When You Can Almost Touch the Day (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) Sometimes I can reach hardly at all, and almost touch the day. I find myself thinking, "Oh! I must call Aunt Kay and tell her this!" and for just a moment I can hear her infectious laugh on the other end of the phone line, hear her slow southern drawl telling me to "get myself down there". It is so real I can almost touch the moment. And then I remember. I think of Gin, and I can hear her soft whispery voice, can see her spreading icing on a cake, can hear her bid me to get her a "Coke-Cola" from the fridge. And though I suppose in a way I said goodbye to her long ago, since for a number of years before her death, her mind had not been in the present, it is so real I can almost touch the day she was herself. They were my aunts. There were four of them, and three of them never with children, and so I was their surrogate, and a surrogate for the other too, when she lost her only daughter. I was the only daughter of their baby brother, and he they lost first. Because there were so few of us, we were entwined and close. My aunts, the two that are left, are as interested in their great great nieces and nephews as if there were no "greats" in the description. Indeed if they are reminded of it, they look startled, as if they wonder when so many generations had a chance to "hatch". Our blood family members we can count on the fingers of two hands, literally. The sheer knowledge that there were so few of us was a part of the closeness, and so was the tragedy of our lost legacy. For this family was one of the many who lost the legacy of their ancestors, the home place of generations to LBL. It was a scar that never quite healed, and I grew up in the shadow of the knowledge of what it was. For those who were not intimately involved, let it be known that the story will never be written in books of scholarly and academic intent as it was, will never appear in the public records of the sales and auctions as it affected a people. And in my mind, I can go back, and swing on a front porch, walk down a dusty road, and almost touch a place now a wilderness as it was when a people lived and loved there. They will be 90 and 91 this fall, these two who are all that are left of a family. I hear from them most every day, and several times a month will make the journey to see about them. In some ways they are not so different as they must always have been. The sibling rivalry that began in 1911 is clearly still in evidence, as one aunt clasps her "baby" protectively and the other snorts and tells her that is the "ugliest doll she ever saw!" I imagine that to be somewhat the same conversation they might have had in 1918. The spirit of fierce independence is still in evidence as one warns the other that if she does not eat better "they will put that tube in your belly!" The other reminds her quickly that permission must be granted for tubes in a belly, and "they won't be getting it!" I imagine they must have bickered in much the same way about getting one another in trouble with Mama or Papa. The good humor is evident as they laugh and clap their hands in time to the singing Santa Claus I decorate their rooms with at Christmas. I remember a letter their own Mama wrote telling of them diving like "greedy little pigs" over a package of sweets their Papa had sent at Christmas time when he was away visiting his own mother in 1917. When I read that letter, and others, I could almost touch the day, though it was long before I was even thought of. My aunts have lived long and they can tell stories of times and places and people that no one living remembers. They can remember an uncle going away to fight in the Great War, and never returning. They can remember Prohibition and they can remember the Depression. Though they may falter over what was their morning meal, they remember with startling clarity all of the great events of the 20th century. And they remember all of the smaller parts of history that had little to do with what was written in a history book, but much to do with history of the common people. They can tell you of their mama sitting to make a shroud for an aunt using her old treadle sewing machine, and they can tell you of family gatherings in the yard when the circuit rider came. One can tell you how it was to teach in a one room school, to board with a family while doing so. She can tell how she canoed her way to a school where she was not just the teacher but also the fundraiser, the cook, the janitor, the stoker of fires, the nurse and the counselor. One can tell you how it was to own and operate a corner grocery store in the days of the Depression. She can tell you how it was to extend credit to folks knowing they had no way to pay it back, but also knowing one could not turn his or her back on neighbors. Hearing them talk, I know that for them it does not seem so long ago really, and they can almost touch the day. Because I know the time is drawing nearer now when all I will have is "almost touching the day", I store up their stories, listen carefully to their words, study their faces and try to memorize their expressions. They have been my family now for night on half a century, and they are the roots that have held up my world for so long I cannot imagine standing