tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-36364751612927398682024-03-13T22:55:30.291-06:00The Ties That BindGenealogy adventuresTerrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-85816753652563904762013-03-21T23:00:00.000-06:002013-03-21T23:00:46.194-06:00I've movedPlease visit me at <b>I'll Be Seeing You in Familiar Places</b> on my new Wordpress blog <a href="http://illbeseeingyouinfamiliarplaces.wordpress.com/">here</a> . Many thanks to all those that continue to read The Ties That Bind - I hope it will be enjoyed for years to come. Terri Kallio<br />
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<br />Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-32140413449956081442011-08-31T19:14:00.002-06:002011-08-31T19:14:41.786-06:00What to keep? - Part 7 Final - Amongst My Momma's Treasures<div style="font-style: normal; line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in; text-decoration: none;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I am one of those people that don't have the heart to throw away cards. I have even made up rules for myself because of the volumes of them that I have. The rules for keeping cards are: 1) Never ever throw away a card from a grandchild. 2) Never ever throw away a card from my husband. 3) Cards that have letters either written on them or in them are saved. Why? I know my fellow genealogists will agree that those will one day be considered a historical record. So those must be kept for the future. 4) Hand made cards are also kept because the person that made them took their time to do it for me. When I follow my rules I eliminate a lot of my clutter. But, how do I apply this rule to the boxes of cards my Momma saved? Somehow the rules seemed to change for me as I started going through them. I actually felt physically ill at the thought of throwing away her memories. Not the memory of her, but her memories. As I went through them a conversation she and I had had about her photo albums came back to me. With tears in her eyes she told me to just dump them. That they wouldn't mean anything to anybody. It broke my heart to hear her talk this way, like her life experiences weren't important. Is that true? Do our memories only belong to us? I guess for me the pictures are a record of her life and the things that she did and enjoyed. I don't know that the occasional picture of a lion or giraffe hold a lot of significance to her life story, however, pictures that show the places she visited or people she shared her life with certainly do. The problem for me isn't so much keeping them, because believe me I can't part with them – at least not right now. The problem is where do I put them all? I have stacks and stacks of my own memorabilia and adding hers to mine is overwhelming. I'm seriously thinking that since I have a slide show business that I may take them and create a living history slide show with them in the future</span>.</span></div>
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I think you can tell a lot about a persons thoughts and beliefs by the things they keep tucked in books. Of course there are always those things that you have no clue why they were saved. My Grandmother and my Momma were “clippers”. You know, people that clip things out of newspapers or magazines and put them inside their Bibles or a special book. They're usually something that they wanted to remember or that touched their hearts. I believe I could take all the clippings that were saved and make a road map of how to live a spirit filled life, one with purpose and meaning. </div>
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In the end it's not really about the things we have kept but how our lives were lived. We hold on to these small treasures not because they have value, but because they hold a memory of those special moments in our lives. And when that person is out of our reach it's a tangible thing we can touch, hold and remember. Will the next generation find the true value of these treasures? I can't answer that. I only hope that the next “keeper” of the treasure will know the stories behind them and find the value of them. Right now I don't know for sure who that “keeper” will be, but I'm sure one day my heart will tell me.</div>
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The only real treasure amongst my Momma's things was Momma herself. I only hope I told her often enough that she knew it.</div>
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In the memorial slide show that I created for Momma I included a prayer I found in the clippings that she had saved. I'll share it with you here as my final thought.</div>
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“I remember thee in this solemn hour, my dear Mother.</div>
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I remember the days when thou didst dwell on earth,</div>
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and thy tender love watched over me like a guardian angel.</div>
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Thou hast gone from me, </div>
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but the bond which unites our souls</div>
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can never be severed,</div>
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thine image lives within my heart.</div>
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May the merciful Father reward thee</div>
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for they faithfulness and kindness thou</div>
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hast ever shown me;</div>
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may he lift up the light of his countenance</div>
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upon thee and grant the eternal peace!”</div>
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Amen</div>
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Please click on this link to watch the slide show - click <a href="http://www.vimeo.com/28385997">here - For Momma - Memorial Slide show</a> - as with all slide shows they are best when viewed in full screen. Don't forget to turn off the playlist music on the right hand side of this page.</div>
Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-55893782969681615722011-08-13T15:54:00.000-06:002011-08-13T15:54:12.450-06:00Stay on your own side of the road! - Part 5 of Amongst Momma's Treasures<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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Momma was the second born and oldest daughter. Her brother was just two years older. When I look at the few pictures that we have of them as little kids, I can't get over how big he was compared to my tiny little Momma. He could talk her into anything and she believed everything he told her. One story I always loved to hear her tell was when she was three years old and he convinced her she could fly. Apparently they had a corn crib which from what I understand was kind of like a barn. Well the chickens would get up into the loft and peck up the loose corn kernels and then they would fly out of the loft (OK, I know chickens can't really fly.) He convinced her that she could fly like the chickens and it would be fun. She was just about to flap her little arms and jump when grandma saw her. (Thank goodness!) Grandma didn't want to scare her and end up having her fall so she just talked to her softly and told her that she didn't want her jumping from there. Slowly she talked her back down the stairs. I can just picture this little pixie of a girl up in the loft flapping her arms. Both of Momma's brothers loved to tease and pull jokes on their sisters and scare off their dates with shotguns, it's just what brothers do.</div>
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I told her once that I thought she was awfully gullible, she laughed and stated I wasn't any different with my own brothers. I hate to admit it but she was right, I believed everything my brothers said too. I didn't eat tapioca for years because they told me it was really fish eggs. It's funny that no matter how much my Mom tried to convince me that they were teasing me, I still believed them instead of her. </div>
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When it was time for my Uncle to start school he refused to go unless his little sister went along. I'm not sure why, he surely was big enough to take care of himself, I guess there was security in numbers. Momma loved school and attended a one room school house from first grade through eighth. She graduated from Wilcox High School in 1939, but she almost didn't get to go. My Grandpa could not see any need for her to go to school beyond the eighth grade, plus there was work on the farm that he needed her home for. Grandpa grew up in Germany and formal education was completed at grade 8. After that they went on to a trade school. I'm sure arguing with my Grandpa had to be like pounding your head against a brick wall. And if I know my Grandpa you didn't argue with him for too long before all holly heck broke loose. But then there's always grandma and I believe she understood Momma's drive to go to school more than anyone did. She herself was denied an education because of work that had to be done on the farm. Grandma loved books but wasn't allowed time to read, so she would sneak her books into a closet and hide. Grandma's advise to Momma was that if she wanted it badly enough she would find a way to go. There was no money to pay for the school buses in those years. The bus driver felt bad for her and let her ride free at least for a time. I can just imagine how devastated she was the day he stopped and told her she could no longer ride because the school had found out that she was riding for free. That ended her high school days temporarily until one day fate stepped in. She had gone out to the mailbox and greeted the mailman. He asked her why she wasn't in school and she told him that she had no way to get there. So he told her if she would meet him at the section corner he would give her a ride into town and drop her off in the evening on his way home. In the last years of high school she lived and worked for one of her school teachers who lived in town. She took in boarders and cooked their meals, so Momma's job was to wash and clean-up all the dishes. She would have to get the morning dishes done before she could go to school. There were many mornings when she would have to run all the way to get there on time. During lunch she would go back to the house where she would wash all the lunch dishes. On Friday nights she would ride the train from Wilcox to Hildreth and spend the night at the Pastors home so she could go to confirmation class on Saturday.</div>
