We Came from a Donkey and a Goat

            Whenever we talk about family history, Lora loves repeating that while the Northen side of the family may be able to trace itself back to royalty, her side goes back to a donkey and a goat.  This weekend in Buffalo, she got some insight into that theory.

One of the highlights of our trip to Buffalo over the weekend was a visit to Lora’s Aunt Lucy who is now living in an assisted residence in Kenmore.  I’ve always enjoyed Aunt Lucy.  Whenever I have seen her in the past, she has come across as a very positive, youthful person.  In June she had to have surgery in which a large portion of her colon was removed and she was given a colostomy bag.  While she was recovering in the hospital, her husband (Uncle Joe) suffered a stroke himself and died.  He had been told that when Aunt Lucy got out, they’d have to move to assisted living.  If you knew Uncle Joe – ‘nuff said.

            This was the backdrop to the visit that Lora, her brother Mike, Bev and I  made to see Aunt Lucy, so we did not know how we would find her when we visited her in her new surroundings.  Though the assisted living complex has the vague nursing home feel of all senior citizen complexes when you initially walk in, her room itself was light and airy and, once in, there was no sense that she was in a residential facility at all.  Aunt Lucy was actually quite glad to see us and insisted on giving us ginger ale and chocolate candy.  Though she seemed older and a bit weaker she was actually in good spirits and seemed to have had no cognitive losses from her so-far terrible summer at all.  Mike prompted her with a couple of questions about the family and she gave some background about her own father, Joseph (Giuseppe) Albanese, who is also Lora and Mike’s grandfather. While much accorded with what we knew, there were some surprises.

          Everyone knew that Joseph Albanese had been in an orphanage in Palermo but was not sure how he had gotten there.  According to Aunt Lucy, he had actually been born in Céfalu but raised in Temini.  His mother died when he was young, within a few years of his birth.  His father remarried and he had a half-sister Mamie, but the second wife  may have died as well.  I’m not clear about that.  One of the things that he did when he was young was to take vegetables from his neighbors in Termini into Palermo by way of donkey and sell them.  Then he would bring the money back to them in Termini when done. When he was still fairly young, his father was kicked in the head by a donkey and died as a result of the injuries.  That is when Joseph was placed in the orphanage in Palermo.  It was a seminary orphanage and apparently he did not care for it too much and tried to run away with a friend several times, but then would always get hungry and come back.  Because it was a seminary orphanage, at the age of sixteen he either had to make a decision to become a priest or else leave the orphanage.  He chose to leave.

           His trip over to the United States was sponsored by his Uncle, also named Joseph, who lived in Mt. Morris, New York.  Aunt Lucy says that he barely brought anything with him except a change of close, but Lora says that he came over with a trunk that is now in Eli’s possession.  While in Mt. Morris, Lora’s grandfather (i.e. Aunt Lucy’s father) had several jobs including doing shoe shining and repair. Aunt Lucy says that in her old home she still has the shoe kit.  [As an aside, According to Aunt Lucy one of the Albanese family, named Dominic Albanese, who was a barber, was also the mayor of Mt. Morris. Bev says she has tried to confirm this but cannot.]  Joseph gradually made his way over to Lake Erie.  Lora has always said it was because he loved the water so much, having lived in Palermo, and needed to be near it.  First he lived in Dunkirk and eventually moved up to Buffalo.

            Mike asked Aunt Lucy how his grandparents were met.  It was pretty basic.  There was a man, named Russ, I think who was known as the singing butcher.  Her was Joseph’s paisan, meaning, according to Aunt Lucy, that he came from the same neighborhood in Sicily as Joseph.  One day he was hanging around a store – perhaps the butcher shop – and noticed Lena Varco.  He was attracted to her and asked to be introduced.  That was pretty much it.  Early in their marriage they lived on Trenton St. in on the lower west side of Buffalo, an area basically considered an Italian ghetto. Aunt Lucy said the address was 111. (I think.)  We drove by to see it, but the house –as Mike already suspected – was no longer there.  The area itself looks quite depressed.  Later they moved to Niagara St. and the house where Lora was born.  That house is still there.  Mike told us that one day when he was in the neighborhood with a community outreach project that he saw people sitting on the porch and, when he explained that he had lived in the house at one time, invited him to come in.  He said much of it still looks the same as he remembered it.

            I know that I have left out a number of detail, and perhaps have gotten some of the things Aunt Lucy told us backward, but it was a really memorable visit.  Aunt Lucy obviously enjoyed it too because when someone poked their head in the door to tell her it was five thirty and dinner was being served, she merely looked at us and said that she would be able to get something to eat later. At least now we know that there is indeed a donkey in the Ventura family story.  Lora says that we just needs to find out where the goat comes in.

Road Trip Into History - Part 4

My Northern Neck odyssey had proven as successful as I could have hoped for so far in the discovered of the burial spot of my grandparents.  I’d honestly expected to find a small overgrown cemetery with broken, illegible stones, so even  it would have been wonderful the original graves, at least I’d solved what had been a family mystery for those Northens who were not raised in the area.  My next destination was vaguer. Specifically, it was Bogey Neck road, the Northern clan area and the place where my contact James and the rest of the family had met Dad when he came back to his birth place in 1987.  I can remember coming down to pick him and Mom up in the sweltering heat with Eli and Maya in our little non-air-conditioned Hyundai, the cornfields bone dry. We had picked them up at his foster mother Leta’s house, however, and not down in the Bogey Neck region, so I had no clues other than seeing a picture of the water – presumably the Wicomico River – from Robert’s house. 