without those roots. But as long as I can "almost touch the day", I can make it live for the "greats" my aunts are startled to realize are "greats", I can make it live for me, and I can foster the roots that held up my world, that they will hold up the world for those yet to come in our family. As long as there are stories, as long as there is a link, as long as there are ears to hear and a heart to speak, we can "almost touch the day". Just a thought, jan Copyright ©2001janPhilpot ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be shared...simply share as written without alterations...and in entirety. Thanks, jan) Sunday Afternoon Rocking columns are distributed weekly on the list Sunday Rocking. This is not a "reply to" list, and normally only one message per week will come across it, that being the column. To subscribe send email to Sundayrocking-subscribe@topica.com Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to unicorn@sun-spot.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From Peter Rushing born in North Carolina and Polly Lamkins born in KY. Peter Rushing Son James K. Rushing born KY. March 9, 1850, Died Feb. 17.1923 In, KY place of burial Rushing Cemetery Model, TN. undertaker is Bill Scott, model. Ten James K. Rushing was the father of Rose Rushing the Mother of Horace Harvey Rushing His Father Was Ben Okay inn Goldon Pond KY Rose And Ben Was never married. Horace grew up with he's grand pt. Rose passed away in late 1800 or early 1900 as dad said he was small when she died and his baby sister died at the same time May be this will help, Connie {Rushing} Comer any information would be of help THANK YOU

Connie, Which Rushings are you related to? Toni Harper

Here is a site that was sent to me, i liked it. maybe it will be of some use to some of you..... <A HREF="http://www.topozone.com/default.asp">Click here: TopoZone - The Web's Topographic Map</A> http://www.topozone.com/default.asp

Jan I would help in any way possible. I was upset myself while there a couple of weeks ago that there was no markers for Jethro and Mary and Norfleet BASS if they knew that the cemetery was across form the remains of the Iron Furnace. The cemetery is marked on the map but there are no markers. I would love to get involved in the process of marking our ancestors homes and documenting more of their lives. I can drive up on weekends. Leslie ----- Original Message ----- From: "j" <unicorn@sun-spot.com> To: <DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Saturday, November 10, 2001 10:16 AM Subject: CHALLENGE For a very long time this has been on my mind. And it could be that at some time or other a hint of the idea has actually occurred on this list. For years after the sale, I would truck down into LBL with my uncle who knew the place like the back of his hand. He would point to tell me this place or that place that a homeplace had stood, who lived there, and some of the stories about the people there. He spent endless hours cleaning cemeteries in that area, many that he did not even have folks buried in. He seemed to consider it his life's work to be sure that the neighbors and kindred and friends left buried there were not forgotten, and that all those who could pass on the stories were told of them if they had ears to hear. He is gone now, as are so many others, who knew the communities intimately. With him went many of his memories, his stories. And the day is coming when there will be none left with this sort of memory. I go now to LBL and I know where some of those homeplaces were and of the people in them, but not all. My imagination and memory can return me to the times of thriving communities, and with my heart I can "see" as it was years ago. I take my children and point and they see nothing but wilderness. It is not real to them. I take them to our family cemetery lost in the wilderness and that is all they see. I point to the place I pumped water from a cistern, and scoured a front porch, the place where my grandparents raised a family and the family used to gather, but my children see wilderness. I point to where a little white country church house stood and they see wilderness. I point to where my folks walked up the road to school, and they see wilderness. Here is my challenge. For a very long time I have thought it would be meaningful if sprinkled throughout that wildeness were little signs to mark where homeplaces were and of what family, to mark where churches and schools stood and which they were. Such small markers would not mess up the wilderness, they would not disturb the hunters or the fishermen, they would not hurt anyone....but they would help the descendents "return home" in a manner of speaking, and it would make the hearts of those of us who search family history sing. Who will take up the challenge???? Who lives in the area and can get this idea moving??? Those of us who don't and share the vision will help with the expense. Who is on site and can assume the leadership of such a challenge? Pass this message on where ever you think there might be someone who will hear and remember, wish to honor the past and give the gift of that past to the future. jan ==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== My genealogy software won't accept "spaceship" as a "Place of Birth"..... Now What ????

