This is the ideal place to share this event. I realize I haven't written here in several months, but this looks like a good story to share, since it relates to family history.
I recently received a request to look for an obituary for someone, from an unknown lady in an unknown place. After I located the obituary for her and typed it up and emailed it, she thanked me and said, "If there's anything you need in Oklahoma, just let me know."
Well, people have said similar things to me before, and I usually just thank them and say I will contact them if I have a need for. And I never do, for most of the time they live in areas where none of my family ever lived. This time was different.
I remembered that some of my grandparents' relatives lived in a small town in Oklahoma called "Lookeba." I recently submitted names for temple work for some of them. My great grandmother Johnson's sister (nee Belden) had married a Chambers, and I remembered that later on they had gone to Lookeba, but I forgotten that my grandmother's brother also lived there. In fact, he was the husband of one of the people I had submitted for temple ordinances. Something just told me to mention this town, even though I figured the chances of her being anywhere near it were remote.
Imagine my surprise when she replied and said that her mother had been born there, was still alive (and age 89), as was an older sister, and she goes there every year to put flowers on the graves of her family who are buried there. She asked for the names of my family, so I had to do a little digging to get them all straight, but I sent them on to her yesterday.
Tonight she replied, saying she had met one of my grandmother's nephews, still living and still living in Lookeba, this past spring. And her mother remembered many of the people I had mentioned to this lady.
Talk about a small world! You just never know who you will meet online!
We will continue to correspond, I'm sure. She has promised pictures of tombstones when she goes to the cemetery next Memorial day. I hope for an opportunity to correpond with my mother's cousin Charles (the one she met), it will be great to "get together" with a branch of the family who went south 100 years ago, while my branch came west. And I can't wait to tell my cousin Mike about this latest contact!
Thursday, October 23, 2008
Sunday, June 8, 2008
A Belated Memorial Day Adventure
Yesterday we finally got the chance to do the "Memorial Day" activity that was delayed by the early birth of our 11th grandchild some three weeks early. We took our youngest daughters and our new son-in-law on this trip, which actually was an extended sightseeing tour that we often take. Putting flowers on the graves of my mother and my in-laws, who are interred in the same cemetery, was actually one of the last things we did, but we had a couple of other genealogical moments before and after.
My husband grew up in the area of Washington Park, in Portland. All of our children enjoy going through the park, and through his old neighborhood, recalling the stories he told of growing up there. Our first stop was in Washington Park, taking a walk through the lower park, and into the Holocaust Memorial. More on that later. We then went on to the Rose Gardens, which were disappointing because there were very few blooming rose bushes due to our cold and wet spring. Then we drove up past his old house, which has changed since the family sold it back in 1995. A quick look at our kids' favorite houses in the area--the "Spider House" and the "Castle," then we were off to the cemetery. Even though my twin daughters aren't at all interested in genealogy and family history research, cemeteries have always had a certain fascination for them. We visited their Allen grandparents' graves first, and left flowers. There was a new bench which served as a tombstone for someone buried nearby, that wasn't there the last time we visited. Interesting, and a nice touch. Also on a nearby grave, a picture of the deceased was on the tombstone, which we found interesting. Then we drove down to the Mausoleum just down the hill from my in-laws' grave, and added flowers to her burial site. Our younger three children never knew their "Grandma Irene," but have seen pictures of her and have heard stories. She died a year before our son was born, and three years to the day that the twins were born. They were not quite 3 when their "Grandma Nora" died, and not quite 10 when their grandpa died. Our three younger children carry on their legacy a bit: son is named for both of his grandfather's, the twins' middle names are their grandmother's. My mother always went by her middle name rather than the first, and I could never figure out her objection to my dad being called by HIS middle name instead of his first name (by his family mostly). I'm afraid the oldest twin is destined to pass on the tradition of using "Irene" for the middle name of her daughter--since she's the third generation to carry it herself.
