My Soul Remembers the Way

Last weekend was General Conference and we were able to enjoy it with the Sister Missionaries and our friend, Richard. Richard recently joined the church and we've been lucky enough to get to spend some time with him as he comes to learn and grow in his journey. He is an amazing man and we just love him. The Sister Missionaries are pretty lovable, too.

The talks were amazing, as always and I think my favorite was the talk by Elder Holland during the Sunday session. If you missed it:

https://www.lds.org/general-conference/2015/04/where-justice-love-and-mercy-meet?lang=eng

I did some family history between the sessions, as I usually do and came across some information about the Westfall line that connected them to a town that is just over an hour away from where we live. Sometimes, doing family history work is emotionally taxing. There are so many broken branches among the living, so many people who take those broken branches and sharpen them into spears so they can stab others.  I have decided it is just about impossible to get information from members of the family about the history and have resigned myself to just having to collect the same information that others have already gathered, to drawing the same conclusions because heaven forbid, we share. Let's all fight about who owns the dead. They'd be so proud.

Ugh.

It's a rant for another time and place. 

Because of the issues and bad blood that never seems to stop flowing, I have not looked into my matriarchal line very much. I know there are family members who actively research those lines, who have more experience, better memories and more resources than I ever will. The line of my mother's father can be traced back to the 1100's and there isn't much to be discovered there. I don't have super great emotional association with that line, so I never really looked into it until last Sunday. Finding that they lived so close to my current home sparked my interest.

I learned that they started out in Germany- from Westfalia- surprise, surprise. 

From Germany, they went to the Netherlands and from there, they came to New York, which was founded by the Dutch and called New Amsterdam at the time. My ancestors were some of the original settlers in what is now New York City. 

That's pretty awesome. 

The ancestor who came from the Netherlands was a just a boy, ten or thirteen years old (I forget as I am sitting here, typing and watching Desperate Housewives.) His parents either died on the voyage to America, or he was sent alone and he lived with a friend of his father until he eventually left Manhattan and went about an hour north, to Orange County, New York. He stayed there until he was killed by Indians. 

His son moved to a town that is about a 15 minute drive from there, in Sussex County New Jersey. He purchased a plot of land on Minisink Island, right in the middle of the Delaware river. It was said that it was one of the safest places to live, because it was an Island and it was pretty shielded from Indians. Knowing his father was killed by Indians, that makes  sense. Some of his siblings went to Virginia, some stayed in New York. 

My ancestor's children went on to Ohio, but some of them came back to New Jersey to fight in the Revolutionary war.From Ohio they continued West and settled in Wyoming, then Idaho and Utah in my grandparent's generation.

My direct line had a lot of farmers who fought in a lot of wars. 

I never would have guessed that they started here, though. On Tuesday, after I took the kids to school, Matt suggested we take a road trip and go see the area. Parker was home to help if anything went south at school and we loaded up Kate and Jane and headed Northeast.

I didn't expect to find anything, but I thought it would be kind of cool to see the town my ancestors helped settle, the land they tried to start a life in. 

We went to the little town of Port Jervis and found the cemetery where it is said that my ancestor who came to America is buried in. 

There were two areas, one was a newer section and one was the old section with most of the headstones so worn that you couldn't read anything on them. Thankfully, there was a map and a legend kept by the sign at the entrance and we were able to find the worn headstones of some of my ancestors from the 1800's and we read that there were over 300 buried there in unmarked graves from an attack by the Indians and the Tories. That was the attack my ancestor was killed in. 

I stood at the headstones of the long dead Westfalls and had a quiet, reverent moment there. As the wind howled and the rain started to fall, tears also started to fall from my eyes as I thanked them for the sacrifices they made, for the hardships they endured and for coming to this place.

 I thanked them for calling me back to it.

I thanked them for the peaceful, but warm feeling I had, for the gentle spirit of love and family that I felt for them and I was feeling in return. 

The dead forgive. 

