I found some more old time Stricklans!

Once upon a time in November of last year I was stumped about my Stricklan line of ancestry. There was an Abel Stricklan (Stricklin/Strickland/Stracklin, depending on the source) in Virginia but he had no parents or siblings. It was like poor little Orphan Abel.

I searched through as many records as Family Search had to find more information about Mr. Abel, and since I thought he was our Civil War relative I was very surprised not to find anything besides later census records with no more information than I already knew. He was just a line end.

This week at our Young Women activity we got all the girls signed up for Family Search so they could start looking for their ancestors, and one of the ward members who was helping suggested again that if we couldn't find any documents to help further our line, we could try looking at ancestry.com, since people with an LDS account get a free membership there too. When he said tha,t I thought, yeah, I really ought to look there (especially since my friend Coppelia had mentioned it months ago and I thought I'd like to check it out then, but I didn't).

Let's sum up the next two hours real quick because the process of looking at, confirming, and linking records to your ancestors takes a lot more time than it would seem: I LOOKED and there were RECORDS of Abel at Ancestry.com, and once I put his father Samuel in, I got Joseph (his father) and Samson (his father) too. I got some more on the maternal sides of these lines as well, but it's going to take me a long time to catch up with the records I found. Those Stricklans have been 'Mercans for a very long time (which explains my dad's patriotism) (which is only a joke if you know my dad) (which is not to imply that he's super unpatriotic but if you don't get the joke it may sound that way) (that's probably enough explanation).

As it turns out, Abel wasn't in the Civil War (his son William was, whom I already knew about but didn't have any Civil War records for). I don't have any pictures of Abel, but here is a very happy looking William with his wife Nancy--and I think I see some of Calvin's/my/my dad's/my grandpa's cheekbones peeking up over that snowy beard.

Home Remedies

Dave and Ada

Grandma Stricklan had a few quirks, it is true; I remember a few from my childhood, although I'm sure didn't notice all I would notice if I knew her now. I know she liked vinegar. She made low-sugar cookies with Jell-o. She didn't like doctors. She even went so far as to refuse to go to the hospital when she was sick in her older years for fear of not coming out again. It seems as though her lack of regular check-ups made her circulation problems (affecting her mobility) worse, although I can't say for sure.

To tell you the truth, I actually completely understand. (Yikes.) I am hoping I won't get to the point where I refuse treatment for something I need, but as it is I really hate going to the doctor. Uh, really hate it. When I had mastitis twice after Norah was born, the second time was even more insulting than the first not only because it was frighteningly painful, but because I knew I'd have to go to the doctor AGAIN. It's not that I'm afraid--I just don't like the inconvenience. Ha! What a terrible excuse. But true.

As a result, I do all I can to avoid needing medical care. Good food, lots of exercise, fresh air, and a dose of vinegar every day. Don't worry, grandma's remedy is alive and well! Don't laugh, but I don't even remember why I started drinking the vinegar daily, but it's become a routine and I haven't been sick all winter. I know I'm basically just lucky and young, so I am going to try hard not to be crazy when I'm older and need attention (who will help me?).

In Hannah's book, she mentions that her health is improving in April 1929 because of a yeast drink she makes. Listen:

"I'll tell you how I make it. Boiled potatoes water, [something I can't read], add a little pinch of hops and a yeast cake or a start of yeast, no salt in it. Drink a cup after every meal. Have it good and strong so it will work a batch of bread & it will help you if you ever get stomach trouble."

It cracks me up. What is she even talking about, really? Yeast? In all of the gut-health reading I've done, yeast is one of the main things we want out of our system, not in. A cup after every meal? And what about baking bread with it? And yet, Hannah plainly said her health has improved. Who can argue with an 86-year-old journal entry?

games for kids from one to ninety-two

It's not that I love puzzles, but putting about ten pieces of a 1000-piece puzzle at Christmas--yelling BINGO each time one fits--is not something I want to go without. It is one of those traditions that I'm glad has remained in the family, despite most of us being (outwardly) less than enthusiastic about pulling out the card table and opening the puzzle box every year. My dad is the puzzle-meister, and I don't know if it's the BINGO that he likes the most or just making sure we have a low-stress excuse to sit together for a few minutes at Christmas, but he hasn't given up yet. And aren't we glad?

I think the puzzles started in American Fork; I was probably about 10. We even pasted "my" puzzle onto cardboard one year, framed it and hung it in my room for the next 8 years. (It was a sea turtle scene.) I'm pretty sure my dad intended each kid to get one pasted and framed, but the messy glue and the...moderate enthusiasm for puzzles assisted that part of the tradition to end. And that's ok. The puzzles have persevered and will continue to. Even Andy participated this year, even though he was home in Logan and the padres have moved to Las Cruces, by sending this scene of Provo, Utah. I think this gift sort of emphasizes the family support of the puzzles; we'd all like to be involved, and if it's from a distance, even better.