You said that you lived in LBO and know the people lived three did you know Ben Oakley and Ethel and Did you know the Rushing that lived in that area and the Maybe the Floras , The scott undertaker Model Tn. Do you know where the Rushing Cemetery is It is up on a high hill with pine trees up there It would have a number of unmarked graves that is what Dad said about here is hoping to here from you . Any information could be of help. Connie (Rushing ) Comer

For a very long time this has been on my mind. And it could be that at some time or other a hint of the idea has actually occurred on this list. For years after the sale, I would truck down into LBL with my uncle who knew the place like the back of his hand. He would point to tell me this place or that place that a homeplace had stood, who lived there, and some of the stories about the people there. He spent endless hours cleaning cemeteries in that area, many that he did not even have folks buried in. He seemed to consider it his life's work to be sure that the neighbors and kindred and friends left buried there were not forgotten, and that all those who could pass on the stories were told of them if they had ears to hear. He is gone now, as are so many others, who knew the communities intimately. With him went many of his memories, his stories. And the day is coming when there will be none left with this sort of memory. I go now to LBL and I know where some of those homeplaces were and of the people in them, but not all. My imagination and memory can return me to the times of thriving communities, and with my heart I can "see" as it was years ago. I take my children and point and they see nothing but wilderness. It is not real to them. I take them to our family cemetery lost in the wilderness and that is all they see. I point to the place I pumped water from a cistern, and scoured a front porch, the place where my grandparents raised a family and the family used to gather, but my children see wilderness. I point to where a little white country church house stood and they see wilderness. I point to where my folks walked up the road to school, and they see wilderness. Here is my challenge. For a very long time I have thought it would be meaningful if sprinkled throughout that wildeness were little signs to mark where homeplaces were and of what family, to mark where churches and schools stood and which they were. Such small markers would not mess up the wilderness, they would not disturb the hunters or the fishermen, they would not hurt anyone....but they would help the descendents "return home" in a manner of speaking, and it would make the hearts of those of us who search family history sing. Who will take up the challenge???? Who lives in the area and can get this idea moving??? Those of us who don't and share the vision will help with the expense. Who is on site and can assume the leadership of such a challenge? Pass this message on where ever you think there might be someone who will hear and remember, wish to honor the past and give the gift of that past to the future. jan

In a message dated 11/9/01 9:56:28 PM Central Standard Time, unicorn@sun-spot.com writes: << Subj: Sunday Afternoon Rocking Date: 11/9/01 9:56:28 PM Central Standard Time From: unicorn@sun-spot.com (j) Reply-to: <A HREF="mailto:DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com"> DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com</A> To: DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com The Dumb Supper (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) She laughed, her voice tinkling as clearly as any silver bell, "Oh yes! Did it at midnight we did! Wanted to see who came!" And she grinned mischievously at me, waiting for my obvious question. She is frail and tiny, not much more than eighty pounds soak and wet. Her legs don't work very well any more, but there is nothing wrong with her sense of slyness and mischief, evident in dancing eyes and a quirky little smile. Nor is there anything wrong with her sense of audience, and her love of a good story. My aunt, nearly 90 years of age, may well have a bit of trouble remembering what she had for breakfast, but she has absolutely no trouble with the past. Now it is true that many pieces of her past are pieces that I remember myself, and her memories are not always entirely accurate, and frequently embroidered with details from another story. But who is to argue with something she remembers from seventy or eighty years ago? Certainly not I! And all too many times, her stories have the ring of truth, and always an interesting twist. We had been talking of my son's recent marriage, and the topic of "old beaus" had come up. She twisted in her wheelchair to peer at me mischievously. Grinning, she told me of her youth and of the perils involved in "courting" two beaus at once. I laughed, thinking of my very traditional old aunt as a young attractive schoolmarm caught in the age-old dilemma of wondering