Saying Goodbye to Dad

On August 9th, around 2:30 AM, my father passed away in his sleep, comfortably and peacefully. The link is to my Dad's Obituary. I still find it very difficult to write or talk about this. I have so many memories of him that they swirl around in my head like a kaleidoscope. Everything I have, I owe to my father.

Here he is in Florida, holding up a nice size Snook. It took us a dozen fishing trips to catch one of these elusive fish. His smile says it all.

I've have been overwhelmed by the caring support of my friends and neighbors. I cannot begin to say how much I appreciate all of you. I received beautiful cards from Chicago Lady, my older brother's in-laws, my mom's niece that lives in Maine, Far Side, Soul Comfort, my dad's first cousin's wife, A Bench With a View, Alice Kay, and Lady Styx and her husband. So many texts and emails I can only hope to answer them all eventually; visits from neighbors, some bearing plates with food, and some marvelous flowers - including one from a client that sits on my office desk beside my keyboard.

On his last day with us, I wheeled my dad out to the porch where we watched the birds at the feeders. We had dozens of visits from Hummingbirds. At the other feeder were Cardinals, Woodpeckers, Goldfinches, Purple Finches, Tuffed Titmouse's, Sparrows, Blue Jays, Catbirds, Mockingbirds, Orioles, and even a Squirrel that the feeder spun off to the ground three times before he or she gave up. It was a calming time for both of us.

I still can't believe he is gone.

Happy Birthday Dad!

Over the Thanksgiving Day holiday, my older brother and I were out for a walk on the Delaware Canal towpath - it was a very nice late autumn day. The sun shone brightly against the white bark of the Sycamores.

My brother and I got to talking about a Thanksgiving a couple years ago, when my father was very ill and spent the holiday in the hospital, coming home only to have dinner with us on Thanksgiving day. We added up all the "life-threatening" moments he has had in the past few years - since his quintuple bypass surgery - and the tally stood at once every other year - for well over a decade.

This year, Dad celebrated his 80-th birthday with a trip to the Kidney Doctor, where he was told to go on a very low potassium diet. He being diabetic, he can actually eat very little as it is - and now it is even less. But...

On a dreary day, he and my mom were surprised by their Church and they had a nice celebration with folks that care about him (and good folks that they care about in return). He got some funny cards, some small gifts and a huge cake! Mom and I looked the other way while he enjoyed a small bit topped with creamy, sugary icing.

Happy Birthday Dad! Keep plugging away!

Batman lives in Pottstown

My brothers and I, when growing up, would regularly watch the TV version of "Batman" (c. 1966) and when the show opened, we would pose in front of the picture tube and swing our arms to match the "pow!" "bif!" "blap!" and other "sock it to them" that sent the villains flying.

My older brother, it seems, spoke of watching the show while at school, and somehow, got the impression that Batman, lived in a town called Pottstown, PA - about 20 miles up the road from us.

One day, while we lined up in front of the TV to do our "pows!" he proudly announced to my younger brother and I, that "Batman lives in Pottstown!" I don't recall our response at the time, but today, we still greet each other with "Hey! Batman lives in Pottstown!"

Imagine our surprise, when after Thanksgiving dinner, we decided to ask Mr. Google where Batman lived.

In just milliseconds, Mr. Google replied, "380 South San Rafael Avenue, Pasadena, California." And sure enough, appraised at $11,377,778 - Stately Wayne Manor with its 10 bedrooms, 6 baths and 16,599 sq ft space (which may or may not count the Batcave) appeared.

My older brother searched the "backyard" for signs of the Batcave exit - and is not convinced that "this is the place." Nor does he believe that the Gotham City Police Headquarters is in the Warner Brother's Studio back lot.

Mother's Day and Graduations

Last weekend, I went to upstate (Rochester) NY to attend my nephew's graduation. It is a 7 hour drive one-way, so the ride is rather tiring. I took my parents up. My oldest nephew graduated on Sunday morning - the ceremony was held in the minor league ice hockey team's building downtown.

I never actually saw the college campus (Nazareth University). The younger nephew graduates this upcoming Saturday (Niagara College near Buffalo) but his is "limited attendance" (only four tickets), so we just celebrated his "while we were there" and of course we celebrated Mother's Day too! It was a party-harty weekend!

The weather was sunny - actually it was hot and sticky and in the 90s. Surprising for Rochester at this time of year (their daffodils just bloomed last week!) I would visit them more often - but 14 hours of driving for a weekend doesn't work out so well!