A looser tradition surrounds Tripoley in the Peterson clan. It's not technically a holiday tradition, but it is a game that it is tradition to play as a family once or twice (or thrice) a year--passed down through the generations. My first time playing was Thanksgiving 2008 with Nate's Peterson Grandpa. We can't play it every Sunday like Pictionary or Catch Phrase because it would lose its magic. It is a production of sorts; sorting and counting the chips, getting out the board, refreshing our knowledge of the hierarchy of poker hands, getting out the board. We have to play long enough to make it all worthwhile, and also there's the pretend gambling. These once- or twice-yearly games often occur near the holidays because we gather around the table after we eat, and playing Tripoley prevents us from staring dumbly at the ceiling or having to rely on intelligent conversation.

Some people call it Michigan Rummy, which I think is the name Grammy's mother (Grandma Christa) used for it. Grandma Christa was an earnest Tripoley player. She hand-painted a big wooden board (as opposed to the felt or plastic boards we usually use) with a big pretty cat in the "kitty" space. That is Nate's Clark/Christensen side, and his Peterson side also had a big player too, in Grandma Hazel. If you know me, you know those great-grandmotherly traditions are hard to resist so I bring up the game at every few family gatherings to make sure we all carry it on.

Mayflower ancestry and what have you

Today I finally had a moment to satisfy the vague curiosity I had been feeling about my Mayflower ancestors in anticipation of Thanksgiving. My Pilgrim line and Nate's both come from the same child of Elizabeth Tilley and John Howland, but I couldn't remember exactly which child or how it came down to me. I knew the Howlands came from my mom's side, and I thought through the Eppersons, but there are still about 14 zillion possibilities of direction even within those parameters. It's times like those that this blog really earns its keep. Its keep is exactly zero dollars and minimal effort, so you should be pretty relieved that it's worth it. 

I clicked on the Mayflower label, my Mayflower post came up, and I refreshed my memory ever so slightly. That Mayflower post was worth exactly the zero dollars it earns; it was so sketchy about the directness of the line that it took me about twenty minutes of looking at my family tree to find the link. But I found it!

See that Ammi Chipman in the very bottom right? That is the brother of Nate's ancestor, and their dad was the Howlands' grand-something-son. It is because the daughters of that line are my ancestors that I couldn't find the line. They turn from Chipmans to Simmonses to Atkinsons so fast I missed them the first few times I looked. Eventually, as I mentioned in the Mayflower post, my great-grandma Irva Shurtleff Epperson was born. 

Funnily and strangely, as coincidences are, I found a John Carver in my line during my search who was born in Plymouth, Massachusetts in 1661. (Cue the laugh track.) It's funny because John Howland, my Pilgrim man, came on the Mayflower to Plymouth as a servant to the Governor named John Carver--the guy who wrote the Mayflower Compact. They came (as you will remember or Wikipedia will remind you) in 1620, so this John Carver I'm related to is clearly not the same John Carver, and it's really not remarkable since both those names were fairly common in England just then (and now, and always, I assume). But it is a fun coincidence and it gave me a couple minutes' research to do.

The moral of this story is, what's the point of all this? I know, that's not even a moral! I can't remember who came from where and when, and I mix up their stories, and I forget which pioneers came from which pilgrims, and I get confused when Swedish ancestors move to Copenhagen, Denmark before the emigrate (that one sent me on a convoluted tangent today), and to make matters worse, it all comes out a little confusedly and boring when I write it up here. I think I should take a writing lesson from Bill Bryson on how to relay lots and lots frankly useless facts in a way that makes them sound amusing and even potentially worthwhile. Now, now, don't worry; the actual reason I do any research into my family history is just for my personal edification. I like doing it, and to be honest I am a little embarrassed to even say it's "research," because I don't uncover anything new. It's interesting to me, even if there is no visible point to it. It's better than building ships in bottles or giant lego cities, right? (Correction--building ships in bottles is awesome and now I can't stop thinking about how much I want a ship in a bottle. Maybe a mini Mayflower, for the Howlands sake!)

Some lesser-talked about family Vets

-Since Nate and I both have Mayflower ancestors, we probably have some Revolutionary War soldiers in our families, but neither of us know about that. One more thing to look into!

-My Grandpa Stricklan's grandpa William and his brother fought on opposite sides of the Civil War. William was in Indiana by then, so he fought for the Union.

-My Grandpa Stricklan's uncle Frank was in the Air Force in WWI.

-My Grandpa Paul Stricklan was requested to stay in Idaho and keep his sheep and milk route during WWII to help with the food shortage.

-Nate's grandpa fought in WWII and Korea. His brother Gene also fought in WWII.

-My mom was born on Tinker Air Force Base in Oklahoma but I can't be sure why. (For someone interested in family history I sure know next to nothing, right?)

-Nate's cousin Ryan was a Marine in the early 2000's. He served at least two tours in the Middle East.

And here are some rather random soldier photos that my Grandma Stricklan kept in her family albums:

Paul's cousin Lester Miller born 1918

Virginia and Bill Palmer

hard times

On February 26, 1922, Hannah wrote in her book, "Oh yes I must not forget Ostlin came in early Friday morning to tell us a boy come to their house. All getting along fine. That is our 13th grand child good luck to him." Sadly, all were not fine after all, and the mother, Mary Marinda Johnson Hanson, died on March 4th, just a week later from complications (probably blood poisoning, guessed Hannah).