which beau to keep. (Actually it turns out she "kept" both of them, and married both, at different times of course, marrying the second after being widowed by the first). And then she glanced slyly out the corner of dancing eyes at her sister, elder by a year, and grinned again, "We tried to figure out which would be the keeper, didn't we, Sister?" Although this Sister generally has a very good memory, she didn't remember, much to my aunt's frustration. She frowned, and if she could have stood to her feet, I am sure would have stamped them smartly and given Sister a quick rap on the head to jog her memory. "Oh yes you do too remember, Sister!", emphatically pronounced this aunt, who has a great deal of difficulty remembering just where she lives these days, but considers the past in sparkling clarity. "It was the night we had the dumb supper!" I had been listening with amusement, quite used to this exchange of sibling frustration between the two. But now, I knew I was going to hear a story I had never heard before, and my spine straightened as I scooted to the edge of my chair, ready to hear yet another story. She responded to my eager questions with her typical slyness, unwinding just a bit of the tale at a time, teasing me to ask another question, and yet another until the whole of it was unwound. And this, I take, is the gist of it: "Reba was who put us up to it," she said, laying the blame on a neighbor girl a lifetime ago. "Reba it was that filled us in on most things." She glanced surreptitiously out at the hall; to make sure no one was in passing, then lowered her voice to a slight whisper. "She told us how babies got here! And she was the one put us up to the dumb supper too!" Ever ready to work a tale to its end slowly, holding the audience in suspense, she waited. And of course was rewarded by my next barrage of questions. "Well," she said, pausing for effect, "You have to wait till after dark. They come at midnight, if they are going to come. Mama and Papa were asleep of course. We didn't tell anyone what it was we were doing! Don't you remember this, Sister?" Sister didn't, and my aunt shook her head sadly at the thought of her sister's forgetting. "Set out the supper and turned off the lights and waited," she said, pausing again maddeningly. The Dumb Supper, was of course an old tradition, but one at the time I was unfamiliar with, and it took a bit of our give and take of teasing hints and eager questions before I realized that the "dumb supper" was a way for hopeful young girls to catch a glimpse of the "shade" of their future bridegrooms. The idea was to lay out a supper, backwards, in the dark. Then the eager and somewhat nervous young girls would await to see what phantom foretelling of the future would appear at the door. "Well???" I asked as the suspense built, "Did you see him??" "Heard him," she answered. "Heard him??? What did he say???" "Oh, he didn't say anything," she said, lowering her eyes, and smiling. "He knocked something down out on the porch!" "Well who was it? What did you do?" "Put that supper up and went to bed!" she declared, and her laugh again tinkled as surely as any silver bells. "Spect someone overheard us talking and decided maybe to scare us!" I laughed and she looked at me thoughtfully, "But weren't any tracks in the snow. And Mama and Papa were in bed!" And so ended yet another tale. They never fail to surprise me, these aunts of mine, with the things that pop out in conversations so unexpectedly. I have known them all of my life, and yet it seems each time I visit, they have yet another surprise I have never heard tell of. It is true these jaunts to the nursing home are sometimes tiresome. They mean meetings with doctors and nurses and social workers. They mean endless discussions over medications and treatments, diets and well being. They mean searching for a "missing" bit of laundry or misplaced partials. In looking after two elderly aunts without children, I have often wondered what on earth the Lord is preparing me for, so thoroughly has he made sure that my education included any possible feasible problem that might arise in the care taking of the elderly. But this I also know. A good deal of my education has been in appreciation. It seems the older they have gotten, the more time I have had to actually sit down and listen. And the more time they have to actually sit there and talk. And it is amazing, the fun and good times that have come of that. It is amazing the chapters of family history that have unfolded because of that. In the days I was a child, I had no time to listen and they had no time to tell. In the days I was a harried young mother, I had no time to listen and they had no time to tell. In these my middle years, and these, their twilight times, it seems the Lord decided to throw a special lesson in to sweeten the parts that have been so hard. It was forced upon all of us, this time, and none of us wanted or expected life to evolve quite as it has. But there is sweetness in it. And everytime I come, I think we are having something of a "dumb supper" together, setting the table to see what jolly good story will come through the door next. Just a thought, jan Copyright ©2001janPhilpot ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be shared...simply share as written without alterations...and in entirety. Thanks, jan) Sunday Afternoon Rocking columns are distributed weekly on the list Sunday Rocking. This is not a "reply to" list, and normally only one message per week will come across it, that being the column. To subscribe send email to Sundayrocking-subscribe@topica.com Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to unicorn@sun-spot.