Week 8 - Migration

My ancestors arrived on the shores of our nation as early as the days of the Mayflower and the settlement at Jamestowne. For four generations, the branch of my family that landed at Jamestowne remained in Virginia. It took only two generations for my Mayflower ancestors to leave Massachusetts. While my family has now migrated across the country, they tended to do so rather slowly. My Ayers, Cash, and Davis family remained in Georgia for many generations, and many of their descendants live there still today. I plucked the ancestors I'm going to tell you about today from a grandchild's family tree. This story spoke to me as a great example of big dreams, strong love, and pioneering spirit.

On 24 January 1848, James W. Marshall discovered gold at Sutter's Mill near Coloma, California, which resulted in a mass migration to the west. Thus began the California Gold Rush which beckoned folks from all walks of life and from all part of the world, to see their fortune and to find a cure for their "Gold Rush Fever." Such was the case with a young husband and father, James H. Green.

James was a native Kentuckian, born between 1821 and 1824, likely in Knox County. Around 1844, James married a young widow, Susan Coldiron Hendricks, who had a young daughter, Catherine. By the time the Gold Rush Fever reached the hollers of Laurel County, Kentucky, the couple had added two more daughters, Josie and Mariah. James wasted no time and joined the throngs of treasure seekers heading toward California. Unbeknownst to James, Susan was pregnant with their first son.

Arriving in California, James found lodgings in a community of Dunkards, an Anabaptist group similar to Quakers. Stories he told to his children state the Dunkards were wonderful people. Along with a young man, G. Armstrong, who he'd met along the way, they staked their claim. Most news travelled by word of mouth and it wasn't until 1858 that mail routes were established. Personal communication between Kentucky and California (more than 2,000 miles) was virtually non-existent. Not hearing from James for some time, Susan decided she would set out along, and head to California to find him. James was a Mason, so Susan joined the Eastern Star in hope that fellow Masons long the route would help her. She purchased a horse and left the four small children with family. She was hell bent on making the journey, but didn't make it far when she met with some Masons who convinced her that the long and dangerous trip was futile, especially for a single woman alone. Another story told to a grandchild was that upon returning home, she met a fortune teller who told her that James would return soon.

Although the exact date is unknown, James did return either in the late 1850 or early 1851, based on the age of their next child, Ann Chestnut. Over the next few years, two more daughters were added to the family, as all the while plans were made to return to California. By 1857, James and Susan with their children in tow, headed out into the great unknown. The route they took is uncertain, but according to stories, they travelled by flatboat on the Ohio River then to the Mississippi River. Somewhere along the Mississippi, James traded in the flatboat for oxen and a "prairie schooner" to make their way overland. The plan was to take a southern trail to California.

The route across Texas took them through Montague County which has a northern boundary of the Red River, and located north, northeast of the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. It was about this time that the funds ran out and the family was forced to settle on Big Sandy Creek in the Selma Community. The births of twin girls, Maggie and Elizabeth, might also have added to the end of travel. As a note of interest, the Selma Community today sits on the bank of Amon G. Carter Lake, which was constructed in 1955. The couple were apparently quite "fruitful" as yet another set of twins, a boy Joe, and girl Mattie, joined the family in 1859. The youngest child, Tom, was born in 1864. Also settling in the same vicinity was the family of Jarrell Giles McDonald. Two of James and Susan's daughters would come to marry McDonald sons. Mariah married Cash McDonald; Ann Chestnut married Jarrell Dean McDonald (Ann and Jarrell would eventually become the fourth great-grandparents of a couple of my grandchildren).

Much happened through the first few years that the family lived in Selma. Although food was plentiful (buffalo, wild turkey and prairie hens made for an easy dinner) the family had to contend with predators, as well. One story James told to his grandchildren recalled one early morning when he heard his hounds in the woods. He grabbed his gun and as he stepped out of the house, he heard the dogs running down the hill, with a big black panther right on their heels. The dogs ran around the house and James jumped in the wagon waiting for them to return. As they rounded the house a seconded time, he shot and killed the panther but found that the panther had fatally attacked one of his dogs. 

James was a farmer, but he was also an entrepreneur. When the Butterfield Overland Express crossed the area, he found a way to supplement his income by operating a relay station where horses, mules, harnesses and feed were kept. One of his daughters fell in love and wed one of the stagecoach drivers, M.H. Coffee. The relay station venture was short-lived, however, as at the outset of the Civil War, the route was moved to a more central part of the United States.

