The Fog of Memory

Memories are kept alive by sharing them.  It is interesting that some get passed along and others forgotten.

Being a genealogist, I have uncovered several stories that were lost in the fog of memory.  These were not passed along to the next generation, but were buried in the details of court records, private writings, and the minds of a few who, after the passing of years, were willing to let them out one more time to a listening ear.

One story I’ve found interesting is the brother and sister, cousins of mine, who were involved in a horrific property dispute.  The brother trespassed, knowingly provoking a response.  But the response was more deadly than he bargained for as she stabbed him with her scissors, bringing on his untimely death.  Her husband witnessed the event, tried to take the wrap for it, moved to Missouri and changed his name.  Later on the Governor of Virginia pardoned him as the truth had become more readily apparent.  The fog of memory had almost obliterated this story.

Another more awe-inspiring tale is the one of the German immigrant who tried to board the shores of the Virginia Colony, but due to the evil action of the ship’s captain, who stole the money that had been given to pay his way here, had to agree to serve as an indentured servant of the Virginia Governor for a period of time, mining iron ore.  Later he earned his freedom and migrated to the mountains where his son became a soldier in the war against Great Britain at the Battle of King’s Mountain.

There was an obscure tale of an aunt in one branch of the family tree who traveled west with her husband and got involved in the events that led to the Gold Rush in California.  She was the first person to prove by a commonly known test that the rock they had found was indeed gold.

There is the origin tale of a certain ancestor who was supposed to have been presented to a pioneer family by an Indian Chief named Logan.  He was Native American,  just barely a teenager, and wanted to grow up among the settlers, learn their language, read their Bible and pray to their God.  His occupation listed in a later census is “Methodist Preacher.”

Another family was always thought to have been farmers, but in studying records, it was learned that they were brick masons.  The interesting thing is that other people with the same last name were brick masons for Thomas Jefferson when he was building the University of Virginia.  We were never told of their occupation.

A lawsuit is recorded in the courthouse of my home county that tells of a big fight between members of one branch of the family over one descendant’s trickery that led to his father giving all his land over to him before he died.  The suit names all the other children.  An interesting and probably related fact is that when anyone tries to visit the family cemetery there are problems getting across the property.  Neighbors say that others have been shot at by the owners of the land.  Could this be part of the original fight?

An unmarked grave has always been said to be the one of a certain great great great grandfather.  He was thought to have been a man of means, and once lived in a distinguished-looking big house which survived into my youth.  Upon perusing the records, it seems that every four or five years this ancestor had to re-finance his place and his mill.  If his wife hadn’t inherited property where I was raised, he would have lost everything.  Could it be that this is why he is in an unmarked grave?  This same man recorded a will that left one of his granddaughters a whole dollar, to be collected in corn shucks from the floor of the barn.

And when my grandfather told me about his father’s family he told of the hardship of his grandmother who found herself widowed at an early age, her husband having died at about age 39.  He left her with no means to support herself, and her children had to begin working as soon as they were old enough to take a tool in their hands, hoeing corn, helping with harvesting hay, and other small jobs, whatever they could find.  He told of her intentional hospitality toward any stranger who came by her humble home, hoping beyond hope that in return someone would show like hospitality to her children, wherever they were, as they earned what they could and scraped to get by.  The tears in his eyes as he told this tale convinced me it was true, even though I had never heard it before.  The fog of memory lifted for a few moments that day, and I thought about the hardships others had faced so that the family could survive.

Americans are rich with such stories.

Thomas Jefferson’s design of the “Rotunda”, the library at the heart of the University of Virginia. “South Elevation of the Rotunda, begun 1818, completed March 29, 1819. Ink and pencil drawing.” (according to Library of Congress) (Photo credit: Wikipedia)