Blog 18

Saturday, 9 July

From Grandview RV Park we traveled up I-90 north to just below Missoula, MT, and set up our RV in Ekstroms Stage Station in Clinton, MT. It turned out to be a beauty. The setting was in an open pine forest and the principal buildings were reconstructed log buildings. The forest and the buildings gave the place a warm feel even in the high mountain air. 

Another positive aspect was that it had an excellent restaurant with a real cook. The meals were not prepackaged meals which needed only to be warmed up. The meals were prepared and cooked right there. Scrumptious! This was a fortuitous coincidence as it was Valerie's birthday. We skidded the tires and ate in the restaurant—a nice treat for both of us: I didn't have to cook and she didn't have to eat my cooking.

Sunday, 10 July

This was to have been a very special day and one of the highlights of the trip—especially for me. My brother and I had arranged to have a marker placed on the grave of our father's mother in Kalispell, MT. She died 11 days after our father's birth and was buried without a marker of any kind. I visited the cemetery several years ago and had found the place of her burial. It's a strange feeling standing in the place one knows is where a family member lies buried, especially under such tragic circumstances. The incompleteness of her life gives one pause, and the blankness of the unmarked grave seemed to me something that had to be rectified. One needs something to see, to touch, or to feel to mark the passing and give it meaning.

So you can imagine my profound disappointment when I arrived at her grave and found it still unmarked. Apparently, the marker is still in the process of being manufactured. But I had traveled thousands of miles, and although nothing real had changed, it hurt not to be able to trace my fingers on the letters of her name, much as people do on the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. Ah, well, that is something that will have to wait for another day.

And, once again, there is so much grandness and beauty in the Flathead Lake area, one can not long dwell on ones hurts.

Blog 17

Thursday, 7 July

We left Mitchell and the Corn Palace far behind us, including a lovely thing I tried to lure away. But she was a young thing and could not leave her mother.

There was also a T-Rex involved in the escape, but that's another story.

Crazy Horse from our campsite.

Probably from the first time we crossed the country from Oregon and back, we have stopped at the Crazy Horse Memorial in the Black Hills not far from its more famous neighbor, Mt. Rushmore. Mt. Rushmore is justifiably famous but it is dwarfed in size and concept by Crazy Horse, or, at least the conception of what it will come to be when finished many years away. In fact, all four of the faces in Mt. Rushmore will fit in the head of Crazy Horse, the only completed portion of the memorial.

Crazy Horse was started by one person, Korczak Ziolkowski, who had but $174 to his name when he began the work. Korczak worked alone for many years, then his children joined him, and, at the time of his death in 1982, not a single feature could be distinguished. The family has continued his dream, and now, with the face completed and much of the horse's head cleared for carving, the work has accelerated. The work is far from over, however, and, like the cathedrals of Europe, the work may take several generations.

Crazy Horse from US 385

Anyway, Valerie and I are much impressed with the concept and the passion of the work and, in our small way, like to support it. As we have done before, we camped in the Crazy Horse Heritage campground within sight of this work.

Friday, 8 July

In the morning went to the nearby visitor's center, dropped a few coins on the usual stuff and ogled at the amazing collection of Native American artifacts that have been donated, and the amazing photographs of Edward Curtis.

Then it was time to move on and out of this beautiful and inspiring land which the United States, in spite of treatises, stole from the people who considered sacred.

As we moved northward thunder storms began to form in the snow capped peaks. It was beautiful to watch from our safe distance.

Along the way, I was hooked by a billboard advertising Red Ass Rhubarb Wine made by Prairie Berry Winery. I had to stop and try some and ended up buying three bottles and three bottles more of their Crab Apple Wine as well. It's good stuff!

We had taken a bit too much time at the visitors center and the winery and were now late. We decided to call ahead to reserve a site in Hardin, MT. They warned us to watch out for a very strong storm poised to hit them. We had be watching thunderstorms forming in the mountains along side our route and were amazed at their beauty. Their warning reminded us that these storms, while perhaps beautiful, can be quite dangerous, especially in our rig, which is more like a box kite than an RV.

A storm avoided.

We spotted the storm well ahead of us and noted that it appeared to be headed east, perpendicular to our route, and that, at worst, we might hit its tail end. As it turned out we pulled to the side of the road until the winds dropped a bit and then proceeded on without incident.