Hannah said, "We are all broke up," and took into her house Ostlin and the three girls: Ada, my grandma, age 5; Connie, age 4; Leona, age 2. The baby boy went to live with the maternal grandparents. Hannah doesn't even mention his name, come to think of it, but she says that the girls went to visit him often on Sundays. (His name is Kenneth, by the way.) About a month later, Leona came home from Grandma Johnson's with this cut-out baby head and said it was baby brother. Hannah thought it was sweet and pasted it in her book. I am home from church with a sick baby today who looks an awful lot like that, too.

Throughout her entries in 1921 and '22, Hannah lists the prices of potatoes, hay, butter and eggs. Eggs go from $.40/dozen down to $.16 the day of the baby head picture, and then back up to $.30 later that year, and by selling that and butter they get along, but just barely, since I think potatoes were their main crop, but there were too many potatoes and no one to buy them. She says they have enough to eat and "ware," but no money. "Taxes & interest are killing us," she scribbles in the margin at the end of an entry. " Her sons are off working elsewhere, too. "We will all have to leave the farm to work for wages, for anything is better then farming but I don't think it can stay that way for people will have to eat," she foresees, being both pessimistic and optimistic as I guess you had to be as a farmer.

It is easy for me to romanticize the past; it is what I do, it is why there is even this blog. Of course, though, I know it was not an easy life. I know our 2 bedroom, 1 bathroom, air conditioned house would seem like a luxurious vacation to Hannah. But here I am, and I wonder why we can't seem to acquire funds for a house with a better layout, where the table doesn't have to be in the living room and with a dishwasher that doesn't roll. I wonder why Nate's parents could buy their first home for $40,000 and sell it for twice that just a few years later, when our house would probably not sell for a dollar more than we paid for it four years ago. I think our times have got to be just about the worst. Insurance prices are ridiculous and it doesn't even cover doctor visits anymore; after four years we have barely made a dent in our principal balance for our mortgage because of interest; our kids will wake each other up all night long because of sharing a room. And of course, in the most cliche way, reading the old journal brings some good old-fashioned perspective right back to me.

However, I must honestly tell you that even with this refreshed perspective, I am not 100% convinced that it is better to live in this absurdly comfortable era. I have half an idea that if I could, I would jump into the pages of Hannah's book, roll up my sleeves, and help her put up 500 quarts of berries.

The Park - two families

Yet another post inspired by Hannah's book: in 1921 the Anderson family went to "The Park." I realized after I read a couple of paragraphs that Hannah meant Yellowstone National Park, which was of course the first National Park in the US. The Park I personally love and visit the most is Zion in Southern Utah, which itself opened in the spring of 1920. When we go, I look at the old photos there and I get a really heavy chest pain-slash-good feeling; I just want to have been there back then so badly! And here my family was in the other Park, right around that time.

Photo (and two images below) by noted Yellowstone photographer F. Jay Haynes. More can be seen here.

The park had fairly recently allowed cars to begin driving through, so the Andersons packed up a car (I wish I knew what kind) and drove from Shelley to Rexburg to pick up "Melvin" and his family. (Melvin is one of Hannah's sons.) Hannah said they had been talking about making the trip for a long time, but they never seemed to have the time or money. Sounds familiar? So they just decided to go anyway in July of 1921.

Their car needed repair in Rexburg, and in 1921 I don't suppose there were many car mechanics to choose from, but they got one and left the next morning. They drove the 58 miles to Mack's Inn in Island Park where they stopped and rested and ate lunch, loving the beautiful scenery of Island Park (which is initially the Park I thought Hannah was referring to anyway). Melvin brought a camera and stopped to take some "snaps shots" at the stop and throughout the park, but I don't have those photos.

The family camped and fished and had a wonderful time. They saw the Paint Pots, the geysers, bears and buffalo herds. Hannah raves about the Old Faithful Inn and sadly mentions some out-of-business hotels that were suddenly unnecessary when cars began driving through the park. I was struck how even then, nearly a hundred years ago and at the peak time of my nostalgia, they had nostalgia for the simpler, un-automoblied past.

On their way home they came through Harriman State Park in Island Park (Idaho), which is a place we stayed as a (Stricklan) family a couple of years ago. I loved it there. Here is one of the 2012 Harriman Sunsets.

TEN YEARS AFTER the Andersons, the Clarks went to Yellowstone.

Nate's grandpa Ralph Clark would have been 5 or 6 when his family went to Yellowstone in 1931. Whereas we don't have my family's photos, we don't have stories from Grampsie. He may remember the trip (he is 88 now, I think), but it isn't likely that he can recall the details. He might, however remember that BEAR! (Since his stroke five years ago, he has had a hard time recounting the stories he does wish to tell anyway, which is really unfortunate for us. I will write more of his stories in the future, of course, with Nate's help.)

Nate and I haven't yet been to "The Park" with our kids. This makes me want to go now!