            Bogey Neck Rd. was lined with small houses, some red brick, some white clapboard, some relatively new, some quite old and faded, but none of them that looked as though it was inhabited by anyone with a large income.  I passed several dirt roads that appeared to go through woods down towards the water but they had signs posted such as “Trespass at Your Own Risk.”  At length, Bogey Neck Rd. ended at a fork of private driveways that appeared to view down to water that I could not see at the end of the neck.  There was nothing more to do. This was the first real failure, of the trip; there was nothing to do but turn around and head back down the road.  My only consolation was that at least I had been in the area, so was a tiny step closer to experiencing the area where Dad was raised.

            Before leaving Wicomico Church, I decided to look up the site of Wicomico High School.  Just as Bootsy Burgess had described it, it was about a quarter of a mile off of the main highway.  There was a new brick apartment building where the main part of the school would have been flanked by a couple of older, nice painted buildings that were now private dwellings and could possibly have been part of the school.  I took pictures just in case. 

            At this point it was already after 3 PM and the heat was increasing. I was hoping to make it back to the Northumberland County Historical Society to see what the opportunities for research were there.  On the way back, I crossed over the Wicomico River.  It was very blue and much larger than I expected.  I stopped on the bridge to take a picture.

This was the river where Dad and his brothers had earned money by crabbing when they were young.  This was the river where my Grandmother Mattie’s body had been found floating in September of 1931.   According to the Rappahannock Record, she was discovered about a mile down river from her home.  Looking across the river, I knew that one of those shores, was Bogey Neck. I wondered what it must have been like there in those days 82 years ago. 

            I arrived back at the Northumberland County Historical Society less than half an hour before closing.  A couple of people had stopped in to chew the fat and, like me, were interested in find out and talking about their backgrounds.  Not having much time, I wanted to get right to work.  The Northumberland County Historical Society puts out an annual journal –sized publications with articles about many aspects of regional history.  Rather than subject, the index was arranged according to last names and, unfortunately, there were no Northen’s/Northern index.  I did, however, spy one name I recognized, Richard Thompson.  Thompson was a member of the William Claiborne party, that in the days of Capt. John Smith, had sailed up the Chesapeake and claimed what is now Kent Island in Maryland for Virginia.  He was also one of our first ancestors on the Lewis side of the family.  When I looked up the article, the mention was of Richard Thompson’s son, Richard Jr, saying the king had granted him one of the first pieces of land in Northumberland County. (Unfortunately, it was Richard Jr’s sister we are descended from - so no land for us.)

I was given several folders with the label Northern/Northen on them. Most were information that I already had, but there was a chart and a couple of pages that added to my knowledge of relatives not directly in our line.  I asked to have a copy or two made, but given the shortage of time, even had it been new information, I would not have had the time to go through it.  What I did learn there, though, is that they have a back room with several sets of journals relating to the area history.  It could prove a wealth of information about those members of the family on the Lewis side who were active in the early days of Northumberland County and the Northern Neck.  On the next trip down, I’ll have to give myself plenty of time.

It had been a full day, to say least but even as I was riding back, my adrenalin was still going thinking of what I had been able to see for the first time and discover for myself.  About fifteen minutes past Baltimore, Eli called to ask if I could swing back by and bring Joey with me.  The dog sitter that they had lined up for the weekend had completely forgotten and made other plans.  I turned around headed back to Catonsville.  I  was actually glad for the stop.  I’d been so busy and had such limited time that other than the iced tea in Warsaw, I’d eaten only a banana and some string cheese all day.  Eli grabbed some dinner for me while I recounted some of what I been able to uncover that day.  Joey proved an agreeable companion on the way home. He didn’t mind that I loved to leave the windows open to let the warm air rush over me as I drove and rarely contradicted me when I gave my opinions of the day.

           

Road Trip into History - Part 3

My family research in Richmond County proved rewarding. I felt pretty good after about having found the Old Northen Homestead and the Lewis graves at Oakland church. The one area in Richmond County, other than the historical society, that disappointed me was being able to find the Old Budweiser plant which, apparently has the grave of Peter Northen (one of the more prominent  family members), or a marker about him behind it.  Around 1 PM, then, I headed down to Northumberland County. 

            I was able to find the Northumberland Historical Society and walked in.  To my surprise, upon walking in, it looked like it had a fair amount of material, with their society magazine and many other books all spread out.  There was a ten dollar fee for researching.  I was met by Bootsy Burgess whose name I recognized from Lora’s and my previous trip there.  One of the things that she showed me was a large framed wall hanging the said Wicomico High School Honor Roll.  She said it had been hanging in one of the Methodist Churches, I think, and they were going to discard it so the society took it.  I found my father’s name on it along with John’s and Roberts, but not Dad’s sister Elizabeth. 

