Finding an Old Homestead
The prompt for "The Old Homestead" in this writing series had me a little stymied. When you do family history research, you naturally tend to focus on people and their lives. Their comings and goings are part of your consciousness. They live in an area, and then they move away or pass away, and leave very little behind them. I've come across a few interesting folks in my research that have had family living in the same house and on the same land for 300 years. But I've never come across that in my own family. Whether it was because of a wandering spirit ... the kind that shaped this country as it grew ... or whether it was just hard times, it seems like our family was always moving. Moving from one house to another, or one town to another, or one state to another. So I was having a hard time coming up with anything that I tend to think of as an old "homeplace".
Still, there were houses I knew of that were in pictures and had a place in the mental storybook of my family's history. They were home to members of our family at one time, even if they no longer are today, and so in that way I suppose they would qualify as an "old homeplace".
My own home, for instance, or more specifically the home I grew up in, is one of the first places I think of when I think of a homeplace. My parents had the home built about 1976, and owned the home until 2017. It had weathered hurricanes and thunderstorms, termites and other pests, financial ups and downs, and all the things that are part of family life. It was a place of warmth, comfort, and security for our family for 40 years. It wasn't special because of the house ... it was special because of the people who lived there. I knew that even as I grew up, but it was rather forcefully brought home to me after my Mother died, and my Father began living in the neighboring town. My family went back for a visit and to sort through some things six months after my Mother's death. The giant ash tree I used to climb was still in the back yard. The enormous Spanish Oak, whose trunk measured 12 feet around that year, still stood next to the driveway. A fair bit of the furniture and other household items still remained in their place, waiting patiently as if nothing had changed. And while it was still the place where I grew up, it was no longer "home", because the people who made it so were gone from it.
There are other homes I remember, whether I've seen them in person or only in photos. My paternal Grandparents home ... site of many happy memories and many wonderful meals. Birthdays, holidays, Thanksgiving, sleepovers. I remember the rose bush that has stood near the driveway for as long as I can remember. I remember the poinsettias that used to grow next to the house, and were AS TALL AS the eaves of the house. There are banana trees in the back yard, and dozens of photos on the walls. So many memories.
I remember a photo of the Lewis family home, my Mother's maternal family. I have a vague recollection of being driven past either the house or the site where the home had been when I was young, but I have no memory of the place beyond the photo of the family who lived there. I haven't re-located my Mother's copy of this photo, which is likely labeled with folks' names, but the older couple on the right of the picture are Burrell Scales Lewis and his wife Mary Elizabeth (Arthur) Lewis, who were married in Alabama in 1875 and later relocated to Comanche, Texas, where this photo was taken, possibly around 1910. The family had a total of 12 children, of which 10 lived to adulthood.
By my Grandmother's account, this is this house where she was born. Burrell (pictured, far right), or Burl as he was called later in life, was my Grandmother's Grandfather. He was a "family ruling man" who owned a lot of property that he farmed. He also reportedly spent some time as a bootlegger. Family stories describe him as hard drinking, foul-mouthed and power controlling of the entire family. It's amazing the tales that can come only from the memories of loved ones ... things you would never guess about a person from photos alone. Burl died when my Grandmother was less than 2 years old. Mary Elizabeth, Burl's wife, was described as "a small woman [who] made wonderful blackberry jam and pound cake." She lived until 1936, when my Grandmother was 14.
Another home I think of when I think of an "old homeplace" is a pen and ink sketch I came across quite by accident. It was drawn by Carol P. Thomas of Dallas, Texas and included in the book "Gonce & Wynne Genealogy" by Barbara Gonce Clepper. It shows the home of one of my ancestors, Ananias Allen, in Jackson County, Alabama. The home was built in 1833, and I know there was a photo taken of it as recently as 1985, but I do not know if the home still stands. One day I hope to find out by visiting the area.