The stage was within easy view.

My nephew was not quite lost in the crowd. I see him in there!


The big moment - two hours into the ceremony.

Outside in the nice sunshine with a gentle cooling breeze, the nephews are besieged with photo op requests.

Let's cram twenty people into the dinning room!

The cake was a work of art - I told my mom, the best thing about all this - is seeing my nephews smiling and happy. She replied, "That might be the best (grand)mother's day gift a mom could ever get.

Happy Birthday Mom!!

What do you get a special person that has everything?

Here she is sitting on a boat reading the history of one of the lighthouses near Baltimore, Maryland. I think she would actually like an old lighthouse - but that isn't too likely to happen! Perhaps she might enjoy a weekend stay at one - preferably one that is not haunted.

So what do you get her? Well, the case of my Mom, you get her a wire reel.

You take it down the shore and put it on the porch. And then, of course, you paint it and forget to take a photo of it!

In any event, my mom was surprised beyond words. She could only stammer, "You! why... why... you!!!! I.. You!!! oh!!!"

I'll get a photo of it painted next time I get down there - I usually don't go down their in the summer - the crowds and I don't get along - so when the fast approaching end of summer arrives, I'll be heading down to enjoy the much more peaceful, hopefully deserted beach and take another photo.

An old photo of the house down the shore showing where her new "porch table" is sitting - by the way, that is a Peugeot station wagon. My mom loved that car!

Heartache - Friends that Hurt (Part 1)

Rest in Peace Kero - I have long adopted other people's pets - a couple of them have become "nearly my own."

Kero was one of them.

I watched him grow up - and read about his "exploits" and experiences. I sorted out his photos for his special human - enjoying each and every pose he had. He had presence - an attitude - and his human loved him beyond all the words she ever wrote about him.

I took pleasure in creating the covers for each and every one of the "Kero" books, even if my talent was meager and crude.

Kero Celebrates Christmas - I wondered how he didn't get lost in the snow with his gleaming white coat. I was always pulling for him to "catch" Santa Paws when he came by to leave him his Christmas presents.

Kero Celebrates Halloween - he was admittedly, perhaps a tad spoiled - he certainly got his share of the treats.

Kero Celebrates His Birthday - I only regret there weren't enough of them.

Kero Goes Walkies - For a little dog - he had a big heart and loved to explore the world outside his door.

Kero Goes To Town - He took some adventurous trips, here and there, and even rode the train!

Kero Gets Sick - Everyday I rooted for him to get well and to stay well. He has gone to the place that well loved doggies go - the Canine Valhalla. His presence in our world, too brief as it was, was a gift to us all.

He will not be forgotten. My thoughts and prayers are with his grieving special person.

Busy Weekend

Last weekend, despite it being overcast and gloomy - with periods of gentle rain, was a busy one. Friday evening found me in Baltimore, Maryland with my parents enjoying the Inner Harbor sights and sounds. I enjoyed watching the folks take out peddle boats that were made to look like dragons - some were green and some were purple. It was a little odd watching some folks peddle them backwards - the red ship in the background is a lightship. The Power Station, the home of a seafood restaurant, Barnes and Nobles, and the Hard Rock Cafe is behind it.

Early the next morning, we boarded a cruise boat and took an extended tour of the Baltimore Harbor that focused on the various lighthouses and ship channel navigation lights. My favorite (photograph) was the one of the abandoned Fort Carroll light, with a Cormorant on the top, drying his (or her's) wings. The odd sunlight coming through the clouds makes for an interesting effect.

The abandoned fort is well out in the harbor and is covered with birds, Cormorants, Egrets, Herring Gulls and others - I wouldn't want to walk on it since it is covered in white splatter - but I did have a good laugh at this sign at the "Sally Port" entrance. "Private Property! Keep Off! Guard Dog!"

After the cruise, we went to the houseboat, where we rested briefly from the drive (Baltimore is confusing and the traffic over the Kent Narrows bridge is horrible), and the I went with the one-legged lady and her dog, Barley, to the Chestertown Fountain Park to hear Vic Vacuum and the Attachments (no kidding, that's the band's name!) play some rock and roll tunes from the 1950s and 60s. It was quite a sight watching old grey-haired ladies with walkers dancing to the tunes! The weather, while gloomy, was comfortably cool. Barley made some new friends - he seemed to enjoy Mr. Vacuum's music.

Woof!

Stop and Smell the Roses!

