Family time in California

My weeklong trip to California with my sister Alyx was so good! After three days visiting our old friend Elinor, we went to Inglewood (near Los Angeles) for a first-time-ever visit to the graves of our mother's parents, Ethel and Myron McNeal.

After a daylong computer search and two trips to the Los Angeles County archives in Norwalk, we discovered the location of the grave of our mother's grandmother Alma McNeal, and visited her in Monrovia (also near Los Angeles). For the Monrovia visit, we bought three roses: one for our mother and one for each of us.

Mom was very close to her grandmother Alma but never visited her grave. She said, "She isn't there." Mom was very afraid of topics around death, maybe because her dad, Myron, died when she was nine and her mother, Ethel, died when she was 18. I can't recall ever attending a funeral when I was a child. And as an adult, I didn't learn about the deaths of my grandmother, my uncle or my aunt until several weeks later. It just wasn't a topic for discussion in our family.

I've done enough genealogy to have an idea of some of the circumstances of my family. When we were standing by our grandparents' graves in Inglewood Park Cemetery, I told Alyx the story of how our grandmother's mother died when our grandmother was three weeks old, and how by the time she was four she was living with her older sister Irene and Irene's husband Ned. I hadn't realized until last week that she was buried, beside her husband, in the same plot as Irene and Ned. I wonder if my grandmother was dependent on her sister all her life.

And our great grandmother Alma, divorced from her husband, is buried next to her sister and brother-in-law, who had moved from Colorado to California in 1909. After her divorce in the 1920s, I suspect she moved to California as well, to be near family.

The best part of the trip, though, was the time I spent with Alyx. This was our first time traveling together without our mother or our husbands. We stayed with two sets of friends (in Santa Barbara and Lake Arrowhead) and in two hotels (in Whittier and Ontario). We had a grand time - from the splurge to upgrade our rental car from the midsize sedan I booked to the Cadillac SUV we ended up with, to the early morning airport dropoff on Wednesday, when I came home, we talked and laughed and ate and talked and pondered and ate and teased and talked and geocached and grave visited and watched TV and ate. We had a few mild squabbles but we talked through every single one of them.

Not bad for two women who never had much of a personal relationship until our mother died in 2008.

This is my sister Alyx. After half a lifetime in California working as a marketer in the healthcare industry, she moved to Alaska three years ago. At age 56, she's just finished her first year of nursing school at the University of Alaska in Anchorage.

Here's to you, Sister! And thanks for the California memories.

Quiet time

I'm in California this week with my sister Alyx. For the last three days we've been in Santa Barbara. We're visiting our deceased mother's oldest and dearest friend, Elinor, who will be 92 on Sunday. Elinor lives with her niece, Becky, and Becky's family. She has a caregiver during the day. As with many elders, Elinor is growing more and more frail, and her sharp mind sometimes takes a break into forgetfulness or even confusion. But she is still present much of the time.

Aunt Elinor knew my sister and me before we were born. She and our mother were wives of young Marine Corps officers, and for a time 60-plus years ago, they roomed together while their husbands were overseas. Our two families shared many Thanksgivings and fourths of July. Elinor had two sons, Robert and James, but she calls us her "girls".

We've had a quiet time the last three days. We've taken Elinor's wheelchair and strolled at the Santa Barbara marina. We've worked in the kitchen as Alyx helped make Aunt Elinor's famous coleslaw. We've chatted after dinner about the past. We've looked at pictures of years gone by and of people who are no longer with us.

Tomorrow we leave for three days in Lake Arrowhead. Alyx has a house there that's for sale, and we're getting the last of the boxes out of the attic and the basement. It probably won't be such a quiet time. But it will be good.

Family stones

As far as I know, I'm the only person in my family, on either side, who's interested in graveyards. I had a special time with those entities on our road trip to Tennessee and Kentucky.

In western Tennessee, I met up with my father's father's people in their graves. Mt. Olive Cemetery, in Dyer, is a beautiful place, full of Horner and Flowers people - my great grandparents, great greats, and so on. Though a tornado destroyed the church several years ago, and had its way with some of the tombstones, I found my people.