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I don't think I mentioned that my folks are the same age and knew each other their entire lives. My grandparents were good friends and spent a lot of time together. Saturday evening was town night. Everyone in the surrounding area would go into town on Saturday evenings to do their shopping and see their friends. After confirmation class Momma would walk to my Dad's house and Grandpa would pick her up there on the way into town. I asked her once if she and my Dad were sweethearts then. She said: “NO WAY! I thought he was terrible.” I said: “But, you walked to his house after class, didn't you?” She said: “Well sort of, he stayed on his side of the road and I stayed on mine.” I don't think I ever asked her how they ended up dating and falling in love – something I regret. I must remember to ask my Dad.</div>
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Isn't it funny how we think of our parents lives beginning the day we were born, as if everything in life centers around our being. I suppose it's because it's all we really understand and can comprehend. I love thinking about my Momma being a little girl with curly hair. Her Aunt Rosetta used to call her “poor little Lucille.” Momma hated that, she said there was nothing “poor” about her. They didn't have much, but in those days no one did, so they felt no different from each other. When I look at her pictures I can see that her clothes didn't fit and her coat had holes in it and sometimes she had no shoes on. It's only when you look past the clothing and into her eyes that you can see a child that was loved and that's where I see my Momma's riches. </div>
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Amongst my Momma's treasures were loving parents who cherished all their children.</div>
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To be continued.</div>
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Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-47557385785662343522011-08-12T12:05:00.000-06:002011-08-12T12:05:07.968-06:00Do What You Think is Right - Part 4 of Amongst My Momma's Treasures<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
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If there was a book called “Parenting 101” my Momma could have written it. You see, my Momma was raised by an amazing woman herself. Grandma was one of those rare women who only comes along once in a lifetime. She saw everything in life through Jesus' eyes and she passed that along to all four of her daughters and of course her two sons as well. There are people who like to “brag” about how faithful they are, they go on and on about it to the point you wonder who they are trying to convince. It's kind of like the person who does a good deed for someone, but then has to make sure that everyone knows what a wonderful person they are for doing it. It makes you wonder what their real motive was for doing it. Grandma wasn't like that, she didn't wear her faith on her sleeve for everyone to see, she carried it in her<em> heart</em> where <em>God</em> dwelled.</div>
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Oops – got off track there – sometimes my mind gets sidetracked momentarily.</div>
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Momma had very expressive blue eyes and you knew immediately what her reaction was going to be by how they changed. There was nothing, I mean nothing worse than when she looked at me with disappointment because of something I had done wrong. It would have been less painful to have a beating (which she never did) than <u>that</u> look. It was a look that went right to the core where shame lives. I'd get mad at her for being mad at me. – After all I was 7 and should be able to do what I wanted. I would storm off to my room, lay on my bed and face the wall because I knew she would be coming up those stairs shortly. I'd hear her on the first step, then the second, now the third, with every step I got closer to the wall. I knew what was coming and it made me madder than a wet hen. She would sit on the edge of my bed and not say anything for a minute or two, all the while I pulled further away. She would finally break the silence with - “Terri – I have a little story here I want to read to you.” Oh man, I knew she would have one of those darn stories. We had a set of books called “Bedtime Stories for Children” and all the stories had some sort of message in them. Inch by inch, as she read the story, I would move away from the wall closer to her. By the time the story was coming to an end I was in her lap. She would explain to me why she got mad and tell me how much she loved me and all was well again. I don't know how she dealt with my brothers in similar situations because I was younger than they were, however, she certainly knew what worked with me. Momma said that when she was little and would get mad at her Mom that grandma would sing this silly song to her until she finally would laugh. It went like this:</div>
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<em>Lucille is mad and I am glad</em></div>
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<em>A bottle of ink to make her stink</em></div>
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<em>And a little boy to squeeze her.</em></div>
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As I grew older I noticed that the look changed somehow. It went from disappointment to concerned understanding. All three of us kids went to Momma whenever we needed to make a decision or had a problem to work out. She would quietly listen to everything we had to say. She would help us weigh out the pros and cons. She might offer an opinion or give some advise, but never did she tell us what to do. That was something we had to decide for ourselves. Never once did she say “you'll be sorry if you do that.” But, at the same time we knew when she wasn't on board with what we decided by the dreaded comment: “Well, you have to do what you think is right.” She knew that in order for us to grow as individuals that we had to make our own choices in life because we were the ones that had to carry them through. Many was the time I had wished I had done what she thought was right instead of what I thought was right, but that's how we learn.</div>
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<span style="text-decoration: none;">After Darrell died I went through a period of time when I couldn't seem to find any purpose in my life. I felt as though if I had never been born it wouldn't have changed anything in this world. I had so wrapped my life into his that I didn't know who I was. It's a terrible feeling to have when you think you are useless. I always turned to Momma in times like these. She knew me so well that she could pull me from the depths of sorrow with just a touch. When I poured my heart out to Momma she said to me: “How can you say that you have no purpose in life? I prayed for you to be born and God answered my prayer with you. You have so many gifts that you share so willingly with everyone – this alone is worth more precious than diamonds or gold.” It's difficult to think of life without her to talk to every day. No matter how old we get, we just don't outgrow our need for our Momma's. I don't know how she did it but she just always seemed to know what we needed at any given time in our lives. There is a quote from Winnie the Pooh that reminds me of something that Momma would say. It goes like this: </span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: none;"><em>"If ever there is a tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you should always remember. You are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem and smarter than you think. But the most important thing is, even if we're apart, I'll always be with you."</em></span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: none;">There are so many things I could say about the kind of parent she was but there are not enough pages in a book to write them all.</span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: none;">Amongst Momma's treasures there was love and understanding. Next to that was a box filled with wisdom, strength and perseverance. </span></div>
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<span style="text-decoration: none;">To be continued.</span></div>
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Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-23710968405765250422011-08-11T11:21:00.011-06:002011-08-11T11:31:17.742-06:00Chocolate Covered Peanuts & Gumdrops - Part 3 of Amongst My Momma's Treasures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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When I started doing holiday dinners at my house I think I really pushed the limits of my husbands patience with me. I wanted every corner of the house scrubbed and polished so it shined when our guest arrived. Each picture that hung on the wall was removed so that I could clean the glass and polish the frame. Every little tchotchke was placed on the counter for a good washing. My normal laid back attitude changed to one of a woman crazed, obsessive and cranky to boot! Honestly sometimes I wonder how he put up with me at times. He would remind me that the ones coming were family and that they were not going to look under the beds to see if I had run the vacuum under them. What he didn't understand was that I wanted everything to be special and that for me that it was in the details. </div>
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Momma seemed to do all this so effortlessly through the years. I remember her being teased about how clean her home was by my Uncle Leon, he would reach up to the top of the kitchen cupboards and wipe his hand along the edge and tell her that he found a spot she missed. She would laugh at him and give him a little smack on the arm. The next day though she would be on the stepping stool wiping it down. Such a silly little memory, I know.</div>