On Sunday afternoon, on my way home from the houseboat, I was stopped in Georgetown, Maryland when a drawbridge opening occurred. I've been keeping track of how often I have to sit and wait at this bridge (not that I mind, the views up and down the river are nice!) and have been stopped seven out of seven times heading home and two out of seven times heading to the houseboat.

I took this photo with my cellphone and sent it to my mother and to the one-legged lady at the wharf telling them I had been stopped once again and both of them told me, "Patience! Reflect on the fun you had during the weekend and enjoy!"

The hood of my car is a mess, I parked under a tree at the wharf to keep it in the shade!

Before heading to the wharf, I make sure I mow my lawn, sometimes I use a push mower when I want the exercise. It takes me about two and a half hours pushing - the riding mower is much faster, but I've been having trouble getting it to start. Turns out the connector to the starter was loose - and I fixed it, so when I'm in a hurry, I ride the mower and get the job done in about forty minutes. I was so happy when I got it to run!

My mom's birthday is coming up soon - and I've been looking around for something she might want and like. I spotted this wooden wire reel at the wharf and asked the owner if he had plans for it. He said, "Take it away and it's yours!" So I stuffed it into my car and brought it home. The next weekend my mom said, "Durn, the wire reel is gone! I was going to ask if I could buy it. I think it would make a neat patio table.

Mission accomplished.

One day last week, I got home from work and saw an ambulance and a police car in my neighbor's driveway. I was very concerned about them, they are good neighbors. By the time I walked over, the ambulance and police car were gone and no one answered the door. Their dog, a seven year old mutt that thinks she is still a puppy was tearing around the backyard like a maniac. An hour later, she was still out there and no one answered the door - it being hot as heck out, I let myself through the gate and made sure she had a bowl of water (she did). She seemed a little lost, so I sat with her for a half hour, hoping her mom or dad would come home. It grew dark and quite late so I went home, but I checked her a while later and a light was on in the house so someone came home.

Turns out her mom, who had lung cancer, had a dizzy spell and was choking on something. She called 911 for herself and put the dog out in the backyard so she wouldn't jump all over the EMT. She went to the ER and her husband drove there straight from work. I told them I "doggy sat" and they were quite pleased that someone was around - I told them it they ever needed a doggy sitter, emergency or not, I was "up for it." And if they needed a helping hand, I was "up for that" too.

Last weekend was the annual "Swim for Life" event at Rolph's Wharf. I loaded some photos into Flckr. There were about 300 swimmers and they swam 1, 2, 3, 4, or 5 miles - unless they were in the triathlon, in which case they swam 2.4 miles and then biked 110 miles and then ran a marathon.

I was feeling somewhat cocky, having swam a mile and a third at the YMCA the week before in an hour and fifteen minutes. And then I heard during the awards ceremony for the swim, someone had swum a mile in nineteen minutes! Some days, I can't even walk that fast!

Life keeps ya humble...

In search of old memories...

I have, in the past, written about my "honorary" Aunt Bea.

Aunt Bea was one of my paternal Grandmother's friends - she grew up "around the corner from the church" they both attended. Later on, when my dad served his 2 weeks a year in the Army Reserves, my mom stayed with my dad's mom with my older brother (who was a one year old) and got to know Aunt Bea too - and the three of them became "best buddies" and they all went shopping together. Aunt Bea moved out west to California with her second husband (the first one died suddenly) and has lived out there for more than 40 years (the second husband died too, of cancer). When my parents had their 50th wedding anniversary she came back to the east coast to join the party and has become very active once more with our family.

This June, she turned 90 years old and asked me to locate her second husband's younger brother.  I have tried a number of times to "find him" but have had no luck so far.  His name is (or was) Richard Donald Kane, born July 19, 1930 in Chester, PA.

While I was searching for him, I rummaged through the box of stuff my grandfather left behind and found this photograph, dated circa 1941..

It shows my dad between two recently made US Sailors.  The man on the right is an "unknown" but the man on the left is Philip Lewis Hallworth (Jr.); MOMM2 (Motor Machinist 2nd class) US Navy World War II (22 Oct 1919 - 13 Oct 1963), my Aunt Bea's first husband.  My eye was caught by the navy hats (you may recall my recent "acquisition" of my great-uncle Marshall's WWI sailors hat.)

I was just a toddler when Philip passed away - and do not recall ever having met him.  Everyone that knew him (that remains with us today) speaks very highly of him, and recalls he went deaf while working in the engine rooms of the various ships he worked on.  Today he rests in the Beverly National Cemetery, in Beverly, NJ (Section X Site 3315).  My Aunt Bea plans to join him there someday.