Several warlike tribes lived in the area and for a while, the Green's and the McDonald's sought shelter at the stockade at Queen's Peak (also known as Victoria's Peak), just north of their homes. They didn't stay there long as according to the family stories, live in the stockade was less than suitable for women and young ladies. 

By this time, the settlement of Selma had grown consisting of the families of Moses Ball, C.B. Ball, J. Marlette, Chesley Marlette, McDonalds and the Greens. One Sunday morning in 1867, a group of boys which included Billy Bailey, Breck Green and Archie McDonald, headed out to find a pony that had strayed. Archie found a looking glass, a squirrel skin and red paint. He hurried home to report on this find, but his friends continued the search for the pony. Men from the settlement immediately set out to search for the boys and unfortunately, found them dead in the bed of Sandy Creek. The boys became the first to be buried in the Selma Cemetery. This was the beginning of many skirmishes with the Native Americans, which culminated with James being struck with an arrow, of which the spike remained in his leg for the remainder of his life.

James had big dreams of striking it rich, but he never made it back to California. There is no record of what became of his claim. He died in March 1869 at only 45 years of age, leaving his wife to carry on. Susan lived another 25 years and is buried next to her husband in the Selma Cemetery. Her devout love for her husband led her to follow him across the continent, even if they made it part-way. Their large family of ten children remained tight knit. Most of them remained in the area immediate area for generations. Those that left only traveled a short distance.

And speaking of a short distance - while researching this story, I discovered that James and Susan's daughter, Mary Ellen (who married John William Carter), is the great-grandmother of one of our friends here in Vernon. It just goes to show you that we live in a very small world, and as I often say, "You just never know, you might be related to your next door neighbor."

Week 7 - Letters and Diaries

From the time I was around nine years old, I received a diary every year for Christmas from my mother. After the first few days of each new year, the pages remained blank. I guess I just didn't have anything to say, or I was more like my paternal grandmother, who chose to just tell the stories rather than write about them (yes, I'm well aware that condition has cured itself). My mother and her mother both began keeping a diary when they were around twelve years old. Year after year, their diaries were filled with weather reports, visits to the beauty shop, costs of a loaf of bread/dozen eggs, and notation about the good (and bad) things their children did on that specific day. These diaries had something written on every.single.page until close to the end of their lives. During the first few days after my birth, my dad was instructed to write a few lines as my mom wasn't up to it and there was no way her OCD would allow a blank page. I don't know what she was thinking. She knew my dad. In his entertaining and amusing way, he regaled the diary with his exploits (acts of selflessness and sacrifice) - the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning, and of course, congratulating himself on what a remarkable job he was doing by tending to our family. My mother and grandmother both had immaculate handwriting. My grandmother's script was more like the cursive we learned in grade school, where my mother's hand was sweet and petite with a slight left slant. Not to brag, but I have nice handwriting. If, however, I'm tired or in a hurry, my handwriting may or may not be legible and could possibly be deemed chicken scratch. I have no doubt that my mom or grandmother never wrote in their diaries when they were tired or in a hurry. Unlike the mundane events of their everyday lives, each of them wrote an autobiography later in life that reflected the full gamut of emotions, tragedies, hardships and loves they had experienced. Following in their footsteps, I have started one of my own, but it remains to be seen whether it will ever be finished.

Prior to the internet, genealogists had to travel or write letters to obtain information. Whether it be letters to repositories to ask for records, or to a relative who may have known members of the particular lines you're researching, this was how research was undertaken. I have a shoebox full of letter address to my Aunt Dorothy (my dad's sister) when she became interested in family history in the 1960s and 1970s. These letters are from cousins of all ranges - 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and more, who responded to her inquiries, with names, dates and places they had accumulated on the paternal side of my tree. This information has been invaluable to me throughout my own research. In attempting to connect with descendants of these cousins, I discovered that only a handful of them carried on the genealogy work of their branch of the family. It pains me to think about what happened to all that research.