We visited the local library, where they had a room filled with archives and records of families who lived there. When they asked who I was researching and I told them "Westfall" they all knew the name and led me to the huge section of Westfall records they had. When they asked how distant my relation was and I told them my mother was a Westfall and I was a direct descendant of Johannes and Jurian Westfall- I got a couple of raised eyebrows and one of the women there said "oh, you're the real deal- you're an actual direct ancestor. We get a lot of people with Westfalls in their family, but you're an actual descendant!"  They said lots of people research the line, but they couldn't recall anyone who was in the direct line ever having been there unless they were from the area. They told me there was a big farm and winery just outside of town and this was the place where I came from. 

It was all a little overwhelming, but it was kind of fun to be in a room with people who felt like they knew me, because they knew so much about my 11 times great grandfather. 

We checked out the local church that my people were affiliated with. Their building was burned to the ground by the Tories, but they had eventually rebuilt and the 'new' building was massive and gorgeous. 

I made a lot of copies and have a lot of information to go through, but we found baptism records of my ancestors and history books with the names of my grandparents and Aunts and Uncles in them. I even corrected the spelling of my Aunt Vernelle's name in a book they had. 

We wrapped up the day with a trip to Dairy Queen and we stopped and snapped pictures of the Westfall Winery.

As we drove away, I daydreamed about what it would be like if we bought a little plot of land out there and settled where I began. 

It will never happen, I never want to live in the sticks, but if I did...Port Jervis would be an amazing place to be. There are beautiful rolling hills, trees and green grass everywhere and the Delaware River, just begging for someone to sit and drink lemonade in sunglasses and a floppy hat off her shores. 

The roads and paths were once traveled by my people and there is something almost holy in walking those same steps. It's like your feet are led by a memory that only your soul knew.  You watched your loved ones walk those paths and memorized them before you came to Earth and when you return to those places, it remembers and it all feels strangely familiar.

Lost and Found in Family History

Today was a good day in my Family History adventures.

I love Family History.

I have always been drawn to it, I've always wanted to hear the stories and see the faces of those who reside on different branches of the family tree, but I never really knew where to begin or what it meant to 'work on' Family History.

I've taken the Family History Sunday School class at least 4 times and still- I wasn't sure what to actually DO.

My mother in law changed that for me.

She patiently sat with me and logged on to familysearch.org and asked me to give her the name of the ancestor that was as far back as I could remember.

I quickly told her that all of those ancestors had already been 'taken care of,' and much further down the line so that couldn't possibly be a good use of time. I could only remember back as far as my grandparents on one side and great grandparents on the other. 

Worthless information.

She smiled and asked their names and typed them in. 

Up popped a family tree that went back a very long way.

"See, I told you, it's all been done!"

She smiled again, nodded and said "Tell me what you know about your grandma's mom."

Well......

I knew nothing. 

Absolutely nothing.

Family Search gave me a name, dates and where she was born, married and died. 

It gave me the names of her children. 

It gave me the name of her husband and I told Mom Olson "Ah, that was her husband, he was a bad guy. He left her and her kids because she joined the church- that's what I was told."

She would ask me the next logical question as I opened up the file with Bad Great Grandpa's name in it. Where did he live? What work did he do? Did he ever move? Why did he move? When did he leave the place of his birth? Did his parents die in the place he was born?

Did he have brothers and sisters? Did he remarry? Did he have more children with another wife?

As I looked to answer some of the basic questions, I saw that Bad Grandpa had actually married my Great Grandmother in the Salt Lake Temple- before they had any kids. He later married a second wife, after his divorce, in the temple as well. 

This was not a man who left his wife because she joined the church.

he was, in fact, born in the covenant and was third,generation Latter day Saint. His father had come to Utah after having been a life long member of the church. That meant his family (my family) were some of the very first people to join the church in England. 

He was an active member all of his life and his second wife was a direct ancestor of one of my dearest friends from high school, Julie Arave-Olsen.