The mystery man seems to be hauntingly familar, as if somewhere in my past, I encountered him - but nothing more that the vaguest of shimmering thought surfaces to the forefront.  Perhaps, some night, it will come to me - that elusive memory.  Looking at the photograph, he seems to have been a nice guy.  My dad has no memory of this "photo op," and says the events of the time (the outbreak of the war) and his um... unfortunately timed, flying of a Japanese Flag out his bedroom window and its aftermath are all he can recall.

Another photograph sends me down memory lane...

Division of Family

Yesterday, after a brutal (for me) workout at the YMCA (1 hour on a treadmill at four miles per hour on a 15% slope), I stopped by the field my niece was warming up in for a soccer match to say "Good bye and Good luck" to her since she heads off on Friday to her first year of college.

It seems like only yesterday I gave her a stuffed Tigger that was nearly as big as she was for Christmas.  I recall her laughing and running around with him with wild abandon and watching her dress him up, insisting Tigger was a "she."

I have another photo of her somewhere where she is about the same age, after she opened a gift of a razor scooter - one she badly wanted.  I caught her eyes popping wide as the wrapping paper fell away from the box.  I treasure the photo but I treasure that simple moment of joy even more.

In the years since, I've watched her grow and mature into a fine young woman - she played cello in a chamber music ensemble, the orchestra at school, and performed at a number of dance recitals with her proud uncle watching.

On the way home, in a selfish moment, I thought to myself, I didn't have any uncles or aunts see me off to college and thought it out. Family divisions - caused by the usual "list of characters" was responsible for this.

My dad being an only child, I had only two aunt and uncle sets - my mom's much older brother and sister and from them I was separated by geography and generational age.  Their children, my cousins, were all 10-15 years older than I, and as I was growing up - that made them "unapproachable adults" and not people to play childhood games with.  The Aunt lived 380 miles away in Boston, and the Uncle lived 2800 miles away in Los Angeles.

So the aunts and uncles in my life where all actually my dad's aunt's and uncles and my "greats."  Age again - caused a divide but there was another divide - petty family squabbles - that ran deep and turned to poison.

Without boring you with the details - my great-grandfather "parted ways" with his two brothers - over a squabble at the family business - he left and started his own - and thus was forever "mad" at Thomas Charles and Russell.  You may remember Thomas Charles was Franklin, Elmer and Marshall's father.  Russell was the WWI machine gunner that was wounded in the Argonne Forest.  This separation meant - that even though the three sons lived into the 1990's - and lived nearby - I never met them.

Another family business squabble - this time between my Grandfather and his mother - after my great-grandfather died - caused ill-feelings between my Grandfather and his mother's family (all of whom, I met only once at a family reunion, are very nice people.)  So those distant family members were "lost to me" while growing up.

My Grandfather had three sisters - between them, they had 4 children.  Aunt Ann was childless, my (great) Aunt Marian had two sons and a daughter and my Aunt Mary had a son named Pat (who had Down's Syndrome).  Pat was a sweet, but big and gruff  (6' 2" 280 pounds) guy that seemed to behave in an unpredictable manner that was off-putting to me as a young boy. I have since learned better. Marian's children might have been in the social circle except...

...she worked with (and unfortunately, for) my Grandfather, Harry, as the bookkeeper in the family business - and one day, the day to day tensions of working together - spilled over and unkind words were spoken - and my Aunt Marion walked out to never return.

I recently found a letter, written by my Grandmother on April 26, 1967 to my "honorary Aunt Bea" that made me cringe -

I may not particularly like my sister-in-law and niece's mother - but I have tried to make sure that this (mutual) feeling has not prevented me from being involved in my niece's life.  I have gained much to treasure from doing so - and can hope, somewhere down the line, my niece might feel the same.  This bitter family lesson on how to watch what one says in the "heat of the moment" and to be a little more forgiving was hard earned and too late to cure the divides.

Boston On My Mind

Sometimes, timing is everything.

My mother called me this morning and said, "I was standing in front of the hotel where that bomb exploded, just a couple weeks ago."

My mother was born and raised in the city of Boston. Her grandfather was a streetcar conductor from the poor neighborhood of Paisley, Scotland who came to this country seeking an opportunity.

Somehow, through a turn of fate, his daughter met a sailor boy from the wild, exotic "Indian Territory" that became Oklahoma and a few years later, my mom was born.

