transporting both agricultural and manufactured goods throughout the state.  The productivity of Elmira’s several small factories and the agricultural goods produced locally offered a quality of life that was enviable elsewhere.  Yet, at times, Elmira was “referred to derisively as a ‘canal town’” because of the influx of canal workers and their unsavory character.  [Elmira:  Death Camp of the North, by Michael Horigan, Stackpole Books, Mechanicsburg, PA, 2002, p. 4.]
    Elmira’s flat land along the Chemung River was considered optimal for training volunteer soldiers.  The same ground had twice held the New York State Fair during the 1850s.  Foster Barracks, known as Camp Rathbun by 1862, later renamed Camp Chemung or Barracks No.3, was situated west of the village line.  This area adjacent to the river, including Foster’s Pond and race track, was established as a training and embarkation center in 1861 for New York’s soldiers.  It was ideal with the Erie Railway and Northern Central Railway traversing Elmira, providing transportation of men both into the city and southward to battle.  Elmira’s Camp Rathbun then became an assembly ground for federal draftees in 1863.  With barracks already built to house those thousands of Union soldiers, it seemed the perfect location to confine Confederate prisoners of war in 1864.
    “[Ausburn] Towner's history of 1892 and maps from the period indicate the camp occupied an area running about 1,000 feet (300 m) west and approximately the same distance south of a location a couple of hundred feet west of Hoffman Street and about 35 feet south of Water Street, bordered on the south by Foster's Pond, on the north bank of the Chemung River.”   
    Lt. Col. Seth Eastman, commander of Elmira’s Camp Chemung, was informed by Col. Hoffman in Washington that he should prepare to receive Confederate prisoners.  Despite Eastman’s reply that Barracks No. 3 could hold, at most, 6000 prisoners (later lowered to efficiently house 4000), Hoffman insisted that Elmira be prepared for more prisoners. 
    Camp Chemung (Barracks No.3) was selected to house prisoners not only for its convenient location, but for the fact it already held a mess hall which could seat about 1200 to 1500 at a time.  The building also housed a kitchen equipped to cook for 5000, and a bakery that could supply up to 6000 meals.  Twenty new barracks were built while repairs were made on older existing buildings.  A double-walled fence was also built to encompass the camp’s thirty-two acres.  Guardhouses were built along these fence walls with a walkway for sentries set 4 feet below the top of the fence.  The camp’s main gate was located on Water Street in Elmira while an additional gate on the south side provided access for prisoners to bathe in the Chemung River during good weather.
    Confusing communications were continually sent from Hoffman in Washington, with Eastman being told several times to prepare for upwards of 8-10,000 prisoners of war.  Repeatedly informing Hoffman that Elmira could not handle more than 4000 to 6000 prisoners total, Camp Chemung’s numbers ultimately swelled to 12,122 prisoners.  By war’s end, a total of 2950 men had died of disease and exposure, many with a lack of appropriate rations and medical care.  [Horigan, p.180]  Although Elmira’s death rate was 24%, it was still below that of Andersonville’s 29% where just over 45,000 prisoners were held on even less acreage. 
    With a lack of proper buildings to house the men, A-shaped tents were used despite the coming bitter cold of northern winters.  The sheer volume of prisoners, a lack of proper living quarters, poor quality of food and water, the lack of fresh fruits and vegetables, limited rations, the lack of blankets, and flooding from the river all resulted in scurvy, dysentery, typhoid, pneumonia and smallpox.  As these issues served to overwhelm the limited medical staff and what little medication they could procure, death was inevitable for too many men. 
    Those who survived Elmira’s prison often did so through their own ingenuity and the largesse of townsfolk.  Rats were killed and eaten.  Unfortunately, clothing for the southern prisoners was restricted to the color gray, that of their uniforms.  When families sent clothing to their loved ones, if it wasn’t gray it was burned – despite the weather conditions and the need for warmer clothing.  Early on, prisoners were able to purchase items from the camp sutler including foods, tobacco, writing paper and implements, clothing, etc. but even this beneficial transaction was eventually limited.  Letters written home were also censored both coming and going.  
    Yet, for decades the deplorable and deadly condition of this prison camp were denied and kept from the public.  "The horrors of a camp where prisoners of war are crowded into a confined space, poorly clad, uncomfortably housed, insufficiently fed, and scantily provided with medical attendance, hospital accommodations, and other provisions for the sick, form one of the most deplorable features of any war, but none of these can apply with truth to the camp at Elmira, nor can they be attached for a moment to the reputation or become a portion of the history of the fair valley of the Chemung."  [The History of Chemung County, Ausburn Towner, 1892.] 
    In reality, it took over 130 years for researchers to begin unearthing the hidden truth about Elmira’s prison camp.  These researchers have now documented the full story and stark realities of Elmira’s prison camp which have been long been silenced. 
    Personal stories are being told of some of the thousands of Confederate men who were imprisoned, who died, and who survived.  A unique tribute is In Their Honor:  Soldiers of the Confederacy, The Elmira Prison Camp written by Diane Janowski, a resident of Elmira, New York.  Janowski states, “This book is not about war strategy, nor conditions inside the camp - it is about how the men and boys ended up in Elmira.  Where other books about the Elmira camp are very clinical, this one is very personal.  Families' words and feelings show just how strong Civil War sentiments still are in 2009.  That’s why I’ve written this book.  You can hold this book and point to a name and say, ‘That's my great-great-great grandfather.’” 