Blog 16

Tuesday & Wednesday, 5-6 July

Today was a lesson in living with disappointment. We headed out for Cedar County, Iowa, to try to fill in the gaps in Valerie's great-great-granduncle, Isaac Pletcher (for those of you not conversant in genealogical speak, that would be the same as saying the the brother of Valerie's great-great-grandparent). We crossed the Mississippi River which was very full but apparently within its banks and in about 50 minutes were in Tipton at the Cedar County Historical Museum. Fresh in out minds was the memory of the outstanding Pickaway Historical Library in Circleville Ohio. There they had an outstanding collection of original documents, a librarian who knew which documents were the most likely to hold the answers to Valerie's questions, knew right where to find them, and had an assistant who was ready to make copies on excellent high-quality acid-free paper. At the Cedar County Historical, however, the attitude towards the collection seemed to be without focus, probably because there were insufficient funds to hire a trained curator. On the plus side they had constructed a rather nice facility to house the collection, but a collection without personal and sociological significance is little more than a collection of curiosities.

We drove on leaving what might have been known unknown. The contrast with the Windham County Historical Museum in Newfane, Vermont, and the Pickaway County Historical Museum, in Circleville, Ohio, could not have been greater. It was with little glee that we rolled into the Des Moines West KOA. The way west from this point has only a few points of points of personal interest separated by many rather uninteresting miles and no cousins to visit.

 

But I had forgotten what an amazing country this is! Mile after mile there is always something of interest. Unique, funny, curious, amazing, beautiful, and distaster. The way west may not have much of a plot, but it is a spectacular show. Our dampened spirits were soon lifted and our disappointments were put into their proper perspective.

Millions of acres of cultivated fields.

Agricultural art.

Fields and Flowers

Industry on a personal scale.

This farm is perhaps not so prosperous but may earn a few bucks renting space for the sign!?

Omaha and the swollen Missouri River.

Sand bags shield I-29

Flooding on the right - -

Flooding on the left.

A touch of whimsy

Driving through wind farms

Everywhere wind farms

Valerie & Henny at the the Corn Palace in Mitchell, South Dakota.

Hello, this is Henrietta (AKA Henny),

My mom has been asking me to write something on this blog ever since we left home on this torturous trip. I told her that I don't know how to write and I don't have very much to say—you might say that this trip has left me speechless. I am clueless as to what we are doing. She said she would write for me, and I could just give her a few random thoughts, so, OK, here goes.

This is the darnedest thing they have ever made me do. Almost every day I am made to get into this vehicle and sit behind my folks. The vehicle sways, bounces and rattles and makes other weird noises. Sometimes things fly down from above. Fortunately nothing has hit me (yet). One time a jug of orange juice fell on the floor and broke. What a mess that was!

When we began the trip I was so scared I just shook and panted. I couldn't stand to look out the front window so I sat looking toward the back of the vehicle (which is appropriately, the toilet). I was exhausted! When we stopped I fell right to sleep and I wouldn't get up until about 2 A.M.. to eat my dinner. The weather was hot and windy and I drink my whole bowl of water every time we stopped.

We have met some nice people on this trip. Sometimes we stay in their houses overnight, which is much nicer than sleeping in the vehicle. Sometimes they have friendly dogs. The trouble for me is that I don't feel like socializing. I am just too tired and worried.

When we set up for the night in a campground, I try to get out of the RV as fast as I can. Some campgrounds have nice grass, but the majority of them have gravel, even so, I would rather lie down on gravel than be in the RV. Mom and dad pull the picnic table close to the RV. I like to lie underneath the table and sleep until it is dark when they make me come in.

I have seen some interesting animals. My favorite are chipmunks, especially the ones that live underground. I had never seen them before. I also saw a snake, bunny rabbits, ground hogs, and, oh yes, buffalo.

The worst thing that happens is when mom and dad make me stay alone in the R.V. I am really scared and I wail my head off. It doesn't seem to do any good. I usually fall asleep, but when they get back I let them know how miserable I have been.

Well, I have no idea when or if this experience will ever end. Am I to spend the rest of my life in this torture chamber? I miss my family (especially Alex, Collin, and Rowan), the chickens and all of my friends. I want to send a “woof” out to Bandit, Floyd, Lizzie, Hannah, Hunter, Jake, and Roxie. I hope that I will see you guys again some day.

Henny

Blog 15

Deb and David Durham

In all of our trips around the country we always visited my cousin Janet and her husband, Jerry Masterson. Janet & I had known each other since we were quite young. Her family would come to Vermont for vacations as we were growing up. Janet & I were closer geograpically than my other cousins who lived on the opposite side of the continent, and, because we were the same age, we were closer personally, as well. By the way, I am using the term cousin here in the normal sense meaning of 1^st cousin. Most of the cousins I meet on these trips are more like 3^rd or even 4^th cousins, some several times removed. So in the first week of our trip when Janet's husband, Jerry, emailed me to say that Janet's heart was failing, it came as a complete shock. In our previous trips we always had stayed the night with them and had wonderful conversations punctuated with frequent laughter, but now Jerry was suggesting that we should count a only a brief visit.