This was strange because neither John nor Robert went much beyond elementary school, but it also verified the story that all through high school Dad's last name was spelled with a second r.  After Looking at it, I realized what it was from one of the papers in the packet of documents about my father that my mother had send many years back.  It was not an academic honor roll, but a list of those from Wicomico school who had served in a branch of the armed forces.  I was also able to find Peyton’s and Calvin’s name listed under, Army.   I asked Ms. Burgess where the Wicomico High School had stood, knowing that it no longer existed.  She described the site to me on Brown’s Store Road saying that most of the original had been torn down and now there was an apartment building.  She also confirmed that the Northen’s had lived out on Bogey Neck road and was pretty sure that John Northen had run a crab shop from there.  She also said there were two churches out on Mila Rd., but, luckily, I had an address.  She invited me to come back and do some research that day if I had time; they closed at 4 PM.

            As with my search for Oakland Church, I had my trusty Google map with me.  Eli had helped confirm this for me the night before.  Once again it was a long ways down the road.  I pulled into a short dirt road and the church looked exactly as it did in a picture I discovered on line.   The cemetery was small so even from near the front, I was able to see two large markers that said Northern.  The first graves that I found were those of my Dad’s brother John and his wife Myrtlene. I had heard that John might be buried here, but even so this was a nice surprise.  James Hoffman had told me that my grandparents markers were small, not much more than a stone and might be illegible, but it was clear that, as with the Richmond County cemeteries these markers were pretty new.  It took very little time to find a large marker that said Northern at the bottom and then on the top the names of my grandparents. 

I was both delighted and disappointed.  Delighted because I had been searching for my grandparents burial site for a long time, but disappointed because there was one generic stone and neither of the original stone.  To me there is something about each person having his or her own marker that just seems more real to me, as though I can point to the spot and say that whatever remains of that person is buried there.  A couple things interested me about the marker, though.  First, it does not take a linguist to see that the stone was placed there by Crocker and Mattie’s children and that the inscription is an anachronism.  Knowing this also shows how oral tradition, even within a generation, can change things.  First of all, according to the E. E. Northen account of the family, written when my grandfather was still attending school in Emmerton, his name was Marcellus Crocker Northen.  My grandmother’s obituary and this grave marker, however make it clear that he was known as Crocker.  This latter also gels with my own memory from childhood when my mother would say that Dad’s fathers name was Crocker Marcellus and we would laugh at what a strange names that was.  Moreover, despite the spelling on his father’s and brother’s name in Calvary Cemetery, it was spelled Northern in Northumberland County.

While I was in the cemetery an electrical truck pulled up that was supposed to do some work on the church.  I asked if they were church members and might know anything about the grave yard, but they said they were just workers there and knew nothing about the church.  I did, copy the church address and name of the minister from the sign in front for future use.  My next stop was to just drive to Bogey Neck Road, the road where apparently the Northen clan was known to have lived.  It was not far and paralleled this one, leading out to the Wicomico River.

           

Road Trip Into History - Part 2

     Having had luck in the first stop on my journey with the likely discovery of “The Old Northen Homestead,” my next destination was Oakland United Methodist Church.  Sometime last November, I had received an email from a woman who was doing  research for a book on the church members who were buried in the cemetery.  She had seen my family on ancestry.com and wondered if I knew anything about Robert Northern.  I told her that, in fact, he had been my father’s older brother.  She said that he was buried in the cemetery, but that no one knew much about him.  With continuing emails, I also learned that my great grandfather, John P. Lewis and his wife were also buried in the cemetery.  So that is where I was headed. 

Without having had this information, I would have never thought to have gone to Oakland church cemetery.  It was very rural and quite a ways off the highway 3, the main route through Richmond Country.  The time was edging towards noon when I got there, and the temperature was approaching the mid-nineties.  What caught my attention immediately when I entered the cemetery was that the name Lewis was probably the most frequent name to appear on the head stones.  I wandered back into the cemetery trying to see if any of them were for John P. Lewis, and was having no luck when I came across my uncle Robert’s grave marker.

One thing that strikes any of my family is the spelling of the last name.  My father always said that growing up his last name was spelled with a second “r” in it and that his brothers’ name still were spelled that way.  Near Robert’s grave I spotted another one that said Clara W. Bryant.  Bryant, like Lewis, is an extremely common name in Richmond County, but I recognized this as the married name of my Dad’s youngest sister Peggy.  (How she came to be nicknamed Peggy has always been a bit of a mystery.)  The dates on her tombstone read 1924-2007, so she was the last of my fathers siblings.  Near her was the grave of her husband and a stone that included both of their names.

      I made my rounds through the cemetery – a fairly large one for a church in a thinly populated area – inspecting all the Lewis stones with no luck.  I came back up to the church and was about to leave when I looked at one last Lewis marker.  Around it, I discovered my grandmother’s family.   There were John Pierce Lewis and Katherine Edwards Lewis (my great-grandparents) as well as John Ball Lewis and his wife Alice Ruic Lewis (my great-grand parents).  There was also a Maggie Lewis who was either my grandmother’s oldest sister or her aunt.  I can’t help but add that the “Ball” in my great-grandfather’s name was after his great-grandmother, Sarah Ball, who was related to Mary Ball, George Washington’s mother.

I was obviously excited about finding the site where my dad’s brother and sister and  my grandmother Mattie Lewis’ family were buried.  My plan was to head back to the Richmond Historical Society now that it was well past 11 AM. First, though, I wanted to stop by the  Calvary Baptist church where I knew my great-grandfather W.F.L. Northen (see blog about the man with many names) was buried.  I’d been there on the previous trip but it was on the way back to Warsaw and I wanted to check in to see if anything new turned up (well, not literally). 

