Beauty in the Macabre

THE MACABRE
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

"Beauty in the Macabre"
Thanks to my friend Steven for sharing this winsome cartoon.

Also: The Danse Macabre ~ QK ~ A Fun Example

And thanks to Gerry's Auntie Jan
for sending these two poems by Ted Hughes:

Sorrows of Autumn

The first sorrow of autumn is the slow good-bye of the garden that stands so long in the evening—a brown poppy head, the stalk of a lily, and still cannot go.

The second sorrow is the empty feet of a pheasant who hangs from a hook with his brothers. The woodland of gold is folded in feathers with its head in a bag.

And the third sorrow is the slow good-bye of the sun who has gathered the birds and who gathers the minutes of evening, the golden and holy ground of the picture.

The fourth sorrow is the pond gone black, ruined, and sunken the city of water — the beetle's palace, the catacombs of the dragonfly.

And the fifth sorrow is the slow good-bye of the woodland that quietly breaks up its camp. One day it's gone. It has only left litter — firewood, tent poles.

And the sixth sorrow is the fox's sorrow, the joy of the huntsman, the joy of the hounds, the hooves that pound; till earth closes her ear to the fox's prayer.

And the seventh sorrow is the slow good-bye of the face with its wrinkles that looks through the window as the year packs up like a tatty fairground that came for the children.

Leaves

Who’s killed the leaves?
Me, says the apple, I’ve killed them all.
Fat as a bomb or a cannonball
I’ve killed the leaves.

Who sees them drop?
Me, says the pear, they will leave me all bare
So all the people can point and stare.
I see them drop.

Who’ll catch their blood?
Me, me, me, says the marrow, the marrow.
I’ll get so rotund that they’ll need a wheelbarrow.
I’ll catch their blood.

Who’ll make their shroud?
Me, says the swallow, there’s just time enough
Before I must pack all my spools and be off.
I’ll make their shroud.

Who’ll dig their grave?
Me, says the river, with the power of the clouds
A brown deep grave I’ll dig under my floods.
I’ll dig their grave.

Who’ll be their parson?
Me, says the Crow, for it is well-known
I study the bible right down to the bone.
I’ll be their parson.

Who’ll be chief mourner?
Me, says the wind, I will cry through the grass
The people will pale and go cold when I pass.
I’ll be chief mourner.*

Who’ll carry the coffin?
Me, says the sunset, the whole world will weep
To see me lower it into the deep.
I’ll carry the coffin.

Who’ll sing a psalm?
Me, says the tractor, with mu gear grinding glottle
I’ll plough Up the stubble and sing through my throttle.
I’ll sing the psalm.

Who’ll toll the bell?
Me, says the robin, my song in October
Will tell the still gardens the leaves are over.
I’ll toll the bell.

By Ted Hughes (1930 - 1988)

*my favorite lines!

Don't you love these pages from my new sticker book?
Some of the user comments said that
"the sticker designs are too eerie & creepy" -- or
"why have they mixed in the grotesque with the romantic?"
Well, guess what -- that's why we love them, right?!?!
Exactly the same thing my friend Vicki said
about her new note cards from her friend Emmy:
"elegant, gothic, pagan, feminist, organic, spooky"!

Previously: Memento Mori

Previously: "Where Is Fancy Bred"

Previously: On Facebook

Next Fortnightly Post
Thursday, November 14th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Grandmothers in the Stars

LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER LIKE MOTHER LIKE DAUGHTER
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Elizabeth Birkinbine Miller
(February 28, 1838 ~ March 28, 1925)

begat

Anna Mary Miller Heidemann
(December 29, 1862 - January 3, 1923)

begat

Mary Rovilla Heidemann Lindsey
(October 8, 1891 - June 14, 1966)

Photo taken 1919
325 S. 17th Street ~ Independence, Kansas

My Grandmother in the Stars

It is possible we will not meet again
on earth. To think this fills my throat
with dust. Then there is only the sky
tying the universe together.

Just now the neighbor’s horse must be standing
patiently, hoof on stone, waiting for his day
to open. What you think of him,
and the village’s one heroic cow
is the knowledge I wish to gather.
I bow to your rugged feet,
the moth-eaten scarves that knot your hair.

Where we live in the world
is never one place. Our hearts,
those dogged mirrors, keep flashing us
moons before we are ready for them.
You and I on a roof at sunset,
our two languages adrift,
heart saying, Take this home with you,
never again,
and only memory making us rich.

by Naomi Shihab Nye
in her book Everything Comes Next

Here is the same photo as above,
with the addition of my mother and me
70 years later,
tucked into the frame
to complete the mother - daughter sequence.

