As I've been researching my ancestors for the past couple of years, I've verified some family stories and have been surprised by others. My family is truly a mix of the earliest colonists, with a blend of 18th and 19th century German and English immigrants. While blogging about my family research was the original focus, I have decided to include memories of my childhood, my parents and grandparents lives as a way to preserve some memory of them. After all, my daughter only has some vague memories of my mother, and my father died when she was a toddler. And, my grandparents were lost to this life when I was a teenager and young adult. My hope is that my 3rd great-grandchildren will learn about what life was like during the 20th century, and that images from the 18th and 19th century of their ancestors will be preserved for a later time. While I have always been a student of history, seeing and living history through the lives of those that came before me has taught me alot about who I am.
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| Anna Gurke abt 1898 |
As the original Nana (Anna Wilhemena Gurke, July 3, 1888-February 18, 1963), my great-grandmother, left pictures that I have preserved, I realize it may indeed be my great-grandchildren that take up my research. My college history professor's request to, "insert ourselves" into history, allowed me to explore the emotions of my great-grandmother as she deserted her German heritage to "become American." What I failed to understand until I put myself into the context of time, was that the threat of world war forced immigrants to chose sides, rather than embrace and carry on the traditions of the Fatherland.
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| Ernest Withycombe's Headstone |
While my German heritage was known and discussed, stories of my "Newfie" great-grandfather were not discussed often. I knew he died young, supposedly of cancer based on my grandmother's stories, and that "Bub" was really the one that raised her. Images of him were preserved by my great-grandmother's photos and I knew her last name was rare--Withycombe. That's pretty much all I knew. The excitement of first finding his death certificate, which verified the cancer diagnosis, and then the awe when I received this picture of his headstone. Reading the quote: "To my beloved husband Ernest W Withycombe, aged 28 years," left me breathless. Nana loved flowers, so the headstone looked like something she woudl pick out. It was like I could feel her pain, the pain of a young widow. They were married in 1910, my grandmother arrived in 1912 and he died in 1913. The Newfie part probably surprised me the most-- Canadian--who would have figured that! Apparently, migration from Newfoundland to New England was not unusual in the late 19th century. The Withycombe and Chafe families have been prominant in St. John's, the southside for several generations. I continue to search for connections to these families.
My hillybilly heritage has been the most interesting and the most mysterious, as it was never discussed in my childhood. While most of the family originated in Jamestown, Virginia, in the 1600s, there is a German Rhineland line, as well as a French Hugeneot thrown in for good measure.
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Nancy Vertrees Headstone
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Pioneers is probably a better term for this family, although as they moved westward with the promise of become landowners, they did become hillbillies, as they settled in the Ozarks. One story, in particular, is an example of the stories of pioneers carving a life out of the land as they moved westward, the story of Nancy Haycraft Vertrees (1782-1865), my 5th great-grandmother, from the history of Pike, Illinois.
Nancy
Vertrees is reputed to have had much knowledge of "wilderness medicine." She
could concoct salves and ointments from roots and fibers of wild plants and
could brew "teas" to allay illnesses incident to a new land. So widely was she
known for her art that she was sometimes called many miles from home to cure a
"white swelling" or an attack of "ager." Once, it is said (although this must
refer to an incident in Kentucky), she was called to attend a sick child at a
great distance from her home and with a wide river to cross. Her own youngest
child was then of too tender age to be left alone so, mounting her horse, she
took her child with her, and, arriving at the river and finding no means of
crossing, she set her steed to the current and swam the wild stream, bringing
succor as quickly as possible to the suffering child, whose life was saved by
her knowing ministry. So,
from out of the lives of these old pioneers, gleams now and then a radiance that
is almost divine.
Who Do I Think I Am? Definitely much more diverse than I could ever have imagined before I began this journey. My ancestors all came here for a better life, for the life I enjoy in this generation with its opportunities and freedoms that they could only dream of. I look forward to finding out more about them. And, by more, I mean not just their vital statistics and their names, but more about the stories that made up their struggles, joys and hopes. Stories like those of Nancy Vertrees.