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Everything Momma did was done with a servants heart. So many times she would offer to help me with whatever I was doing and I would refuse. It wasn't because I didn't want her help, it was because I let my pride get in my way. Gosh darn it – it was my dirt and I didn't think it was right to have anyone else have to deal with it. I'm still that way now, but I am trying to work on the pride thing. One time in particular that I'll never forget took place not long after I had had a major heart attack. I had been complaining to her about how difficult it was for me to do things because I would get worn out so fast. When she offered to help me I refused once again. Even today, 10 years later, her words to me that day ring in my head: “Terri – did you every consider that by letting me help you, you are giving me a gift?” - Whoa – my brain went numb for a moment at her words, I responded with: “But, it's not right for you to feel you have to come do this for me – you have so much of your own to do.” In her calm, but strong voice she responded: “But, Terri, by refusing me you are denying me the joy of giving my time to you. You complain to me all the time about the kids not letting you help them when you offer, but you do the same thing.” Well what could I say – she was right.</div>
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After Momma's memorial service so many people came over to me and expressed how she had “stood in the gap” for them or for a family member. One lady told me how my folks would go out of the way to pick up her mother and take her places when she no longer could drive. Over and over I heard these remarks. They were things that I did not know about, but, were not a surprise. Many people say - “If you need anything just let me know” - My Momma never waited to be asked she was just there doing whatever needed to be done and always with a joyful heart. </div>
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There are little things we do that seem insignificant to us at the time, but we do them to please the ones we love. Momma kept a bowl of gumdrops on the coffee table. She bought them in 5# bags because we would gobble them up when we visited. We laughed about how even the hospice nurses would sit and talk with her and munch on gumdrops. So of course we kept the bowl full. We take so many things for granted thinking they will always be there for us. </div>
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In spite of my obsessive behavior in preparing for company I was not the only one in the house that paid attention to the details. Darrell had gone to the store and when he returned he had a big grin on his face. One large bag was filled with an assortment of candies, just like Momma always did. He pulled out a bag of chocolate cover peanuts and declared: “Mom <u>always</u> has chocolate covered peanuts and we're going to do that too!” </div>
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I learned a great deal from Momma without even knowing I was being taught. After <br />
that first big meal at my house she handed me the Bible and told me to read this story from Luke 10:38-42. Uggg I thought – she always does this to me and the part that gets me is that it always works.</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;">At the Home of Martha and Mary</span></i><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></h5>
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<span style="font-weight: normal;"><em><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">38 As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. 39 She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. 40 But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!”</span> </span></em></span></h5>
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<span style="font-size: small; text-decoration: none;"><em>41 “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, 42 but few things are needed—or indeed only one. Mary has chosen what is better, and it will not be taken away from her.” </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Momma in her own special way helped me to understand that all my distress in the preparations was not necessary, but rather, the time we would be sharing was all that matter. How fortunate I was to have such a woman in my life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Amongst my Momma's treasures was a loving, giving and joyful heart.</span></div>
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Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-62442773167252757512011-08-10T12:12:00.000-06:002011-08-10T12:12:02.728-06:00Stories & Pretty Things – Part 2 of Amongst My Momma's Treasures <table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WACKzQMRkEQ/TkLFuwMODZI/AAAAAAAAAns/_FYxUfrnpO8/s1600/Evers+Lucille+baby+book_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" naa="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WACKzQMRkEQ/TkLFuwMODZI/AAAAAAAAAns/_FYxUfrnpO8/s320/Evers+Lucille+baby+book_edited-1.jpg" width="216" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Momma's Baby Book</td></tr>
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I couldn't even begin to count the number of times Momma and I went through the treasures in her hope chest. The chest held only special memories of her life and of course my fathers too. Oh my, how I loved touching her pretty things and listening to her stories. There were letters tied with ribbons, some filled with sadness and others with joy. Old pictures of family filled my head with questions that could not be answered. One small box held my baptism dress, bonnet and pink booties. The tiniest red rose with a white ribbon was perfectly dried and kept as a remembrance of that day. I wonder if she ever tired of telling me about the day I was born. Gosh, it seems like yesterday that I was that wide eyed little girl sitting on the floor with Momma. Isn't it wonderful that we can hit the rewind button in our heads to these precious memories and revisit them anytime we want to.</div>
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Momma was born in south central Nebraska in 1922 in an area primarily made up of German immigrants. There were a few Swed's in the mix for fun. Her father had emigrated from Germany in 1906. Her Mother was 1st generation American, whose parents had emigrated from an area known as Ostfriesland, Germany. Grandma's parents were farmers going back for generations, but Grandpa was a city boy who grew up in Hamburg. I wonder now how hard it had been for him to adapt to such a change.</div>
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She was the second born of six children and the oldest daughter. By the time her twin sisters were born in the thirties Momma was 12. Two years later another little sister arrived. Growing up in a big family on the farm meant everyone from the youngest to the oldest had to pitch in and help. Since Grandma was busy with cooking for her big family, and also helping out in the fields, meant Momma was in charge of taking care of the girls. She often referred to herself as their “second mother”, something she seemed to take great pride in. Every Saturday night she would curl the girls hair for church on Sunday. Remember this was before the day of curling irons, she would take candles and roll their hair around them and the girls would have to hold them until it was dry. When Momma would tell these stories there always seemed to be a little glint in her eyes. I think her love for them went beyond the love of sister to sister.</div>
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Going through Momma's hope chest after she died brought a lot of sweet memories back of the times we looked at them together. I thought I knew every little thing in it by heart, but when I found her Baby Book I was taken aback. I don't recall ever seeing it before, surely I would remember something so precious. The handwriting in the book was so familiar and I recognized it immediately as my Grandmas. As I went through the pages and read the things my grandma had written about her little girl I couldn't help but smile. Oh, how I wish I would have seen it when I could have shared it with her. But, you know something? Maybe it was a treasure meant to be found today – a small connection to the past. Something to warm a broken heart.........</div>
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To be continued.</div>
Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-33251415014769140832011-08-09T12:30:00.000-06:002011-08-09T12:30:24.146-06:00Just the other side of the bridge - Part 1 of Amongst My Momma's Treasures<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A long time ago I received this Thomas Kinkade picture in an email and fell in love with its peacefulness. I so can picture myself spending eternity there. </div>
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After my husband, Darrell, died I would imagine him living there with our Kallie Dog. He would be “putzying” with something and Kallie would be swimming in the stream or chasing a ball.</div>
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After loosing my Mom last month, I again have found comfort in this Kinkade painting. I imagine her cottage is just on the other side of the bridge. Darrell and Mom get together for coffee and she bakes him one of her yummy banana cream pies. Occasionally my grandparents stop by and they all have a grand time. They chat about the day we will all be together again and pray that those of us still here on earth are doing well.</div>
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I know what you are thinking right now. You're thinking – WOW this lady has quite the imagination. And you would be right.</div>