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ >>

The Dumb Supper (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) She laughed, her voice tinkling as clearly as any silver bell, "Oh yes! Did it at midnight we did! Wanted to see who came!" And she grinned mischievously at me, waiting for my obvious question. She is frail and tiny, not much more than eighty pounds soak and wet. Her legs don't work very well any more, but there is nothing wrong with her sense of slyness and mischief, evident in dancing eyes and a quirky little smile. Nor is there anything wrong with her sense of audience, and her love of a good story. My aunt, nearly 90 years of age, may well have a bit of trouble remembering what she had for breakfast, but she has absolutely no trouble with the past. Now it is true that many pieces of her past are pieces that I remember myself, and her memories are not always entirely accurate, and frequently embroidered with details from another story. But who is to argue with something she remembers from seventy or eighty years ago? Certainly not I! And all too many times, her stories have the ring of truth, and always an interesting twist. We had been talking of my son's recent marriage, and the topic of "old beaus" had come up. She twisted in her wheelchair to peer at me mischievously. Grinning, she told me of her youth and of the perils involved in "courting" two beaus at once. I laughed, thinking of my very traditional old aunt as a young attractive schoolmarm caught in the age-old dilemma of wondering which beau to keep. (Actually it turns out she "kept" both of them, and married both, at different times of course, marrying the second after being widowed by the first). And then she glanced slyly out the corner of dancing eyes at her sister, elder by a year, and grinned again, "We tried to figure out which would be the keeper, didn't we, Sister?" Although this Sister generally has a very good memory, she didn't remember, much to my aunt's frustration. She frowned, and if she could have stood to her feet, I am sure would have stamped them smartly and given Sister a quick rap on the head to jog her memory. "Oh yes you do too remember, Sister!", emphatically pronounced this aunt, who has a great deal of difficulty remembering just where she lives these days, but considers the past in sparkling clarity. "It was the night we had the dumb supper!" I had been listening with amusement, quite used to this exchange of sibling frustration between the two. But now, I knew I was going to hear a story I had never heard before, and my spine straightened as I scooted to the edge of my chair, ready to hear yet another story. She responded to my eager questions with her typical slyness, unwinding just a bit of the tale at a time, teasing me to ask another question, and yet another until the whole of it was unwound. And this, I take, is the gist of it: "Reba was who put us up to it," she said, laying the blame on a neighbor girl a lifetime ago. "Reba it was that filled us in on most things." She glanced surreptitiously out at the hall; to make sure no one was in passing, then lowered her voice to a slight whisper. "She told us how babies got here! And she was the one put us up to the dumb supper too!" Ever ready to work a tale to its end slowly, holding the audience in suspense, she waited. And of course was rewarded by my next barrage of questions. "Well," she said, pausing for effect, "You have to wait till after dark. They come at midnight, if they are going to come. Mama and Papa were asleep of course. We didn't tell anyone what it was we were doing! Don't you remember this, Sister?" Sister didn't, and my aunt shook her head sadly at the thought of her sister's forgetting. "Set out the supper and turned off the lights and waited," she said, pausing again maddeningly. The Dumb Supper, was of course an old tradition, but one at the time I was unfamiliar with, and it took a bit of our give and take of teasing hints and eager questions before I realized that the "dumb supper" was a way for hopeful young girls to catch a glimpse of the "shade" of their future bridegrooms. The idea was to lay out a supper, backwards, in the dark. Then the eager and somewhat nervous young girls would await to