Grandpa's Rifle

My grandpa David Smith (12/11/1894-1/13/1978) had an old Winchester model 1873 32-20 rifle. Dad thought that the rifle had belonged to Grandpa’s dad Billy Smith (1/21/1872-9/3/1898). Dad’s brother, my Uncle Wallace thought that it had belonged to Grandpa’s older brother George (4/7/1893-9/23/1914). Perhaps both are correct and George, being the oldest boy, had inherited it after Billy had died. Then Grandpa assumed ownership upon George’s death?

Dad says that sometime between 1968 when we moved to Tennessee and the time Grandpa and Grandma left Anglin Branch in Owsley County, Kentucky, Dad was given the rifle. Grandpa said that he wanted Dad to have the old Winchester and Grandma told Grandpa that if he wanted Dad to have it, he should just go ahead and give it to him. So, it was then that Dad assumed ownership.

 

                                   Grandma Nancy Middleton Smith and Grandpa David Smith

                                        

                                       

                                                        

 

I like to think that the rifle did once belong to Great-grandpa Billy. He died when George was five and a half, Grandpa was a few months shy of four, and Clarence or Flornie, was not even two. The boys were young when Billy died, so I doubt that they had ever been able to go hunting with their dad.

Great-grandpa Billy is rather a mystery to us. He had a short life. Grandpa was only four when Billy died so I am sure that he had few memories of him. Grandpa’s Mother Jane Thomas Smith King lived nearby to where Grandpa and Grandma lived on Anglin Branch so Dad remembers her, but Billy’s family lived back in Harlan County and they never saw them. Dad doesn’t even remember hearing Grandpa talk about any of them. I suppose that he had few memories of them just like he had few memories of his dad. We have one or two photos that we suspect are of Billy but one of them may be his brother and the other we can only guess at. So, we have little left to tie us with Billy

 

                               Found in Grandpa's trunk; we THINK it is Jane Thomas Smith King

                                holding Flornie, George standing and Billy holding David Smith

 

                         Clarence "Flornie" Smith, David "Dave" Smith, and George Smith

The old Winchester has the kind of barrel that looks octagonal and grandpa only had one shell for it.

Now my dad and his brother Wallace were four years apart, with Wallace being older. There was an older brother Dale, but he was several years older and was married and on his own for quite some time. After Dale had come three girls, so by the time my dad was born, Uncle Wallace was likely happy to have a brother!

Despite their four-year age difference, Wallace and Dad became very good friends and “partners in crime”. They were ever together and Dad says that this continued until Wallace started courting, or, as Grandma would say, sparking.

 

                     Wallace Smith and Nancy Middleton Smith holding Donald "Doris" Smith

 

                                           Wallace and Doris keeping the homefront safe.

 

                                                           Doris in front, Wallace in back.

 

                                                         Wallace in front, Doris in rear.

 

                                                               Doris, brother Dale, Wallace.

 

 

                                                                    Wallace and Doris.

 

                                                             Wallace nearing sparking age? 

Well, grandpa gave this old rifle with its one bullet to Uncle Wallace and Dad to use. Whenever the boys got antsy to be outside, they would grab up that rifle and go traipsing off in the woods, saying they were going “hunting”. Dad says that Uncle Wallace kept the one bullet in his pocket. This makes me smile as it makes me remember how Barney Fife on the Andy Griffith show had had to keep his one bullet in his shirt pocket!

So Uncle Wallace and Dad would go off hunting with their old Winchester rifle and their one bullet in Uncle Wallace’s pocket. Dad says that they carried that rifle all around the hills surrounding their home for years, never firing the gun. Finally, Uncle Wallace decided that “enough was enough” and he took that shell out of his pocket and loaded the rifle. Then, not because he had seen some huge squirrel for some squirrel gravy; he shot that one shell for the heck of it!

 

 
                                       The old 32-20 traveled miles over the Anglin home place.

Dad and Uncle Wallace are the only Smith siblings still living. Dad lives in Tennessee and Uncle Wallace in Ohio, but they are still partners in crime in phone calls every two or three nights. Dad still owns the old rifle but it came without ammo!

 

                                                     Still "partners in crime", June 2021
 

 

                             March 2022; Granddaughter 

                        Sydney Smith Haywood and Dad 

        Dad says that the old Winchester still shoots true. 

