FamilyTies

  When I was in high school, we were very poor. We had almost nothing to our names and we lived in this tiny 864 square foot house in the middle of the Charleston, Tennessee countryside. I’ve never lived in a more beautiful place, but those were bittersweet times for my family. In the fall of 2003, my senior year of high school, I had the opportunity to go to London with my high school band. Being as poor as we were I would have never been able to afford to go without the loving generosity of our neighbors, who have been family friends for decades. I won’t ever forget the kindness that allowed me to go on that trip. It didn’t exactly go to plan. I didn’t think about the fact that I am terribly prone to motion sickness and how that would translate to air travel. Apparently I get altitude sickness. And apparently it takes arriving back in the States for me to get over it. The band marched in the New Year's Day parade, and being a non-marching member of the band, I marched in the fron...

  I can’t tell you how much I love, how beautiful of an escape it is for me, to walk the trails my ancestors have left for me. To research them is to research myself and truly learn more about who I am. Their stories have informed my own and I love to see these connections. I wish I had more to write about in this interim, but I’m excited to slowly explore people and subject. I know the first few weeks I dropped a lot of info, but I’d collected that information years ago. Now I’m collecting new information and forming new ideas, so it’s going to take a little longer. I hope you’ll forgive the long pauses between posts, but I promise to try to make it worth the wait. I have someone new to introduce to you today. I hadn’t known he’d existed till a few years ago, and I decided to delve into who he was and his story. Aaron Bradshaw Goodwill is my 3x great grandfather and he’d enlisted in the Civil War and died while in service. I hadn’t thought to look into his regiment or his activiti...

  Divorce isn’t an easy thing to face in the best of times, no matter the circumstances.  While I’m doing research on my family I have found many couples that have split, and none of them were easy or painless. One such split was a mystery to me, as it was always spoken of in hushed tones and laced with generations of bitterness. Of course I wasn’t present for the marriage and its subsequent dissolution, but I’d like to give a little detail and insight to one such moment in the family. James and Alice Montgomery were my 2x great grandparents. I had never really known much about either person until I’d begun digging a little. All I’d heard was that James had abandoned his family after his son had died, leaving Alice alone, in and out of institutions for years. Which painted a picture of a villain and the wilting helpless victim. I definitely had Alice’s number wrong. And I think humanizing James would help the family heal, so let’s dive in a bit. James, or JB as he was known la...

  One of my favorite things about starting this blog is that my Nana has called me three different times in 2 weeks, my uncle called me to say how much he’s enjoying all the stories, and even my dad has texted about it. And he doesn’t do the texting so much. I’m so glad they’re enjoying the stories - which I admittedly get very geeky about. And hopefully you’re enjoying them, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t be here in the first place, putting eyes on this lil blog of mine. I have another story for you today. On one of my phone calls from the Nana, she asked me about her great uncle. She couldn’t remember his name but told me who he was. I looked him up while I was on the phone with her, and said his name, which she said YES that’s him. She told me he’d gone to Harvard and had lived overseas in Sweden, she’d thought. So I went ahead and did some digging on the guy to see what we could find. I found him really interesting, so I’d like to introduce you to my 3x great uncle, Harris Eastman...

Christmas tends to be a very stressful time of year for me. I always had magical Christmases, and they always seemed so effortlessly pulled off. My family always made sure the magic clung to the holidays like cinnamon on a snickerdoodle. This past Christmas was particularly stressful as there were some changes in the family that I needed to process and new added stresses I had to learn to manage. So the day before New Years Eve I decided to visit Hollywood Cemetery by myself. It was misting a freezing rain, and I wasn’t really dressed to sit outside, but I needed the bite of the cold and I needed the respite for my brain. I remember telling my husband my plan and grabbing my journal and pen so I could jot down thoughts as they came while I sat in peace on the hill. As I pulled out of the driveway to leave, one of my favorite singer-songwriters played on my Spotify, Ray LaMontagne. It was the song “Be Here Now”, and I felt all the stress melt away and leave my body. I hadn’t heard the s...

This blog kicks off a mini series as an ode to my favorite place to go think. My thinking place. I hope you enjoy my little blurbs about it, and I can't wait to introduce you to it. It's my peaceful place, my muse, my little escape. And I think it's time I truly embraced what a weirdo I am. Because aren't we all? Sleepers' Hill The glittering river Wet and wild Storms past the sleepers' hill, Their stories alive Though their bodies are dead But vessels for souls. They bask in the river's peace, Crescendo as she rages, Whisper when the summer heat dries up her banks. In the full moon, they dance In the shadow of the holly. In the rain they lay soft In their beds in the earth.  The city looms East Unaware they still speak On the hill Where sleepers sleep.

  I have 2 crafty grandmothers. My Gramma Jean, who passed in 2001 could sew, knit, crochet and could probably embroider. I would watch my Nana crochet and knit with the skill and speed of a professional fiber artist. When I was very small, they each took me under their wing and taught me what they knew about what I was interested in learning. They had learned from their own mothers and they joyfully taught me skills I still use to this day. And let me say, these two weren’t in competition with each other, nothing was bitter. It’s always been loving and supportive on both sides. They knew and respected each other, and they each knew/know how special they are to my brother and I. I don’t think that’s something a lot of people can say. And I’m full of gratitude for both of them. Not only did they each teach me - but I have something from each of them. I can’t recall whether it was a birthday or Christmas, but when I was six I finally got the afghan my Nana had been working on for mon...

  There is a theory among scientists that we are a collection of memories, lessons, trauma, maybe even talent stored deep in our DNA, called genetic memory. It's something I’d like to examine in my own experience in researching my family and is already something I see in my parents and my kids. In my family there are many different ways I could see this play out, from the dark things like alcoholism, to a love for the Smoky Mountains, to hobbies like wood working and music.  Above is a picture of the barbershop my great-grandfather worked in. His name was Hoyt Calvin Martin, but he went by Turk. I have no idea where that nickname came from, and I don’t think anyone else knows either. This exact photo was displayed in the Etowah Depot, which is a historic building in Etowah, Tennessee. I’m not sure it’s displayed there any more, but we would stop and admire it whenever we’d go to the 4th of July celebration Etowah would put on from the Depot every year. My Dad tells a story of ...

  My mom’s family, very nearly every single one of them on both her mother’s and father’s side live in Pennsylvania. She was born in a tiny, idyllic town northeast of Erie called…well…North East. North East is home to many many vineyards, small farms, a quaint township, and some of my family’s favorite people on the planet, among them are Dave and Marge Montgomery. Uncle Dave is my deceased Gramma’s brother and knew her better than just about anyone, which makes him a precious commodity indeed. His life stories are coveted remembrances among those of us who knew her. Uncle Dave lives on the family homestead, and has for many many years. That home belonged to his grandfather and holds enough precious memories to fill all of Lake Erie. Once I had dug into my family tree I realized that I had huge chunks of missing information about people that I was curious about. I used every tactic in my niecely trick bag to bribe my great-uncle into divulging details about the family I had questio...