Yesterday I got a package in the mail from a cousin in Arizona. Inside where some photos I've never seen before.

A short while later, I heard the news of the Boston Marathon bombing.

I found myself wanting to escape all the ugliness of the world, into the soft flowers of the coming spring... like I did this past weekend...  but my mind kept dragging me back... but... I can escape backwards in time. At least briefly.

A Christmas holiday in Jamaica Plains, Boston, Massachusetts, 1949.  My mom is holding a guitar on the far left, her older sister holds an unknown little girl with a doll.  My grandmother sits behind my grandfather who is playing with one of my cousin's toy.  My boy cousin looks like he has a ray gun or something aimed at the camera.  My cousin Belle (Isabella, my grandmother's sister) sits with her father and my great-grandfather Robert McPherson on the sofa. ...Pondering who the mystery girl was... another photo fell out of the package...

A simple scene.  But so powerful to me.  My mom's mother stands in the snow, having shoveled out to the clothesline behind the farmhouse in Milton Mills, New Hampshire.  My best memories of her are from this very place.  The field behind the farmhouse, heading out to the trees (and a stone wall) were not farmed, but held wild clover and strawberries that smelled so good in the basking heat of the summer sun.

My grandmother had a twinkling eye and a low chuckle she would use to express her obvious glee and delight she took when me or my brothers did something "cute."

Her last 10 years spent with failing memories as her numerous strokes to away her personality and in fact, her very being, were very hard - especially on my mom - who visited the nursing care facility she was in, faithfully week after week.  My seeing her with such life in her eyes was a special moment and a treat indeed.  I can't thank my cousin enough for this...

What my great-grandfather would have thought of the bombing of a race on Patriot's Day, I do not know.  I scarcely know what to make of it myself.  I hear that many of the citizens of Boston have opened their homes and wallets to those that are far from home and stunned and shocked by this ugly event.  I saw in the videos shown all over, over and over again, a large number people running towards those that were hurt and maimed to offer help and aid...  Knowing Boston as a "removed Bostonian," I'm not at all surprised.  The people there are "Yankees" in the best and most admirable sense of the word.

History isn't about dates...

This morning on my way to work, I was in a long train of cars and trucks. The vehicle in front of me was pleasing to the eye. I'm no great fan of invisible fences since two of the dogs I grew up with found ways to slip out. One would wait for the snow plow to come and leave a mound of snow over the wire that triggered the warning collar, and simply walk out over the distance-keeping hill of snow. The other was a bounder, he could leap like a deer, and easily cleared 5-6 foot fences on the fly. He did this one day, bounding over the warning of the invisible fence, and came back in my older brother's arms, dead from being hit by a car.

But I digress...the two yellow labs sharing the stick they obviously want someone to toss, pulled me out of my rambling thoughts.

I had been thinking about ... history and how it isn't about dates, it's about people. And how I've been reading lately about people that were "much more personal" to me - which made history more ...personal.

Let me explain. My dad's side of the family, largely came to this country around 1850. There are 5-6 generations that, by and large, lived entirely within a few blocks-square area in downtown Philadelphia (with trips to the New Jersey beaches). While Philadelphia is the home of the Liberty Bell and the signing of the Declaration of Independence...the people that did that, and lived through that time, weren't "my people". So the history becomes a bit dusty and remote...

My mom's mother's family immigrated to Boston, Massachusetts from Scotland around 1895. Again, Boston is one of those "a lot of things happened there" towns of old, but it wasn't "my people" that were involved with dumping the tea in the harbor, or listening to Paul Revere shout the "British are coming!"

My mom's Daughters of the American Revolution application and the research that went into it, however, has changed things. History has become much more personal.

My mother's father's family tree for the country that was to become the United States of America is extensive. More than extensive. One branch goes back to John Bush (1590 - 1624) who is my 8th great grandfather. He came to Virginia with Lord De La Warr.

Thomas West, 3rd (or 12th) is often named in history books simply as Lord Delaware. He served as governor of the Jamestown Colony, and the Delaware Bay was named after him.

Suddenly, history takes on a buzz.

John Bush's great-grandsons would travel with Daniel Boone through the Cumberland Gap in 1775.

Johannes Michael Schmidt, my 7th great grandfather, came from Germany in 1737 with others fleeing religious persecution. He entered this country in Philadelphia, lived in Germantown, and later moved to Virginia. 110 years later, my dad's side of the family would come from England and live on Germantown Avenue... Again, something begins to resonate within me...