Photo of Hope

I haven’t really “met” a photo that I haven’t liked. Some photos may be blurry, others might just seem to be of some old building, others are of people blinking or looking off to the side, an uncooperative child may have a truly grumpy face, but most have some value to me. That blurry photo may show how much taller Uncle Wallace was than his siblings. Those old buildings are Grandpa’s old barns and corroborate my memory of their locations. That blink may remind me of how I always have to remind Aunt Fanny to try really hard not to blink when I am taking a picture. Besides, even though Aunt Fanny is blinking, that is a really good picture of Mom standing beside her. That grumpy-faced child might remind me of how my four-year-old granddaughter, Jooniebug hates to stand still for even a moment.

So, I haven’t really met a photo that I haven’t liked. I say that the only bad picture is the one I didn’t take.

So, it is difficult for me to pick a favorite photo because I love so many of them. I am particularly fond of videos of my Jooniebug and me, and of Jooniebug and my son, playing a memory game that I made by printing two photos of several family members onto cardstock. We place the pictures facedown and try to pick the match for each card. Jooniebug loves to play the game.

 

 

For several years, I have been trying to get my children interested in our family history. Unfortunately, I seem to have failed in getting them interested but my Jooniebug gives me hope. I have an album of old family photos on my phone. Jooniebug will often crawl up into my lap and ask to see the “great-greats”. We will scroll through the album of old family photos on my phone and I will tell her who each person pictured is. She has gotten to where she can name a few of them without me telling her.

Now, Jooniebug and her family live in West Tennessee and we live in Middle Tennessee, so I don’t get to see her often enough. One time my daughter called me and asked if we had a Great-great-grandpa Joseph. I asked her why and she said that Jooniebug had drawn a family portrait. Jooniebug said that one of the colorful scribbles on the page was Great-great-grandpa Joseph, another was Great-great-aunt Mary, and another was Great-great-grandma Rachel. Well, Jooniebug does have a Great-great-great-grandpa Joseph, a Great-great-great-aunt Mary, and a Great-great-grandma Rachel! Jooniebug may have been mistaken about the number of greats, heck, sometimes I get the number wrong too; but she had remembered some of her family members’ names!

 

 

Roxanna sent me a picture of Jooniebug’s drawing. The drawing doesn’t exactly show that my Jooniebug will become a great artist, but she seemed to use every color in her box of colors. At the tender age of three, Jooniebug appreciated that our family is just a bunch of colorful mutts!

So, the picture of Jooniebug’s family portrait has become one of my favorite photos. It isn’t a photo of an ancestor that has given me a face to go with a name on a branch of my tree. It isn’t a photo of my Grandpa and Grandma or of my granny, all of whom I knew and loved. It isn’t a photo of my Aunt Davilee with her big personality shining through. My favorite photo has become a photo of my Jooniebug’s family portrait.

That photo gives me hope that my Jooniebug will keep the names of our ancestors alive. That photo gives me hope that one day, decades from now, my Jooniebug will be sitting in a chair and her grandchild will crawl up into her lap and ask to see “the great-greats” on her phone. Jooniebug will pull out her phone, open up the great-greats album and tell her grandchild all of the family members and how they are related. Her grandchild will interrupt at times saying, “that was your Baba’s daddy, that was your Grannyma’s grandma Rachel, that’s Great-great-great-great Aunt Alta”!

This photo of Jooniebug’s drawing is my favorite because it gives me hope that our family will be remembered!

Favorite Finds

I cannot choose a single favorite thing that I have found in my search for my ancestors and their stories. I absolutely love coinkydinks and one find is almost an unbelievable coinkydink. I have written about it before but will include it here again.

I am not a very social person. I have never been one to want to go out on the town, or party, or shop… I have always been content to be at home with my family. Now, my husband is more social than I am. When he wants to hang out with friends, I encourage him to go, but I usually stay at home. My husband has claimed for years that he could buy me a coffin and I would be content to stay at home in my coffin and never come out.

So, I had heard this coffin story for years when one night I was sitting in bed, researching 5XG Grandpa David Chadwell on Ancestry. My husband was asleep beside me as I came across a story that had been passed down from David’s adopted grandson Jack.

 

                                                                 David Chadwell likeness 

It seems that Jack had gotten into trouble at school and the schoolteacher had kept him after school as punishment. Furthermore, Jack lollygagged on his way home, plotting revenge on his teacher. As he approached home, he heard someone working on something in the woodshop.

Winter was approaching and Jack had been asking his dad to have a sled built for him. When he heard the sounds of work in the shop, he ran excitedly into the shop, expecting to see his new sled being made. Instead, he saw that a coffin was being made. Jack asked the carpenter who the coffin was for and he responded that it was for Jack’s dad.