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Amongst my Momma's treasures was a small *book I had given her in hopes that it would bring her some comfort as she struggled with cancer. I was drawn to the book shortly after Darrell died. I would read a few pages every night to help my mind settle into sleep. When I found the book next to her chair there were several pages marked. The first page marked read: <i>“I have loved you....fear not, for I am with you</i>.” (Isaiah 43:4-5) and <i>“He humbled himself and became obedient to death – even death on the cross.”</i> (Philippians 2:8). One of Mom's treasures was the powerful faith that she had in God. It was so precious to her that she taught it to her children, so that we too could receive the joy of knowing our Saviour and the blessing of eternal life with Him.</div>
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One day I will walk across the bridge where my husband waits for me at the foot of the bridge and he will say: “Welcome home sweetheart – what kept you so long.” Oh, and I can't wait to have a piece of my Mom's delicious banana cream pie. For now God has work for me to do here, but one day.........</div>
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To be continued.......</div>
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(*book: Fear Not – The Promise book by Max Lucado)</div>
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Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-47730785438262139662011-07-26T08:12:00.001-06:002011-07-26T08:12:55.837-06:00Unexpected Reunion - The Slide ShowIn March of 2009 I began a 10 part series called "The Unexpected Reunion", which told of an unplanned, unexpected and unbelievable family reunion that took place in September of 1989. My Fathers brother, Ray, received a phone call from the U.S. Army with news that our family never expected to know. My Uncle Willis, who was a fighter pilot in the Pacific during WWII, was shot down in an air battle over Simpson Harbor, Rabaul, New Britain on November 2, 1943. He was listed as "Missing In Action" at that time. Although the Army did do some searching for him they were unable to locate him at that time. In 1986 a man who was doing some surveying on a plantation in New Britain spotted the wreckage and reported it. A full excavation was performed and they were able to find the serial number of the plane, which identified my Uncle as the man who had been flying it.<br />
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It was 3 years before the Army was able to locate the oldest living blood relative. F/O Willis F. Evers' remains were escorted and guarded 24 hours a day until he was laid to rest with full military honors, including a fly over.<br />
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There are so many ways to share our family history - from blogging to verbal story telling. I happen to enjoy producing family history slide shows, not only of my own family but also for other individuals as well. I have taken portions of the story I wrote in 2009 and completed a slide show of the events that took place in my Uncle Willis' life and the events that took place on September 15, 1989. This slide show has been prepared in a story telling format - I hope you will enjoy it.<br />
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This slide show has also been entered in a Photodex contest on Facebook for family reunions. Voting begins August 1st through the 8th - if you are a Facebook member and are so inclined I certainly would appreciate your vote.<br />
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Please enjoy my presentation of - "Unexpected Reunion - Home at Last"!<br />
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Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-40065149831438223062011-06-06T00:37:00.000-06:002011-06-06T00:37:31.437-06:00This is the face of genealogy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t0yB5WyDoC8/TexynzwZtXI/AAAAAAAAAnk/rK-kSfjBvY4/s1600/Buss+the+Buss+family.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308px" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-t0yB5WyDoC8/TexynzwZtXI/AAAAAAAAAnk/rK-kSfjBvY4/s400/Buss+the+Buss+family.jpg" t8="true" width="400px" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">These are the faces I see when I think of genealogy! Shame on you LA Weekly for mocking the history of our ancestors! These are the people who built this country with their bare hands, the men and women who fought for your freedom, they are your parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters and yes your cousins.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;">You may have changed the picture, but the damage has already been done. Click <a href="http://www.geneabloggers.com/face-genealogy/">here</a> to read the story and see the picture LA Weekly posted. </div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-68320106690015664062011-04-12T11:26:00.000-06:002011-04-12T11:26:30.397-06:00Civil War - Charles Bunge<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7yDYAwQ92U/TaSDqCyJI1I/AAAAAAAAAnY/sSyObd1xdWU/s1600/Buss+Charles+Bunge+civil+war.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="313" r6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Z7yDYAwQ92U/TaSDqCyJI1I/AAAAAAAAAnY/sSyObd1xdWU/s400/Buss+Charles+Bunge+civil+war.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Honoring my 2nd Great Grand Uncle on</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the 150th Anniversary of the start of</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">the Civil War</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">April 12, 1861</div><strong><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;"></span></strong><strong><span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace;">Karl Heinrich Joachim Bunge (Charles) was born on June 20, 1842 in Germany. When he was 6 years old, in 1853, the family emigrated to the U.S. through the Port of New Orleans. The Bunge family then traveled to Gasconade County, Missouri where they farmed and lived in the town of Bland the remainder of their years.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Courier New;">Charles enlisted in the Union Calvary in 1862 and was part of Company B - 6th Calvary. According to the Civil War records I found he brought his own horse and equipment and received extra pay for that. It appears that he served 2 years in this unit.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Courier New;">Charles married Mary Wittrock on October 17, 1865 in Bland, Missouri. They were blessed with 12 children.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Courier New;">Charles died on March 18, 1924 in Bland, Gasconade County, Missouri. He is buried at the Old Bland Cemetery, where many of my ancestors rest.</span></strong><br />
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</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-35273196182312058322010-11-27T12:33:00.000-07:002010-11-27T12:33:23.141-07:00The Day My World Changed<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TPFaUrwhjJI/AAAAAAAAAmc/X5kobGRoQpY/s1600/Lake+of+Tears.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TPFaUrwhjJI/AAAAAAAAAmc/X5kobGRoQpY/s320/Lake+of+Tears.jpg" width="247" /></span></a><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The morning of November 29, 2009 began as most of my mornings do; sharing a hot cup of coffee, with my husband, and arguing as to whose turn it was to go out in the cold and get the Sunday paper. We chatted about how great our Thanksgiving had been and how good the turkey came out this year. We laughed about how silly everyone looked playing the Wii games that day, and how much fun they all had. Then the rest of the day we just did our own thing. I worked on some things on the computer and Darrell, of course, watched every football game that was on.</span></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;"></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">When I woke that morning I had a clear picture of who I was as a woman, a wife, a daughter, a sister, a step-mom and a grandma. By that evening, my clarity would change dramatically and my world would change forever. For you see my role as wife changed to widow. Who is this “widow” person? I didn't know her and I definitely didn't want to be “her”. I couldn't breath. – I can't accept this! – It can't be happening! – Why now?– Why! Why! Why? I just wanted to run away.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">The unrelenting sorrow and pain that followed the death of my husband, my best friend, seemed more than I could ever bear at times. The perpetual gray skies of that winter dragged on</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">and I felt a sense of hopelessness that I have never felt before. Tears flowed in an endless stream of grief and despair. Every night I begged God to please wake me from this dreadful dream.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">With each step I took in the mornings there would be hope that he would be there; playing</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">solitaire as he always did and asking me for a cup of coffee. But, he wasn't there. Despair </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">would settle over my body like blowing snow – cold and blinding. I was lost and alone, shrouded in a heavy black veil where there was only darkness. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In the darkness I prayed for help. The prayer barely passing my lips when I could feel the strong comforting arms of God wrapped around me. He rocked me in His arms and let me cry myself </span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">to sleep. Night after night I called to Him for strength and always He would come. I could hear H</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">im: Shh, shh, shh, I'm here, it's going to be alright.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: large;">In a few days a year will have passed since that night. The gray dark days of that winter gave way to spring and the blossoming of summer. Another Thanksgiving has come and gone and soon Christmas will be here. I'm still working through my sorrow, but, I have lifted the veil so that I can see the beauty of the life before me. I'm finding my way through the thorns and rediscovering my dreams and hopes for the future. Every day I reach up for God's hand and he guides me. – Some days He has to do a lot of pushing and pulling, but He is always there. At night God still wraps his arms around me and rocks me to sleep and I hear him: Shh, shh, shh, I'm here, it's going to be alright.......