" . . . One by one, in abundance or in poverty, we find our way,
and whatever is in us of pity and pride.
And speak to you who come after, to whom we are, perhaps,
the merest trace of sorrow, remnant salt
in the tongue's own flesh.
We who wanted only to die with sweetness in our mouths
to console the children with that hope."

by Jane Hirshfield
from her poem "For the Autumn Dead: Election Day, 1984"
in her book The October Palace

Elizabeth (mother) & Anna Mary (daughter) ~ see dates above.
Photo taken perhaps not too long before Anna Mary's death.

How sad that Anna Mary died (at age 61) in 1923
2 years before her mother died (at age 87) in 1925.
This photo is undated, but appears to be a few years later
than the somewhat happier photo above, which was taken in 1919.

"It leans on me, this changing season,
breathless as these old photographs

under the lamp. White smiles will
smile forever; the tossed ball is fixed in

space and will not move, nor will
divers, diving, ever touch water. . . . "

by Dorothea Tanning
from her poem "Trapeze"
in her book Coming to That

Elizabeth Birkinbine Miller
~ Born February 28, 1838 ~
Photo taken shortly before her death, in 1925

What my Grandmother Rovilla has written on the back --

Rovilla's note says "a short time before she passed away"
(which was March 28, 1925). Perhaps Rovilla included the date
on the corner that has been torn off over the years.
For the above pic of Elizabeth,
I zoomed in & cropped away the torn segment;
but from the back you can see how much is missing.

My Great - great grandmother Elizabeth, my Great grandmother Anna Mary, my Grandmother Rovilla. Yet more ancestors, but hopefully somewhat less loss this time than in my last few posts, which were all about lost persons and lost information:
Missing, Presumed Dead
Missing Ancestors
Your Mother, Her Grandfather
Of course, even with a solid written record, there is always the poetic loss to deal with, so deep you can taste it. Poets Naomi Shihab Nye and Jane Hirshfield both rely on surprisingly gustatory imagery to evoke the mixed emotions of ancestral connection (emphasis added in poems above). Nye says that thinking of all she may never be able to learn about her grandmother "fills my throat / with dust." Hirshfield wonders if the ancestors have indvertently left behind a sad taste in our mouths, tears where we would have hoped for smiles: "the merest trace of sorrow, remnant salt . . . We who wanted only to die with sweetness in our mouths / to console the children with that hope."

There is also the absence of contact, as described by the poets. Dorothea Tanning says that the old photos are "breathless." Please speak to us! But, no, they are frozen, speechless. As my Cousin Hal writes about this photograph of Elizabeth: "Amazing! Must have been a cool fall time of year. The trees are absent leaves, and she is dressed for cool weather. Yes, the customary attire back then. But wow, pretty warm looking!" And how about that dog walking along the sidewalk? Turn around! Show us your face! Whose pet are you? Were you an annoyance to Elizabeth, or were you beloved?

Writing of her grandmother, Shihab Nye acknowledges the sad truth: "It is possible we will not meet again / on earth." In fact, it is not just a possibility but a certainty that my grandmother and I will not meet again on earth, though she meant the world to me in the years that our lives overlapped, from my birth in 1957 until her death in 1966. Not forgetting the numerous great grandmothers before her -- our lives never overlapped; they are known to me only through stories from the relatives and whatever written records survive. Rovilla, Anna Mary, Elizabeth -- they have all become grandmothers in the stars.

The Birkinbines were pretty good record-keepers. Still, as in any dense family history, there are gaps. At my grandmother's knee, I learned the long line of Birkinbines: Christian (born in Germany) begat Antonius (born in Switzerland), begat Anthony (born in Philadelphia), begat George (born in Maryland), begat Elizabeth (born in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania), begat Anna Mary (Lancaster County), begat Rovilla (Kansas), begat Mary Beth (Kansas), begat Kitti (Kansas). Elizabeth bequeathed to us long lists of siblings and cousins, but her records always started with Christian (1713 - 1786), who left Europe on the Ship Two Brothers, sailing via Rotterdam to Philadelphia, arriving on September 14, 1749.

Many thanks to my spouse Gerry who has spent hours researching the preceding generations, and pursuing Christian's roots way back into Germany, where he and all of his forebears lived until Christian branched out and immigrated first to Switzerland and then -- ever the pioneer -- to America. Here is the genealogical thread, temporarily streamlined for the sake of efficiency (more details to follow):
Johannes Buel, 1595 - 1665

begat

Johannes Buel / Birkenbuel, (1620 - 1684; possibly 1690)

begat

Johan Arnold Birkenbuel (1647 - 1732)

begat

Johan Birkenbuel, Jr. (1688 - 1745)

begat

Johan Christian Birkinbine (1713 - 1786)

Coming next time,
more Birkinbine information -- not lost, not missing!
Various segments of disconnected narrative,
gathered up and connected at last!
Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, September 28th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Your Mother, Her Grandfather

MY GREAT-GREAT-GREAT-GRANDFATHER HADDIX
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Osborn, Ohio ~ Homestead of my great-great-great grandparents
John P. Haddix (1791 - 1888) & Sarah Elizabeth Cox (1798–1860)
Married March 29, 1817

John & Sarah were the . . .