    The first 400 prisoners behind Elmira’s gates began their journey on July 2, 1864 from Point Lookout, Maryland.  With one dying enroute, 399 entered the grounds of Elmira’s Civil War Prison Camp on July 6th at 6 a.m.  They had been part of Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia, having seen the worst the war had to offer at Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg and Spotsylvania.  Their experiences clearly echoed what Union Army’s William Tecumseh Sherman (considered the best field commander of the Civil War) had said more than a decade after the war:  “I have seen war in all of its horrible aspects.  I have seen fields devastated, homes ruined, and cities laid waste; I have seen the carnage of battle, the blood of the wounded and the cold faces of the dead looking up at the stars.  That is war.  War is hell.”  [Horigan, p. 34]  But, these prisoners of war had just entered another hell.
    A few men who arrived in the ensuing months were recognized by locals as former residents of Elmira or surrounding towns.  Peering through the camp’s fence, townsfolk got a glimpse of the Southern rebels in their midst.  The editor of Elmira’s Advertiser, Charles Fairman, noted that local townsfolk could hardly bypass the camp “…without a peep at the varmints…”  [Horigan, p. 35]  This curiosity even evolved into a venture where, for 10 cents, folks could observe the hated Confederate prisoners from an observatory set up opposite the camp.  As much as “forty dollars per day” was made by “an enterprising Yankee at Elmira.”  [Horigan, p.59]  “Neighbors along the camp sold lemonade, cake, peanuts, crackers, and beer to spectators.”  [Janowski, p.9]
    On the ninth day of prisoner occupation, an inspection was made of the premises with a mixed review.  Warnings were tendered on Foster’s Pond, a stagnant liability within the compound, in need of immediate attention.  The low-lying sinks/latrines near the pond were considered to be another source of disease, not to mention the permeating stench.  The inspector indicated that drinking water was of good quality.  Further correspondence again indicated Foster’s Pond was in desperate need of being drained to prevent disease.  Shallow wells were drilled, but they were ultimately contaminated by the latrines draining into Foster’s Pond with deadly consequences. 
    With hundreds of prisoners sent by rail to Elmira, the inevitable happened on July 16, 1864 near Shohola, PA.  A major train wreck was caused by a drunken telegraph operator who signaled the prisoner-of-war train that all was clear ahead when, in fact, a coal train was actually heading their way.  Messages of the coal train’s proximity had been missed by the stuporous man.  The crash killed both Union and Confederate soldiers, wounding many others, while five prisoners managed to escape over the mountains, a fortuitous opportunity for them.  The lack of a prison hospital equipped with competent surgeons was now sorely felt as over 80 injured men arrived at Elmira.  Apparently, it took almost five weeks more before a chief surgeon was present on the premises.  [Horigan, pp.43, 44]
    The shortage of clothing and blankets was another situation still not rectified as 3000 more prisoners were slated to arrive soon and join the 1900 already there.  By the first of August 1864, the camp had officially acquired 4424 Confederate prisoners, 11 of whom had died, while two had escaped.  And still they kept coming.  On August 6th, Maj. Eugene Sanger of the state of Maine reported for duty as chief surgeon… that is, after the military authorities finally recognized the need of such services at Elmira. 
    Proving the commanders had a magnanimous side, the Rev. Thomas K. Beecher of Elmira’s Park Church was granted permission to hold the first religious service inside the camp in late July.  He was half-brother to Harriet Beecher Stowe, author of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”  Her novel, published in 1852, is considered by many to be the book which set the foundation for the burgeoning anti-slavery sentiment which eventually permeated the Civil War ideology.
    Skilled artists have left behind their sketches which depict camp life.  Rings and trinkets were made and sold by prisoners.  Union officers bought many of these items, reselling them for greater profit.  Those handy at carpentry skills made furniture with which the Union officers filled their homes.  And the prisoners even began making the pine coffins in which to bury their own.
    John W. Alexander of South Carolina, writing his memoirs for family in about 1896, noted that “the guards [at Elmira] seemed to be a part of the climate:  cold, calculating, and merciless.  The only avenue to his soul was the greenback route, and this we were too poor to travel.  …everyone able to walk was supposed to go to the cookhouse twice a day.”  [Janowski, pp.35, 36]   Living in tents, he and the others received their wood for the day; one stick to a tent.  “As our fireplaces were only one foot wide and the wood four feet long, we had no axe – it seemed a problem, but it was soon solved.”  Putting their minds to work, several men created a homemade saw out of a sheet iron band and a small file.  And, with some wooden wedges, they were able to saw and split their wood to burn.  [Janowski, p. 37]  Taken ill with smallpox, Alexander was sent to what was considered the camp hospital.  Though he recovered and was treated well by a Dr. Williams, he remained weak and wrote, “…I did know that we were starving in a land of plenty.”  [p.43]  After release from prison on June 23, 1865, Alexander arrived in Columbia, SC to find that “Sherman had destroyed everything along the way.  All the best houses were burnt, and people gone, and those remaining were starving.  Lone chimneys and dead shade trees told the tale.  ...I was restored to family…on the 12th of July, 1865.”  [Janowski, pp.45, 46]
    As of September 1, 1864, a total of 9,480 prisoners were on the rolls.  Including the 115 who had died in August, a total of 126 men had died so far.  Scurvy was now rampant among the prisoners for want of fresh fruits and vegetables.  They were in abundant supply in the outside community, but Col. Hoffman, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, and Union military officials in Washington were not buying.  Instead, they determined that retaliation was the answer to the South’s mistreatment of Northern prisoners.  With this in mind, Hoffman had already signed orders that rations for prisoners of war would be cut by 20% as of June 1, 1864. 