   

(Mother Arave/Blackburn really loved that hairstyle.)

Julie had always- ALWAYS felt oddly familiar, like a cousin to me, I never payed much attention to it, but I noticed that I felt a different connection with her than I did any friend I'd ever had. I could not explain it, but Julie had always felt like ...kin.

That was it-- the old Spirit of Elijah had me.

I didn't learn all of these things that day Mom Olson and I sat at her computer, but I did learn what to do next- to lay out the 'tree' and look at each of the branches. To see if people had spouses, children, siblings and parents- to try and give each person on my tree- a complete tree of their own. Those branches don't ever end or stop sprouting outward on each level.  Children have children who have children who have cousins who have cousins who have spouses who have siblings and cousins....yu can go as far down those side branches as you have the time for. 

When you make a complete 'tree' so to speak for a person- you have the outline of a story.

You gather all of the details about that person that you can inorder to tell a more vivid story.

As you learn the stories and find the history- those people become so very real to you.

They become your family and you see where you fit in and where they fit- in that enormous family tree you are a part of.

I found that, in both my mother's and my father's family there were a lot of divorces and remarriages. In my mother's family, the exes seemed to vanish from the history. Marriages ended and all proof of an ex- typically the father- was scrubbed clean fro the records. Stories that were passed down were typically fatherless stories and names were changed in order to create even more distance between the woman who was angry, but who passed on the history and the man who did her wrong. The fathers were cut out of the lives of the children and over time, forgotten or given a short but nasty label and it was clear that all he ever did was cause hurt.

Maybe that was true, maybe the women just held onto anger like a treasure, as the living family members do now. If they forgive the bad men from the generation before, it might mean those who hurt the living generation are worthy of forgiveness and they have to find a way to forgive that still honors necessary boundaries. 

I don't know- I have my own issues and crap to work out there. 

I just know that my mother's side is awfully absent of fathers- and the fathers did not die. 

My father's side is an almost mirror image when it comes to family history. Yes, they all had multiple divorces, but as I look at the records, I see the numbers of children grow, as the men adopted or cared for the children of their later wives, as well as the children that had with their first wives. I see step children added with as much love and acceptance as biological children, I see them given a place in line right along side the bloodline. I see the fathers who had families that were huge because they were stepfathers who treated all of the kids as his own. I see an effort made to keep track of the mothers who left, and records of mothers who didn't leave, but remarried- and how their families grew as well. 

But they have a lot more divorces, and it's interesting that there are family names that get passed down, but rarely from father to son. Usually you find a nephew named for an uncle. That gets pretty confusing sometimes because some of the ages aren't that far apart with the uncles and nephews, and some of the records were incorrectly  merged to make them the same person.

I see these giant broken and blended families and I have to just smile and shake my head. These are certainly my people. 

Which path do I choose? 

What will my history tell? 

I'm still figuring that out, and while I do I try to make sure that the stories that are being passed on about my ancestors are true stories. I don't know the reasons and the circumstances for the bad things that happened, but I know that some of the stories are made up and I have proof of such. I don't need to contact family and correct anyone, I just need to make sure my records only tell the stories I know to be true based on the first person accounts and the facts I find. I need to make sure that if anyone comes to me for information, if I put it out there- that I can back up those facts and that I have proof that some of the tired old stories are made up. Not everyone wants to hear that, so I keep it to myself, willing to share if anyone wants to know. I have no doubt my own name has been hacked from a  few family tree branches as well, and that's just how things always have been dealt with, I don't expect more from those who never realized it was the wrong way to handle family issues and estrangements. 

I will write the names, all of the names- of even the jackasses. I will add the stories that have facts to go with them and try to make sure my own feelings aren't clouding the facts.

So why was today a good Family History day for me?

I got a book I have been wanting for years. 

I came across it shorty after I started doing Family History, but it was not in print and the only three copies I could find were 1. At the Family History Library in Salt Lake, 2. at the New York Public Library (for reference only, not to check out) and 3. for sale from a private seller for $350.00.