</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: large;">(this post original from: <a href="http://terri-thenextchapterpage2010.blogspot.com/">The Next Chapter - Page 2010</a> )</span>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-61950573799095012872010-09-04T13:02:00.000-06:002010-09-04T13:02:32.871-06:00The Mystical Power of a Treasure - Can you let it go?This is been a tough year for me and many of my Geneablogger friends. I don't recall who it was of my Facebook Friends that declared it the “Summer of Sorrow”, but, they sure had an appropriate name for the Summer of 2010. For a while it seemed as though everyone was suffering through the passing of a loved one, whether it was a spouse, parent or close relative, it just seemed to be continual. Personally I don't like the word “loss” because you really haven't “lost” them, to me that means they can be found. Condolences and how to offer them is a subject for another time, so I will drop that for now.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TIKV0CamnmI/AAAAAAAAAmM/be_KcQ0DcsM/s1600/FT+Mommas+wing+glass+collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TIKV0CamnmI/AAAAAAAAAmM/be_KcQ0DcsM/s320/FT+Mommas+wing+glass+collage.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>I enjoy reading all the blogs about inherited or found family treasures, don't you? Sometimes I feel just a “tad” jealous, OK maybe a little more than a “tad bit”, that some seem to continually to be gifted with family heirlooms and others have nothing from their ancestors. This summer we have been moving my parents into an assisted living patio home. In doing so my folks have had to part with many of their personal treasures. Treasures collected over the 68 years of marriage. I think it was bitter sweet, especially for my Mom. I know it had to be hard to give up things that held special memories. I had asked if I could have the set of Tiffany wine glasses that graced her china hutch as long as I can remember. They are very delicate with tiny roses etched on them and they hold a memory of a special day. The wine glasses had been purchased with money given to them on their wedding day by my Dad's parents. Believe it or not, I even have the canceled check that Grandpa wrote for $17 , and marked “Wedding Gift for George and Lucille”. (How's that for citing a source? Ha ha – a little genealogy humor.) I loved my Mom's attitude about parting with her treasures. She said: “I can still enjoy seeing them in your china hutch.” Today the wine glasses gracefully sit on the top shelf of my china hutch and every time I look at them I'm reminded of my parents as a young couple picking out something really special with their wedding money.<br />
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There seems to be something mystical in holding an heirloom. Just knowing that 50 or more years ago an ancestor held and used that item seems to give us a physical connection to that person. I have a few handmade quilts made by my grandmother, when I wrap them around me somehow I can feel her. After all she spent hour after hour with the quilt in her lap as she sewed each square, so surely some part of her remains. The real treasure was Grandma herself, but I think we all cling to the things we can still see and touch every day, <br />
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It's wonderful when you are on the receiving end, but, can you let go of your treasure? Take a long hard look at the treasures you have surrounded yourself with in your own home. Can you picture them gone? If your spouse were to die would you be able to part with his or her family heirlooms? <br />
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Join me tomorrow as I share the pain and joy of parting with my husbands family treasures.....Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-65522496269935484922010-08-25T08:56:00.000-06:002010-08-25T08:56:09.924-06:00Wordless Wednesday - Hildreth, NEJust playing around with photoshop - trying out something different. This is a photo of the main street in Hildreth, Nebraska as it looks today blended with<br />
an old photo of the same street..... Fun....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/THUuuLXmY0I/AAAAAAAAAmA/4aglwzAcqVk/s1600/Hildreth+street+scene+modified.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" ox="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/THUuuLXmY0I/AAAAAAAAAmA/4aglwzAcqVk/s400/Hildreth+street+scene+modified.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-20723276009757677042010-08-01T13:55:00.000-06:002010-08-01T13:55:33.594-06:00Sentimental Sunday - Let me be five again!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TFXP-kXu7jI/AAAAAAAAAl0/YhSnltkiqfU/s1600/Blog+-+Terri+and+bubbles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="247" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TFXP-kXu7jI/AAAAAAAAAl0/YhSnltkiqfU/s320/Blog+-+Terri+and+bubbles.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">This Sunday I'm feeling a gentle sadness in my heart for the days that were and will never be again. Those hot summer days in Bedford, Massachusetts were full of adventure, especially when you're 5 years old. When I close my eyes I can picture the woods behind the house. There was cool, soft moss growing around the big trees, Lilly of the Valley scattered in bunches and blueberry bushes by the cabillions! My friend Cece and I would venture behind our duplex to the creek in search of tadpoles, there were so many you could just scoop them up in a jar. With a child's imagination the woods are a wonderful place to pretend in. I think they were much like where Robin Hood and his Band of Merry Men may have lived. Or possibly where Sleeping Beauty may have slept waiting for Prince Charming to kiss her and save her from the Evil Step-Mother's spell. </span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">When we moved to our new home on Hanscom Air Force Base, there was a playground with swings! Oh those glorious swings how I loved them. We would sing and swing, higher, higher and higher, until we were high enough to go over the top, sometimes more than once. (Don't tell Mom!) One time, some of us kids got the idea it would be fun to put on a show, just like they did in Spanky and Our Gang. We each came up with our own little parts, thinking back I'm sure it was just silliness, but, oh we had so much fun. We would dress up in clothes and high heels, borrowed from our Mom's closet. I don't remember if we asked first, maybe better keep that quiet. We would pool our nickels and pennies and go to the PX and buy “Fizzies” and candy for our audience. I don't recall if we charged for them, but really what's a play without snacks?</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Do you remember “Fizzies”?</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">If I could pick just one year from my youth it would be the year I was 5. By the time you're five you're really too big for naps any more. You also know that a tuna fish sandwich tastes much better when the crust is cut off and the bread is cut in triangles. You know that milk is more fun to drink through a straw, especially if you know how to blow bubbles with it, and Mom doesn't catch you. You're not to big to be carried to bed on Dad's shoulders. And best of all – next year you get to go to school, just like your big brothers! Yep, I'd sure love to spend the day in 1957.</span></strong><br />
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<strong><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Thanks for indulging my little trip back to the olden days........</span></strong>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-28618131978386409962010-07-29T16:48:00.000-06:002010-07-29T16:48:46.990-06:00Will We Have to go Dumpster Diving for Our Records?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TFIDRuP_nbI/AAAAAAAAAlw/iOdw9xtb5l0/s1600/maxi-redding_dumpster_edited-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" bx="true" height="282" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TFIDRuP_nbI/AAAAAAAAAlw/iOdw9xtb5l0/s320/maxi-redding_dumpster_edited-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Facebook was buzzing this morning about a recent article in the Mormon Times written by Michael De Groote. Mr. De Grotte was reporting on a recent speech made by Curt B. Witcher at the BYU Conference on Family History and Genealogy. Mr. Witcher states that many court houses are reducing the volumes of old records by taking a sample of each collection and destroying the rest. He also states that “We have left the care of our written records largely in the hands of disinterested strangers.” I don’t know about you, but I found this very disturbing news. This is also happening in our libraries where many of us have done research. Do you think this is as serious as the burning of books? Maybe I’m being a little dramatic, but who decides what is worth keeping? Is it the records of the well known people who are being kept and the ordinary person’s records being hauled to the dumpster? I know how disappointed I would have been, after traveling to Nebraska this summer to research some of my ancestors, only to find out that those records had been destroyed because they “didn’t make the cut”. I don’t know the answer to the ever growing storage problem of these records and the massive, almost incomprehensible, job it would be to digitize them all, but I do know that to destroy them would mean that we could be destroying the very history of our families.<br />
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Mr. Witcher asks the question: “Who is writing letters anymore? When was the last time you received a written letter?” I must admit I haven’t written any letters since I got on the internet, nor have I received any in the mail. Oh, yes occasionally someone will send a card with a small note in it and I do the same. Even when I have mailed a letter I find it faster to type it rather than hand writing it. Even most emails I receive are jokes or emails that have been forwarded over and over, so how are we communicating these days? How are we sharing our lives in this world of the quick and easy?<br />