    “Chronic diarrhea” was most often the term used in diagnosing prisoners who “suffered from dehydration, ulcerative colitis (a fatal infection of the lower intestinal tract), dysentery, and electrolyte imbalance.”  [Horigan, p.75]  With their immune systems weakened by being half-starved on an inappropriate and insufficient diet, and drinking contaminated water, the men began succumbing rapidly to the ravages of disease. 
    As summer progressed, Elmira’s prisoners were no longer allowed to buy additional foodstuffs from the camp sutler.  The men’s living conditions continued to deteriorate as the heat of summer turned into the chill of autumn.  Then, winds blew in the bitter cold of a northern winter unfamiliar to the Southern men as thousands remained in tents without sufficient heat, also lacking warm clothing and blankets.  And still, official approval had not been granted for Foster’s Pond to be drained, nor had additional barracks been constructed to house the prisoners, forcing them to remain in tents through the bitter winter weather.
    From all of this, Camp Commandant Lt. Col. Seth Eastman retired in poor health.  His successor, Col. Benjamin Tracy (born in Apalachin and educated in Owego where he had practiced law), arrived to take charge of Camp Chemung on September 19, 1864.  And it was an overcrowded camp to which Tracy came with its climbing death rate due to the “…lack of sanitation, prevalence of disease, a shortage of proper housing, margined rations, a paucity of clothing, and inadequate hospital facilities… all the result of inaction on the part of those in command in Elmira and (to a much greater extent) Washington.”  [Horigan, p.89]
    With starvation and disease now rampant among the prisoners, substantial quantities of beef designated for the camp to improve rations were unconscionably rejected as unfit by inspectors and, instead, sold to community meat markets.  Those who survived imprisonment, like Walter D. Addison, later recalled:  “No coffee, no tea, no vegetables, but a few beans to make tasteless watery soup consisting of the liquid in which the pork had been boiled.”  James Marion Howard also recalled that “our soup would usually be made of onions, rotten hulls, roots and dirt… but of all the soups, this rotten onion soup has the worst odor…  This, with a piece of bread, was our ration at 3 p.m.  And this was our ration every day.”  Prisoner James B. Stamp remembered that in the winter months the “insufficiency of food increased, and in many instances, prisoners were reduced to absolute suffering.  All the rats that could be captured were eaten, and on one occasion a small dog that had followed a wood hauler into the camp was caught and prepared as food.”  Another prisoner, G. T. Taylor from Alabama stated, “Elmira was nearer Hades than I thought any place could be made by human cruelty.”  [Horigan, pp. 100, 101]  Survivor, R. B. Ewan, recalled 43 years later the “sport of running… [rats] out of their holes.  Our Mart of Trade was in the center of the ground, and at 10 o’clock every day dressed rats on boards and tin plates…were offered for five cents and sometimes more.”  [Horigan, p.140]
    Sooner or later every prisoner contemplates escaping his confines, and those in Elmira were no exception.  However, designated spies infiltrated the Confederates, learning of and reporting on escape plans to the camp officials.  Digging the tunnels was no easy task without proper equipment, not to mention the weakened and malnourished condition of the diggers, but it was accomplished.  Unfortunately for the men involved, 28 tunnels were discovered before escape, but one remained concealed.  Thus, on October 6, 1864, ten men escaped before this tunnel was also discovered.  Several swam across the south side of the Chemung River to Mount Zoar.  From this vantage point, six men (in three paired groups, each group not aware of the others) looked down on their former confines as they watched the frantic search for them take place.  Then they turned their backs on Elmira and simply made their way back home.
    One man, Berry Benson, related years later that he found corn and apples on a nearby farm before walking west to Big Flats and then to Corning from whence he headed south to his home.  Two other men walked to Ithaca, Varna, and then to Auburn where they obtained jobs.  Saving their money, they eventually took a train to New York City and on to Baltimore before walking the rest of the way home.  Nine men made it safely back home, but the tenth was never heard from again.  Their escape is considered “the most spectacular…in the annals of prison camps administered by the Union during the Civil War.”  [Horigan, p.113]
    Others made it out of camp at various times under the watchful eyes of Union guards.  One prisoner stole a Union sergeant’s ankle-length winter overcoat and simply walked away from all the wretchedness through the main gate.  Another prisoner managed to leave with a forged pass. 
    Yet another man, known only as Buttons, [supposedly] hid himself in a coffin with the lid secured only lightly.  When the wagon of coffins reached the cemetery, he popped the lid, jumped off the wagon and ran full speed into the woods.  The driver was speechless and too shocked to stop the escape of someone presumed to be ready for burial!  The identity of “Buttons” has been determined to be Thomas A. Botts through the memoirs of fellow prisoner, John W. Alexander.  [Janowski, pp.26-29, 40, 212]  Supposedly, Buttons escaped to rejoin the Confederate army.  However, in tracking his military records, Janowski notes that, after capture in battle, Botts was moved from Virginia to Elmira on August 17, 1864.  Botts died at Elmira May 14, 1865, two weeks before President Johnson issued orders to release all prisoners.  Janowski considers the story of Buttons’ escape a total fabrication as published in the “Confederate Veteran” magazine in 1926.  [Janowski, p.27]
    October, the month of escapes, held death for 276 more Confederates, men who were not so fortunate.  This was the highest monthly total of any Northern prison, now bringing the total deceased to 857.