Philip Peter Visinand, my 8th great grandfather, who born on 10 Apr 1684 in Heilsbruck, Switzerland, came to America in 1731 and settled in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. He is buried in a cemetery I've driven past dozens of times without a thought or care... It's so very different now.

Back north, the town of Salem, Massachusetts was having a series of hearings and prosecutions of people accused of witchcraft, between February 1692 and May 1693. Henry Herrick Sr., my 10th great grandfather and his family were deeply involved.

My mom is deeply ashamed by this - I grant this wasn't the world's "finest hour," but it happened.

Does the name David Stern Crockett ring a bell? Perhaps you remember the Alamo? Ancestry.Com tells me he is the uncle of my 4th great grand aunt, Sarah Elizabeth Crockett's husband.

Lost in the fabric of time... and deep in thought, I want to learn more about what have become special to me events in history... the Alamo, the Salem Witch Trials, the settling of Jamestown, and something terrible...

...the damages done to the family during and after the Civil War - where "my people" fought... on the "losing side" near Shelbyville, Tennessee...

..when I look up and see two friendly dogs staring back at me...and soon thereafter I arrive at work once more.

Der brth I tak up time to drop you few lins..

Recently, Jacqi over at "A Family Tapestry" sent me a link to a new (to me) genealogy resource. It allows one to search books of biographical material.

Thanks to Jacqi, I uncovered a few gems. If you don't know Jacqi, this is what her profile says:

"It is my contention that, after a lifetime, one of the greatest needs people have is to be remembered. They want to know: have I made a difference? I write because I can't keep for myself the gifts others have entrusted to me. Through what I've already been given--though not forgetting those to whom I must pass this along--from family I receive my heritage; through family I leave a legacy. With family I weave a tapestry. These are my strands."

I get goose bumps just reading that.

---- ...And these are my strands. ----

One of the gems I found has the rather lengthy title of "MOUNT HOPE - A history of Cole, Shipman, and allied families: Abercrombie, Allen, Anderson, Bailey, Bennett, Bryson, Carson, Channell, Curtis, Hemphill, Hutchins, Keith, Munday, Nixon, Owens, Stephens, and other families, of old Buncombe Co., N.C, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, Arkansas, Texas, Oklahoma and elsewhere." It was written by Pauline Callaway Sheriff and is copyrighted 1982.

On page 189, I found this regarding my Mother's great-grandfather:

John Madison Shipman, son of George Shipman and Margaret Hefner, was born on December 22, 1844 in Georgia. He married Paratine Avary on January 15, 1867. She was born in 1847-8 in Alabama, the daughter of Wilson W. Avary, b. 1824-5 in South Carolina and Tabitha Jane b. circa 1826-7 in Alabama.

In the 1880 US Census, Wayne County, Tennessee, John Madison Shipman and family was listed living next door to the W. W. Avery family. Included in the census were the following children: G.W., a son 11 years old, M. J. a daughter 10 years old, and D.P. a son, 5 years old.

Through the courtesy of Louise Shipman Fields, we have a copy of part of an old letter that was written by John Madison to his brother, Rufus Monroe, called "Babe", and to his parents, George and Margaret [Hefner] Shipman. Over the years portions of this letter had worn out on the folds, and some sections were missing:

"Wayne Co. No (missing)
Pap & mother

... leaves us in common ... they may find you all ... not heard any speshal in some time I want to see you all very bad and did expect to before this time but on the account of gethering my crop and sickness I can't get off yet awhile my crop is now gethered I have got a part of my wheat sowed I think when I get done sowing wheat and my cotton hawled off and sold surely will get to come We have had some sickness this fall but nothing verry serious Gerge Wilson first had the sore throat he was sick about two weeks then little Perry about two weeks with fevor and worms supposed to be then Pairentine had the sore throat about one week we only had the doctor one trip we have all been puny this fall my crop turned out tolerable well except my cotton it was verry sorry I think I have gethered about 200 bu (bushels) of corn 11 or 12 hundred lbs of cotton in the seed I think I have shoats (young pigs) enough to make meat if they don't die there is a great many hogs dying in this country

(the bottom part of the letter is missing, then this on the back side:)

...so Babe I supose you are come out to Wayne if you can do any good would be glad you would do so if it suits you to come now you can come out with John Avary well Babe I don't know of anything now that would pay you much. You can come and look round for your self and if it don't suit you can do like other has done you can go back to Winston so if you want to come don't wait on me.