Jack ran into the house and was shocked to see his dad alive and well and ready to give him a switching for being late from school.

David Chadwell was a tall man and about ninety years old when he had his coffin made. Back in that day, you could not choose a ready-made casket at the funeral parlor to be buried in; at least not where they lived. Being up in age, David must have felt that it was possible that he would need his coffin any day. He wanted to make sure that it was ready and a good fit when he needed it.

Now, David didn’t die until he was over one hundred years old. Jack told of his dad lying in his coffin for hours on Sunday afternoons reading his Bible.

 

                                        David's coffin was finally used for its intended purpose.
 

When I read this story, I laughed out loud, waking my husband from his slumber. When he asked me what was so funny, I told him about 5XG Grandpa David Chadwell lying in his coffin reading his Bible and told him that I come by it naturally! LOL!! 

Another favorite find involves my Great-grandfather Calvin Middleton who was a circuit-riding Baptist preacher. The only living person who has many memories of him is my older cousin Ms. Leola. She lived right next door to him and Great-grandma Rhoda and she has many memories of them both.

She has told me that Calvin would be deputized by the law in Harlan County Kentucky and would be sent to round up fugitives. Sometimes these fugitives had to be brought in dead. Wild tales were recounted about Calvin’s adventures as a deputy bringing in desperados, dead or alive. Ms. Leola thinks the world of Calvin and Rhoda, and I thought that there might be a bit of exaggeration of Calvin’s exploits due to hero worship on Ms. Leola’s part.

Well, a cousin shared a transcript of a court case in which Grandpa Calvin was being charged for murder. It read like a movie script for a Hollywood Western. I found out that Ms. Leola had not been exaggerating at all! It was deemed that Calvin was justified in killing the fugitive and charges were dropped!

 

                                                          Calvin in his later years

Now, another favorite find was a cousin who nobody knew about. I saw that she was a fairly close match to me but her name was not familiar. She had info for her mother on her tree, but none for her father. I contacted her and found out that she had been born in the Philippines and she did not know who her father was; just that he was an American serviceman. We were able to figure out who her dad was by looking at her closest matches. I had grown up around her dad and he had been a cousin who was more like an uncle.

Unfortunately, her father had passed away, but she had two half-sisters, an uncle and aunt, nieces and nephews, and boocoodles of cousins. Thanks to a DNA match, she now knows her father’s family; her family. That is, for certain, a favorite result of my research.

I have found other cousins through DNA matches also. I have been able to share photos of family they never knew and they have shared with me also. Finding family is always a favorite find.

Another favorite find came from the 1900 census. My great-grandmother had one brother and one sister that we knew about, but there was a vague story that had passed down through the family. The story went that Granny’s sister Molly had had a twin sister. Supposedly, a lady was visiting the family and a knife had been dropped on the floor. Molly had ignored the knife, but her sister had reached for it. The visitor predicted that the twin who had reached for the knife would have her life cut short. According to the family story, this twin died as a young child, and some might believe this lent credence to the prediction.

I had not been able to find any record of this child but the 1900 census shows Granny’s mother Nancy Jane living with her parents with her three children. Granny’s dad had died sometime prior to 1900. This census indicated that Nancy Jane had had four children, with only three of them living. Perhaps, or perhaps not, that fourth baby that had died was the twin told of in that vague family story?

 

Another very interesting find is concerning my maternal grandmother Rachel, who died when my mother was only nine. The 1940 census shows her living on Upper Teges Road with her widowed mother and her two living sisters. Her older brother is in the Army stationed in Colorado at this time. This census indicates that 23-year-old Rachel worked 34 hours during the week of March 24-30, 1940 in some kind of emergency public works capacity such as the CCC or WPA. Rachel’s brother John had worked for the CCC building roads prior to entering the army but we had never heard of Rachel working in such a capacity. There were packhorse librarians nearby. I would love to think that perhaps Rachel was carrying books to folks who had little access to books but were hungry to read and learn. I have found no record of that but we have a strong love for books and this is what I would like to believe.

 

                        John kneeling, Granny sitting; Alta in the center and Rachel and Esther in back

 

                                                  Rachel Allen Nolen and Alta Allen Cantrell

Other interesting info that I found out about came from talking with a lady who had been the neighbor of my great-grandmother Granny and her family, including children; Esther, John, Rachel, and Alta.
Esther had died at the age of thirty-nine from tuberculosis. My mother was twelve when her Aunt Esther died, but she had no real memories of her except for visiting Esther at the Stillwater Sanatorium. Mom remembers waiting in the car for her Aunt Alta, who raised Mom from the age of ten, to return from visiting with her sister Esther. Esther would sit next to her second-floor window and wave down to my mom as she waited in the car. Esther spent her last few years in the sanatorium and Mom’s memories of her are limited to these waves.

