Blest be the tie that binds
Our hearts in Christian love;
The fellowship of kindred minds
Is like to that above . . .
We share each other’s woes,
Our mutual burdens bear;
And often for each other flows
The sympathizing tear . . .
he tombstones in the farm cemeteries and this old hymn reflect the deep religiosity of our ancestors: “Gone home” reads the inscription on a tombstone that’s surmounted with a hand whose index finger is pointed skyward. Another is engraved with clasped hands above the word, “Farewell.” Granny’s mother’s stone is inscribed, “Asleep in Jesus.” They surely needed their faith..
My first cousin, Carole Kelly Pittman, wrote:
My reaction is of awe. Our family had so much land and all I can think about is hard work. I picture mules and horses being used, plus all the manual labor, cooking, cleaning and health care without our modern ways. Raising food for all the animals plus your family, women canning and preserving because winter in Indiana is not kind. I don’t want to live like that, but, I appreciate those that have and continue to.
Cousin Joan Kelly whom we met for the first time, had similar reactions:
As I stood looking over “The Old Home Place” I imagined the old farm house and round barn in their heyday. . . I could feel the remoteness of the farm; the need to draw close to family and neighbors. The beauty was overwhelming, but the thought of the immense hard work to attain that beauty was sobering. Picturing the harvest time; births of those many babies; deaths of mothers and fathers and of those children too.
The cemeteries went hand-in-hand with the farms. I had to touch the markers as if to connect with my ancestors. Being there with my cousins made the experience even more powerful. The similarities in our personalities, inclinations, and even appearances were rather astounding. I’m sure that our pioneer ancestors never imagined that nearly 160 years later their offspring would visit from such far-flung places. I appreciate the legacy they left.
Vicki wrote, “I’m so fortunate that I come from a family who felt it was important to pass along bits and pieces of our ancestors’ lives.” She remembers the day as a series of mental snapshots:
Holding Nancy Whiteman Kelly’s photo up to Joan and Victoria and KNOWING it IS her and these 3 ARE related to me . . . Carol, Victoria, Bryant huddled around the micro readers and thinking how awesome — my new cousins! Visiting during lunch and learning all of the similarities shared by folks who have never met.
Marcel Proust wrote this in his In Search of Lost Time:
“When from a long-distant past nothing subsists, after the people are dead, after the things are broken and scattered . . . the smell and taste of things remain poised a long time, like souls, ready to remind us, waiting and hoping for their moment.”
On the way to The Old Home Place, Carole led us past the Michigantown house of my grandfather’s sister, Laura. She, my grandfather, Uncle Nolan, Aunt June, Mother and I visited Aunt Laura every August. Seeing her house again after sixty years brought forth from one of my mental attic’s trunks a vivid memory as fresh as if it were yesterday. The day’s agenda was set in concrete: Sunday dinner of ham loaf, chicken and noodles, homemade rolls, and assorted vegetables, relishes and desserts stood waiting. After dinner Aunt Laura’s children and grandchildren arrived to visit. Then Uncle Nolan would say, “Well, Dad, let’s drive out to The Old Home Place.” Sadly, I lost touch with my Clinton County relatives, but take a deep enjoyment from forming ties with my “new” cousins. wclarke@comcast.net