In my file drawers are some letters (a few original, mostly copies) between ancestors and their families and friends. These are letters from uncle who were serving overseas during World War II, a great-uncle serving in France during World War I, and even a few written during the Civil War. There are some telling of floods in Pennsylvania; drought during the Dust Bowl in Oklahoma; illness; tragedy; deaths; and then there are those happy ones (in most cases, anyway) announcing births and marriages. The majority, however, are simply chit-chat, sharing the daily routine life of the sender.

I have a rather extraordinary collection (copies) of letters that concern my fifth great-grandparents, Michael Hillegas and his wife, Henrietta. They lived in Philadelphia during the time of the Revolutionary War. Also living in Philadelphia, off and on, during this time was John Hancock and his wife, Dorothy (known as Dolly). As both of their husbands undoubtedly spent much time together, Henrietta and Dolly became fast friends and were neighbors. During the occupation of Philadelphia by General Howe, shortly after the Battle of Brandywine, the Hancock's returned to Boston and while I'm not certain where the Hillegas family had fled, upon their return they discovered their home had been ransacked. In a letter from Henrietta to Dolly Hancock, she tells that all the furniture was taken or destroyed. Pictures of Michael and Henrietta were saved by a gentleman who begged for them on their behalf. A large building, tables and back building were all torn down, and they also lost "hundreds of Pounds of musical instruments and books" including the family's organ which was hauled to the other end of town and "abused." Quite an optimist she surely must have been as she goes on to say, "I am sure we are happier that lost it, than they can be robbed us of it, and I live in hope that they will never have it in their power to rob us again."  

                                 

                                 

Henreitta's husband served mightily within the government of the new nation, and Henrietta did her part as well. She, along with a few dozen of her patrician friends, formed an organization that they called, "The Ladies Association of Philadelphia." Together, they raised funds to purchase fabric to sew shorts for the Continental Army ($200,000 in that time). For their efforts, General George Washington commended them in a letter that he penned on 13 February 1781. Addressed to Mrs. Francis, Mrs. Hillegas, Mrs. Clarkson, Mrs. Bache and Mrs. Blair, the letter commended them for their efforts. In the letter, General Washington wrote, "The contributions of the Association you represent, have exceeded what could have been expected, and the spirit that animated the members of it entitles them to an equal place, with any who have preceded them in the walk of female patriotism." I was not aware of this letter prior to my membership in the Daughters of the American Revolution, but I hope that my service within that organization would have made Henrietta proud.

When their daughter, Henrietta, married Joseph Anthony on 20 Decmeber 1785, they stayed in Michael's home for a short time before moving to their own home. While away on business in New York, Michael wrote them a letter on 3 February 1786:

My Dear Children:

By a letter received from my dearly beloved wife the day before yesterday, I find that you both quitted our house yesterday week, and moved to your habitation in Chestnut St. She, in her letter, expresses the great trial it was to her and Peggy, & the solemnity they experienced on the occasion. I am really of the opinion that had I been present, I should have felt nearly as they did. It is, however, no small comfort to me, and must be so to all the relations, as well as to both of you, that it is not like parting from each other to a great distance, as even in that case we must have submitted to the event, tho' the hardship would have been increased. Blessed be God, we are still of the same City, where we may continually see as well as comfort each other in this troublesome world, for so it has and will be called to the end thereof, notwithstanding what the vain and the giddy as well as some others may undertake to say to the contrary thereof. You will now, my dear children, permit me on this occasion (as you are entering into life, and like every other person to shift for yourselves,) to off to you a little, and I trust good advice, which I flatter myself will be received with the same love which dictates it, as flowing form the sincerely of my heart, assuring you, nevertheless, in the warmest and most affectionate manner, that I do this, more as a matter of duty, than any suspicion I harbour in my breast of the want to prudence in either of you, and therefore hope you'll consider it merely as a cautionary advice, both of you being young.

The love you bear each other is no way to be questioned or doubted, and I trust none of us suspect but that it will continue through life; but dear children, this love can never be better secured to yourselves than by having due and strict regard for Religion and the several duties thereof as handed down from our Blessed Redeemer and his Apostles; this undoubtedly will make life pass with sublimer pleasure, and give a true taste of things in this world as an anticipation of joys to come hereafter.

Next to this is to be considered all and every of the moral duties required of us, and with it economy. By economy we conduct our affairs (under the blessing of Heaven.) in such manner that at the year's end our temporal affairs may, if possible, be better than they were the year before, so as to enable us to help and assist the poor and indigent, as by Scripture is required of us to do.

