"Mountains"

As I mentioned in my last post, my marriage was a bad idea.  Oatmeal was an early clue.  A later moment of clarity happened as I had an out of body experience watching myself scream like a lunatic on top of a Yellowstone National Park mountain.  A kindly seeming old lady gave me a sympathetic and understanding look as I screeched about how my head felt shattered from the air pressure and no, I was not going to go down the 10,000' mountain to go up the 12,000' mountain.  There was a grizzly bear in the distance and I welcomed it ripping me apart so I could be done with mountains.

We went fishing in a valley and the husband lived another day.  I met a nice Japanese couple and traded away my fish.  They had some fascinatingly intricate fishing flies.  There are restrictions to how many fish you can catch in a day and when my husband discovered I'd given away my share he started to set off to catch some more.  I think he understood my mountain temper tantrum was about to reemerge when I said I didn't want to eat any more fish.  Get me a #@$# hamburger.

The last straw was when I got up the next morning and found the wet pants left to dry on the picnic table the night before were now frozen solid.  That's it, I'm done, I hate camping in the cold.  We packed up and left with a blizzard at our backs across all those interminably large Western rectangle states.  It would've been nerve wracking but the husband drugged me with Dramamine.  That was his only good decision on that trip.

Frozen pants.  I was smiling, so maybe I wasn't quite as crazy as I remember?

I noticed on the drive out west that we crossed "Mad Woman's Creek" or "Crazy Lady Stream" or something along those lines every day.  I completely understand.  I don't want to leave you with the wrong impression though, I'm not normally prone to temper tantrums and screaming in front of grizzly bears and strangers.  I just came to accept I was raised in a valley and I should stay in lower elevations where I'm much sweeter.  It's best for everyone.

Relatives from out of state came to visit this week.  That was nice.  We talked about our ancestry, especially as the DNA site revised who it thinks we are and took away most of the interesting parts.  I'm feeling skeptical though because multiple relatives are interested in genealogy and I know I have more in my genes than the company says.  Nobody even mentions Neanderthals.  I've got to have some of that, right?

One of my ancestors, Bertram Cramer, was born in Eastern Pennsylvania in 1821.  When he was 18 he walked to Ohio.  That's 361 miles (581 km) as a crow flies, but a lot of it is up and down mountains so really much further.  According to "History of Wayne County Ohio" Volume 2, written in 1910, "He had an important part in the early development of this section of Ohio, as at the time he came here there had been but little improvement, the country being densely covered with the primeval forests, through which there were no roads, rough trails answering the purpose."

Cool.  Maybe it's easier to get over mountains when you're walking?  I wonder if he screamed at the top of any of them?  At least he wouldn't have had a sympathetic old lady looking at him if he did.  Maybe a bear.  I'll try to do better to live up to the example of my pioneering ancestors.

My apologies to everyone who commented for a slow response.  I do appreciate your comments.  As expected, it was a crazy week.

The Badlands

The absolute top of the world where I was above the clouds and in the clouds
and lamenting the fact I was spending my vacation in the snow.

"Mail"

My great grandfather, Thomas Lafayette Lee, was a mail carrier in the days before cars, and a genealogist before libraries, almost in the days of pounding papyrus on the river bank -- well maybe not that far back.  He was born shortly after the American Civil War on June 9, 1870.  His name tells you something about him; Lafayette for the French aristocrat and military officer who aided the US in the Revolutionary War, and Lee... well, that side of the family has been getting some news in the press lately.

"Cousin" Robert E. Lee was intelligent and heroic, Lincoln's first choice to lead the US military when the Civil War started.  Lee inherited slaves from his wife's father, with instructions to free them within five years.  Lee wrote his son, " He has left me an unpleasant legacy".  Lee had runaways chased and whipped, but he did free them. He was a mixed bag of good and not.  I could say similar about my living relatives.  Maybe they should display the statues of him somewhere to explain the Civil War and how prejudice can end up killing millions of people?  That seems current.

The ultimate choice about the statues belongs to the people who still suffer from the legacy of slavery.  I understand there are Southerners who feel they're still suffering too.  My family lost status and money from being on the wrong side of history, and the South remains comparatively poor with lesser schools and health care.  I get it that there are people who hang their regional pride on the valiant fight Lee led when faced with fewer soldiers and less ammunition.  Hanging onto that isn't getting you anywhere.  Even Lee saw that and surrendered at Appomattox.