    A war of words had been taking place between prison officials, inspectors, the media, and the powers that be in Washington regarding the conditions at the camp and how to rectify them, and whether problems even existed.  In November, Dorothea Dix, superintendant of Women Nurses for the Union, praised the Elmira prison for adequately providing all provisions and necessities to prisoners.  November’s deaths numbered 207, second only to Chicago’s prison death rate that month.
    Denials were made by military personnel on learning of leaks to the media about the horrible conditions within the prison.  In fact, the Elmira Advertiser’s editorials informed its readership that “The Confederates confined at Elmira were treated with all the care and consideration that such persons are entitled to receive by Christian nations in any part of the world.  …[the] rations are of a good quality and abundant in quantity..”  When this was published on December 2, 1864, 994 prisoners had died since July; the total figure at the end of December climbing to 1263 dead.  [Horigan, pp. 102-103]
    So much went wrong at Elmira’s Civil War prison, and this brief column hardly provides adequate space to enumerate all that which transpired.  Documentation also discloses that the surgeon-in-chief, Major Sanger of Maine, used his position in a chilling manner.  Prisoners later recalled his cold and calloused demeanor, and inappropriate treatment of patients with opium, causing the demise of many who were ill, yet no charges were filed against him.  His own writing indicates his attitude:  “I now have charge of 10,000 Rebels a very worthy occupation for a patriot…but I think I have done my duty having relieved 386 of them of all earthly sorrow in one month.”  [Horigan, p.129]
    yet, on the other hand, Maj. Sanger wrote no less than nine reports with complaints about the life-threatening problems facing prisoners in the camp at Elmira.  Action was eventually taken to correct some of the issues, while at the same time Sanger took blame for many failings - some deserved, some not.  At the time of his formal complaints, there were 9,063 prisoners in camp that October.  Of these, 3,873 were in barracks while the balance of 5,190 men were still assigned to 1,038 tents.  Thirty-five barracks were planned to be built; but, with a late start on construction, appropriate housing for the prisoners left too many in tents to endure winter’s bitter cold.  [Horigan, p.132] 
    The construction on better housing facilities finally began in October.  However, with a lack of lumber supplies, construction was delayed.  When barracks were built, it became apparent before winter’s end that hasty construction with green lumber contributed to cracks between the boards, and boards that warped, etc.  To complicate matters further, the existing barracks also began to fall into disrepair. 
    Late November and early December of 1864 saw over 2000 men still in tents.  By Christmas, 900 some men were still living in tents in the frigid winter weather, without adequate heat or sustenance, let alone warm clothing or enough blankets to keep warm. 
    Drainage of Foster’s Pond began after a notice issued October 23, 1864 by the secretary of war, Col. Hoffman.  However, work on the drainage sluice, done by prisoners, was slow in progress due to their own poor health, multiple delays from severe winter weather, quicksand, extremely coarse gravel, and occasional flooding.  The work was completed by January 1, 1865, but 1263 Confederate prisoners had already died, many from drinking contaminated water from the sinks/latrines which leached into the pond and seeped into the shallow wells.
    Heavy rains contributed to flooding of the low land, while bitter ice-cold sleet and snow also took their toll on the men.  With many still in tents, the untold human suffering of these prisoners is appalling to contemplate as they had to deal not only with the frigid elements but malnutrition from lack of a proper diet.  In fact, “the winter of 1864-65 was one of the harshest on record.”  [Janowsky, p. 25]  As prisoner Marcus Toney recalled 40 years later, they only had two blankets per bunk for the bitter winter weather.  Each bunk was “wide enough to sleep two medium-sized men…[but four men slept in each bunk while] two of [the prisoners] slept with their heads toward the east, and two with their heads toward the west… and when ready to change positions, one would call out, ‘All turn to the right’; and the next call would be, ‘All turn to the left.’”  [Horigan, p.133]
    Another sad chapter in Elmira’s prison history is the fact that several businesses and citizens’ relief committees attempted to send clothing and outer coats to prisoners for the winter.  But, due to Secretary of War Stanton’s initial call for retaliation in April 1864, and his initiation of extended and complicated bureaucratic red tape, efforts to aid the prisoners were given up in despair.  With frustrating military regulations established by his commanders, Eastman, as head of the camp, denied clearance to local citizens who also tried to bring aid to the prisoners.  It was clear to many that their efforts were being thwarted by those wishing to exact vengeance against the Southern captives as retaliation for the Confederacy’s harsh treatment of Union prisoners.
    “Deprived of sufficient rations…and of clothing and blankets that remained in warehouses in Washington, the prison camp’s January 1865 death rate reached 285,” for a total of 1548.  [Horigan, p.158]  Even as smallpox compounded the prisoners’ suffering throughout January and February, the city of Elmira held its festive Grand Military Ball in late February.  Six days later, the prisoners’ death toll for February was noted to be 426, an average of 15 per day, bringing the total to 1874.  [Horigan, p.166]  Yet, Fairman’s editorial in his Advertiser noted that “the sick are being taken care of… [and] they have nothing to complain of.”  [Horigan, p.166]   Many of the sick were still actually in tents, ignored by medical staff, though conditions for those in the “hospital” were actually not much better.