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Mr. Witcher also seems to be stressing the importance that we all need to take the responsibility to record our living history and suggests we all, “Write as you’ve never written before.” And to share the information with our families so that it is not lost to the future. I think that’s why I feel such an urgency to learn my own family history and to share it with the next generation. I want to make sure that the children born in my family in the next 10 generations know about their ancestors.<br />
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“We have an awesome responsibility ahead of us," Witcher said. "In so many ways, we have history in our hands. What are we going to do with it? If we wait, if we relegate for someone else to take care of, we are endangering that history — that history may be lost." (copied from Mr. De Grotte’s article.)<br />
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Continued…….<br />
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You can read Michael De Grotte’s full article here: <br />
<a href="http://www.mormontimes.com/article/16144/The-coming-genealogical-dark-ages?s_cid=queue_title&utm_source=queue_title">"The Coming Genealogical Dark Ages", by Michael De Grotte</a>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-83802517809257786552010-07-09T10:35:00.002-06:002010-07-09T10:41:45.393-06:00"Scrapbooking Your Family History" - 96th Edition of the COG<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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</div>“Scrapbooking Your Family History” is the theme for the 96th Edition of the COG. See<span style="background-color: white;"> </span>Jasia's blog at <a href="http://creativegene.blogspot.com/">"Creative Gene"</a> for all the details. Submissions are due by August 1st and only 30 submissions will be accepted.<br />
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I had a chance to find and visit the locations where some of my<span style="background-color: white;"> Habben </span>family had homesteads in the late 1800's, <span style="background-color: white;">near Gurley,</span> Nebraska, in June. I was overwhelmed with a feeling of their presence as I walked the gravel road by what once had been their home. I had similar feelings while I worked on a family history book in 2008/2009. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDdM3GvVgPI/AAAAAAAAAlY/xU8snYIuX8E/s1600/H+Habben+Nelk+collage+land_edited-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" rw="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDdM3GvVgPI/AAAAAAAAAlY/xU8snYIuX8E/s400/H+Habben+Nelk+collage+land_edited-2.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">In my submission for the 96th Edition of the COG, I have tried to capture my feelings that day. My scrapbook page was made using a picture I took of their homestead as it appears today for my background. I could imagine them working the land with a wooded plow and a horse. To represent that I added an illustration of a man and child working the farm. I faded from black and white into color to show the past coming to the future. In the upper left corner are the photographs of my ancestors who lived on this land. I faded them into the clouds to show their presence with me that day and yet unreachable. </div><br />
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I hope you enjoy my submission and have a sense of the joy I felt that day!Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-46941940360588316262010-07-06T17:50:00.000-06:002010-07-06T17:50:58.808-06:00Tombstone Tuesday - William & Kathryn Nelck<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDO_X2uPejI/AAAAAAAAAlM/XK13Jx-r2pw/s1600/A+Nelk+william.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" rw="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDO_X2uPejI/AAAAAAAAAlM/XK13Jx-r2pw/s400/A+Nelk+william.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">While on my Nebraska Adventure I stopped at the Sidney Library to check out their genealogy resources. I had read on their website that they had a good collection of historical information so I was anxious to see it. Although the room was rather small and no air conditioning, I'm glad I stuck it out because I did find some interesting and unexpected information on the Nelck brothers. After going through the cemetery books, that someone painstakingly had put together, I happened along the names of Fred Nelks brothers, Charles and William. To my surprise they had all had homesteads in Cheyenne County. Charles and William both remained in the Sidney area and Fred left in 1899 for Welcome, Minnesota. Fred Nelk was married to my great grandfather's cousin Tena (Habben) so they were my primary research subject. Next time I will be more prepared to look into the lives of in-law relations. Something interesting and unexplained is why the brothers used different spellings for their last name. Charles and William both spelled their last name - “Nelck”, while Fred used the spelling “Nelk”. After some digging it appears that the German spelling may have been “Nilk”, according to Charles birth certificate. Sure makes researching a fun game! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For this weeks “Tombstone Tuesday” I present William and Kathryn (Shelley) Nelck. William and Kathryn were married in 1897. They never had any biological children, but did adopt two daughters according to some of their nieces. One daughter, Vera Grace died young at the age of 18 and is buried next to her father. In 1900 (according to the census) William, Kathryn, Charles and Emma were living together on the homestead they owned jointly. From a plat map, that I found from 1913, it appears that the two brothers owned one (160 acres) section together and each owned another section individually. So they were farming 480 acres together at that time. I also learned from the plat map that their homestead was west of the homestead that Fred and Tena had owned until 1900. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDO_qNARUUI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/elAlQV0gTZo/s1600/H+Nelck+William+and+Kathryn+collage_edited-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" rw="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDO_qNARUUI/AAAAAAAAAlQ/elAlQV0gTZo/s320/H+Nelck+William+and+Kathryn+collage_edited-2.jpg" width="243" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Kathryn (Shelley) Nelck raised canaries and lived to the age of 92. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">William died in 1936 at the age of 68.</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-27526849897975076122010-07-04T14:12:00.000-06:002010-07-04T14:12:39.250-06:00Sentimental Sunday -Happy 4th of July<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDDq4Lwb3eI/AAAAAAAAAlE/jqjGlyzcdTs/s1600/A+July+4th+celebration+1900.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" rw="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TDDq4Lwb3eI/AAAAAAAAAlE/jqjGlyzcdTs/s400/A+July+4th+celebration+1900.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">My Great Grandpa, Rolf Habben's car decorated to the max for the 4th of July celebration in Hildreth, Nebraska. Early 1900's</span>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-72324088282384349132010-07-01T13:29:00.000-06:002010-07-01T13:29:11.967-06:00"You Want to Move Where?" - Traveling Back In time -<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzkxerx42I/AAAAAAAAAkg/PZUJLZhgByE/s1600/DSCF1886.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rw="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzkxerx42I/AAAAAAAAAkg/PZUJLZhgByE/s320/DSCF1886.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> As I drive East on Road 46 from Gurley to the Nelk and Habben Homesteads I somehow felt transported back to the days when this young family may have traveled to town for supplies in their wagon. I purposely drive slowly during the 7 mile trip from the junction of Hwy 385 and Road 46, so that I can take in what they would have seen. With the exception of the few homes I see along the way, I’m sure that not much has changed in this area since it was first settled. As I pass Road 125 a hawk swoops down in front of my Durango and catches a small rabbit alongside the road, poor rabbit. The main crops I see are corn and grain. Today these fields are irrigated with large sprinkling systems but when the Nelk’s and Habben’s lived here they would have had to depend on the rain to water their crops. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzk2UquhsI/AAAAAAAAAkk/_N6U0zs5bjY/s1600/DSCF1888.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" rw="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzk2UquhsI/AAAAAAAAAkk/_N6U0zs5bjY/s200/DSCF1888.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> Approaching the crossroads of Road 46 and Road 127, I feel excited to see this land where my ancestors had lived. I look across the fields and in my mind I can make out the faint outline of a man working behind a team of horses pulling a plow. The day is hot but there is a slight breeze blowing. The Nelk farm is planted with grain and the gentle blowing of the wind makes it appear as ripples in the water. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzk_LtumkI/AAAAAAAAAks/KNFV93V5HmI/s1600/DSCF1892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rw="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzk_LtumkI/AAAAAAAAAks/KNFV93V5HmI/s320/DSCF1892.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzlIF5-X4I/AAAAAAAAAk0/57r792BweOU/s1600/DSCF1895.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" rw="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzlIF5-X4I/AAAAAAAAAk0/57r792BweOU/s320/DSCF1895.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Habben farm is at rest but there are remnants of corn stalks possibly from last year’s crop. The old soddies are gone and there is no evidence left of the family’s existence here. Due to the drought Fred was often gone for periods of time delivery mail and supplies by wagon between Sidney and the various towns in the area. According to the stories Fred told his grandchildren, he worked for Buffalo Bill Cody, delivery the payroll for the men who were building “Rest Ranch” in North Platte, Nebraska. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzlDuxu1rI/AAAAAAAAAkw/Lxkeu6N7HsY/s1600/DSCF1894.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" rw="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzlDuxu1rI/AAAAAAAAAkw/Lxkeu6N7HsY/s200/DSCF1894.JPG" width="200" /></a> As I walk down the road I get a sense of the loneliness that Tena may have felt here in isolation for days on end. Tena told her children that she would climb up to the perch on the windmill and play her accordion or harmonica to pass the hours.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzlM5H1XyI/AAAAAAAAAk4/ojtYev_9S0Q/s1600/DSCF1897.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" rw="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzlM5H1XyI/AAAAAAAAAk4/ojtYev_9S0Q/s200/DSCF1897.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>Although I was alone, I could feel the presence of these ancestors by my side as I viewed this small part of their lives. It was the same feeling I had as I wrote my book “Searching”. They seemed to enter my office one by one and became a part of my life. In the end it was difficult to finally say the book was done because it seemed to mean a farewell that I was not prepared to make. As each person’s story was completed they left until I was once again alone. <br />