When my great grandpa was living in post-Civil War poverty, he got a job.  He wrote a family history, and included a description of his days as a mail carrier, earning $702 per year in 1905.  I'd like to share his story.  This is longer than I usually post, but I thought you might find it interesting too.  Imagine it in a heavy Tennessee accent...

I have had many experiences on my route.  Some were pleasant and some were not so good.  I had a fine bunch of patrons... although some were tough characters...  especially... in the mountain section.  However, some... were as fine a bunch of people as could be found anywhere... I liked them all...

I have been in some hard storms.  One time I had to run my horse to get out from under a falling tree.  One day the lightning struck eighteen times near my route.  I came very near being in one of the worst hail storms this country has ever known.  I just did get into a barn before it struck.  Much of the hail was as large as hen and goose eggs.  These sank into the ground as they fell.  Some went crashing through iron roofing.  There was one cyclone that passed over my route...  I was in the edge of another which did lots of damage to property, but no one was hurt.  I have been caught in rising streams of water, as the rocks were rolling under my horse's feet, and almost knocking them down.  I had to stay in one stream of water for almost half a mile in order to ford it...

One day I heard the sound of a run-away team approaching over a hill, while I was going up the grade on the other side in my buggy.  On they came in their mad rush to get away... and the only thing for me to do was to jump from my buggy without delay.  As they neared me my horse became frightened, and turned back.  Down the road he went, ahead of the run-away team, carrying all my mail, stamps, money and everything, with only myself left behind, and truly glad to be there.  My buggy was torn to pieces.  Most of the harness was torn from the horse.  My mail, money and everything was scattered, a piece here and a piece there.  With the assistance of some of my good patrons, we managed to collect all together... Another loaned me a saddle to ride back on, while others recovered the pieces of my buggy and brought it back...

My buggy was struck twice by cars... but fortunately with no serious results.  I have been thrown from my horse by his falling on me.  One time I was thrown clear over his head, landing in front of him.  Such was life on a rural route in the early days... At first our roads were bad... I rode horseback a big part of eighteen years... I have walked many miles with my mail satchel thrown over my shoulder through mud, sleet, snow and ice, over fields, and just any way to get there...

I loved my patrons and I miss the pleasant association with them.  Scarcely a day passes that my mind doesn't go back to the fond memories of meeting with them at the mail boxes, and our having a few pleasant words together.  Especially is this true of the children, all of whom I loved dearly.

I'm glad Great Grandpa got through his hard times with love in his heart.  You can't move forward when you're clutching the memory of mythological glory days and hate to your chest.

BTW, I've given up my rants about wildlife.  The deer ate all the pears.  They're gone.  That's it.  I'm done screaming like a crazy woman (this year), or at least I thought so until I saw they ate my tomato plants too.

Also, in case I wasn't clear enough about what I think about the KKK and Neo-Nazis, I'll let Trae Crowder express his point of view.  Caution, very coarse language.

"Childhood"

My friend and I were somewhere in the flatlands of farm country when I told her childhood is the word for the week.  "You've written often enough about childhood; you can write anything you want!"  Which seems like great advice since that's what I wanted to hear.  Be forewarned, this is a photo heavy post.

We stopped in Mount Gilead, Ohio and ate in a Masonic Temple.  I gotta say, the creme brulee French toast was awesome and Korki loved her breakfast scramble.  The diner was filled with locals and I watched as a waitress helped an elderly woman with a bunged up shoulder out of her coat and settled her comfortably in her seat.  Korki and I agreed "You don't see that very often anymore" as we smiled at the vintage manners and decor.

Korki demonstrating good natured tolerance
while getting sleeted upon

Korki was humoring me by accompanying me on my visit to the dead ancestors.  My facebook cousin Michael Miller posted pics of our ancestors' graves in Morrow County, and I thought it would be a great day trip.  Let me be start by being fair and saying Michael gave me clear enough instructions.  It's not his fault Korki and I drove a couple miles one way, then several miles another, to backtrack and reattempt the first failed direction before going back to the last correct thing we'd done with Michael's instructions where we immediately found Rt. 156 next to the river just like he'd said we would.

Barn we saw when we were on the wrong road

It was a sludgy day with a flat, gray #5 sky.  The entrance to the graveyard is a long, narrow drive of mud and brambles.  We parked the car because we worried about getting stuck and slogged our way through the muck while getting gently sleeted on.  Then the hill of stones appeared in the woods.  Duntadaduuuuh!