Parents of Sarah Elizabeth Haddix (1826 - 1861)
married to Charles Gordon Hartman (1824 - 1897) on June 4, 1850

Grandparents of Sarah Elisabeth Hartman (1856 - 1937)
married to James Sankey Lindsey (1846 - 1921) on April 22, 1877

Great-grandparents of Paul Jones Lindsey (1895 - 1983)
married to Mary Rovilla Lindsey (1891 - 1966) on March 20, 1927

Great-great-grandparents of my mother
Mary Elisabeth Lindsey Carriker (1931 - 2020)

In her poetry collection, How to Fly (In Ten Thousand Easy Lessons), Barbara Kingsolver instructs the reader:

How to Have a Child

Begin on the day you decide
you are fit
to carry on.
Begin with a quailing heart
for here you stand
on the fault line.
Begin if you can at the beginning.
Begin with your mother,
with her grandfather,
the ones before him.
Think of their hands, all of them:
firm on the plow, the cradle,
the rifle butt, the razor strop;
trembling on the telegram,
the cheek of a lover,
the fact of a door.
Everything that can wreck a life
has been done before,
done to you even. That's all
inside you now.
Half of it you won't think of.
The rest you wouldn't dream of.
Go on.

Barbara Kingsolver (b 1955)
American novelist, poet, essayist
See also FN, QK, KL

I like Kingsolver's suggestion to "Begin if you can at the beginning." I may never make it back to the earliest branches of the family tree, but in my last two posts -- Missing, Presumed Dead & Missing Ancestors -- I have tried to scrutinize some of the gaps, in search of lost information.

Next, Kingsolver says, "Begin with your mother, with her grandfather." Or, how about her grandmother? My mother was only 6 years old when her paternal Grandmother Sarah Elisabeth "Sallie" Hartman Lindsey died; but my mom remembered Sallie as accurately as a 6 - year - old can and told me everything she could recall over the years. They shared the middle name of Elisabeth -- with an "s" rather than a "z." I always liked the overlapping stories of Sallie's good fortune in having her grandfather, John P. Haddix, on hand when her first child was born; and her father, Charles Gordon Hartman, on hand to deliver her seventh child -- my grandfather (my mother's father).

I have mentioned my mother's Great - grandfather Charles Gordon Hartman (31 July 1824 - 29 December 1897) previously as one of my more mysterious relatives -- the one who disappeared and reappeared. At the time of his marriage to Sarah Elizabeth Haddix (1826 - 1861), she was 24, he was 26, and a lot of things had already happened in their lives.

For one thing, Sarah's name on the wedding certificate reads "Sarah Elizabeth Bacon." I have never heard nor read one bit of family lore to explain her change of name from "Haddix" to "Bacon." I can only guess that Sarah had been married young to a Mr. Bacon and then widowed young, before having any children.

Charles, on the other hand, had definitely been married before -- was, in fact, currently married and the father of two children when he married Sarah in 1850.

With some help from my cousin Liz, the story goes that

Charles Gordon Hartman (1824 - 1897) and Ellen Brewer (1821 - 1880)
were married in 1845, in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania

and they had 2 children:
Emily Eugenia (aka Aunt Emma; b 1846) and James (b 1847)
Charles, in partnership with another man (name unknown), owned a mill in Lancaster. When the mill burned down, Charles was accused of arson. Was he guilty? No one is sure, but whether or not he was, rather than waiting for a verdict, he took matters into his own hands.

Leaving his family behind, he fled to Ohio, changed his appearance and his occupation, becoming a physician -- notice on his marriage license (above) he signs himself "Dr. Charles G. Hartman." And in the 1880 Census, his profession is listed as "druggist."

In 1850, he and Sarah began their married life in Greene County, Ohio, near her parents; but three years later, when their first child was born, they were homesteading and practicing medicine in Indiana. Sarah had six children in quick succession: John in 1853, Charles in 1854, Franklin in 1855, Sarah Elisabeth [my great - grandmother; named for her mother and grandmother, except with an "s" rather than a "z" in her middle name] in 1856, George in 1858, and Ida Alice in 1859.