 

                                                                      Esther Allen

I wanted to write a little story about Esther so that she would not be forgotten. I thought that talking to an old neighbor could provide some information to include in the story and so I called Ms. Vivian who is actually my 2C1XR. She remembered Esther and even sent me a photo of a letter written to her by Esther.

So, I was happy to collect enough information to write a little story about Great-aunt Esther. For what it is worth, I have recorded a bit of her story.

While speaking with Ms. Vivian, she shared other memories of my Granny. She says that once her older brother Robert had gone over to Granny’s place but he couldn’t find her. He went to the barn, thinking she might be there, Sure enough, she was. Granny had been milking the cow. She had leaned over a half wall that separated the stall she was in and the next stall to grab a bucket that held some feed for the cow to eat while she milked. Granny had gotten stuck on the wall just as Robert arrived to help her down.

 

                                                    Granny with grandsons Olen and Denny

I laughed so hard when Ms. Vivian told me this story as it brought to mind a similar story and I had to share that story with her.

Years after Ms. Vivian’s brother Robert had ‘saved’ Granny as she teetered over that half wall of the barn stall, my aunt and uncle would save Granny’s daughter Alta from a similar situation. Great-aunt Alta had accidentally locked herself out of her house. No one around had a key and only one window in her house was open. That window was the high, shallow window over her kitchen sink. So Aunt Alta pulled a hay bale up to the outside of the house next to this window. She climbed up on the bale, pushed the screen out of the window, and proceeded to attempt to crawl through the window. She got partway in and got stuck. She couldn’t push in any further and she could not get her feet back onto the bale of hay below her. Fortunately, my Uncle Johnnie and Aunt Donna visited at the right moment! They “saved” Aunt Alta and got her safely back into the house.

 

                                        A much younger Aunt Alta and the kitchen window

Like I have already said, I love coinkydinks and the similarity between Aunt Alta’s adventure and her mother Granny’s adventure had me grinning ear to ear. It seems that the nuts in my family don’t fall far from the tree!

I don’t consider any find to be a bad find, but these are a few of the finds that I have particularly enjoyed. Here’s to finding many more!

Foundations

I have had the pleasure of traveling with my parents to the places of their childhoods in rural Southeastern Kentucky. Even though I was born in Dayton, Ohio, those hills and mountains that we passed through felt like “home”. I liken the feeling experienced to the feeling of contentment that I must have felt as a wee babe being pulled into the loving embrace of my mother’s arms.

Those mountains have been home to my ancestors for generations. Even though I was not born in those mountains, I feel that some kind of genetic memory gives me a feeling of home. So, I consider part of my foundation to be the very Appalachian Mountain range that served as home to so many of my forebears. Perhaps, for many of them, those mountains gave them a similar feeling of home, reminding them of the mountains and hills of Ireland, Scotland, and England where many of them came from.

 

I have seen the old home places, or what is left of them, where they once lived with parents and several siblings. Those home places are succumbing to neglect and gradually reaching for the ground from which they once sprang sturdy and inviting. Those places were part of my foundation. 

 

 
                                                   Allen/Nolen home place, Clay County, KY.

                                                     Smith home place, Owsley County, KY.

I have also visited several cemeteries where grandparents, great-grandparents, and myriad other family members now rest. Most of those cemeteries are in the hills of Kentucky but some of those cemeteries are in Dayton and other cities. I have been to rural cemeteries where graves are scattered about hillsides, some with fieldstone markers with once deep, now shallow, names scratched into the surface of the stone. I have seen markers so weathered that the names are lost to the passing of time. I have seen graves marked with Mother and Father, and small stones etched with lambs or with hyphens separated by mere days or months. Those graves indicate my foundation; mothers and fathers who found the inner strength to go on in spite of tremendous loss and grief.

 

                                                  Paul Smith Jun 27, 1922-Aug 23 1922

I have seen stone markers carved with “First Settlers of Booneville ca 1790”. Those pioneers are part of my foundation.