In things of moment on thyself depend, Nor trust too far they servant or a friend; To private views thy friend may promise fair, And servants very seldom prove sincere. What can be done with care, perform to-day, Dangers not thought of, may attend delay. Thy future prospects all precarious are, And fortune is as fickle as she's fair; Nor trivial loss nor trivial gain despise, Molehills, if often heaped, to mountains rise; Weigh every small expense, and nothing waste, Farthings long saved, amount to pounds at last.

Under a fear that I have already tired your patience I must conclude with sincerely and fervently wishing you both every blessing Divine goodness will in his Providence shower down on you as well as all your dear connections,

And am with every sentiment of love, your affectionate Father, Michael Hillegas

Poignant words written 240 years go...words we might all need to take to heart.

Week 6 - Surprise

A few weeks ago, I shared with you the beginning of my quest to learn more about my family tree. It all started with these two old photos. I have so many favorite photos, but without these two, I would never have learned to embrace the history of my ancestors.

In my initial search for more information on the man in the old sepia photo, and assuming he was Michael Hillegas, there appeared on my computer screen several photos of him. As this was the early stages of the home computer, I was quite surprised to find so many! But, after all, Michael Hillegas was the first Treasurer of the United States, and as it turns out, his likeness appears on the 1907 and 1922 $10 gold certificates. The photos, however, didn't remotely resemble the man in the old sepia one hanging on my wall. Photos aside, I turned my entire focus to learning how to research historical and genealogical records and to prove if I was related to Michael HIllegas.

Living in Oklahoma, I couldn't just jump in the car and run down to the National Archives or drop everything for a quick trip to Philadelphia (where Michael HIllegas was born and raised), so my research began via the internet. Remember, this was 1998. There were very few websites dedicated to family history and those that were, while they may have had digital copies of documents, most were not indexed which meant that you had to flip through the images one at a time (respect to all those genealogists who, pre world-wide-web, had no other choice but to travel great distances to repositories in order to look through reels and reels of microfilm for many documents that are readily available online today). While I sat for countless hours clicking through databases, I also joined several genealogy groups and message boards. To this day, I will argue with anyone who doesn't believe that the genealogy community is likely the most helpful group of folks you will ever meet.

In my quest for knowledge, I discovered Rootsweb. Well, let me tell you! On Rootsweb I found a family tree which had my great-grandfather shown as a descendant of Michael Hillegas! There is was in black and white...THE PROOF! When my initial excitement finally waned, the first thought I had was that I must join the Daughters of the American Revolution. My knowledge of the DAR at this point consisted of it being a lineage organization only for those who could prove they were descended from a patriot in the Revolutionary War. Period. Since Michael was surely a Revolutionary Patriot and I could now "prove" he was my direct ancestor, I set out to become a member. Even though the internet said we were related, DAR insisted that I provide them with the documentation to ACTUALLY prove it. So began my journey.

At the time, the National Genealogical Society offered two courses in genealogical research. Being a lifelong lover of learning (I would make a great professional student if I could just find someone willing to pay me to do so) I skipped "Intro to Genealogy" and jumped headlong into "American Genealogy: A Basic Course" which was not only graded but required visits to local repositories to get hands-on experience (this was the first of many genealogy courses I've now completed). I took my training, along with my youngest daughter, on a cross-country trip, from Oklahoma, through Missouri, to Pittsburgh and Philadelphia, visiting libraries, courthouses, churches and cemeteries. My mission was successful, and I was able to gather the documentation which connected each of the generations between Michael Hillegas and myself.

Oh yes, we were talking about those old photos...

I've met some of my best friends through those groups and message boards I joined early on in my research. Some are even distant cousins of mine through ancestors and I've met some on both sides of my family tree. Several years after proving my descent from Michael Hillegas, one of those distant cousins (a sixth cousin to be exact), asked if I'd ever seen the portraits of Joseph Anthony and his wife, Henrietta Hillegas (daughter of Michael) that were painted by renown master portraitist Gilbert Stuart that hung in the Metropolitan Museum in New York City (Joseph Anthony and Gilbert Stuart were first cousins). This was news to me, so when I said I hadn't, she emailed photos to me.