     Rather than new discoveries, the visit back to Calvary cemetery (a much smaller one than Oakland) tended to deepen some understandings.  First of all, there is a joint stone saying “Northen and Bryant Families.”  After having seen my Aunt Peggy’s (Clara’s) grave this just cemented for me the relationship between the families.  Moreover, there was a grave there at Calvary that also said Clara Bryant.  It was next her husband and I recognized that this Clara was my father’s aunt.  A 1910 census records my great-grandmother Mary Elizabeth Northen as having had five children, only three of whom survived into adulthood.  My grandfather Marcellus Crocker was the oldest and his brother Robert was the third.  Those two I knew had lived.  I also knew that one brother Norman had died at four years old from congenital birth defects.  Norman’s grave was also right there.  Next to it was also the grave of a girl, Ruth Mytrle, who died at two years old.  This would have completed the list of the five children, three who lived and two who didn’t: Marcellus, Norman, Robert, Ruth and Clara.  It helped me form a better picture of my grandfather’s family.

      From my experiences with looking in cemeteries in Richmond County so far, it appears that there has been some kind of Renaissance in an attempt to maintain cemeteries.  It doesn’t take too long to realize that most of the stones that I have been looking at cannot possibly be the original tombstones.  From an informational standpoint, I am grateful for this and commend the churches who are involved in preserving family memories. It makes the difficult task of seeking out barely readable old stones from a hundred or more years ago much easier. At the same time, there is something about actually seeing and touching the stones that were put their when that person was originally buried that works on a deeper emotional connection and I wish that they had left the original tombstones when they also put in the new ones.

One last comment before finishing up with Calvary cemetery and heading on.  Here is my great grandmother’s grave marker (obviously new):

Newness aside, when compared to her grandson Robert’s grave marker above, what is most obvious is the spelling of the last name – no second R.  Mary’s two children who died young (Norman and Ruth) also have their last name spelled Northen. So obviously my grandfather’s name was originally spelled Northen as well.  What happened? One other rather eerie thing is that there was a grave there that read:  James E. Northen (1848-1900). Of course, Dad was James E. Northen as well, so this may be who he was named for.

     I headed back to the Warsaw and the Richmond Historical Society.  When I arrived back at the historical society, it was still closed despite the fact that it was now 12:45 and the hours said 11-3.   Thinking that perhaps the person running it was out to lunch I went  to a restaurant called The Daily News – named for the newspaper office next to it – both to wait out the time and to get out of the heat.  The restaurant was a bustling and lively place, so I had an ice tea at the counter, but, having only one day for my research only stayed about 20 minutes.  Once 1 PM came, I headed I went back over to the historical society, only to find it still closed.  Lora and I had experienced the same phenomenon on our previous trip down, closed when the schedule said it should be open, so I cut my losses and decided to head on down to Northumberland County for the next part of my trip.   

 

 

Road Trip into History - Part 1

After much procrastination, I’ve finally gotten back into researching the history of the Northen side of the family again.  On Thursday, I took at trip down to Virginia, to check out a few sites that I had heard about where I might pick up clues about my family. A bit of background.  My father, James E. Northen, was born in Wicomico Church in Northumberland County Virginia, but his father and all the Northen generations before him from the late 1600’s had been in Richmond County Virginia. There were places in each that I wanted to visit, and each county also has a small historical society. Geographically, Richmond County and its county city, Warsaw, were the closest so I headed there first.  Eli had let me stay overnight at his house in Catonsville, so I was able to get an early jump on things.

I arrived down in Warsaw at the Richmond County Historical society at about 10:30 and the hours on the door said it was open 11-3, so I headed out to do the field work, which is why I really drove down.  I had three places in mind to visit in Richmond County that I knew existed but had not been to before.  The first was the most mysterious.  I was trying to locate what, in a family history by E.E. Northen in 1900, was referred to as the “Old Northen Homestead.”  It was where my grandfather Marcellus Crocker Northen had been born and most generations of the Northen family from some time in the 1700’s.  At the time E. E. Northen wrote it’s history, it was still standing.  I’d been contact by a distant relative who said that he had been down their looking for it based upon clues in Northen’s book and gave me some directions.

According to my relative, the old homestead was listed as being next to The Old Bostwell House on Boswell Rd.  He said there were supposedly some family graves on the property.  To my delight, I found the Boswell property right near the end of the road and next to it an old housethat was decomposing, surrounded by farm equipment.  I knocked on the Boswell door, but got no answer so I began looking among a some bushes between the two properties.  I found a small buried plot, about half a dozen grave markers – but they all were for the Boswell family.  I was about to leave when I pushed aside a few weeds and found:

His wife Catherine Northen’s marker was next to it.   I was instantly excited because Edward Jones Northen was my great-great-great grandfather.  This showed me that this more than likely was the spot of the old homestead.  I went next door and began taking pictures of the site.  This is the house.  