Once she had moved West, did Sarah Haddix ever see her parents again? Did they meet her growing family and admire their many grandchildren? In 1860, back in Ohio, Sarah's mother (Sarah Elizabeth Cox) died at age 62. And, very sadly, in 1861, Sarah herself died at the age of 35. I have searched the rural cemeteries of Pulaski County, Indiana, but have never been able to find her grave.

With neither a mother nor a maternal grandmother, who was going to look after all these children -- aged 8, 7, 6, 5, 3 and 2? Charles had an idea!

After Sarah's death, he made a trip all the way back to Lancaster County, Pennsylvania, where Ellen, having never re-married, still lived with Emma (now 15), and James (now 14). Charles surprised her with the news that he was still alive and re-proposed; he suggested that they resume their marriage, and Ellen agreed. She who had been his first wife for five years became his third wife for nearly twenty years. Her two children were reunited with their father, and they all returned with Charles to Francisville, Indiana, where Ellen helped raised Sarah's six motherless children, and stayed with Charles until her death in 1880. Like Sarah Haddix, Ellen was buried in Indiana, but I am not sure exactly where. I know from preserved correspondence that my Great-grandmother Sarah Elisabeth remained close to her step-mother Ellen, her half-sister Emma, and Emma's daughter Eyrie.

Sarah had spent all of her life so far in Winamac, Indiana -- she was born there in 1856, and married there in 1877 to my Great-grandfather James Sankey Lindsey. Her father Charles and step-mother Ellen continued to live nearby and may have been a help to her; but in the Spring of 1880, when Sarah was expecting her first child, Ellen was not well (she died later that year, aged 59). Perhaps due to Ellen's illness -- or other reasons of practicality or longing unknown to us -- Sarah made her way (on her own?) from Winamac, Indiana, to her grandparents' hometown of Osborn, Ohio. This had also been her mother's hometown, but never hers.

According to the 1880 Census, Sarah (age 24) was, at this time, living with her Grandfather John P. Haddix (age 89) in the house shown above. On the back of the picture, my Grandfather Paul Jones Lindsey (Sarah's youngest son, born 1895) has written:

"John Haddix
Osborn, Ohio
He was my mother's mother's father,
my great-grandfather

My sister Mabel was born in the corner room
above the porch where the long dark window is.
P. J. L."
I doubt I will ever know why Sarah (aka Sallie) went to her grandfather at this crucial juncture in her life. Her grandmother (as well as her own mother) had been dead for twenty years, so it was not for maternal support. Certainly, Great-great-great-grandather looks very stately, standing in front of the family's two-storey frame house with white picket fence. Perhaps this familiar spot and this dear grandfather offered Sallie an environment of stability during an otherwise uncertain time. Was her husband James (aka Jimmy) there with her? Who else was there to assist with the labor and delivery and newborn care of tiny Mabel (born May 20, 1880)?

Three years later, Sallie's second child, my Great-Uncle Jim (James Sankey Lindsey, Jr.) was born, also in Ohio. However, Jimmy and Sallie did not stay there, returning instead to Indiana. In 1887 (just a year before the death of Sallie's Grandfather Haddix at age 97), they headed West from Indiana to Illinois and then on to Nebraska, where they stayed for eight years. They were accompanied by her father Charles Gordon Hartman, now a widower, who helped with the delivery and care of the children who were born along the way: Nellie in Illinois; Wayne, Beatrice, and Sam in Nebraska.

Sallie was expecting again when they left Nebraska, and her father Charles famously delivered Paul (my grand-dad) in a covered wagon on the Oklahoma prairie in 1895. Two more sisters were to come after the family settled in Kansas: Virginia in 1897 and Gail in 1899. Sadly, by that time, Charles had returned to Illinois, where he died at age 73 on December 29, 1897 (just 12 days after the birth of Virginia on December 17th). After a lifetime of roaming the country from Pennsylvania to Ohio to Indiana; back to Pennsylvania, back to Indiana, all the way out to Nebraska and back, he now lies buried in Liberty Cemetery, Iroquois, Illinois. Were some of Sallie's siblings there for him? I hope so. Otherwise, it seems a bleak demise, after fifty years of adventure, first begun, to our knowledge, with that mysterious mill fire in Lancaster County -- and who knows what else before that!

Whether the story is lacking in parts, or has been embellished, or has veered at times from accuracy, how would we know for sure? Whatever the truth may be, as Kingsolver says in her poem, "This Is How They Come Back to Us":

" . . . now that my grandfather Henry
is dead. All these parts of his life are
equal now, the end and the beginning."
[See complete poem in comments below.] `

P.S. A brief note of interest
concerning the Old Haddix Road,
named for my ancestors . . .