Denis, Denise & Elizabeth May

Then, just a few days later, came the notice of her death. Valerie and I quickly sent off a card of condolence. Jerry replied with thanks, but also wrote that he was having considerable trouble with his grief, and it was decided we should plan on at least one night with him. Now, I am among the least qualified to help people deal with grief, but I looked to my father's example that showed me that ones physical presence is more important than what one might say. Being there is what is important.

So we were there in Edinburg, Illinois, in the afternoon of July 3^rd. Janet's son David, whom we had never met, came over to join us, and we had a wonderful night of laughter—Janet would have joined us—and tears. The next morning Jerry & I went to the cemetery to stand by Janet's grave. The marker is marvelous in that it is engrave with images of the things she love best. 

Deb, and her sister

David joined us again, and Janet's youngest son Denis and his wife and their new baby joined us as well. This, too, was a first for us. Denis, among other things, is a very talented musician. He also has an interest in family history, and so the two of us talked a bit about what we were doing in music, went through his mother's collection of genealogical material including some wonderful photographs. And then it was off to David's house for a late breakfast. There we met David's wife, her sister and her best friend.

We could have stayed much longer and would have enjoyed every minute of it, but we needed to push on. So we said our goodbyes and embraced our new and old friends and set up camp on the shores of the Mississippi across from Davenport, Iowa. Our route out of of Edinburg took us past the grave of my cousin, and we had one more remembrance of her which brought a smile to my face and tears to my eyes.

Best wishes to this wonderful family.

Jerry at his wife's grave.

Blog 14

Wednesday, 29 June

We left Lakeside to our cousins, and, as it turned out, to more cousins than any of us had imagined. Just as I was preparing this blog, Lenore and Neil sent me an email saying that their son Chris and family, had notice that a Bruce McIntosh was also registered at East Harbor State Park but hadn't realize it was us! Had we known, we could have had an even greater party! Life is full of surprise and disappointments. It's necessary to keep the universe in balance.

The first stop was at the Ohio Genealogical Society Library in Belleville, Ohio. There Valerie found that her ancestors Henry & (Sarah Alspach?) Spade and other family member were buried in the Werner Church Cemetery in Walnut Township, Pickaway County, Ohio. She found lots of “itty bitty things” that help to bring the family together.

We then spent the evening talking with Lenore and Neil. They are an amazing couple; well read, talented artistically, and thoroughly entertaining and intellectually stimulating. It is through Lenore that I discovered my Ohio cousins, and I will always be grateful for that one simple element. I'll tell the tale one more time, perhaps for the first time in writing.

Ten or fifteen years ago, shortly after returning from our first trip to Scotland, I wrote a form letter with a stamped, self-addressed card to all twenty-four Andrew McIntoshes in the U.S. who were listed in a book I had purchased. Most of the few who bothered to reply indicated that there was little likelihood that they were related to me, and one tried to sell me something—all's fair in love and genealogy. One of the Andrews, on the other hand, thought to himself, “I don't know anything about my relatives, but my mother does genealogy; I'll send it to her.” And he did. His mother, Lenore McIntosh, replied to my note, gave me the name and address of Phebe Zimmerman, among others, and the rest is history.

Thursday, 30 June

After breakfast while I continued the conversations with Neil & Lenore, Valerie drove off to the Ohio Historical and Genealogical Society in Columbus, a short distance away, to dig deeper into her Spade ancestry. Among other things, she found a transcript recording the death and burial records for Jacob and Elizabeth Spade in the Zion's Evangelical Lutheran Church Cemetery in Washington Township, Pickaway County.

We all finished off the day with a lovely dinner out and, of course, more conversations.

Neil & Lenore McIntosh

Friday, 1 July

We said farewell to Neil & Lenore McIntosh, and headed south on I-71 and then on US 23 to Walnut & Washington townships. We were looking for some of Valerie's ancestors, especially Jacob Spade and his wife Elizabeth (Valerie had just found Elizabeth's first name two days before and is yet to find her maiden name). It's easier looking for dead relatives rather than living ones, for, unlike living relatives, the dead don't often move. However, cemeteries are sometimes abandoned and headstones are often made illegible by weather and other natural causes and vandalism. Also, they often fall over and, if neglected, are gradually swallowed up by the earth. We found the Werner Church (in a much delappedated state) and cemetery and located the stones marking the burial of Henry and Rosannah Spade and other family members. There may have been more buried under the sod.