This morning when I thought about it, I was chagrined to realize that something was not quite right.  Edward Jones Northen’s  (my ancestor) wife was named Sarah, not Catherine.  I also realized that the date was too late. However, he had a son Edward, Jr. who married his cousin, Catherine, so that’s whose markers these must have been.  Old notes from a deed, however tell me that Edward Jones’ Sr.’s son, George, who was my direct ancestor lived in the land next to Edward and Catherine - so this is still a prime candidate for the old homestead, after all. 

It was a hot day in Richmond County – in the mid-nineties, and just thinking about it is making me thirsty, so  I think I will post this for now and continue with the rest of the trip soon. The next place I wanted to find was a cemetery where my Grandmother, Mattie Lewis parents, were buried.  It was a hot day in Richmond County – in the mid-nineties.

Man of Many Names

        The grave stone of my paternal great-grandfather lists him as W. F. L.  Northen. Sources of family history list his name as William Fitzhugh Lee Northen. Nick-named Willie, he was described in the 1900 Northen Family History as having being 5 feet 10 inches in height and slender” with “light hair, red beard, and light blue eyes.”  I’d always wondered who the Fitzhugh Lee might have been since it clearly seemed to be some sort of family name.  An additional twist was added on a 1910 census in which his name is listed as W.H.F.L. Northern [sic]. 

        Last October, when speaking with James Hoffman a distant relative of who is also a descendent of Willie Northen, the mystery began to unravel. Hoffman told me that Willie was known in the family as the man of many names. Family legend had it that he was named after William Henry Fitzhugh Lee, the second son of Robert E. Lee who was passing through Richmond Country passed through the area with the 9^th Virginia Calvary when Willie was born in 1863.  Apparently either one of his older brothers (Willie was the youngest of about 10) or his father met Lee and was impressed enough that Willie was named after him.  The facts about William Henry Fitzhugh Lee check out, so apparently a little Civil War history was injected into a name on our family tree.

Elementary School Graduation

       Today I attended my grandson Connor’s graduation from New Eagle Elementary School in Wayne, PA.  The elementary school only goes up to grade 4, so next year it will be on to middle school. The graduation was ceremony was a pleasant one – despite the torrential rain. The auditorium crammed with parents and the graduates participating themselves through singing and playing “Ode to Joy” on recorders.

        When I first began teaching at the end of the 1960’s I was full of enthusiasm about the transformative power of education., believing that if we could get kids excited about learning, the future of the country would be so much brighter. Forty-five years later, I’m a good deal more jaded. Fostering the love of learning has been replaced by the push for high test scores and battles over school safety. This past week, though, has restored my faith somewhat.

         Thursday last week, I attended the school’s Wax  Museum event for my grandson Andrew.  The way it works is that each student picks a famous person they are interested in learning more about.  They research that person and then write up a report.  They then dress up in costume as that person.  On the day of the event parents and students from all the other classes are invited.  Andrew’s event was held outside on a sunny day in a small park-like area in front of the school.  The children presenting were lined up around the area and had to stand stiff as though they were the wax figure.  Each child had a sticker  – black circle – attached to their hand.  When a visitor touched the circle, the wax figure came to life and delivered his/her speech.  Andrew came as Michael Jordan and had a constant line of visitors – many students from other classes – coming up to touch the circle and hear his speech. It was a definite success for him.

       Shortly after the wax museum, we went into Connor’s classroom where he was making a power point presentation.  The students could choose any subject and Connor chose France because his maternal grandfather is of French descent and Connor wanted to know more about his heritage. Other students in the class got to ask questions and the teacher gave him pointers – the pros and cons of his presentation (with a heavy emphasis on the positive).

       We all live in the shadow of 9/11, of xenophobia, homophobia and economic uncertainty.  As I sat at Connor’s graduation today, I was glad to have a chance to see that at least some of his generation will be leaving elementary school with a positive out look on learning and a chance to carry that into the future.  It is a hopeful sign, when teachers are actually being allowed to teach.

Praying in Bed

       Tomorrow will be the second year that Mom's birthday has come around since she died.  In remembrance, Ed wrote the following piece, originally titled "Reflections on Mom and Prayer." 

My morning my thoughts go to you Father in heaven.  As I lay in bed I think of how my mother used to ask me, if I thought it was okay to pray while laying in bed, instead of kneeling. 

She grew up in the catholic faith where kneeling is important when you pray.  I still remember attending High Mass when it was in said Latin,  the smell of incense, tall white candles illuminating the church of a small mission church,  the Priest singing of the Liturgy.  In the pews there were laminated cards with the peoples responses printed on them in a foreign tongue. There was the continual rising to stand, kneeling to pray and sitting to listen, dipping of fingers in holy water, the signing of the cross in reverence, the little gold tabernacle on the alter, where the communion hosts were securely kept, along with the  chalice and wine.   It all reinforced the holiness of God.

From this environment we form our impression of who God is, of what pleases or is acceptable to Him, it’s difficult to break religious habits.  Especially from teachings which emphasizes how unhappy God is with you,(though he loves you) how you must do better before God will accept you.   But when you are nearing ninety and need a walker to stand, I am certain God is not angry with you, if He is then I would want nothing to do with Him.   

If this concept of God were true then they would have to rewrite the scriptures.  Put in stories where Jesus is indignant, knocking over old people with their walkers who would not bow to him.  Telling the hungry to bring him more food and wine when he stayed in their homes.   He probably would not have even stayed in the modest homes of people, demanding they put him up in luxurious palace.  He was too important, too holy, to be treated as a commoner.   Teaching them they were all miserable sinners and were lucky God did not destroy them, but he would intercede for them, for a price.  This would be the gospel of bad news.  Gratefully this is the antithesis of God’s nature.