    Finally, an order from the War Department on February 4, 1865 directed the camp to prepare 3000 prisoners of war to be transferred south for a prisoner exchange.  Up until that time, this was not a viable option for President Lincoln and Gen. Grant as they felt it would simply recycle more men back into the Confederate armies to prolong the war.  Col. Tracy sent 500 prisoners south on February 13, with 500 more leaving on February 20.  By the end of March, 3042 Confederates had been sent south for exchange.  By April 1st, the camp housed only 5054 prisoners with the total death toll now having reached 2465. 
    Then came news in early April that Gen. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia was losing strength and there might possibly be surrender ahead.  Since Gen. Grant’s siege had isolated Petersburg and Richmond, many believed the war couldn’t last much longer.  Sure enough, further word came north that Robert E. Lee had had no other option but to surrender on April 9, 1865 to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox.  And 5054 men in Elmira sighed in relief to think that their last days of prison life were in sight.
    At the end of April, the death toll for the month was 267 as the overall total reached 2732.  The balance of men remaining in camp was now down to 4754.  The month of May saw 1,037 more Southerners released while 131 men died in May, for a total of 2863 dead.  On May 31st, only 3610 prisoners remained behind the gates.  The final group of 256 Confederates left Hellmira’s confines on July 11, 1865.  Some, too ill to travel, were transferred to Elmira’s Union Hospital where 16 more died.  The final count of deceased prisoners reached 2950.  Barracks No. 3 was next used to muster out Union soldiers, and in February 1866 the saga of Elmira’s Union camp ended when the camp’s buildings were auctioned off and removed.
    Janowski, however, notes inconsistencies in various sources which report “the death toll anywhere from 2950 to 2998.  I use the 2963 figure…as it is the last grave marker number at Woodlawn National Cemetery.” [Janowski, p.11]
    Earlier in June 1865 following his release, prisoner James Hoffman returned home to Virginia only “to find destruction, waste and poverty… There was no money; the start must be made from the bottom. I went to work with a will.”  [Horigan, p.178]  The South as they had known it was not the same and never would be.  And the legacy of Elmira’s prison was summed up in one word by the prisoners themselves, “Hellmira.”
    Author Michael Horigan presents a long list of well-documented facts that place blame on the federal government and military officials beginning with Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton’s retaliatory efforts backed by the war department’s highest officials.  The list also includes the 20% reduction in rations as of June 1864, the determination to house up to 10,000-plus prisoners at Elmira when the facilities could only reasonably hold 4,000, the lack of any medical staff for the first five weeks, the long delay in rectifying drainage of Foster’s Pond, much needed additional hospital barracks and improved camp facilities, no medical staff to treat the prisoners injured in the Shohola train wreck, Col. Tracy’s beef inspection order which resulted in a substantial reduction of meat available for prisoners, delayed construction of additional barracks with prisoners remaining in tents throughout the winter, deliberate denial of winter clothing to the prisoners, the multi-level clashes between military leadership, and much more.   [Horigan, pp. 191-192]
    PART B:  Andersonville
    As noted above, Elmira is often compared to the death camp of Andersonville in Georgia.  “Yet the most striking contrast between Andersonville and Elmira should be apparent even to the most casual observer,” wrote historian Michael Horigan, author of Elmira: Death Camp of the North. “Elmira, a city with excellent railroad connections, was located in a region where food, medicine, clothing, building materials, and fuel were in abundant supply.  None of this could be said of Andersonville.  Hence, Elmira became a symbol of death for different reasons.” [Horigan, p.193]
    The Dix-Hill Cartel of prisoner exchanges broke down in 1862 when Jefferson Davis’s Confederacy refused to exchange captured black soldiers.  Indicating that they would send the black soldiers back into slavery and kill their white officers, Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton put a halt to prisoner exchanges.  This, in turn, vastly increased the numbers of prisoners on both sides with permanent prisoner-of-war camps established. 
    The search for southern land upon which to build a camp to hold Union prisoners led to a very small village in Georgia – Anderson Station.  It was considered ideal for its proximity to the Central of Georgia Railroad, yet isolated enough to prevent Union troops from raiding the camp to free their countrymen.  Nor would it be easy for those who might successfully escape to find their way back north across the Mason-Dixon line.  The land was also chosen for Sweetwater Creek at the base of the hill.  Thus, a 16-1/2 acre rectangular compound to hold prisoners was built, albeit without barracks to house them. 
    Located a quarter of a mile from Anderson Station, Camp Sumter was 11 miles northwest of Americus  and 60 miles from Macon in Macon County, Georgia.  Renamed Andersonville by guards, it has been considered the absolute worst of Confederate prisons.  After only two weeks of construction, its doors opened on February 27, 1864.  Andersonville became a living hell for the blue-coats (Yankees) who had the misfortune of entering the gates of its double-palisade fence.  Pine trees cut by slaves were planted upright, 5 feet below the surface with the remaining 15-17 feet above ground for the fences.  For good measure, a third “fence” was set up about 15 or so feet in from the inner palisade.  Called the deadline, it was an “open” fence about 3-4 feet high with posts upon which thin board railings were attached.  Touch it or cross under it with any part of your body invited a deadly accurate shot by a sentry. 