"Osborn was a town located near the Haddix Road - Ohio 235 intersection at the northern edge of Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in what is now the flood-prone basin of the Huffman Dam in the U.S. state of Ohio. . . .

"Many of the original houses of old Osborn still stand in Fairborn, Ohio, in the "Osborn Historic District." On January 1, 1950, Osborn and the neighboring town of Fairfield were merged as Fairborn. The first business to depict the name of the new city was the large vertical sign of the Fairborn Theatre. [It is if unclear if the Haddix house shown above made the move from Osborn to Fairborn.]

"The old Osborn cemetery lies within the boundary of Wright-Patterson, near the north end of the main flight line, which used to be part of the town. During the building of the longer runway to accommodate the large B-36 Bombers in the 1940s, the old streets of Osborn were still visible on the ground near the airstrip." [near Dayton]
**************

On November 1, 1830, John Haddix purchased
"160 acres and 72/100s of an acre"
In Montgomery, Ohio [near Cincinnati]
From the U. S. General Land Office
Under President Andrew Jackson
By 1850, Haddix and family were living in the Dayton area, and there is no further mention (in Census information or family history) of the Cincinnati area property.

Next Fortnightly Post
Saturday, September 14th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Missing Ancestors

THE BRIGHT EDGES OF THE WORLD
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Pioneers of the West, 1934
Helen Lundeberg, 1908 – 1999

********************

Beautiful surroundings . . . those light-hearted mornings of the desert, for that wind that made one a boy again. He had noticed that this peculiar quality in the air of new countries vanished after they were tamed by man and made to bear harvests. Parts of Texas and Kansas that he had first known as open range had since been made into rich farming districts, and the air had quite lost that lightness, that dry aromatic odour. . . . one could breathe that only on the bright edges of the world, on the great grass plains or the sage-brush desert."

from Death Comes for the Archbishop
Book IX, chap 3, pp 272-73
by Willa Cather

Cather's characters stand in awe of the stunning landscape; their courage is astounding, and the distance they cover -- without aid of plane, train or automobile -- nearly unfathomable. First of all, Father Jean Marie Latour and Father Joseph Vaillant travel halfway around the world, from Rome to Ohio, then from Ohio to New Mexico; and finally, a solitary round trip for Latour from Santa Fe to Mexico City:

"One afternoon in the autumn of 1851 a solitary horseman, followed by a pack-mule, was pushing through an arid stretch of country somewhere in central New Mexico. He had lost his way, and was trying to get back to the trail, with only his compass and his sense of direction for guides. . . . On a long caravan trip acros Texas this man had had some experience of thirst . . . But he had not suffered then as he did now." (17 - 18)

"The traveller was Jean Marie Latour . . . No one in Cincinnati could tell him how to get to New Mexico — no one had ever been there. Since young Father Latour's arrival in America, a railroad had been built through from New York to Cincinnati; but there it ended. New Mexico lay in the middle of a dark continent. The Ohio merchants knew of two routes only. One was the Santa Fé trail from St. Louis . . . [the other was] to go down the [Mississippi] river to New Orleans, thence by boat to Galveston, across Texas to San Antonio, and to wind up into New Mexico along the Rio Grande valley. This he had done, but with what misadventures! (20 - 21)

"So, having travelled for nearly a year to reach Santa Fé, Father Latour left it after a few weeks [on Diocesan buiness], and set off alone on horseback to ride down into Old Mexico and back, a journey of full three thousand miles.

"He had been warned that there were many trails leading off the Rio Grande road, and that a stranger might easily mistake his way. For the first few days he had been cautious and watchful. Then he must have grown careless and turned into some purely local trail. When he realized that he was astray, his canteen was already empty and his horses seemed too exhausted to retrace their steps. He had persevered in this sandy track, which grew ever fainter, reasoning that it must lead somewhere." (23)

Reading of Latour's predicament, and the vast distance that he had undertaken to travel alone, I was reminded of my distant first cousin, thrice removed, Joseph Blair Lindsey, who traveled from Ohio to Oklahoma in 1876, then on to Texas in 1881.

The Samuel Lindsey Homestead in Ohio.

Joseph Blair Lindsey was Samuel's grandson,
as was my great-grandfather James Sankey Lindsey.
Joseph's father John and James' father Robert
(my great-great-grandfather) were brothers.