My mother would lie in bed, and talk to God, this was her purest form of prayer.   Oh she would say the rosary, or recite the prayers of the saints she had memorized from the back of little cards but these were more of a formality.  To just talk, ask questions and struggle to reason, why life was so difficult, so unfair this was her purest form of prayer.  She used to tell me that she did not see the need to go to confession, to be forgiven.  That she could just lift up her head and look into the blue heaven above her, as she stood outside, hanging laundry, ask for forgiveness and pray for strength. 

This is a women who lived the hard times. She was never able to rise out of the devastating consequences of others, though she endured them with faith and tenacity.  She lived for others, a woman, who in the realm of her world did amazing things.  If she was on the nation stage, she would receive honor and adulations.  But her acknowledgements were a bag of groceries showing up on the door step, or someone paying her electric or heating bill.  There is a greatness of character that surpasses fame, this is the quality my mother possessed.  Who lived her life with sacrifice, endurance, patience and acceptance motivated by love and devotion, to her family and God. 

She no longer needs a walker, she has passed the test, heard the words said, well-done good and faithful servant.  She is having tea or in my mothers case, a hot cup of coffee,  with the widow who gave her last mite.

Mom, thank you for your example, for your prayers, for your, sacrifice devotion and love. 

Our Family Connection to Scotland

Like half of the rest of North America, we can trace a branch our family back to Robert I, kind of Scotland, known better as Robert the Bruce (or Robert Bruce).  Where it ties in to our family is with Abigail Minty, the wife of William Northen that I’ve written about in previous Northen News posts.  Abigail’s mother was Margaret Fleming who had the line back to Robert Bruce. 

An interesting note is that Marjorie Bruce died at the age of 19 and her husband was only a few years older.  Her son Robert was born the same day she died.  The story is that she was out horseback riding and fell off the horse.  Robert was born premature.  It is always interesting when you see just how serendipitous it is that our family even exists, when you think about incidents like that.

By the way, the genealogy can be confusing because Stewart is often spelled Stuart, Robert Stewart was married several times and had two daughters named Elizabeth.  In any case, here is the line.

Robert Bruce I, King of Scotland (1274 - 1329)

is your 21st great grandfather

Marjorie Bruce (1297 - 1316)

Daughter of Robert

Robert Stewart (1316 - 1390)

Son of Marjorie

Robert Stewart (1340 - 1420)

Son of Robert

Elizabeth Stewart (1384 - 1413)

Daughter of Robert

Robert 1st Lord of Fleming tm (1416 - 1491)

Son of Elizabeth

Malcolm Fleming tm (1437 - 1477)

Son of Robert 1st Lord of

John 2nd Lord Fleming (1465 - 1524)

Son of Malcolm

Malcolm, 3^rd Lord Fleming (1494 - 1547)

Son of John 2nd Lord Fleming

John 5th Lord Fleming (1537 - 1572)

Son of MALCOLM- 3rd LORD

John Fleming (1567 - 1619)

Son of John 5th Lord

John Fleming (1589 - 1650)

Son of John

Alexander Fleming (1612 - 1668)

Son of John

John Fleming (1633 - 1686)

Son of Alexander

Alexander Fleming (1669 - 1711)

Son of John

Margaret Fleming (1692 - 1755)

Daughter of Alexander

Abigail Minty (1728 - 1786)

Daughter of Margaret

George Northen (1748 - 1795)

Son of Abigail

Edward Jones Northen (1774 - 1837)

Son of George

George Northen (1801 - 1879)

Son of Edward Jones

Willliam Fitzhugh Lee Northen (1863 - 1938)

Son of George

Marcellus Crocker Northen (1889 - 1931)

Son of Willliam Fitzhugh Lee

James Edward Northen (1920 - 1997)

Son of Marcellus Crocker

Michael Allan Northen

Son of James Edward 

For Amelia, Maggie, Connor, Jack, Owen, Andrew and Liam, that makes Robert Bruce their 23rd grandfather.

Steve's Last letter

As each year winds down, I  look back over the journal that I have kept to remind myself of the myriad things that have occurred during the year, many of which I’d never expected and  most of which I’ve already begun to forget. One of the most surprising things that turned up in 2012 was a letter written from my brother Steve to Mom in August of 1967, just a few months before his death.  Though we now know what Steve did not about his future – something that imbues the letter with an even richer meaning  – I think it is a really appropriate letter for reflection on a day given to thoughts about renewal and new beginnings.  On a more personal level, I think it gives Steve a chance to let him tell those in our family who never really knew him a little something about himself in his own words.  I wonder how many 19 year-olds today in comparable situations would show the same kind of independence, work ethic and character that this letter hints at.  (I’ve kept all the original spelling.)