I always meant to go to Salt Lake and look through the book, but I also figured I had plenty of time to do that until one day we found ourselves in New Jersey, far away from everything Utah.

I planned to go look up the book in NYC, but I knew that was going to be a huge pain in the rear and that library intimidates the heck out of me. I have also been putting it off.

When we went to Utah in November. we stayed right next door to the family history library and I had one goal-- to see that book.

I went with Mom Olson and we looked it up and found that it was online!

It had been digitized years ago (why hadn't I seen that?) and I could access it online..

I spent my time at the Family History Library doing other research and as soon as I got home, I logged on to read that book.

But, it was not to be.

The book was available digitally, but you had to be at an LDS family History Library to access it, as it was still under copyright. 

I was so annoyed. 

I was so annoyed that I decided I was actually going to get ff my butt and got to NYC and get ahold of that darn book.

Thankfully, Matt's cousin Kalynn told me I should be able to access it at out Stake Family History Center. 

I was at the Stake Center today, doing Primary stuff and I remembered that i wanted to check.

I logged on and...there it was....my stinkin' book!

I finished up the Primary work I was doing and sat down in the Family History Center to devour the book. While I was there, someone joined me and asked what I was doing. She suggested I just print the book and replace the paper I was going to use, it wasn't that big of a book and I could get a lot more done at home that if I had to view it at the church building every time. 

She didn't have to suggest it twice and now-- moved to the top of my winter reading, I now have a complete copy of the Stribling book I have been trying to read for about 4 years.

I'm nerd-level excited about this and even if it doesn't give me any new information- it's information I have access to- accurate information about my kin. 

I believe though, that there will be new information and that some undiscovered limbs and branches- or at least leaves are going to be found on the family tree. I feel that is true. 

It's been a good year for me in my Family History Quest. I found the parents of the baby I had felt connected to- the right parents. I found I was related to my friend, I learned so much history about my ancestors that came here from England, including the fact that on one of my ancestors return trips from his church mission in England, he arrived with the first ancestor to be a member of the church of our current Stake President. 

I no longer feel like I'm just another link in a chain of unhappy people, I can see that I'm part of a family that did great things- they had incredible lives and they lived and loved and hurt and hurt others in return- just as we all do, but I can keep the good things that have always been in my family and I can help let go of the bad things that the generations before just couldn't shake, that they never wanted to keep being passed on. 

( Charles France and Evie Frances- from my father's side)

Thanks Aunt Sheila for pointing out that I had my Evie's mixed up :)

It heals me. I cannot explain exactly how, but Family History heals me.

Maybe it's because the dead can't hurt me. Dead family cannot tell you that you're stupid or that they are cutting you out of the family or that you're a not a 'real' family member. The dead don't squabble over imaginary birthrights and favorite children. 

We living don't seem to be able to move past some of those things sometimes.

When I do family history work, I feel as thought I am not only doing something important, but I feel as though what I am doing is wanted. The ancestors want to be remembered. They want to be a part of my story and my life. 

Doing Family History work does that for me. I know who I am and that I am loved by family that I will never meet on this Earth, but they know me and see me as one of their own.

(The Rouse Women- a family line through my father's side that I have only scratched the surface on)

(My Grandma Clarissa- who I was named after. She is still alive, but has dementia.)

                                                   
                                                  (That's my cute dad, on the far right)

If you want to start working on family history and don't know where to begin, I encourage you to keep trying. Reach out to others and start asking questions.

Do as Mom Olson had me do and think back to the oldest name you remember and ask what you remember about that person- ask who they loved and were close to, what was going on in the town they lived in- start to build their trees and tell their story.

Thank you, Mom O for teaching me how to work on Family History, for teaching me how to ask the questions that lead to amazing discoveries and a new knowledge of my own life and story. A story that begins so long ago that nobody remembers, but when I hear it, my soul does.