Did my great - grandfather James Sankey Lindsey know his first cousin Joseph Blair Lindsey? I don't know. Did my Grandpa Paul J. Lindsey (my mother's father) know this story about his father's cousin? I don't know. I only learned of it a few years ago, long after my grandfather's death (1983). He told me many family stories but never this one. How I wish he were here now to impart his knowledge and wisdom concerning Joseph's fateful journey. What I have learned from various scraps of paper is this:

Joseph Blair Lindsey
~ 28 November 1852 - 3 December 1881 ~
from Antrim, Ohio
son of John Work Lindsey and Margaret Blair
grandson of Samuel Lindsey (my great-great-great grandfather)

brother of Mary Martha, Samuel Elmore, William Martin,
Robert Luther, James Henry, John Work, Adela Jane, Margaret Ellen

Taught Indian School, 1876 - 1881
Tishomingo, Indian Territory (now Oklahoma)
Murdered abut 250 miles from Laredo, Texas, while
Traveling Alone

Anecdotal history, recorded by one of Joe's nephews: "When Uncle Joe was a young man he taught himself to play orchestra instruments, organized the young men of the town (Craig and Billy Knouff, Trimble and several others), he wrote the score for each instrument. After he went to Indian Territory, he sent a parlor organ home, and wrote that to the sister who played the best he would give the organ when he got home -- but he never came back.

"He taught in Tishomingo College (where William "Afalfa Bill" Murray may have gone to college at the time). He published the first newspaper in that part of the Southwest. Driving a team he started farther south for his health, gave a stranger a ride, and was murdered by him as he sat at breakfast. The diary he kept described the man, who was soon apprehended and hung. Uncle Will [his brother, born 25 May 1855] went down there and remained in the West for some time.

"Mother [Mary Martha Lindsey, b 4 March 1848] mourned bitterly for her young brother, lamenting the manner of his death. One evening as she walked in the orchard weeping, she said he seemed to speak to her, out of the peaceful dusk, and say he was happy."

Chickasaw Nation Capitol Building
Tishomingo, Oklahoma
Completed in November 1898

The oldest view I could find of the streets of Tishomingo,
approximately 20 years after Joseph lived there.

I keep going back to that fateful last line on Joseph's index card in the family record:
"Traveling Alone"
Sadly, so little information. What were the health issues that impelled Joseph to depart from Tishomingo, where he seemed to be thriving? What cure was he seeking farther south? Did William have his brother buried in Texas or Oklahoma, or bring his remains back to Ohio? [No luck so far on find - a - grave.] So on goes the saga -- begun in my previous post "Missing, Presumed Dead" -- of loved ones lost without a trace, disappeared, presumed taken -- or worse, known dead.

The irrefutable knowledge of death may be the worst; however, it provides closure, whereas some life - endings remain forever unknowable, especially when "traveling alone." Or -- in the case of one of my 3rd great - grandfathers on my father's side -- with a 12 - year - old son. In 1879, Frank (born in 1830 or '31) went on the road with his son Robert (born in 1867).

Though no tombstone has been photographed, Ancestry.com indicates that Byrd Franklin "Frank" Brumfield, Jr. died in 1886 and was buried in Bucklin, Missouri; but my Uncle Gene Carriker (my dad's brother) tells it a different way. According to Gene, 1886 is most likely the date -- 7 years after their disappearance -- that Frank and Robert were declared "missing, presumed dead" by the authorities in Bucklin, Misouri:

"Rather sad story about Frank Brumfield, and also a huge ancestor puzzle. According to the family lore, he took his 12 - year - old son, Robert Lee Brumfield, and traveled from the Bucklin, Missouri, area to Arkansas sometime in the year 1879 to look for land to buy on which to settle. I wonder what the urge was to move to Arkansas? Was it just another example of the "gypsy syndrome" that seemed to affect so many of our ancestors? Did they keep right on going to South America, never to return?

"Sometime during the trip, they seem to have both died under unknown circumstances, for they never made it back home to Bucklin, Missouri. Their death location and burial site remain unknown. Inquiries to the Bureau of Vital Statistics in Little Rock for death certificates or notices came up empty.

"A couple of guesses can be made as to their deaths. One piece of unsubstantiated family lore is that they died of cholera from drinking bad water on their trip. Another one -- pure speculation: if they were indeed looking for land to buy, they may have been carrying a rather large sum of cash; it's conceivable that if this became known, they were murdered for their money."

The family could verify their departure, but never knew why they failed to return. No one was able to go and bear witness to their demise or demand justice on their behalf, as Joseph Blair Lindsey's brother William did. Much like Willa Cather's characters, Father Jean Marie Latour and Father Joseph Vaillant (in real life: Jean-Baptiste Lamy and Joseph Projectus Machebeuf), my Cousin Joseph, my Great-great-great Grandfather Frank and young Uncle Robert Brumfield set out from apparently stable homesteads in pursuit of "the bright edges of the world." In the end, untimely though it was, did they feel they came close to their vision? Did they seize the day? Carpe! If only it was not too late to hear the stories of their quest and learn the end.