In my genealogy research, the Horner and Flowers families have been extensively documented by other people, so I've known about these folks for a while. Still, it was nice to see them resting there. My grandfather lived in Dyer until he enlisted in the Army in World War I. After that he went to work for the railroad.  He retired to California and is buried at the veterans cemetery in San Diego.  I don't have a photo of that tombstone yet.

Dyer is a quiet town today. I wonder what Grandpa's life would have been like if he'd come home when the war ended.


In Wallins Creek, in Harlan County in eastern Kentucky, I found a very old grave belonging to a predecessor of my father's mother. Though it's been several generations since my direct ancestors lived there, I'm probably related to half the people in Harlan.

I knew about these gravestones, too, though they're not in a churchyard cemetery. I followed the directions provided to me and found them.

Jesse Brock's son George was my gggg grandfather; he emigrated to Ohio as a young man. I'll need to go to Scioto County in that state one of these trips to find where he's buried. I suspect life in eastern Kentucky was rough; maybe there was more possibility in Ohio - even though George went north rather than west to find a place for himself.


In Bowling Green, Kentucky, I had a graveyard adventure. That's where I found some of my mother's father's people. My ggg grandmother, Catherine Reddick McNeal, is buried in Pioneer cemetery with two of her children. I knew that from my online research. When we arrived in Bowling Green in mid-afternoon it was 85 degrees and humid.  We got directions from the desk clerk at the Fairfield Suites, where we were staying for the night. Once in the general area of the cemetery, I was at a loss. Finally stopped at a minimarket near our supposed destination. Went in. Asked the clerk where the "real old cemetery" was. She had no idea. Asked several people in line with their beer and ice if they knew. Everyone shrugged. Then one smiling man, wearing a "wife beater" t-shirt and missing half his teeth, said, "It's down four blocks, with a black fence." I thanked him.

Pioneer Cemetery's gates were locked. It's owned by the city, and some problems with vandalism resulted in a fence being put up. Across the street, in a former auto repair shop, I found a CrossFit gym, with two women working out. I explained my dilemma. One of the women, Julie, walked across the street with me. Lean and trim, she slid under a space beneath the fence and walked the cemetery looking for Catherine! After a few minutes I found a wider opening and wiggled beneath the fence as Julie took my picture. I got grass stains on my shirt - for the first time in over 50 years.

The cemetery was full by 1861, and all the old gravestones were moss covered. I wasn't able to find Catherine and her children Elizabeth and Pendleton in there, but I know that's their resting place. I wondered if a map of the cemetery existed showing who was buried where.

As we drove off, Art noticed a funeral home. I pulled in. It was closed, but there was a phone number on the door. I called it. Within minutes a funeral director called me back. I explained my dilemma. He told me I should call the City of Bowling Green. I did that. The lady there told me to call the library at Western Kentucky State, which is in Bowling Green. I did. Apparently there's no map, but they do have access to a list of cemetery residents. I had that myself, so I think I'm at the end of the line. Unless on some moonless light I take a pressure washer into the cemetery and clean up all the tombstones. I did that last year in Nebraska with my mother's mother's people, but I knew which tombstones were theirs. Maybe I'll just have to lay this issue to rest!

Not far away, Fairview Cemetery houses a number of Catherine's children, in-laws, and grandchildren. The land for the cemetery was purchased in 1861 from William McNeal, one of Catherine's children. He is buried there. I didn't realize until recently that all these people were related to my gg grandfather Robert Theophilus McNeal (he's buried in Denver). I only knew that when I found the last of Catherine's children, Drucilla, and found on her death certificate that she had the same parents as my Robert. As a genealogist, it's exciting to find a link that's been missing.

So, back home again, I'm feeling part of a large family. Even if most of them are very, very quiet.

Road trip - where we left the books

We'd decided to give a copy of our book - Return to Viet Nam: One Veteran's Journey of Healing - to each Vet Center along our route, and to other places where it seemed right. Here's where 11 books found a home:

1. Vet Center, St. Louis, MO. Art went in alone and I sat in the car for 15 minutes. When he came out I asked how it had gone. He said, "The team leader was very cordial. He sat me down and wanted to know why I was there and if I had any problems. He really seemed concerned about how I was doing. I was very nervous! I told him about the book and he was very appreciative in getting it, because in a few minutes he was going to go to a Viet Nam vets' session. He gave me his card and wished me luck on my journey. He also said he'd read the book. I told him there was a website where he could make comments if he needed to."

