It's Chicken in Any Language

#52ancestors

No. 4--26 Jan. 2018

Topic: Invite to dinner

Kyckling, Poulet, Hähnchen, Sicin, Kip:

It’s chicken in any language

 By Myra Vanderpool Gormley ©2018

 If we went to “grandma’s” for dinner — you could bet there would be chicken on the menu. It didn’t matter which grandmother’s house we visited on our Sunday and holiday trips.  That’s how it was back in the “old days” when I was a kid growing up in the hills of eastern Oklahoma. But, how the chicken was prepared depended on the grandma.

Both of my grannies were Southerners — one was from Alabama and the other from Tennessee — and they were born within a decade of each other. Their cuisine was similar in various ways, and both served fresh vegetables from their home gardens. They also created bowls of mashed potatoes, sinfully rich with real cream and butter. Of course, that was back in the days when none of us worried about our waistlines or cholesterol levels.

If we went to my paternal grandmother’s, there would always be fried chicken — and I’d usually help with the plucking of the feathers after Grandmother or Dad had “killed the old red roosters.” My squeamish older sister declined to help with that chore. But, she didn’t have any problem eating the chicken I noticed.  My younger cousins and I were served a platter of fried chicken at the “kids’ table” — it consisted of drumsticks and wings. I didn’t know there was any other part of the chicken until I was grown. Of course, we could have all the mashed potatoes, gravy and veggies that we wanted. Then we’d line up for dessert, which often was coconut cake or chocolate pie.

At my maternal grandmother’s, she served smothered chicken and dumplings, along with the usual fresh vegetables, including okra, which I loved, but never learned to cook like she did. Often there’d be corn-on-the-cob from her garden and watermelon in the summertime. Dessert frequently was a cobbler — made from fresh blackberries in the summer or apples or peaches at other times. Sometimes she’d make a vinegar pie, which was my all-time favorite.

My daughter who lives in Alaska, called the other day. She requested a recipe. “Send it by e-mail,” she said. Guess you never know which dish will be a favorite to be passed along in the family. She wants my tuna salad recipe.

Well, that’s something I can do off the top of my head. I’m so relieved her request wasn’t for Granny’s dumplings or for Schwarzwälder Kirschtorte. I might have a problem finding those recipes which are stashed away willy-nilly somewhere in my dozens of cookbooks and assorted recipe notebooks. Organizing ancestors is something I can do, but not 50 years of recipes.

Isn’t there an app for that yet?

Send him home

#52ancestors

No. 3 — Jan. 19 2018
Longevity

By Myra Vanderpool Gormley (c) 2018

High on the family legends list is the one about some ancestor who lived to be 100, give or take a few years. It is as though having a long-living ancestor gives you bragging rights.

One of the first of those characters I set out to find was a 5-great-grandpa. The claim was that he lived to be 105. Wow, I thought. Then, I said, “Really?” as my skeptical nature took over. That isn’t logical — not for someone born back about 1740.

Additionally, the rest of the family tale — that he was a doctor who served during the Revolutionary War, had met an Irish gal while on a ship to America who he would marry — raised some red flags for me. Especially, the latter, because his family was Dutch and had been in this country since about 1650. Of course, it isn’t polite to argue with your cousins who shared and believed the legends, so I quietly began researching.

First I learned he did not serve in the Revolutionary War, although he provided some cattle (beef) for the American forces, which makes him a patriot according to the DAR (Daughters of the American Revolution). I sighed in relief to find that information because with my family you never know which side of a war they might have fought on.

As for being a doctor — well, as a young man he grew up in the back country of old Augusta County, Virginia during the French and Indian War and his parents were not among the Virginia Cavaliers who could have afforded to provide him with much of an education. By the time he reached adulthood, the family was living in North Carolina, and no reference I’ve found mentions that he was anything other than a farmer. While the educational requirements to be a doctor in the 18^th century were not extensive; most men who became doctors did so via an apprenticeship, and I found nothing to show that my ancestor did.

But, did he live to be 105? The story of his longevity was repeated in several different lines of his purported 12 children. However, the when and where he died details were in conflict, but I traced every clue I found. Until I would hit the proverbial brick wall.