Yet again more mysterious is my missing 5th great-grandfather Jacob Miller who totally left without saying farewell. A little is known: he was born perhaps mid - 1700s, took a bride -- first name unknown -- with the last name of Huber and begat Abraham (b late 1700s?), who begat Jacob (b 1811), who begat Henry (b 1834), who begat Anna Mary (b 1862), who begat Rovilla (b 1891), who begat Mary Beth (b 1931), who begat Kitti (b 1957). Much is unknown: we have no account of his departure or whereabouts, no return, no date of birth, no date of death. The written record simply states: "Disapppeared around 1800."

And then there's Great-great-grandfather Charles Gordon Hartman who suddenly disappeared in 1850 and amazingly reappeared ten years later, with six new children in tow, ready to resume his prior life with his prior wife. More on this mystery next time . . .

Next Fortnightly Post
Wednesday, August 28th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Missing, Presumed Dead

BABES IN THE WOODS
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS, SAD ~

Additional llustrations
by Randolph Caldecott (1846 – 1886)

Babes in the Woods
[Variations]

My dears, do you know
how a long time ago
Two poor little babes
whose names I don' know
Were stolen away
on a bright summer day
And left in the woods,
so I've heard people say.

And when it was night,
how sad was their plight,
The sun it went down
and the moon gave no light.
They sobbed and they sighed
and they bitterly cried,
And the poor little things,
they lay down and died.

And when they were dead,
the robins so red
Brought strawberry leaves
and over them spread,
And all the day long,
they sang them this song:

Poor babes in the woods,
poor babes in the woods!
And don't you remember the babes in the woods?

I used to wonder (as does author Marilynne Robinson in her novel Home): Why did my dear grandmother so often sing me this sad sad lullaby?

Could it be that the old folk song resonated because Babes in the Woods -- abandoned, recovered (or not), lost, left for dead -- was not such an uncommon tale in real life? Some hard truths may be lurking there just beneath the surface of the sentimental lyrics. Google the phrase, and you will soon learn that "Babes in the Woods" has become the name of numerous heartbreaking cold cases, such as the 1934 murders of the Noakes sisters, Norma, Cordelia, and Dewilla, in Pennsylvania. Or the 1947 murders of the D'Alton brothers, Derek & David.

My grandmother must have heard the stories of children disappearing, not only into the deep dark woods but also from the wide open plain, as recounted by contemporary poet Jim Barnes in this distressing tale of a curious, adventurous child, playing out - of - doors, all day long, innocently yet to his peril:

For Roland, Presumed Taken

By the time we missed you dusk was settling in.
The first reaction was to think
of drowning, the deep hole just north of the house
that the spring flows into
out from under the sycamore.
You had played there earlier in the day
and had wanted to wade the still water
after minnows schooling the shadows.

We tracked you back to the spring, and I died
with fear that you would be floating
among the lilies, white as the ghost of fish.
But your tracks veered left
toward the valley where the cattle grazed,
then vanished in the flowing grass.
I blew the horn that called the cattle in.
You knew the sound and loved the way
the cattle came loping up at feeding time.

Roland, still, today, you cannot hear the sound of the horn,
cannot holler back up the mountainside
to let us know in your wee voice you are safe and found.
Why you walked off into the green of that day
we can never know, except the valley
and the mountain beyond must have yielded a sudden
sound or flash of light that took your eyes away.
And you were gone.  It is as if

eagles swooped you up, leaving
not one trace to tell us the way you went away.
Nights I imagine the beat of drums,
the clanging of toy swords,
rocking horses neighing
on their tracks.
In another age
I would offer
up my glove
to God
to have you back.

Now, we have packed away your life
in boxes we store
in case the memory
we hold is swept away
by chance 
or the slow years.

~by Jim Barnes (b 1933)
~from The Sawdust War (see also)

Every time I read this poem, the bleakness of young Roland's unknown fate rends my heart. Barnes' poem came immediately to mind not long ago, when I was watching the crime drama Dublin Murders. The series, set in 2006, begins with a flashback to 1985: "As dusk approaches a townland near Dublin in the summer of 1985, mothers begin to call their children home. But on this warm evening, three children do not return from the dark and silent woods. When the police arrive, they find only one of the children gripping a tree trunk in terror."

As the series progresses, several crimes are revealed and solved, but never the whereabouts of the other two children. Sadly, their disappearance has become something that their parents -- and the audience -- have to accept, no matter how cruel. Their outcome remains unchanged, unknowable. The only conclusion: "presumed taken."

