Eldora and Laura ("Lol)", two of the three Nance sisters (I expect Minerva took the picture), with Nerve's daughter, Abbie, and Dora's son, Shug. In a devastating lapse, I don't know the name of the dog. These strong women remained close all their lives; photos and the impact they had on their grandchildren, especially, make me think they were comfortable in their own skin, intelligent, fun and kind. I'd love to meet them.
I'm basically a lazy person; when NOT writing about something becomes harder than writing about it, you know Dat Muse is taking the cap off her rapier tip. Lately, I've been especially consumed with a compulsion to write about people – the dead ones -- I've gotten to know a little bit through genealogical research. Then, yesterday, I heard about Amy Johnson Crow's "52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks," a prompted writing challenge to pop your ancestors out of the crowded diagrams and dusty shoeboxes and show them off a bit. My ancestors, a.k.a. Dat Muse, sounded pretty excited about the prospect, at 3am this morning, anyway, so...
Let's go The first week's question is "Who would you like to meet?" I started to go through the list at about 3:01, selecting and discarding, but finally (circa 4:30) realized my considered answer is "all the women." This will come as no surprise to those who know me, as I've disclosed my own Female Supremacist tendencies elsewhere, but, Dear Reader, you simply would not believe the number of people in genealogy interest groups who don't seem to have given much thought at all to what life was like for their foremothers. They are puzzled to find their great-grandmothers were referenced as Mrs. Hisfirstname Hislastname from marriage through obituary; why didn't the writer include her name, they grouse. They storm in to announce they've had their DNA tested and "only a few of my matches have the same last name as me! DNA LIES!" until we trot out an explanation of the quaint practice of coverture, reminding them that, per patriarchal naming customs, only one of their four grandparents started out with the same surname they did (assuming their grandparents were actually their grandparents, but let's not explode their heads twice in one day, hmmm?)
As difficult as it is for me to wrap my head around, it seems that many people today honestly have no appreciation of how incredibly limited women's opportunities and rights were in the past (and, as we saw last year, how easily and quickly that past can be present again). The strength, persistence and determination of these women who, ala Ginger Rogers, metaphorically traversed our history backwards and in high heels is humbling to consider, yet we know so little of their day-to-day lives and accomplishments.
So I would love to get the chance to talk to
Nancy, whose family migrated from Kentucky to Illinois alongside that of Abraham Lincoln. Born the same year as her first cousin, Ann Rutledge, I'm sure Nancy knew Lincoln and could settle the speculation on cousin Ann's relationship (friend? light-o-love? beard?) with the gangly young man. What did Nancy think when her son went to war – and was killed in far-off Tennessee -- at the behest of the boy she grew up beside?
Elizabeth W., who had her four children baptized in London before the family sailed for New York City in 1834. Less than a year later, she was pregnant when admitted with her husband and three youngest children to notorious Bellevue for "destitution," losing the baby while institutionalized. Although her husband, a 'lame pedlar,' spent significant time in the Almshouse over the years, their children did well, surely largely due to Elizabeth's grit and courage.
Minnie, likely a rider of the "Orphan Train," was adopted by a childless German couple in Michigan who reported that she "ran out of the house one day and was never heard from again." Abandoned by the man she had naively trusted, she raised their son with the help of friends she made on the streets of Detroit until overcome by heart failure at 36.
Elizabeth C., Dublin-born, who came with her husband, Richard, and three young children to Philadelphia in 1801, watching the former colony become a nation around them before pragmatically deciding they were Loyalists and applying for land grants from the Crown across the border in Canada. As a woman, Elizabeth could not apply for land but when Richard died before his Grant was delivered, Elizabeth wrote a somewhat testy letter to the Governor, "reminding" him that, as Richard's heir, she was due the property that was his, so cough up the paperwork pronto. And the Governor did. Elizabeth lived to be 102 years old and I bet life with her was never dull.
Mary, whose youngest daughter was fathered not by her husband (a secret exposed by DNA) but by a man who remained close to the family for the rest of his life. She looks so happy in her wedding picture – what happened? Was this something she wanted? Did the daughter ever know?
Fredricka, who sent her teenaged son from Germany to North America to scout out a place to live, following not long after with her second husband and young children. They are enumerated in the 1870 census at Ward's Island, the New York facility for destitute and/or sick immigrants – oh my goodness! How did they manage to find and join her son in Canada the next year?
And, most of all, mysterious Libby. Between 1877 and 1881, she went from unwed mother in Brooklyn to partner of a prominent and wealthy San Francisco social activist. Libby brought her younger siblings across the country to join her on the west coast, where John married into money and society and pretty Mary Jane welcomed suit from the beau who had followed her from New York. How did Libby reinvent herself and her sister and brother so thoroughly? I so desperately want to know her story...!
We may never know what it was like for these women, or so many others. But I look forward to sharing what I do know – and what I find out as we go – with this weekly exercise. I hope you'll join me – I'd love to read about your family finds, as well!
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