I'm pretty sure I'm related to just about everyone on that hill in one way or another.  A lot of the stones are down or broken, but my direct ancestors' stones were up and waiting for me.  Someone put stars and flags on the vets' graves which pleased me.  Some of you know I'm a life-long pacifist who really wants wars to stop -- and yet I can't help but be pleased that my ancestors repeatedly fought for freedom.  From the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, the Mexican War, and the Civil War, my people were willing to bleed for the country's right to exist.

Korki is a very good sport and let me tromp around taking pictures and reading illegible stones despite the inclement weather.  She was an extra really good sport when I was unsuccessfully rocking my car in the mud.  She got out and gave a push and we managed to get out of the muck.

Christenia's stone is broken.  It should match Jacob's.

We stopped at Grandpa'sCheese Barn on the way back home.  I was the one who wanted to go there, but oh my was it busy!  Between cheese, trail bologna, lime pickles, chocolate turtles, and fudge, well, I'm poorer than when we went into the place and that doesn't even give me credit for all the stuff I decided not to buy.

It was a good day despite the muck and weather.  The best part of it for me was getting time to just yackety yack in the car.  Some of that actually included discussing the ancestors, and maybe here's where I'll tie this all in with "childhood".  Korki pointed out that I may be interested in genealogy because I spent a lot of time on Grandma's porch while she talked about the people long gone.  I sat on her lap while she rocked, and I loved listening to the cadence of her voice as she talked about the people who made me.  It's a gift of childhood that I hope many people give to the children in their lives.

No idea if this is a good idea or not, but I like limes and I like pickles?

For those of you who might be interested in how the graves are in my family tree...

"Reverse 2"

My friend Phil read my last post and suggested I ghost a picture of myself over the old photo of my great great grandmother. That sounded like a much better idea than the more practical thing I was working on in Illustrator, so I dumped that project for now and followed his suggestion.

Eerie.

I know I made the comment that our faces aren't new, but I really hadn't realized how much Lizzy and I look alike. It was easy to line up the ghosted image of my face over hers because the placement of our features are in the same places. Our chins, mouths, foreheads, ears are all the same. Yeah, creepy! Good thing so many people said so many good things about her when she was alive!

She obviously had better clothes and a better hairstyle than me though, so I made a composite to imagine living in Victorian times.

This was kind of fun even though it did freak me out a bit. Maybe everyone else should do this with pictures of their ancestors?

"Reverse"

"Reverse makes me think of oppositions. Happy/sad, good/bad, male/female, past/future... and that train of thought reminds me of the time I spent this week scanning old family photos to share with younger relatives. Ancient people long gone still have an effect on young people, even if they don't know it yet. The shapes of their eyes, chins, and cheekbones aren't new. They were on someone else's face 150 years ago. Their faces are going to reappear on young people's grandchildren.

We can't escape our genes or the influences previous lives have had on our own. We can't help ourselves from influencing the younger people who come after us, any more than we can change the color of their eyes. I see my grandmother's face in my niece. Life is lived in reverse and forward all the time.

We're all getting older, every second of every day. Quite a few of us spend a lot of time worrying about it, but worrying isn't going to change reality. All we can really do is leave a mark on the world we live in. I don't have children, so I think about my legacy in other ways than passing on genes. Maybe my paintings are my babies? Maybe baking cookies with my niece is a way of leaving something of myself behind? Plus, it lets me leave something of my mother and grandmother, and probably their mothers and grandmothers too.

My great great grandmother fascinates me because she was a doctor before women did that kind of thing. There's something in her portrait that commands respect. Laura Elizabeth "Lizzy" (Poulson) Cramer was born April 16, 1854 in Holmes County, Ohio. She died in 1910 in Fredricksburg, Ohio. She was married May 17, 1877 to Bertram "Happy" Cramer, who was a blacksmith. You've got to love a guy named Happy! He was born in March, 1853 in Fredricksburg, and died in 1912. They had 3 children, John (Helen Lemmon), Charles (Ella Snure), and my great grandmother, Jennie Marie (Jefferson Joseph "Joe" Benson).

Lizzy used herbs in her healing. I grow them in my garden and make healing teas. My sister Sue is a nurse. The string of blacksmiths in my family might explain why my brother and uncle love making jewelry, or another brother's incessant banging when he was a kid. Happy played the violin, which might explain my nephews' musical talents. Not to mention Happy's father was a type maker, which might explain my love of lettering class in college?

Maybe sometimes looking forward also means looking in the rear view mirror once in a while? I'm also feeling gratitude that I'm not the first packrat in my family interested in history :)