    Lumber and nails were in short supply in the Confederacy, and thus not available to build barracks to house prisoners.  But, men were sent from other over-crowded prisons anyway and left to their own devices for making shelters with many sleeping on the open ground with no protection from the weather or insects.
    Many early prisoners came from Belle Isle, an island on the James River near Richmond, Virginia.  They had been in tents while other prisoners removed from Richmond had been housed in warehouses - the lucky ones with a roof over their heads.  Sent by rail, the men were squeezed into railroad boxcars or open cars without much room to move about.  When they arrived at Andersonville, they spread out in search of an area they could call “home” – not an easy task as the number of prisoners increased.  Friends and men from the same units tended to stay together to set up their home on the open ground.
    As of April 1, 1864, there were 7160 prisoners which, by May 8, had increased by 5,787 men.  Also, by May 8, 728 had died, 13 had escaped with 7 recaptured for a total occupancy of 12,213 on a little less than 17 acres.  [Burnett, p. 5]   Eventually, the camp was enlarged to 27 acres, still an insufficient amount of land to house the volume of prisoners confined between its walls.
    With no buildings or protective shelters on the premises, the men built “shebangs” (from the Irish word shebeen “which refers to an illegal place to serve alcohol”).  [Gourley, p. 48]  Huts or lean-tos were made from whatever logs, branches, or brush had been left inside the compound when the palisade walls were built.  Those who had blankets used them along with their greatcoats and anything else available to make a shelter from the southern sun and its heat.  Some used their ingenuity to take make bricks out of the clay.  Others dug small shelters, i.e. burrows, into the slope of the upper hill. 
    And everywhere they went fleas, lice, ticks, flies and mosquitoes pestered their bodies.  In fact, prisoner Bjorn Alakson said, “Killing lice became a game and would help pass the tedious time.” [Burnett, p. 16]  At least once a day, sometimes more often, the men worked at debugging themselves.  If they didn’t, the innumerable pests attacked every inch of their hosts, eating into their weakened bodies, causing illness and death.  [Glennan, p. 46]
    As the unrelenting sun beat down on them, with vermin a constant pest, and the lack of proper nourishing rations and the drinking of contaminated water all led to the spread of disease, particularly scurvy, dysentery, diarrhea, smallpox, yellow fever, infections and gangrene with resultant high death rates.  The sinks/latrines were set parallel to the creek with the inevitable runoff rapidly contaminating the creek, all too quickly creating an unhealthy lagoon, not to mention all-encompassing stench.  One can only imagine the filth and deplorable conditions the men were forced to live in.
    As Irishman Ed Glennan, author of “Surviving Andersonville,” wrote (original spelling retained), “Our treatment was well Known in the North but Thousands & thousands did not believe it Possibly in a Christian Country that men, no matter how Brutal, Could or would treat their Fellow man as we were treated…& next My Friends I Blamed our own Government for leaving us there.  They well Knew at Washington what we were Suffering, what we were Enduring & the Mortality amongst us.  Yes, I Blamed them.  We had left Home & the comforts of Home Life to take our Chances of war, to Bare our Breasts between the Bulletts of Rebels & the Bosom of the nation willing to take our changes of Death on the Battle Feild or Come Back maimed for Life & as we Had stepped Forward to save our Country in Her Hour of Need & Danger so also did we Expect our Country to Extend Her Hand to us in our Hour of need.  Danger, no, we thought not of Danger, give us our Liberty, give us our Freedom from the Rebell Hell Horde & Place us in the Face of Danger & we ask no Hand but the Hand of God & our Hands with Gallant Comrades to Back & we will Face Danger & take the Consequences.  Like men in Danger then we ask no Help but we are in need, yes, Deathly need, Daily, Hourly & where is the strong Hand of our Government in Her need.”  [Glennan, p. 78]  Not knowing that the prisoner exchanges had been stopped, nor why, the men maintained an eager, albeit futile, hope of being exchanged.  [Glennan, p.80]
    Food and containers to hold the limited rations the men received were also in short supply, or often non-existent.  Rations, given out once a day, included rough-ground cornmeal with the cobs and husks ground in (damaging to the human digestive system if they were not picked out), beans or peas, and occasionally 1-2 oz. of meat which often was rancid and covered in ashes.  It was up to the men to find water.  Some prisoners were able to dig small wells up on the hill for fresh, albeit muddy, water compared to the stinking and filthy creek water.  Rations were put into men’s hats or shirt sleeves if they had no containers, which most did not.  How it was fixed to be eaten was up to each prisoner.  Sometimes, a little water, albeit contaminated, was added to create a cornmeal mush to fry – that is, if one could scrabble up a bit of wood to burn and had a container in which to cook.  Some prisoners rented out their cooking utensils to those in need.  Even these limited rations were reduced as the population increased.  At times, prisoners did not report a deceased man from their unit for as long as possible in order to obtain his rations to split amongst the balance of the group.  
    Trading of rations for wood, or other items for food, became a necessity.  Many fell back on trades in which they had been employed prior to their military service, or learned new skills to help pass the time.  Those who could carve objects from wood scraps had something to sell or barter for food.  They could send and receive mail, or receive packages from the outside world, but it was all subject to inspection and/or confiscation by guards. 