                                                                                            August 25, 1967

Mom,

     Just thought I would write a couple of lines to let you know what I have been doing.  Right now George and I are in San Fransico, it was so hot at the river that we decided to come up here and see what was going on.  Both of use are okay but we have had a little trouble with the car, we think that it has a burnt valve but we are really not sure.  We went to a garage the other day and they said that it would cost between 65.00 and 80.00 dollars to have it fixed.  Neither of use have any money and we are going to work up here until we can get up enough money to get the car fixed and return home.  I got a job yesterday working at a place called World Carpets Inc, but it is only for three days.  George is still looking for a job but hasn’t had much luck.  After this job is finished we are going to go to this place and get a job picking peaches.  We figure we will have enough money to get the car fixed by Thursday or Friday so we will probably be returning home late Friday nite or early Saturday morning.  I am really looking forward to getting home, because it is frezzing up here and we have been sleeping in the car and it’s pretty cramped and I’m starving.  Well at least I think that I have learned one thing out of this trip, and that is that I don’t want to go on being a bum the rest of my life, after seeing all the bums and panhandlers down here it really makes you stop and think. I sure would hate to think of me being like that in 10 years or so.  So I have decided when I get back home I am going to get a job and save money, then go back to school the second semester, because I doubt if I could get in this semester I think it’s too late.  When I get back in school I am really going to try.  This may sound like a lot of hogwash to you, but I really mean it this time.  This place has really made me see how important it is to get an education and make something of yourself.  Well enough that subject for a while.

     Well like I said I will probable be home Friday or Saturday depending on how soon we get the car fixed. How is everything down there OK.  I hope. Well I have to get going now I am at work on my lunch hour and I have to get back.  I just wanted to let you know I am ok.  Say hi to Pat & Mary and everybody down there and I will see you on Saturday (I hope).

                                                                          Steve

I Remember...

Christmas is the time of year when we all seem to dig back into memories to recall our traditions and the experiences we shared with our families when we were younger.  This year has added to it the knowledge that it has now been one year since Mom died.  Looking back, I am glad that two Christmases ago we were able to put together a small book of  memories of  the times we had growing up in Mom's house to give her as a Christmas gift. 

My memories of childhood are not always the clearest so a few days ago, I sat sat down and wrote a stream of consciousness, “I Remember” list.  It is a technique that writing teachers have traditionally used to get ideas for writing, but I just used it to try to help bring some of my memories back to consciousness.  There is no particular organization to it. When I was done, I looked at it and thought that perhaps other family members might be interested in seeing it because it might trigger some of their own memories, so I’m posting it and inviting anyone who has things to add to it or post a list of their own. (See below the list for how to.)

I remember the time we were driving our '49 DeSoto to San Diego from Santa Ana and it died, so the whole family had to hitchhike.

I remember Grandpa Wilkins' coin collection.

I remember piling in back of the rambler station wagon and singing at the top of our voices.

I remember trying to deliver newspapers in by bicycle in the hot Santa Ana winds.

I remember seeing a fire from the playground of Willard Jr. High school and running down the street to see it, only to find out it was our house.

I remember Mom clicking her teeth at all of the grandchildren.

I remember Mary answering the door at Grandma’s and calling out, “there’s a woman at the door and she’s really fat!”

I remember how Dad liked mincemeat pie.

I remember how we used to dry our clothes by hanging them out on a clothes line.

I remember that the bulbs we used on the Christmas tree were much bigger than the ones today and that the tinsel was real tinsel, not plastic.

I remember that we had to ask permission to take anything out of the refrigerator.

I remember that peppermint was my favorite flavor of ice cream.

Of course, I remember Mom fastening Ed to the clothes line by his suspenders.

I remember the whole family watching Bonanza, the Ed Sullivan show, Disneyland or Lawrence Welk on Sunday nights.

I remember how we would all kneel down to say the rosary each night during lent.

I remember going to watch Pat’s little league games

I remember the Christmas when Steve and I got our first bikes.

I remember having cow’s tongue for dinner.

I remember when the Mass was still in Latin and we would sing Adeste Fidelis in the original words.

I remember that two years in a row, a box with food for Thanksgiving dinner was dropped off at our house.

I remember that Grandpa Wilkins would ring the necks of the chickens he raised.

I remember family pinochle games at holidays.

I remember ping pong matches on the backyard patio.

I remember walking past a pet store on my first day of kindergarten.

I remember the smell of the campfire at the camp for at risk youth during the summer after eighth grade.

I remember spam and Ovaltine.

I remember Mom making syrup for hotcakes out of mapeline.

I remember lying in bed earlier Christmas morning in the dark unable to get back to sleep.

I remember the first time our family went out to a restaurant together and eating Chinese food.

I remember that mom always called pizza “pizza pie” and pronounced Italian with a long I.

I remember Mom’s stories of getting her tongue frozen stuck on a gate.

I remember climbing the apricot tree at Grandma’s.

I remember how Dad used to give us all haircuts and one time he let Mom try to cut his hair.

I remember planting the redbud tree in our front yard when it had arrived in the mail as a twig.

I remember boils, pinworms and impetigo.

I remember lining up in school to get vaccinations.

I remember grandma’s ringer washer.

I remember fried chicken and mashed potatoes on Sundays – Mom’s was the best.

I remember Mom always wore clip on earrings.

I remember the silk jackets Dad brought Steve and I back from Korea.

I remember that Dave always had the best penmanship in the family.

I remember sitting in front of the television watching the test patterns and waiting for shows to come on for the day.

I remember oyster stew on Fridays

I remember Mom reading our first books to us, “The Little Red Hen” and “Peter Rabbit”.