2. Our hosts Tom and Joan in Waverly, TN. Joan had asked to read it the night we got there. Her brother was a Viet Nam vet who died a couple of years ago of "unusual Asian cancer" - possibly brought on by Agent Orange.

3. Vet Center, Nashville, TN. This time I sat in the car for 25 minutes while Art went in. "He was on the phone on hold taking care of some business, and asked if I'd wait. When he was done he invited me in. He did the same thing - asked me how I was doing, was concerned whether I had any problems that were pressing. I told him about the book. He took it and said he'd read it. He also gave me his card."

4. Our hosts David and Sharon in Gordonsville, TN. Sharon has a brother, a vet with PTSD.

5. Vet Center, Knoxville, TN - Art received the same warm welcome. The team leader asked if we were going to the Johnson City Vet Center. When Art said yes, he said to say hello to his buddy, a team leader there.

6. Vet Center, Roanoke, VA. The team leader said he'd post one of the bookmarks we'd included on the bulletin board in the Center. He thanked Art for bringing the books around. Art said he thought the Viet Nam vets had either gotten help or were ignoring their PTSD entirely. The team leader said that since 9/11, three times as many Viet Nam vets have come in because of the stirred-up memories.

7 and 8. Polyface Farms, Swoope, VA. We talked to two employees about our book. One of them is married to a Viet Nam vet who served in the Marine Corps and talks about it all the time. The other has a dad who is a Viet Nam vet who served in the Army and never says a word about it. We wanted to buy a couple of books by Joel Salatin, the owner of the farm; his wife Teresa was there and she said, "Go ahead and take them." A wonderful trade!

9. Vet Center, Johnson City, TN - We arrived there during the lunch hour, and the team leader was just saying goodbye to someone he was talking to. He asked me what I wanted, took the book and thanked me. He had another commitment so he left.

10. Proprietor of the hotel in Harlan, KY. He said there are a lot of vets in Harlan, including his brother-in-law. He wanted to read the book and then pass it along.

11. Vet Center, Lexington, KY. The team leader was at a vet group meeting in other town. The secretary greeted Art warmly as she took the book. She said she'd make sure that he got it. If he hadn't gotten back before she left, she'd put it on his desk so he'd see it on Monday. Then she said that her dad was a Viet Nam vet. Art told her she ought to read it also, and she said she would.

Art says, "I hadn't realized how affected the country was by the Viet Nam war. All the way from the relatives being affected, and the proprietor in Harlan who was really shook up over his 1970 draft number. He told us how nervous he was the night the numbers were drawn - by birthday - to determine who would be drafted that year. It affected a lot more people than just those who went."

We have one book left. I wonder whether someone we meet in the next two days will need it.

Road trip - Appalachia days

I've never been to Appalachia. But my father's mother's family lived in eastern Kentucky for several generations, and I'd discovered a number of them through my online genealogical research. I wanted to visit Harlan County, where they lived. I'd read about the music and the crafts the people created, and their hardiness. I also knew many parts of Appalachia are quite poor, and that drugs are a special problem.

I was curious. So we've spent some days of this trip in Appalachia.

Our first stop was last Saturday in Clinton, Tennessee, at the Museum of Appalachia. This fine restoration was the life work of John Rice Irwin. A number of structures were moved from their original locations, restored or reconstructed, to create this living history museum. Also on display are items of everyday use. It's a fascinating place even for me, a woman not wild about museums.

You can find out more about the Museum of Appalachia here:  www.museumofappalachia.org.

We drove parts of The Crooked Road, which celebrates the music of Appalachia. Last Saturday night we attended an event in Hiltons, Virginia, where the White Top Mountain band played, to the delight of both locals and visitors. Find out more about it at www.thecrookedroad.org.