Ananias is a direct ancestor in the Rogers side of my family tree, and was a veteran who had served in the North Carolina militia during the time of the Revolutionary War. He had been born in North Carolina about 1756. He migrated to Kentucky about 1800, to Tennessee about 1810, and eventually settled in northeast Alabama sometime before 1830, which is where this home is located.He and his wife had 10-12 children, depending on which source you are looking at. According to Ms. Clepper's book, Ananias has 19 grandsons that fought for the Confederate Army during the Civil War, 5 of which were killed in action. This home would have seen a lot of history in the time it remained in the family, and it's a place I certainly think of when I think of an "old homestead", despite the fact that I've never been there.
A house is just a house, but a home is so much more. It holds the history of all the people who have lived and loved there. When you think about it, a home holds the memories of the past, the reality of the present, and the dreams for the future.
What places do you think of when you think of an old family homestead? I'd love to hear more about them.
Still, there were houses I knew of that were in pictures and had a place in the mental storybook of my family's history. They were home to members of our family at one time, even if they no longer are today, and so in that way I suppose they would qualify as an "old homeplace".
My own home, for instance, or more specifically the home I grew up in, is one of the first places I think of when I think of a homeplace. My parents had the home built about 1976, and owned the home until 2017. It had weathered hurricanes and thunderstorms, termites and other pests, financial ups and downs, and all the things that are part of family life. It was a place of warmth, comfort, and security for our family for 40 years. It wasn't special because of the house ... it was special because of the people who lived there. I knew that even as I grew up, but it was rather forcefully brought home to me after my Mother died, and my Father began living in the neighboring town. My family went back for a visit and to sort through some things six months after my Mother's death. The giant ash tree I used to climb was still in the back yard. The enormous Spanish Oak, whose trunk measured 12 feet around that year, still stood next to the driveway. A fair bit of the furniture and other household items still remained in their place, waiting patiently as if nothing had changed. And while it was still the place where I grew up, it was no longer "home", because the people who made it so were gone from it.
There are other homes I remember, whether I've seen them in person or only in photos. My paternal Grandparents home ... site of many happy memories and many wonderful meals. Birthdays, holidays, Thanksgiving, sleepovers. I remember the rose bush that has stood near the driveway for as long as I can remember. I remember the poinsettias that used to grow next to the house, and were AS TALL AS the eaves of the house. There are banana trees in the back yard, and dozens of photos on the walls. So many memories.
I remember a photo of the Lewis family home, my Mother's maternal family. I have a vague recollection of being driven past either the house or the site where the home had been when I was young, but I have no memory of the place beyond the photo of the family who lived there. I haven't re-located my Mother's copy of this photo, which is likely labeled with folks' names, but the older couple on the right of the picture are Burrell Scales Lewis and his wife Mary Elizabeth (Arthur) Lewis, who were married in Alabama in 1875 and later relocated to Comanche, Texas, where this photo was taken, possibly around 1910. The family had a total of 12 children, of which 10 lived to adulthood.
By my Grandmother's account, this is this house where she was born. Burrell (pictured, far right), or Burl as he was called later in life, was my Grandmother's Grandfather. He was a "family ruling man" who owned a lot of property that he farmed. He also reportedly spent some time as a bootlegger. Family stories describe him as hard drinking, foul-mouthed and power controlling of the entire family. It's amazing the tales that can come only from the memories of loved ones ... things you would never guess about a person from photos alone. Burl died when my Grandmother was less than 2 years old. Mary Elizabeth, Burl's wife, was described as "a small woman [who] made wonderful blackberry jam and pound cake." She lived until 1936, when my Grandmother was 14.
Another home I think of when I think of an "old homeplace" is a pen and ink sketch I came across quite by accident. It was drawn by Carol P. Thomas of Dallas, Texas and included in the book "Gonce & Wynne Genealogy" by Barbara Gonce Clepper. It shows the home of one of my ancestors, Ananias Allen, in Jackson County, Alabama. The home was built in 1833, and I know there was a photo taken of it as recently as 1985, but I do not know if the home still stands. One day I hope to find out by visiting the area.
A house is just a house, but a home is so much more. It holds the history of all the people who have lived and loved there. When you think about it, a home holds the memories of the past, the reality of the present, and the dreams for the future.
What places do you think of when you think of an old family homestead? I'd love to hear more about them.
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