In tracking all of his children who survived into the 1830s and 1840s, I checked pertinent censuses to see if an “old man” was living in any of their households who might fit the profile of Wynant Vanderpool, my 5-great-grandpa. If the legend is true, he would have been in his late 80s or early 90s in 1830. I also checked the 1840 censuses, where, if the tale was true, he should show up as about 90-100 years old.

He doesn’t.

The last record we have of him (or think we do) is the 1810 census of Ashe County, North Carolina, where he is cleverly listed as just W. Vanderpool, and is over 45. Nevertheless, I see a number of online trees have him listed as dying at age 105 and 115 in various locales. No proof, of course.

If you happened to run into him, please alert me. I’ve been hunting for him for decades.

Treasures in the family photo album

#52ancestors

No. 2 — Jan. 12, 2018

Favorite Photo: Worth a 1,000 words. Indeed.

By Myra Vanderpool Gormley

3 Generations of Vanderpools and 3 Kimbro sisters

Back row, the 3 Kimbro sisters: left to right: Cora (Kimbro) Vanderpool, LaVada Kimbro and Mollie (Kimbro) Vanderpool. Front row: 2 Vanderpool brothers and their 3 children (double first cousins), left to right: Russell Braxton “Brax” Vanderpool and daughter, Esther Evelyn Vanderpool; John R. Vanderpool and his two children, Edna and John O. Vanderpool (my father). Seated in the chairs to the right are the parents of the 2 Vanderpool brothers — Mary Elizabeth Kelly and William Carroll Vanderpool. Date of the photo is estimated to be about 1912. Location is probably McIntosh County, Oklahoma, near Eufaula.

The First Time

#52Ancestors 2018-01-06

By Myra Vanderpool Gormley (c)

Like all firsts of life — kiss, love, flight, or whatever, finding my maternal grandma in the census sticks in my memory, because there is nothing like the thrill of the first time.

Having waded into the waters of genealogical research with a minimum of preparation from a few “how-to” books I’d read about the process, I understood that the U.S. censuses were invaluable and that I would need to find my ancestors in those records in order to continue this personal journey into the past. The nearest National Archives was in Seattle and I learned it held all the U.S. censuses — on microfilm Seattle was only 30 miles away, but I worked full time at the newspaper and finding time to pursue my new hobby was a major problem. A co-worker told me that there was a library nearby
— a branch of the famous genealogical library in Salt Lake City — where I could order the census records I needed and go there to read them on microfilm. A perfect solution because that library was only a couple miles from my home. Best of all, it was open evenings and on my day off.

One day on my way home from work I stopped by the Family History Center and explained to the nice gentleman volunteer about my quest. He helped me find the film number I needed and I filled out the form and paid the 85 cents for postage. He assured me someone would call when the film arrived.

At last it arrived and I was raring to go. The library volunteer showed me where the “ordered” film was kept and then took me to a reader and gave me basic instructions on how to thread the film, adjust the magnification and crank the handle forward and backward. It’s easy, I thought. I began to scroll through the names until I found her.

Ida M. Hensley, age 1 — the baby of the family. There were her parents, her two older brothers and her sister — just as grandma had told me. I scribbled all the information about them including ages and states of birth onto the census form, plus the enumeration information, including dwelling, family and page numbers.

It was then I realized my hands were sweaty and I was breathing fast. I was on an endorphin high.

I couldn’t remember which drawer to return the film to, so I had to ask the librarian. I also informed her I wanted to order the 1890 census for that locality.

“The 1890 census was burned,” she told me.

Oh, no. My first obstruction, and I had just begun.

It was lucky for me that my grandma’s memory was so precise because I had not used the Soundex to find her, but had gone directly to the Etowah County, Alabama enumeration. However, like many novices before and since me, I had been so focused on finding grandma that I had not paid any attention to others on that page. If I had, I would have found her grandparents and one of her father’s brothers and his family. That would have saved me time and money because I had to re-order that same census again. I would learn.

After all, it was my first time.