J.M.S

"When this you see remember us I want you all to write soon"

On the bottom of the letter, in a very different handwriting, very hard to read, was:

"Winston County, Ala January 18 1877
Der brth I tak up time to drop you few lins to in forme you that we are wel at pres hop th finds every one of you well"

The above letter was written in Nov 1876 and the reply at the bottom started Jan 28, 1877 by Rufus or a sibling.

---- I then found this: ----


On the back it is labeled, [Daniel Perry Shipman] on the right. I think this is John Madison Shipman with his two youngest children Hurbert and Daniel Perry, taken somewhere in Fannin County, Texas, circa 1880.

Digging around further, I find what appear to be the memories of Carlos Raymond (C. R.) Shipman. I hope you will clicken to enbiggen. :)


It says in part: "I am Carlos Raymond Shipman born June 28, 1899 attended at birth by Dr. J. A. Lannius in a two-room log house built by my father and his neighbors a little over 17 miles northeast of Bonham on a 40-acre government lease at 10 cents an acre per year for ten years. The doctor came out in a one-horse buggy about 17 miles at five miles per hour.

I married June 15, 1921 Annie Mae Matthews in Bonham. We have one daughter and seven sons all living at present. She passed away January 24. 1974. My father Daniel Perry Shipman was born in Wayne County, Tennessee September 1874. He came to Texas in a wagon with his parents, John and Paratine (Avery) Shipman, at the age of eight years. His father died when my father was 12 and he lost his mother two years later. He had to run the farm and support his mother and sister Maggie [Note: my great-grandmother] and brother Hurbert. His older brother George was married and had two children at the time. My father was helped some by his Uncle Billy Morrison of the Stoolgrub community a few miles away. My father also helped at times on other farms at 35 cents and 50 cents a day. He made cross ties at six cents each for the Texas and Pacific Railroad. He became a good farmer and owned and operated close to 900 acres several years. Later he farmed less and operated a meat market and general merchandise store, also a wood yard. In his last working years he cultivated 11 acres in vegetables to sell on his place on South Center Street in Bonham.

His uncles, Luke, Downs and Charlie Avery, lived in the Telephone and Lamaso communities north of Bonham. Luke and Downs moved to Lubbock to farm. My father came to Texas, I was told, in a wagon from Tennessee. Five wagons started but only three made it. They traveled 15 to 25 miles a day depending on the hills and road conditions. Most newcomers to Fannin County stopped along the Red River for water and land that would grow fruit and vegetables. At 19 my father married Fannie Mary Terrell who was age 20. There were five children born of this marriage: Ruby, Raymond, Homer, Carrol and Mattie Gorgie. Carrol died in 1960 on a farm north of Bonham. Carroi's oldest daughter Caroline Shipman Brady now owns and operates the farm. My father lived in Fannin County 66 of his 76 years."

-- "Fannin County Folks & Facts" Page 238.

It is 550 miles from Mount Pleasant, Wayne County, Tennesee to Honey Grove, Fannin County Texas. The wagon trip must have taken them about a month.

Ghosts of Our Grandfathers

Recently, I've been very busy at work. Some of this work involves setting up and learning about new computers and new operating systems. Windows Server 2012 and Windows 8 to be specific.

I find myself reduced to having all thumbs as I attempt to find my way around the new "user interface" that Microsoft hopes will "look like" what you see on smart phones.

Doing this work, got me to thinking that if my Grandfather was still around, I would be rewriting the very first program I ever wrote (back in 1977-ish) for him to use with a new computer system, or perhaps even as a smart phone app.

He might have even liked it - each version of computing he lived through made his life easier - since "the program" he used to determine pricing at the foundry got more and more user friendly and reduced his work (and mistakes) with each version.

But it has not been all work and no play for me even if the weather has mostly conspired against weekends with nice weather. On the one nice weather weekend this past month, my Dad and I went to the Golden Age Air Museum in Grimes, Pennsylvania where we saw airplanes of World War One and the Depression Era fly.



I am always amazed by the sight of airplanes such as this, built in 1917, still flying! I took a ton of photos (here).

The weekend after that, the weather was stormy and gloomy but the rain held off for the most part, so I got to the houseboat to unwind from "enjoying" way too much Windows 8.

Some of you may remember the cutest little wharf rat in all the world. Here's Barley making a new friend!


My mother always says, "When it rains, we rest." Here she is resting by reading a book on the houseboat in the dinette.