Werner Church

After unsuccessfully searching for the Zion Church Cemetery we went to Circleville. There, while I walked Henrietta, Valerie went to the Pickaway County Historical & Genealogical Society Library. There, with the help of an exceptionally knowledgeable and helpful staff, she struck pay-dirt. One of the bits she found was the location of the cemetery where Jacob and Elizabeth Spade were buried. She also found the certificate for the marriage of Michael Pletcher & Susanna Spade, an inventory for Jacob Spade's estate, and other legal papers relating to his death. With all this new information we headed out to find the cemetery and hopefully their stones.

Now, the dead may not often move but the years have a way of hiding them. The stones marking their graves are frequently worn by the weather making them difficult or impossible to read; or they may be broken by weather, trees or vandals, and those knocked over are gradually swallowed by the earth.

After the first round of reading the stones in the yard, it appeared that we would be out of luck. But when we have time we like go around again looking especially for the broken and buried bits. I returned to a stack of miscellaneous fragments and got lucky. At the bottom of the stack was a stone, partially buried in a layer of turf. It was legible enough to suggest that the name might be Elizabeth.

Time to get down and dirty, and while I was digging, Valerie discovered that, with a little bit of cleaning, a nearby upright stone with an inscription we had previously thought too difficult to read was the stone for Jacob Spade. I eventually unearthed Elizabeth's stone. These were, without doubt, the graves of Valerie's ancestors, and perhaps the most significant genealogical find of the trip.

 

 In memory of

Elizabeth

Spade,

wife of

Jacob Spade, who

departed this life

March 10, 1845, aged

77 Y[ears], 2 M[onths], & 14 days.

Weep not my dearest friends

Nor shed your tears in vain.

My face you'll see no more

Till called to rise again.

Jacob's stone iwas engraved in German with Germanic block-text type. If I were close to a German dictionary I might be able to copy it here in the original. Instead, here it is in an English translation.

Jacob

Spade

10 October 1829

aged 65 years, 1 month, 27

days.

Exhausted, and now behind schedule, we sped off to what was to have been our next campsite but instead was to be our room in the Blue Licks State Resort Park Very comfortable and expensive. And because we were so late we picked up pizza. We both slept very well.

Saturday, 2 July

The thick curtain blocked the light of morning, and I slept until 7:30—unusual for me. After breakfast, I spent too long trying to work out the rest of the day, and suddenly it was time to go to Historic Washington, where an Allen ancestor of Valerie's had lived in the late 18^th century. She had arrange for a tour, and so off we went. The tour was OK but the houses were wonderful. There were even some original log houses. 

From Washington we went back to Maysville where Valerie researched in the historical library and I took care of Henrietta, looked for Propane, searched for a place to spend the night, and then to get groceries. I failed in all but where to spend the night. Henrietta might also say I failed in my care-taking of her, but while she got the short end of the shift, she was not neglected. And here I am writing to you all in Indian Springs Campground in North Bend, Ohio. We still need propane and groceries.

Good night,

Bruce

Stones in the Werner Church Cemetery

Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.

Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.

Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.

Spade stone in Werner Church Cemetery.

Bruce excavating the Elizabeth Spade stone.

Interior of Werner Church. Sanctuary.

Interior of Werner Church. Entrance.

Blog 13

Monday, 27 June

We said goodbye to Betsy in Ann Arbor (Chuck had already left for work before we awoke) and drove to the end of a spit of Ohio land lying east-west in Lake Erie where we set up camp in East Harbor State Park. After resting a bit we called McIntosh cousins to say we had arrived. They invited us to join the gang at Lakeside a Chautauqua village on the shore of the lake.

Tuesday, 28 June

We spent much of the day chatting, renewing old acquaintances and becoming friends with new folks. The list is long and perhaps confusing.

Judy Hammer (since the death of Aunt Elizabeth is the grandam of the group)

her daughter and son-in-law and grandchildren Beth & Randy Bartels,

Hailey & Paige;

nieces Ellen McChesney;

Carol & Jeff Phillips and their children

Drew;

Joyce & Kent Murphy and their daughter

Jillian & Meghan

and various in-laws who and others whose names and relationships I have forgotten, while maybe not having that extra special drop of McIntosh blood cursing through their veins, none-the-less made us feel very much welcome.