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It may be a romantic view of things or wishful thinking but, I was glad to once again feel their presence with me as I stood on the land they once called home.Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-72760687441104526012010-07-01T11:10:00.000-06:002010-07-01T11:10:44.697-06:00"You Want to Move Where?" - The Document - Continued<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzIs0neOdI/AAAAAAAAAkc/OpRzPocD3aU/s1600/DSCF1900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" rw="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCzIs0neOdI/AAAAAAAAAkc/OpRzPocD3aU/s200/DSCF1900.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>I do understand that not every person is as enthralled by family research as I, but, it is hard to imagine that even the most disinterested person wouldn’t be impressed by these Land Patent documents. The Land Patent was signed by the 25th President of the United States, William McKinley, by F.M. McKean, Secretary, C.H. Brush – Recorder for the General Land Office. Bonnie had another document that she had found and brought out another book for me to ogle at. That document was a two page hand written document called a “Warranty Deed”. The deed had been prepared in Cheyenne County, Nebraska for the sale of the Nelk homestead in 1900 to a John Hinrichs for the price of $225.00 ($1.41 per acre). I visited with a local Sidney farmer, Bob Poppen, who indicated to me that that same land is worth well over $100,000 in today’s market. (Just a side note to my fellow Geneabloggers: I was not required to wear any special gloves to handle the documents, but I was very cautious to do no damage and limited by handling of the document.) Looking over the land records for the Nelk homestead it appears that this land was owned by various Hinrichs family members through the years until about 8 years ago.<br />
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As I wrapped up my visit to the court house Bonnie asked if there were any marriages that may have taken place in the county. I knew that Fred and Tena Nelk had been married in Franklin County so I did not expect that any other family would appear in the marriage records. To my surprise the Marriage License of Fred’s brother Charles Nelk and Emma Shelley had taken place in Cheyenne County. <br />
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The biggest surprise came when I pulled out the papers I had brought on the Rolf Habben homestead and asked if she could help me locate where his land had been. I was shocked to discover that the Nelk and Habben homesteads were adjacent to each other at the crossroads of Rd 127 and Rd 46, which is<br />
7 miles east of Gurley, Nebraska. <br />
Rolf Habben’s old homestead is now owned by the Poppen family according to the plat map. Now this really sparked my interest because according to the delayed birth certificate for Tena’s daughter, Tessie, it states that a Mrs. Poppen witnessed her birth. I headed over to the Sidney Library and there I found a local history book that included biographies. I found the Harm and Hannah Poppen family, who had moved to Cheyenne County in 1889. The Poppen’s had emigrated from Sandhorst, Germany which is about 5 miles from where the Habben's lived in Wiesens, Germany. The Poppens had also been living in Wilcox, Nebraska and so were the Habben's and Nelk's. I think it is very likely that Hannah Poppen could be the person called out on the delayed birth certificate. After visiting with Hannah’s grandson I learned that the Poppen homestead was close to the Habben homestead so that also reinforced my theory. We probably will never know for sure but I’m pretty confident in my reasoning. <br />
With the droughts and various plagues in the 1890’s many families gave up their homesteads. Fred and Tena Nelk left Nebraska about 1899 and settled in Wheaton, Traverse County, Minnesota. <br />
Next my trip to the homestead……..Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-48549416918946158272010-06-29T23:30:00.000-06:002010-06-29T23:30:49.965-06:00Wordless Wendsday - Lodgepole, Nebraska<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrVxkqsXkI/AAAAAAAAAkU/5QV0a55s4og/s1600/DSCF1825.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrVxkqsXkI/AAAAAAAAAkU/5QV0a55s4og/s320/DSCF1825.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrVln4vVgI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/O2auyFEdccM/s1600/DSCF1824.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrVln4vVgI/AAAAAAAAAkQ/O2auyFEdccM/s320/DSCF1824.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrV99R3LZI/AAAAAAAAAkY/A4AdxaBW9CA/s1600/DSCF1826.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrV99R3LZI/AAAAAAAAAkY/A4AdxaBW9CA/s320/DSCF1826.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>During my little Nebraska adventure I visited the town of Lodgepole which is 16 miles east of Sidney. There I met a woman working hard to restore the old railroad building. Wish there were more of these old buildings being preserved for future generations.Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-1048622997279403352010-06-29T22:05:00.000-06:002010-06-29T22:05:56.143-06:00"You Want to Move Where?" - The Document<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrARhzxZMI/AAAAAAAAAkM/v1n-2EujQ50/s1600/DSCF1849.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCrARhzxZMI/AAAAAAAAAkM/v1n-2EujQ50/s320/DSCF1849.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Today Sidney is a town of about 6,000 friendly people. I counted 25 churches of various denominations so the atmosphere has change considerable in last 100 and some years. So what brought the Habben and Nelk families to Cheyenne County? It was the land of course! One hundred and sixty acres of good rich farm land. </span><br />
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For me the mystery to be solved was whether Fred and Tena took over her father’s (Rolf Habben) homestead or if they established their own. So began the search. When nothing showed up through the BLM General Land Office Records (http://www.glorecords.blm.gov/) I knew if I was going to find anything I would need to travel to Sidney, Nebraska where the Cheyenne County records are filed. Not wanting to go to the wrong place for the records I had emailed ahead to the County Clerk. I received the following email: <br />
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<em>“Terri: The County Clerk/Register of Deeds is the correct office to check for homesteads and land patent records. If you enter our courthouse on the north side (Jackson Street) we are the first office on your left. Sounds like you need to look in our Grantor/Grantee index which is alphabetical. This process usually doesn't take much time. We'll be happy to get you started with your search. You can also obtain copies of any of the records that you find. Our land records are not on computer so you're searching will be done from books. </em><br />
<em>Have a safe trip and see you soon. Bonnie-Cheyenne County Clerk's Office”</em><br />
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Monday morning I headed to the Cheyenne County Court house. I was filled with excitement as I headed down 10th Street but, I also was preparing myself for disappointment if no records were to be found. I kept telling myself if I didn’t find anything here I would try North Platte sometime in the future. My reasoning here was because North Platte was where Tena’s father had filed his homestead papers and I knew his homestead was in this area also. Each step I took into the Court house was filled with trepidation. As I stepped up to the counter I was greeted by none other but Bonnie, who asked if she could help me. When I told her my name and began stating what I was wanted she beamed with a big smile and invited me back into the records room. She had already done all the look-ups for me and had the book pulled and the Land Patent marked for Frederick Nelk. Oh my gosh – now you know why I say Nebraskan’s are the kindest people in the country! What a thrill it was to see the huge document dated November 16, 1897! <br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>“To all to Whom these Presents shall come, Greeting:</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em></em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em><br />