But I digress, my real purpose in writing is about the Holocaust Memorial that is set up in Washington Park. This was our third time to visit, and it is just as sobering the third time as it was the first. Especially this time, because our new son-in-law is of Jewish descent through his mother, who is a full-blooded Jew. We read the complete write-ups on the walls of the Memorial, and wondered how the Nazi's could be so cruel to their fellow man. Son-in-law said that he has heard that there were family members who perished in the various purges of the Holocaust, but his mother and grandmother have been unable to learn any details so far. While I did not lose anyone in the Holocaust that I am aware of, this is especially sobering to me as well, because in the closing days of World War II, the Russian Army came through Pommern, driving all German residents, old and young, weak and well, out of their homes and country that had been theirs for who knows how long. My birth father was born in Stolzenhagen, Pomerania, right in the path of the invading Russian army, I'm quite sure. While he came to this country as a 6 month old baby with his parents and brothers, and his mother's family was already here, I know that my grandfather left a brother there, according to immigration records. I am certain that there were still members of my family there following World War II. What happened to them? I can only guess. Millions died in that purge, according to history books. I can only hope that one day I will be able to locate records for them. And the words in the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 1:6: "Wherefore, I, Lehi, prophesy according to the workings of the Spirit which is in me, that there shall none come into this land save they shall be brought by the hand of the Lord," have even greater meaning for me.
My husband grew up in the area of Washington Park, in Portland. All of our children enjoy going through the park, and through his old neighborhood, recalling the stories he told of growing up there. Our first stop was in Washington Park, taking a walk through the lower park, and into the Holocaust Memorial. More on that later. We then went on to the Rose Gardens, which were disappointing because there were very few blooming rose bushes due to our cold and wet spring. Then we drove up past his old house, which has changed since the family sold it back in 1995. A quick look at our kids' favorite houses in the area--the "Spider House" and the "Castle," then we were off to the cemetery. Even though my twin daughters aren't at all interested in genealogy and family history research, cemeteries have always had a certain fascination for them. We visited their Allen grandparents' graves first, and left flowers. There was a new bench which served as a tombstone for someone buried nearby, that wasn't there the last time we visited. Interesting, and a nice touch. Also on a nearby grave, a picture of the deceased was on the tombstone, which we found interesting. Then we drove down to the Mausoleum just down the hill from my in-laws' grave, and added flowers to her burial site. Our younger three children never knew their "Grandma Irene," but have seen pictures of her and have heard stories. She died a year before our son was born, and three years to the day that the twins were born. They were not quite 3 when their "Grandma Nora" died, and not quite 10 when their grandpa died. Our three younger children carry on their legacy a bit: son is named for both of his grandfather's, the twins' middle names are their grandmother's. My mother always went by her middle name rather than the first, and I could never figure out her objection to my dad being called by HIS middle name instead of his first name (by his family mostly). I'm afraid the oldest twin is destined to pass on the tradition of using "Irene" for the middle name of her daughter--since she's the third generation to carry it herself.
But I digress, my real purpose in writing is about the Holocaust Memorial that is set up in Washington Park. This was our third time to visit, and it is just as sobering the third time as it was the first. Especially this time, because our new son-in-law is of Jewish descent through his mother, who is a full-blooded Jew. We read the complete write-ups on the walls of the Memorial, and wondered how the Nazi's could be so cruel to their fellow man. Son-in-law said that he has heard that there were family members who perished in the various purges of the Holocaust, but his mother and grandmother have been unable to learn any details so far. While I did not lose anyone in the Holocaust that I am aware of, this is especially sobering to me as well, because in the closing days of World War II, the Russian Army came through Pommern, driving all German residents, old and young, weak and well, out of their homes and country that had been theirs for who knows how long. My birth father was born in Stolzenhagen, Pomerania, right in the path of the invading Russian army, I'm quite sure. While he came to this country as a 6 month old baby with his parents and brothers, and his mother's family was already here, I know that my grandfather left a brother there, according to immigration records. I am certain that there were still members of my family there following World War II. What happened to them? I can only guess. Millions died in that purge, according to history books. I can only hope that one day I will be able to locate records for them. And the words in the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 1:6: "Wherefore, I, Lehi, prophesy according to the workings of the Spirit which is in me, that there shall none come into this land save they shall be brought by the hand of the Lord," have even greater meaning for me.
Sunday, April 20, 2008
Dousing For the Dead
Are you intrigued by the title? Do you know what "dousing" is? Do you know what "witching" is? Well, let me explain this to you.
Dousing for the Dead, or Grave-Witching, is similar to water-witching or dousing which you may have seen depicted in an old movie or tv show. But dousing for the dead, or grave-witching, hopefully will turn up something other than water: a body!
Dousing, or grave-witching--is the art of locating a body with a pair of metal rods which react when they come near a body. It's very useful when one is trying to find a burial which does not have a tombstone. And it's weird, but it does work.
One day last week our genealogy society made a field trip to a nearby cemetery. There were about a dozen of us, and only 4 sets of witching rods. Two sets were made from 1/8 " brass welding rods, the other 2 sets were smaller and made of aluminum. About 6 inches of the rod is bent into a handle shape, making each rod look a little bit like the letter "L." After a brief rundown of what to expect when we got to the cemetery, we were off!