For my mom's birthday celebration, my dad arranged for a sunset dinner cruise on the Tireless. The Tireless is a restored, all wooden 68 foot long Classic Trumpy motor yacht, built for Roger Firestone in 1963. Roger Firestone was the youngest of five sons of Harvey S Firestone, founder of Firestone Tire. I find it amusing that he would name a boat "Tireless" but it makes perfect sense...it has no tires!


Dinner was super yummy! I didn't eat again for almost a whole day.


While we were cruising, my dad suddenly exclaimed, "I don't believe it! Look over there, there's the Muriel Eileen!"

Built in 1926, the Muriel Eileen is a wooden "Chesapeake Bay Buy boat" typical of many similar boats of that time. It has a mast and boom forward of the hold with the pilothouse aft of the hold with the hull decked over. It is 58 feet long and 18 feet wide

These "buy boats" were used to haul freight, watermelons and oysters in the days when roads in the Chesapeake Bay area were poor. They literally bought oysters from fishermen direct from their boats while they were still out in the bay oystering, hence the name.


When Muriel Eileen's owner started to renovate it, he contacted my father regarding some of the brass fittings that needed replacement due to extensive wear. My grandfather worked up the pricing using "the program" I wrote and he also made the wooden patterns. The circular ring where the rope enters the boat from the wooden pole is made of brass...and was made by my dad and grandfather. I think they are called hawse pipes. They typically run an anchor chain out of a boat (or ship) through such a fitting to protect the woodwork.

This is not the only "old" boat on sailing on the Chesapeake Bay that has bits and pieces my dad and grandfather made.


HMS Sultana was a small Royal Navy schooner that patrolled the American coast from 1768 through 1772, preventing smuggling and collecting duties. She was retired when unrest in Britain's American colonies required larger, better armed patrol craft.

In mid-1999, my father was asked if he might help with a project to build a replica of the Sultana. The ships rudder required straps to mount it around the propeller (an engine is required by the US Coast Guard in order to carry passengers.)

My dad had the straps were made from bronze and supplied them. A couple years later, he was called and invited to the ship's launching. The replica of HMS Sultana was launched in Chestertown on March 28, 2001.


As launched, the straps were painted white. Today, they are painted black (as in the first photograph.)

For those of you with sharp eyes, I am in the front row and the third person standing to the right of the street lamp (next to the guy with a yellow vest).

Labor Day weekend proved dreary and gloomy, so I decided to take a road trip away from the houseboat. In the small town of Sudlersville, I found the local train station. The tracks went from Wilmington, Delaware through Massey (of the grass airfield fame) to Queenstown, Maryland.


I tried to find out more about the feed mill/elevator in the background, but couldn't find its owner.

I then went to Ridgely, Maryland and visited its train station, now a museum.

This station was on the line from the sleepy bay side town of Oxford, Maryland to Clayton, Delaware where it connected to the line that ran to Wilmington and Philadelphia.

From 1871 to 1920 or so, a daily steam train took freshly caught and canned oysters from Oxford to Philadelphia, stopping at this station to pick up rail car loads of Strawberries. Ridgely was the Strawberry Capital of America back in the day. Did some of those strawberries and oysters get eaten by my great-grandparents?

Did the place "next door" to my great-great-great-great-grandfather sell "Oxford, Maryland" oysters (see previous post)?

Maybe - just maybe. :)

Old Photograph - Circa 1870?

The old photograph below was recently discovered in the Historical Society of Pennsylvania's photographic archives.


Photograph the property of the Historical Society of Pennsylvania

Prominent on the third building from the right, is a sign saying "J. Mousley". This might date the photograph to before his death in 1883.

Joseph Mousley (born July 22, 1803 near Leicester, England - died July 8, 1883 Philadelphia, Pennsylvania) was my 4th great grandfather. I wonder if he might be standing on the sidewalk? None of these buildings are still standing, the lots are now paved over for automobile parking.

I find the juxtaposition of the oysters and feather vendors odd, but amusing. My father and I, as did my grandfather, enjoy eating oysters in just about any form.

I wish to thank everyone for their helpful comments and support concerning my last entry. I wrote a letter expressing my feelings and as I was set to burn it, as an offering of sorts, I remembered I had sent her a Christmas card, and the address of her surviving husband (which I could find nowhere) was find and put on the envelope and it was mailed to him and his two daughters. I felt much better having done this much.

I will not be posting much in the foreseeable future. Things at work have finally picked up and things are once more, too busy (it always seems to be nothing or too much). I will attempt to keep up with reading your posts and will comment when I have (or think I have) something worth saying or simply can't restrain myself from saying something silly and/or stupid!