</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><em>Wheras, There has been deposited in the General Land Office of the United States a Certificate of the Register of the Land Office at Sidney, Nebraska whereby it appears that pursuant to the Act of Congress approved 20th of May, 1862, “To secure Homsteads to actual settlers on the putlic domain,” and the acts supplemental thereto, the clain of Frederich Nelk has been established and duly consummated in conformity to law for the Northwest quarter of Section twenty-eight in Township Sixteen, North of Range Forty-eight west of the South Principal Meridain in Nebraska; containing one hundred and sixty acres. According to the official plat of the survey of said land returned to the General Land office of the Surveyor General.</em></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">I have done the “happy dance of joy” before when I’ve found records online, but I can say that the thrill of seeing, touching and reading the actual document is beyond words!</div><div style="text-align: left;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;">Join me as the adventure continues with more good news....</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-72336275774952413992010-06-29T07:45:00.000-06:002010-06-29T07:45:20.449-06:00Tombstone Tuesday - Rolf Habben and the Weyerts Road<div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCn2D25QMAI/AAAAAAAAAkA/BsB74-oFpc0/s1600/DSCF1833.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCn2D25QMAI/AAAAAAAAAkA/BsB74-oFpc0/s320/DSCF1833.JPG" width="320" /></a><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCn2cSBjf0I/AAAAAAAAAkI/X0QvUq9fTGE/s1600/DSCF1834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCn2cSBjf0I/AAAAAAAAAkI/X0QvUq9fTGE/s320/DSCF1834.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCn2QaM_A7I/AAAAAAAAAkE/8NmAuxxUrRI/s1600/DSCF1831.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: white;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCn2QaM_A7I/AAAAAAAAAkE/8NmAuxxUrRI/s320/DSCF1831.JPG" width="320" /></span></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Traveling down Weyerts Road, which is about 16 miles east of Sidney, was an experience. Most people think of Nebraska as flat, but here in the northwest area of Nebraska it’s fairly hilly. Weyerts Road was like playing one of those video games where you’re dodging all kinds of obstacles. The road is gravel in parts, which I love because it reminds me of going to Grandma’s when I was a kid, and parts of it are paved. Well I’m not sure if you could actually call it a paved road, it’s more like a little black top and a lot of monster pot holes and it was up and down, up and down hills. </span></div><span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"></span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">I’m sure it’s been years since any family has visited the grave of my g-g-g Uncle Rolf Habben, so it was a good feeling to be able to show my respect. Rolf and his family emigrated to the US in 1868 from Wiesens, Ostriesland, Germany. They settled in Hancock County, Illinois and lived there until 1886. Rolf’s wife Christena (Ufkes) and his son Habbe both died in Illinois in March of 1880. The family decided to head to Nebraska to homestead in Cheyenne County. As I wandered through the Weyerts Immanual Cemetery there were many familiar names like Jurgens, Fecht, Frecks, Harms and Garralts. All names I see in the cemetery where my Grandparents are buried as well as in the cemeteries in Wiesens. I wonder if they knew each other in the “old country”.</span><br />
<span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Rolf’s tombstone marker sits to the left, by the gate as you enter the cemetery. The grave remained unmarked until about 1974 when his family placed it.</span><br />
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<span style="color: white; font-family: Georgia;">Rest in Peace Uncle Rolf - You are not forgotten!</span>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-2373515480692142992010-06-28T23:15:00.000-06:002010-06-28T23:15:45.873-06:00You Want to Move Where?!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCl_ol6LajI/AAAAAAAAAj8/PaNuOcbAcpE/s1600/DSCF1816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ru="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCl_ol6LajI/AAAAAAAAAj8/PaNuOcbAcpE/s200/DSCF1816.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">As Sophia from the old TV hit “Golden Girls” would say: Picture it, Sidney, Nebraska, early 1890’s. The town is filled with saloons, brothels and mayhem of every type. Notorious bank robbers like Jesse James and the Sundance Kid are regulars to the town. Just imagine this: From 1875 to 1881 there are more than 56 murders and over 1,000 criminal cases filed in the Cheyenne County Court House. It takes 3 separate newspapers to cover all the news. The largest gold robbery in history occurred here and is still unsolved today. The value of the gold stolen in today’s market is over five million dollars. (Hmmm wonder where that was buried?) Legends like Buffalo Bill Cody, Calamity Jane, Wild Bill Hickock were often seen in Sidney. Newspapers across the country referred to it as “Sinful Sidney”.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">So what was the draw for Frederick Nelk to bring his young wife to this den of lawlessness? </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;">Guess you’ll have to come back for more.......</span>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3636475161292739868.post-10668522328732476592010-06-27T21:45:00.000-06:002010-06-27T21:45:09.037-06:00Colorado Family History Expo - Wrap-Up<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TAWUGk03eFI/AAAAAAAAAh4/Wu6qz_Srz7w/s1600/Colorado-2010-Button.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="145" ru="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TAWUGk03eFI/AAAAAAAAAh4/Wu6qz_Srz7w/s200/Colorado-2010-Button.jpg" width="200" /></a>It seemed the day would never come as I waited for the Colorado Family History Expo conference, and now it’s come and gone. I arrived in Loveland Thursday afternoon and had a chance to spend the evening with my cousins, Mel and Mary Jo Haack. I have been IM’ing with Mary Jo for about 2 years now and this is the first chance we have had to meet in person. I was treated to a wonderful home cooked meal and a chance to share some family history. Of course I got lost on the way to their house, but believe me that is pretty normal for me. As I returned to the hotel the sun was setting over the mountains to the west and a full moon was rising over the Plaines.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgWZ5-eeqI/AAAAAAAAAjw/B6xROpRh9s0/s1600/DSCF1806.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgWZ5-eeqI/AAAAAAAAAjw/B6xROpRh9s0/s320/DSCF1806.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgVoF_eEsI/AAAAAAAAAjs/xj7TmJ9Pvds/s1600/DSCF1802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgVoF_eEsI/AAAAAAAAAjs/xj7TmJ9Pvds/s320/DSCF1802.JPG" width="320" /></a> Friday morning I ran into Becky and Jamie Jamison at the elevator. I recognized her immediately from her pictures on her blog Grace and Glory. I had a chance to visit with Jamie a little in between times and really enjoyed our visits.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The conference was kicked off with a Key Note speech presented by Beau Sharbourgh titled “Let Your Light Shine.” He had us all laughing in acknowledgement that sometimes we are the only one who cares about our families genealogy..</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">It was a difficult decision deciding which classes I wanted to attend there were so many to choose from. I attended Thomas MacEntee’s class “Facebook for Genealogists”. Thomas went over the basics of setting up an account and using the search feature to locate possible family connections. I’m anxious to try that when I get home. Thomas emphasized that it is our responsibility to take ownership of making sure our privacy settings are in place to protect our identities. I also attended Thomas’ class titled “Social Networking: New Horizons for Genealogy”. Amazing how many different sites are available to promote your business.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgX95NYHfI/AAAAAAAAAj4/QzAY77B7j58/s1600/DSCF1812.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" ru="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgX95NYHfI/AAAAAAAAAj4/QzAY77B7j58/s320/DSCF1812.JPG" width="320" /></a>Since my ancestors all emigrated from Germany I was especially interested in Baerbel K. Johnson presentation on “What’s new in German Research”. I was amazed at the wealth of websites that are continually being added to the internet and I’m very excited to have new sources for my own research. I also took Ms. Johnson’s class titled “Find Your German Ancestor Now!” </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I attended Arlene H. Eakle’s class on “American Church Records”. One of the points I thought was interesting that you can tell a person’s religious background by the spelling of their name.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The last class I attended was Tom Underhill’s presentation titled “Making a Personal History Video is Easy”. Beside all the great chocolate Tom passed out he explained the ins and outs of setting the scene before shooting any film. He also gave great examples of how to interview the subject in order to avoid </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">those indefinite answers like – “yes”, “no”, and “fine”. Tom brought up the small things that many of us would never think of. </div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I want to thank Holly Hansen and her Expo crew members as well as all the volunteers who made everything run smoothly and on time! Holly has a very special gift in presenting a well organized and well thought out conference – one that I personally am happy she is willing to share.</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I look forward to next year’s conference and hope if you are able to attend a Family History Expo somewhere near you that you do!</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When I was a kid my Dad always asked if I had learned anything new in school that day – Well Dad I learned many things over the last two days!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgX2gAH-ZI/AAAAAAAAAj0/o_auFgYAMYU/s1600/DSCF1809.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" ru="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_GZSBHLqR9ug/TCgX2gAH-ZI/AAAAAAAAAj0/o_auFgYAMYU/s400/DSCF1809.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div>Terrihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05810829851962238025noreply@blogger.com1