When I mentioned this connection to Jim, he explained further:

The allusions to "The Song of Roland" took a goodly day to place in the poem at just the right junctures. I rather think the poem would fall flat with sentimentality without them.

Kitti: Jim, I get it: the horn, and the jousting, the glove, the bargain. Not sentimental -- just the stark reality of loss with no explanation.

Jim: "Stark reality of loss" exactly abstracts it.

More poetry from Jim Barnes on this blog,
on my Quotidian blog, and on my Book blog.

Next Fortnightly Post ~ Missing Ancestors
Wednesday, August 14th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com

Cultural List - eracy, Part 3: Master Class

CULTURAL LITERACY
~ ACCUSTOMED, CEREMONIOUS ~

Learning Curve . . . including Biblical allusions!

"I literally have a better understanding of
who killed Kennedy, than I do, what is offside."
The Mirror
I like what The Wall Street Journal (2021) has to say about Ted Lasso, because it's exactly what I've been saying recently about the informative genre of cultural list sing - along songs: "Watching 'Ted Lasso' is like taking a master class in cultural literacy. References to history, politics, music, film and sports are peppered throughout the dialogue." The series is also rich in literary allusion, including a moving segment on the novel Johnny Tremain.

Likewise for Family Guy
-- not that it's about Ted Lasso, but . . .
a treasure trove of intertextual puns!

Just the right podcast:
Reluctantly Charmed by Ted Lasso,
an interview with Nadia Bolz-Weber

Even when a podcast is perfect,
I still prefer a written text.
If I find one, I will add it here.
For now, you'll just have to listen.

Also -- not that it's about Ted Lasso, but . . .

Happiness Hacks
is a very readable list from Pastor Nadia
that feels like a cultural awareness raiser.

***********************

Another Fun List
If you haven't totally lost your sense of humor (if so, understandable)
in these troubled times, this one is bound to make you laugh!

James Taylor & Stephen Colbert:
I've Seen Fire & I've Seen Rain

As Taylor explains to Colbert in 2015, so much had happened in the world since he wrote Fire and Rain in 1970, initially a song of loneliness and loss, not a cultural list. With whimsical absurdity, Taylor parodies his original and pokes fun at popular culture in the newly modified lyrics. Despite the silliness, go ahead and google the ones you don't know; you'll learn something!

(JAMES)
Oh, I've seen fire and I've seen rain,
I've seen the rise and fall of the Beanie Babies trend,
I've seen man buns, Myspace, and the Baja men,
But I never thought I'd see a new Star Wars again.

(STEPHEN)
Once I looked down and saw some sneakers
That had wheels built in the heel.
I've seen grandmas read "50 Shades Of Grey"
I've seen rainbow suspenders, and Taco Bell fourth meal,
And Gluten-free Brown Sugar Special K.

(JAMES)
Oh I've seen snakes upon a plane,
I've seen shampoo with conditioner built right in.
I've seen Al Roker's body go from fat to thin,
And I kinda hoped to see Left Shark again.

(STEPHEN)
Saw a strange pizza pie and it caught my eye, it was folded into a pouch.
Lord knows what you call those, I should've asked the pizza guy.
Well there's Bud Light Lime, and there's cybercrime, and flavor-crystal gum.
Quidditch teams and skinny jeans cutting blood off from my thighs.

(JAMES)
Oh I've seen toast that's multigrain,
I've seen almost every episode of "Friends."
I've seen adult diapers, I think they're called Depends.
But I never saw that show with the Olson twins.

(STEPHEN)
It's called "Full House."
How many more verses are there James?

(JAMES)
About 75.

(STEPHEN)
We've gotta go to commercial.

(JAMES)
Oh, I've seen Seinfeld and Elaine . . .

In conclusion, my son Ben asked ChatGPT for thoughts on the kind of cultural literacy songs that we have been discussing the past few weeks. I was pretty impressed with this AI summary:

"Songs and poems that feature long lists of cultural references and iconic items are a popuar and engaging way to capture the essence of different eras, events, and societal changes. These works use lists and references to create a rich tapestry of meaning, reflecting the complexities and vibrancies of their respective times and contexts."

Could I have said it any better?

Earlier in This Series
Everything You've Been Waiting For

Cultural List - eracy,
Part 1: Make Your Own List

Cultural List - eracy,
Part 2: From Prime Time to Internet
Next Fortnightly Post
Sunday, July 28th
Between now and then, read

THE QUOTIDIAN KIT
my shorter, almost daily blog posts
www.dailykitticarriker.blogspot.com
~ Everything You've Been Waiting For

Looking for a good book? Try
KITTI'S LIST
my running list of recent reading
www.kittislist.blogsppot.com