Writing this now I can still feel the emotion of the great surprise in all the time spent learning about my family history. Opening the attachment, my gasped as those old sepia photos appeared in full color right before my eyes...

 Week 5 - Challenge

It's been a challenge to come up with an ancestor to write about this week, so I'm taking a , break on stories of my ancestors. I decided, instead, to write about the #52ancestors challenge itself, and the importance of passing along these stories.

My mother taught me to read before I ever started school. Because of books, I lived much of my childhood in my imagination. When I was no more than 6 or 7 years old, I built myself a shack in the backyard made from discarded wood pallets (using skills I picked up working alongside my dad). Daydreaming of "the olden days" I'd read about, at different times my little shack was a Conestoga wagon, or the captain's quarters on my pirate ship (a branch from the huge mimosa tree next to it served as my bowsprit and another as the mast), or a farmhouse, or a castle where I was queen (never a princess), or a train car, or even a hut on a tropical island. I have always loved history stories, just not necessarily family history stories.

Then, as you are all well aware, I became obsessed with learning all I could about the generations that came before me. Since discovering my ancestors, I have always strived to find out as much about them as I could. It's never just about adding a name and a date to my family tree. I've collected birth and death certificates, court records, Bible pages, census, scrapbooks, land deeds, cemetery photos, diaries, newspaper clippings, funeral programs, military records and recollections from older relatives. Most importantly, the stories. They are all neatly filed, by name, in one of my many filing cabinet drawers.

In late 2022, a friend shared a Facebook post about the 52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks Challenge. I was intrigued. I mean, I had all this information. It sounded like fun. The participants were to be given a topic each week for 52 weeks. The topics were subjective - the could be wielded to conform to the life of an ancestor in any obscure way the author saw fit. Flew the Coop - could be about a chicken farmer, or about a prison escapee; Light a Candle - might be related to a religious ritual, or a special birthday; This Ancestor Went to Market - an ancestor who owned a grocery store, or one that lived on Market Street. I signed up. How hard could this be?

The sky is the limit, especially those first few weeks. I'd received the topic and could easily pluck an ancestor from their drawer whose story fell right in line. Each week the prompts came, and as they continued, more thought was required. A few of those weeks, I was almost frantic climbing around in my family tree to find a story that I could tell that was somehow related to the topic. I contemplated throwing in the towel on more than one (or ten) occasions, but I was spurred on by a few of the best cheerleaders a writer could ever have (you know who you are, and I thank you). By the end of the 52 weeks, I was spent, my brain was mush and, I was relieved that I didn't have to think about my ancestors, unless I simply wanted to. Those same cheerleaders, who had encouraged me each week, insisted that I continue on and take the challenge again, in 2024, with 52 new topics. Although I signed up, I just couldn't bring myself to get off the starting blocks. The #52ancestors challenge was exactly that...a challenge. 

For 2025, I've accepted the challenge, once more. I'm still at the excited phase and this year I'll focus on, not only my ancestors, but the stories of my descendants' ancestors (climbing the in-laws and out-laws side of their trees), and especially the stories of our combined Revolutionary Patriots as we gear up for the 250th anniversary of our nation.

Reflecting on the #52ancestors, what did I accomplish? I'd like to think I honed my writing craft. My research skills were put to good use and those tidbits of information I'd collected no longer just take up space. Hopefully, I've entertained a few of you with my weekly tales. Most importantly, however, I have 52 stories that my descendants can share for generations to come.

While I didn't have a care about my family history when I was young, I still absorbed the stories that I heard. Passing on these stories is the only way to keep the memories of our forefathers alive. I beseech each of you reading this, regardless, if you take part in a challenge, or do it just for your own enjoyment, write the stories of your ancestors.

My life has come full circle with the telling of my ancestors' stories. Just like my imagination took me places in the little shack in the backyard, with the #52ancestors challenge I've traversed the Oregon Trail with my Tetherow family in a Conestoga wagon; I've sailed the seven seas with my fifth great-grandfather Capt. Joseph Anthony; I've homesteaded with my Pennington clan who came to Oklahoma during the land runs; I've visited the castles shared by my royal ancestors; and I've stowed away in boxcars with my great-grandfather David Patton who helped to build the railroad. I've not yet written about an ancestor who lived on a tropical island, but you'll just have to keep tuning in to see...