    New prisoners who arrived were called “fresh fish.”  They entered with a stunned look as they faced a sea of ghost-like men staring back at them.  The starving inmates were gaunt, skeletal thin and sickly, with shabby rags for clothing, though many were reduced to wearing very little if anything.  Finding a place to set up your own “home” was not easy.  Neighborhoods meandered along winding “streets” where housing and “businesses” were established.  If you “owned” a site with a well you had dug, you could sell the water.  Obviously, higher ground was more valuable than the low-lying areas near the contaminated bog and creek.  Those prisoners who were able to “make the best of it” with a resilient attitude survived fared better than those who succumbed to depression and resignation over their deplorable surroundings.
    Stealing by gang members of the Raiders was rampant until one new prisoner was robbed and severely beaten.   As he cried out while being viciously attacked for his watch, other men came to his aid, an effort which saved his life.  A seasoned soldier who had spent two years on the battlefield, he was unafraid of retaliation as he appealed to the guards.  The commander, Maj. Henry Wirz, was furious at the men who had attacked their own, a violation of unspoken prison camp mores, and would not send in rations until the situation was cleared up. 
    Prison justice was carried out by the Regulators, a gang which tried to protect the weaker and helpless.  They sought out the Raiders and engaged them in an intense physical fight, all men being in an already weakened physical state from poor health.  As the Regulators captured each Raider member, they were brought to the guards to be held while the remaining prisoners cheered.  Put on trial, over 100 Raiders were found guilty by a jury of peers with the six leaders sentenced to be hung.  The others had to run the gauntlet when they were put back into the “pen” - beatings by their fellow prisoners as they tried to run through the tight double line.  Many Raiders were injured from running the gauntlet, and several died from their wounds.  But, the looting and violence within the camp promptly ceased.
    Plans for escape were always on the prisoners’ minds, but with the two palisade fences set so deep, tunneling was not always the best option.  Even when prisoners did escape, the guards sent dogs into the forest after them where they typically treed the prisoners, or tore into those who were not so fortunate as to be capable of climbing trees.  Escape simply wasn’t worth the effort.
    During a fierce storm in August 1864, lightning struck a spot on the hill and caused a spring to bubble up.  Men were able to drink from what they felt was a heaven-sent fresh flow of water.  Unfortunately, the heavy rains of that storm also washed much of the filth on the slopes down into the bog and creek, making the contamination there even worse.  In 1902 a former prisoner, James Madison Page, returned to Camp Sumter to pay tribute to his former fellow prisoners.  With a young boy as his guide, he was taken to Providence Springs, as the men had named it in 1864, and saw that it was still flowing nearly 40 years later.  [Gourley, p.168-169] 
    By early June 1864, the number of prisoners had reached 20,000, double the capacity the camp was originally intended to hold.  Maj. Wirz expanded the prison with a 10-acre addition which opened July 1st, though the prison continued to be severely overcrowded as the number of prisoners reached a nadir of 33,114 that August. 
    In September 1864, several thousand men were taken from the prison to other locations in preliminary steps between the United States and the Confederacy for a prisoner exchange.  Any man able to walk was transferred out, but about 5000 men who were too ill remained behind.  More continued to be added to Andersonville, remaining through the end of the Civil War in April 1865.  Unfortunately, the elements, lack of sanitation, and insufficient nourishing rations continued to wreak havoc on the remaining prisoners.  [American Civil War: Andersonville Prison, by Kennedy Hickman at
    As noted above, my extended relative, Chauncey McNeill, arrived soon after his capture in November 1864 and died March 5, 1865 – just a month before the war’s end, one more sad statistic of war.
    Ultimately, a total of 45,615 men had been confined at Andersonville.  August 23, 1864 had the highest recorded number of deaths in one day at 127 men.  With a total of 12,913 having died as prisoners, about 29%, this figure represents about 40% of all Union POW deaths.  [Glennan, p.179]
    Commandant of Camp Sumter, Maj. Henry Wirz, was put on trial by the United States government after the war ended.  With his attorneys not allowed to present much in the way of a defense to prove that he was essentially following orders of his military superiors, he was found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging.  Many of his orders had come down from above by those who were not brought to justice, though injustices were definitely meted out by his own decisions.  To his credit, Wirz had sent letters requesting aid, additional supplies and rations for the prisoners, to no avail. 
    What many at the time also failed to understand, and did not want to hear, was that the South was in dire straits during Andersonville’s existence.  With plantations, cropland and railroad lines destroyed by the Union armies, what crops did get harvested were often unable to be shipped out to be processed for consumption.  The result was that many crops rotted in the fields or in storehouses.  The war had made its own path of destruction, thus creating a lack of grains and food available to feed either the Confederate armies or their Northern prisoners.  Without regular exchanges, the prisoner population continued to grow.  Whereas the starvation and disease rampant in the Elmira prison has been shown to be the result of military orders from the Secretary of War Edwin Stanton on down, the dire situation at Andersonville was caused more by the effects of war on the land - a grim situation any way you look at it. 
    To their credit, those who survived the war and any of the numerous prison camps went on to rejoin their families, to regain much of their health, and to lead productive lives within their respective communities.  Some of the men, however, never fully recovered their health and died from disease or afflictions suffered from wounds or imprisonment as evidenced by my extended relative, DeWitt C. McNeill, who died about three years after the war ended from disease contracted in war.  Even Ed Glennan who wrote “Surviving Andersonville,” continued to suffer the effects of ill health due to his knee injury from a minie` ball on the battlefield and scurvy from imprisonment for the rest of his life.