 

   
I have seen markers with a cross carved into the stone. I have seen: “He was beloved by God and man.”, “Resting in hope of a glorious resurrection.”, “He is not dead but sleepeth. The angel called him home.”, “The Lord is my Shepherd.”, "He lived by fauth." I have seen several with “Rev” before the name. All of these indicate a faith in God. That faith is part of my foundation. That faith likely provided the strength to those mothers and fathers necessary to overcome the grief of losing those babies.

 

 

I have seen markers carved with a record of military service during the Revolutionary War, during the Civil war, for both Union and Confederacy. I have seen markers denoting service in WWI, WWII, the VietNam War. I have seen dates of death occurring during those wars leading me to surmise, often rightly so, that those soldiers died in service to their country. That service and love of country is part of my foundation.

 

  

  

  

 

I see the grave of a young great-uncle who died at the age of fourteen and another who died at the age of twenty-one. I might surmise that they perished from some malady that modern medicine might be able to cure but there was no modern medicine back then. Great-Uncle Corbitt died of blood poisoning after pricking his toe on a briar during the dog days of summer. Great-Uncle George died from typhoid fever. The parents of these great-uncles barely had time to grieve as they had to provide for their surviving children.

 

 

They lived through a time when medical care was not readily available. They lived when babies were delivered by midwives, and treatments for illness made by granny women came in the form of tinctures, poultices, and teas made from roots, barks, plants found on the Kentucky hillsides. They lived in a time when the prick of a briar could lead to death. Their perseverance and resourcefulness are part of my foundation.

I have seen later graves of family members in Ohio cemeteries. I could rightfully surmise that these family members migrated from Kentucky to the Dayton area for good-paying jobs in the automotive industry. One marker bears two names; a nineteen-year-old uncle who died when the ice cream truck he was driving wrecked, and a great-grandmother who died years after her husband had died in Kentucky. There they rest together in a cemetery in Dayton, Ohio. These folks are part of my foundation.

 

 

I see markers marked with marriage dates and bearing the names of husband and wife. Those loves were so important that the date they were united was carved in stone. This love is part of my foundation.

 

   

Another marker has butterflies carved in it and under the name and dates, “Kookie, Best Friend” are also carved. To me, these indicate a free-spirited, fun person, and good friend. This person is part of my foundation.

 

 
All of these folks rest in cemeteries now, unseen. Just like the roots of a great oak tree lie under the earth, unnoticed, they have provided support for many branches. Those branches continue to send out more and more branches in all directions. Those roots have provided the tree a firm foundation.

And those branches, are the most recent layer of my foundation. I still enjoy those folks who continue to spread out from the tree with me. I continue to learn from the knowledge they have accrued over their lifetimes. I continue to enjoy their advice, their sense of humor, their strength in the face of adversity. I continue to thank God that we can be branches together for one day, we too will become the roots, under the ground unseen and perhaps unnoticed. Still, the branches we send forth will continue to spread, continue to thrive, continue to add to the family's foundation.

 

                                             My parents, the branches from which I sprouted.

                                                       

And my "foundation" whispered to me in an ancestor's voice:

When my heartbeat ceases and my breath's sigh lies still,

Bury me please, on the top of yon' hill,
There on the top of the steep where the crops can't grow,
The earth will welcome my flesh and bones, this, I know,
For where my ma, my pa, and my little babes sleep,
I know this poor body, that ground will welcome and keep.
And at the head of my grave, please place a stone,
With the name and my dates etched thereupon.
And there, when the burdens of living give you pause,
Please visit my grave and remember what was.
Hear the songs of the birds, the rustle of leaves in the breeze,
Let the quiet and solitude fill your heart with ease.
Please walk upon my grave as much as you will,
For it will be a welcome sign that I'm remembered still.
And years from now, when no memory of me lives on,
Perhaps the letters of my name will be etched still in that stone.
And some future descendant will come searching for that name,
Seeking a forebear to joyfully claim.
Perhaps she will search the stones on that hilltop steep,
With her hands from the stones, grass and weeds, she'll sweep.
And she will study stones long weathered and worn,
For who is buried there and dates when they died and were born.
And on my stone, she'll trace shallow letters that once ran so deep,
Glance at the stones markin’ little ones nearby and perhaps gently weep.
She'll know that I was not just a name and a hyphen surrounded by dates,
But a living soul much as herself who was well acquainted with heartaches,
And also with hunger, frustration, pain, and fear,
Contentment, anger, joy, and loss of ones dear.
Perhaps, she will realize that little separates she and I,
Save the passage of time, a heartbeat, and breath's sigh.
And perhaps she will yearn to know of the story of my life,
All of those stories I will gladly share with her in the sweet by and by.