Yesterday (Wednesday), we crossed the Virginia border into Harlan County, Kentucky. The road was old, winding, and narrow, crumbling away in places. We descended into a valley where a new "four-lane" took us the rest of the way into Harlan. The town's heyday is in the past. In the 50s it was a rough place, nicknamed "Bloody Harlan". Now it's a town in slow decline, augmented by a few strip malls. We stayed at the Little Inn of Harlan, a charming place. Check it out at www.thelittleinnofharlan.net.

At the suggestion of the Inn's proprietor, we went to the Harlan library and found a paper-bound, indexed book listing all the gravestones in all the cemeteries in the county. Many of the names looked familiar from my research; I descend on my grandmother's side from families named Brock, Howard, and Saylor. I met two Saylors in the first half hour. I found Jesse Brock, my ggggg grandfather. Following the book's directions, we drove to Wallins Creek, about ten miles south of Harlan, ascended the hill behind the Baptist Church, and found his grave in the lower Masonic cemetery.

Wallins Creek is in much steeper decline; here's a photo of the old main street.

We went to a 12-step meeting in Harlan last night. To our surprise, there were over 60 people in attendance; 50 of them were young women from a nearby treatment center. Nearly all of them identified themselves as addicts. I'm thinking meth or oxycontin. In a depressed area, employment options and chances for improvement are very limited. I wondered how these young women would find the motivation to get clean and start out on a new life.

We left Harlan this morning and stopped at the Kentucky Coal Museum in Benton, Kentucky. Benton is so small it has no restaurant, not even a fast food place. The coal mining industry came to Kentucky in the early 20th century and provided employment in return for hard, dangerous work. Read about the museum at kentucky.coal.museum/.

Our drive today was about a hundred miles, through coal mining country. Our server at lunch told us coal mining is still the primary industry. Wages start at $17.50 an hour, "but if you're a plumber or an electrician you make more - about $23." It's still rough, dangerous work.

Tonight we're at Jenny Wiley State Park in Prestonsburg, Kentucky. Here's the view from our back deck:

We'll be leaving Appalachia tomorrow. I am so grateful for my life - and for the people who came before me.

Road trip - Polyface Farms!

I read about Polyface Farms in "The Omnivore's Dilemma". Located in southwest Virginia not far from Staunton, the Salatin family farm is renown for its sustainability methods. We traveled 125 miles beyond the furthest lodging of our road trip to visit this place today. It was so worth it! You can read all about the place at www.polyfacefarms.com

The farm is open. We parked in a small lot and wandered around the farm. In the fields, in the henhouses, in the pig barns. No signs said, "Do not enter." No one supervised our walk. It's a completely transparent operation.

First, the rabbits. They are friendly. Their enclosure has wooden slats on the bottom. It sits in the grass. The rabbits eat the grass through the slats and poop out the slats. Each day the enclosure is moved to fresh grass. The rabbit enclosure is between two greenhouse buildings, sheltered from the wind. No need to mow; by the time the rabbit enclosure gets back around to a site already used, the grass has grown back.

The pigs are friendly. They have enough room to move around and enough sun for a warm snooze. There is no odor in the pig barn because downed wood is put through a chipper and the chips are laid down in the barn. There's enough carbon in the wood chips for effective absorption. 

The cows are friendly. They graze on grass within moveable fencing. Every few days they're moved to fresh pasture.

Then an "Eggmobile" is moved into the used field. The hens range over the field, cleaning up after the cows and enriching the soil with their poop. They lay their eggs in the Eggmobile. Art went inside to look around. The hens were friendly!

Closer to the farmhouse, greenhouse-like structures house laying hens, young chickens, and babies. They have plenty of room. We wandered around inside each building.

In the laying boxes.

A bragging hen.

One down, one to go.

Watchgoose.

Snuggling chicks.

Under the warmer.

The Salatins slaughter the chickens they sell. The area was immaculate.

Other farm stuff. All organic, of course, and sustainably grown

Indoors, after the chickens.

Broccoli under the straw.

We visited the store after our wander and met Joel Salatin's wife.  I asked her if he likes touring around the country giving talks.  She said, "Yes, so far." Very nice lady, friendly, she answered all my other questions, too!

So glad we got to see this place!