    We are forever indebted to the brave men and women who have fought in all of our nation’s wars, and to those who have paid the ultimate sacrifice with their lives.  May we ever know that, though “war is hell” as Gen. Sherman once said, there are freedoms we have enjoyed in our United States of America which are unknown to those in many other nations around the world.  To all of our servicemen and women, we give a heartfelt “Thank you!” 
    BOOK SOURCES (which I read):
    *April 1865: The Month That Saved America, Jay Winik; New York:  HarperCollins, 2006.
    *Elmira:  Death Camp of the North, by Michael Horigan, Stackpole Books, Mechanicsburg, PA, 2002.
    *In Their Honor:  Soldiers of the Confederacy, The Elmira Prison Camp by Diane Janowski, New York History Review Press, 2009.
    *Surviving Andersonville:  One Prisoner’s Recollections of the Civil War’s Most Notorious Camp, by Ed Glennan, edited by David A. Ranzan, McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, Jefferson, NC, 2013.
    *The Horrors of Andersonville: Life and Death inside a Civil War Prison, Catherine Gourley, Twenty-First Century Books (division of Lerner Publishing Group, Inc.), Minneapolis, MN, 2010.
    *The Prison Camp at Andersonville, National Park Civil War Series, Text by William G. Burnett, pub. by Eastern National, 1995.
  23. Linda Roorda
    There’s a friend who holds your heart over many years, and over many long and weary paths. The friend who freely forgives when you admit your words or actions were wrong. The friend who’s there when life gets tough and you think you’ll never get back up to face another day. The friend who shares your joy as if it were their own.  The friend whose loving heart picks right up where you both left off when distance, time, and commitments take their toll. The friend who shares your dreams and helps you reach them.  The friend who…
    You know! You can finish that sentence from how your friends have endeared themselves to your heart! For there’s nothing better than the love of a true friend. You both encourage to help the other achieve their best. But there’s another friend who always walks beside us, eager to welcome the wanderer with arms open wide, ready to share the depth of His love with us… our Lord. And, in a way that is most meaningful to each of us, He longs to share that love… in the beauty of the world on display all around us, in the joy of unexpected treasures, in life’s simple but profound moments, in “coincidences” that astound our finite minds… in other words, in unique and special moments of every-day life.
    Still, there’s another kind of friend who readily gives his life for ours.  As we read in John 15:13, “Greater love has no one than this, that he lay down his life for his friends.”  Could, or would, we do that for one of our friends?  Many have done so in war, in the ultimate sacrifice of their life to protect and save others.  But ordinarily, we wouldn’t think of taking such a step. 
    Yet, “God demonstrated his own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)  “For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God, and are justified freely by his grace through the redemption that came by Christ Jesus.”  (Romans 3:23)  It’s only through Jesus, that precious little baby whose birth we celebrate at Christmas, who grew to manhood with a rich ministry, and who lay down His life to die for each of us, and who arose that we might gain eternal salvation: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.” (John 3:16)  That, indeed, is quite the friend!
    And I, for one, can’t help but think that I don’t deserve such profound love. Yet, even in that thought is the wonder of just how precious His love truly is... knowing He loved me first and drew me to Himself despite who I am or what I might have ever done. For me He came to earth.  For my life He lived. For my soul He died… and not just for me, but for each one of us. And with our acceptance of His gracious gift of salvation, we long to bring glory and honor and praise back to Him in all that we do…
    In accepting His most gracious gift, we can spend eternity with Him in His glorious heavenly home. For that, we will humbly bow our head and thank Him, and give Him all our praise and worship… for He’s the closest of friends, the one and only…  
    You’re The Friend
    Linda A. Roorda 
    My Lord, You’re the friend I don’t deserve
    Who’s cared enough to die for my soul
    Whose love envelopes my heart with peace
    Whose joyful song lifts my load of cares.
    ~
    You’re the friend I choose when others desert
    When the path is long with no end in sight
    When the trials come and the way grows drear
    You hold my heart in nail-scarred hands.
    ~
    You’re the friend who stays and never abandons
    Who whispers wisdom to gently strengthen
    Whose loving words guide wandering feet
    Who draws me away from sin and its harm.
    ~
    You’re the friend who calls and tenderly seeks
    Who opens my eyes to wisdom’s beauty
    That my heart would yearn, Your knowledge to gain
    As truth I pursue with heart, soul and mind.
    ~
    You’re the friend who holds faith’s mercy and grace
    For nothing I do can ever repay
    Salvation’s gift as exposed I stand
    And all is revealed in depths of my soul.
    ~
    You’re the friend whose love softly covers
    As humbly I come with contrition deep
    Trusting your grip, I reach for your hands
    Hands that were pierced to carry my soul.
    ~
    For you’re the friend who will never leave
    You’re the friend who seeks the depths of my soul
    You’re the friend in whom faith finds sweet mercy
    For you’re the friend whose praises I sing.
    ~~
    Linda Roorda writes from her home in Spencer. 
  24. Linda Roorda

    Spring's Debut

    By 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.
    ~~
     
  25. Linda Roorda

    Meant For Good

    By 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
    ~~
     
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