I remember using hand signals to drive.

I remember taking accordion lessons and wanting to be able to play “Lady of Spain”

I remember on Christmas that we could only open one gift before attending Mass.

I remember the year I learned there was no Santa Claus and had to keep the secret from Steve.

I remember how much I loved Mom’s pineapple-upside down cake.

I remember Dad saying the only two foods he didn’t like were parsnips and tomatoes, and that squirrel tasted greasy.

I remember that we always shared bedrooms. 

I remember Mom always said Dave “was like a long drink of water.”

I remember that when we lived with grandma, on weekends we would put the names of the chores to be done in a jar and each draw out our jobs for the day.

I remember that when we brought report cards home, Mom always looked at the conduct marks and effort first.  She said the most important thing to her were that we were good people.

As for posting to Northen News, Maya made the serendipitous discovery a week or so ago that if you already have an account with Blogger and I have sent you an invitation, Northen News will automatically pop up as one of the blogs that you can add to, so you can write a new one at any time.  If I didn’t send you an invitation, but you want to post on Blogger, let me know and I’ll send you one.  All, I’ll need is your email. Of course, you can always just leave a comment.

St. Martin's Photo

Melissa was asking whether or not there was a picture of St. Martin's Catholic Church that I mentioned in the previous blog.  The pictures are scarce, but here is one I found on the web.

I'm not sure which part is original but it still looks pretty solid. If anyone finds a better one, please share it.

St. Martin's Church

In Springfield, Wisconsin there is a Catholic church called St. Martin’s that is both a part of our family history and one of those small pieces in the puzzle of American history as well.  Johann Adam Sitzmann, my great-great grandfather, was a stone mason who had recently arrived in the United States from Germany when the building of St. Martin’s began to be built in 1850.  According to local history, it was only in 1841 that the first white settlers had come permanently to this area.  Most of the land still belonged to Native Americans, and that included the land that he thought he had a deed to, as he later found out.   

In history context is everything.  Sitzmann was working on St. Martin’s prior to the Civil War.  It interests me that the church he was helping to build was a Roman Catholic church at a time when there was still a deep prejudice in this country against Catholicism.  No doubt, our tobacco-farming Northen ancestors would have driven them out of town, had they shown up in rural Virginia.  St. Martin’s went on to have a school.  While today we simply assume every child’s right to public education, in the mid-1800’s education was still basically a private affair.  Those parents who had money might send their children, but even then, Catholics were often not allowed, so no doubt St. Martin’s school played an important role in the community.

Because of the dubious claim to his property, Johann Adam Sitzman ended up moving on to western Iowa becoming part of the mass mid-century expansion westward.  St. Martin’s, of course, remained behind.  In one of my imaginary drives across the country to visit all those places that played a part in our family becoming what it is today, Springfield is definitely one of my stops.  It is amazing that today, though expanded and updated, the original church of 160 years ago is still standing.  It was built of stone and meant to last. I’m intrigued with the idea that if somehow Sitzmann left his own fingerprints, his own mark on it.   I doubt many buildings we put up today will be standing 160 years from now, when our descendents look back at us. 

Trout Field Trips for Children

 The following blog is from Ed Northen.

 Trout Unlimited already has a program in place called Trout in the Classroom. The program is a new one. It is done all one the country and is quite successful.  That program allows children in a classroom to raise trout from eggs and watch them develop.  They then learn about the habitat, food sources and anatomy of trout and after they are grown release the trout into a local river. It is a good program and well established, the only down side of it is, it all done using trout raised in a  hatchery, not wild trout and their is a significant difference if you were ever to go fish for trout.  The difference can be compared to if you were to go hunting for Elk or for cows.  

The program we are doing is a pilot program and is focused on many of the same things.  We have a classroom take a field trip to the river and then we will catch fish by either electroshocking the water, which stuns the fish momentarily and allows us to net a few or flies with barbless hooks and catch the fish.  They go into a live well and then have a transmitter placed in them by a professional  trained to do this.  The kids release the trout back into the water and then will use a computer program to track the habits of the Trout.  While on the river the Kids will also have the opportunity about healthy trout habitat and some of the insects [entomology] which Trout use for food.  During the year volunteers will go into the classroom and be a guest teacher on any number of subjects related to wild trout and their habitats, plus do something fun like have  the kids tie a fly, cast fly rod, learn a knot used in fishing, etc.  They will also discuss the movement of the trout and it reinforces the need for healthy habitat and ecosystems as the children see how the fish move and where they live as the water levels change in the course of the year.  

Yesterday, unfortunately we had to cancel the field trip and have rescheduled for Oct 30th.  The rain was pouring down and we had winds up to 45 mph.  We had a lot of trees come down in the land trust near our house and our friends had a tree fall and crush their fence and intruding the yard of the people who live behind them. So today  am going to go with a chain saw and help him cut up the tree and repair the fence, the tree is probably 40 - 50 feet tall.   Then this afternoon at 4:30 we will go with our Trout Unlimited Chapter and rescue some more of the trout who get trapped in the canals, they shut of another canal yesterday.  I suspect that we will get another  4,000 - 5,000  wild trout.   

(Ed is the president of the Hemingway chapter of Trout Unlimited. You can see his newsletter at  http://hemingwaytu.org/)