Lethene, the lady in charge, showed us how to hold the rods. Taking one in each hand, she set off slowly towards a grave that was marked by a tombstone. When the rods come in "contact" with a buried body, they react, usually by crossing with each other. We watched carefully to see what would happen--and sure enough--her rods crossed as she held them over a grave. We each took our turns with the rods, and it worked for all of us. Some people even had the rods do odd things like turn completely around and point over their shoulders; both rods turn one way or the other instead of crossing, and things like that. There's supposed to be a way to determine if your body is male or female by how the rods react, but none of us knew just what that was. And if a body is more than 100 years old, the reaction of the rods might not be as strong as with a more recent burial. Since we were in the pioneer cemetery of our city, most of the graves were over 100 years old--but we noted pretty good reaction from all of the ones we tried.
On another note, a relative of my dad's had written me last fall to say that the gentleman who is the record keeper of the cemeteries back in Lincoln Co. Kansas, was a grave witcher, and had witched around the grave of my dad's grandmother. You see, she died in 1885-ish and was buried in a cemtery there. Dad's grandfather died in 1920, and was supposedly buried in a different cemtery, which we thought strange since he had never remarried in all the 35 years he was alone. There was no record of Great Grandpa Watson's being buried in the other local cemtery, so the witcher took his rods out to Great Grandma Watson's tombstone and began witching. He reported that there is a man buried next to Great Grandma with no tombstone, and that he is sure it's Great Grandpa! This report came shortly after I first heard about grave witching, and about 6 months before I got to try it for myself. While dousing for the dead probably isn't going to do you much good unless you dig up the body and run dna tests to find out who it is, it's an intriguing activity, and one that you might find interesting if you have any bodies you are looking for. Just get yourself some metal rods about 3 feet in length, bend a handle, and head on out!
Dousing for the Dead, or Grave-Witching, is similar to water-witching or dousing which you may have seen depicted in an old movie or tv show. But dousing for the dead, or grave-witching, hopefully will turn up something other than water: a body!
Dousing, or grave-witching--is the art of locating a body with a pair of metal rods which react when they come near a body. It's very useful when one is trying to find a burial which does not have a tombstone. And it's weird, but it does work.
One day last week our genealogy society made a field trip to a nearby cemetery. There were about a dozen of us, and only 4 sets of witching rods. Two sets were made from 1/8 " brass welding rods, the other 2 sets were smaller and made of aluminum. About 6 inches of the rod is bent into a handle shape, making each rod look a little bit like the letter "L." After a brief rundown of what to expect when we got to the cemetery, we were off!
Lethene, the lady in charge, showed us how to hold the rods. Taking one in each hand, she set off slowly towards a grave that was marked by a tombstone. When the rods come in "contact" with a buried body, they react, usually by crossing with each other. We watched carefully to see what would happen--and sure enough--her rods crossed as she held them over a grave. We each took our turns with the rods, and it worked for all of us. Some people even had the rods do odd things like turn completely around and point over their shoulders; both rods turn one way or the other instead of crossing, and things like that. There's supposed to be a way to determine if your body is male or female by how the rods react, but none of us knew just what that was. And if a body is more than 100 years old, the reaction of the rods might not be as strong as with a more recent burial. Since we were in the pioneer cemetery of our city, most of the graves were over 100 years old--but we noted pretty good reaction from all of the ones we tried.
On another note, a relative of my dad's had written me last fall to say that the gentleman who is the record keeper of the cemeteries back in Lincoln Co. Kansas, was a grave witcher, and had witched around the grave of my dad's grandmother. You see, she died in 1885-ish and was buried in a cemtery there. Dad's grandfather died in 1920, and was supposedly buried in a different cemtery, which we thought strange since he had never remarried in all the 35 years he was alone. There was no record of Great Grandpa Watson's being buried in the other local cemtery, so the witcher took his rods out to Great Grandma Watson's tombstone and began witching. He reported that there is a man buried next to Great Grandma with no tombstone, and that he is sure it's Great Grandpa! This report came shortly after I first heard about grave witching, and about 6 months before I got to try it for myself. While dousing for the dead probably isn't going to do you much good unless you dig up the body and run dna tests to find out who it is, it's an intriguing activity, and one that you might find interesting if you have any bodies you are looking for. Just get yourself some metal rods about 3 feet in length, bend a handle, and head on out!
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