see what phantom foretelling of the future would appear at the door. "Well???" I asked as the suspense built, "Did you see him??" "Heard him," she answered. "Heard him??? What did he say???" "Oh, he didn't say anything," she said, lowering her eyes, and smiling. "He knocked something down out on the porch!" "Well who was it? What did you do?" "Put that supper up and went to bed!" she declared, and her laugh again tinkled as surely as any silver bells. "Spect someone overheard us talking and decided maybe to scare us!" I laughed and she looked at me thoughtfully, "But weren't any tracks in the snow. And Mama and Papa were in bed!" And so ended yet another tale. They never fail to surprise me, these aunts of mine, with the things that pop out in conversations so unexpectedly. I have known them all of my life, and yet it seems each time I visit, they have yet another surprise I have never heard tell of. It is true these jaunts to the nursing home are sometimes tiresome. They mean meetings with doctors and nurses and social workers. They mean endless discussions over medications and treatments, diets and well being. They mean searching for a "missing" bit of laundry or misplaced partials. In looking after two elderly aunts without children, I have often wondered what on earth the Lord is preparing me for, so thoroughly has he made sure that my education included any possible feasible problem that might arise in the care taking of the elderly. But this I also know. A good deal of my education has been in appreciation. It seems the older they have gotten, the more time I have had to actually sit down and listen. And the more time they have to actually sit there and talk. And it is amazing, the fun and good times that have come of that. It is amazing the chapters of family history that have unfolded because of that. In the days I was a child, I had no time to listen and they had no time to tell. In the days I was a harried young mother, I had no time to listen and they had no time to tell. In these my middle years, and these, their twilight times, it seems the Lord decided to throw a special lesson in to sweeten the parts that have been so hard. It was forced upon all of us, this time, and none of us wanted or expected life to evolve quite as it has. But there is sweetness in it. And everytime I come, I think we are having something of a "dumb supper" together, setting the table to see what jolly good story will come through the door next. Just a thought, jan Copyright ©2001janPhilpot ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be shared...simply share as written without alterations...and in entirety. Thanks, jan) Sunday Afternoon Rocking columns are distributed weekly on the list Sunday Rocking. This is not a "reply to" list, and normally only one message per week will come across it, that being the column. To subscribe send email to Sundayrocking-subscribe@topica.com Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to unicorn@sun-spot.com ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _________________________________________________

Hello, Richard Frank Mullins married Julia (Missouri-Tennessee) Claxton had large family in Stewart County, Tennessee. His Sister Bridgett (Miss Biddy ) Mullins married James Levi Claxton in Stewart County, Tennessee. had large family. I do not know if these are the Mullins from this area that you are seeking. Many of Mullins family are buried at Rolling Mills semetery. ----- Original Message ----- From: "kimberly schmidt" <diggingupbones2@yahoo.com> To: <DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Saturday, November 03, 2001 8:36 AM Subject: Bussell, Mullins > I'm looking for information on the Bussell or Mullins > families of Indian Mound, TN. > > Kimberly > > __________________________________________________ > Do You Yahoo!? > Find a job, post your resume. > http://careers.yahoo.com > > > ==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== > My genealogy software won't accept "spaceship" > as a "Place of Birth"..... Now What ???? > >

Carl, I live about 75 miles from both Grainger & Jefferson Counties. My gggrandfather lived in Grainger Co before moving to Stewart County in 1835 and my ggrandfather was born in Grainger or Stewart Co in 1835. If I can be of any help to you regarding either of the two people you mentioned, let me know. I will probably get back to Grainger Co sometime this fall or winter for some more research. Neal Glasgow, Washington Co,., TN

Hello List, I'm Carl Coffman In Wichita Kansas, and want to send a bit about my Ancestors, who show ties to your Surname and/or county in our records. So let me Thank you in Advance for your consideration. The Kauffman/Kaufmann/Coffmans were from Switzerland area, and came to The area of Penn State, to Land given to Lord William Penn by the Crown of England, in lieu of money owed Lord Penn, in about 1717. So indeed my ancestors are what was called Penn. Dutch. Two brother, David Coffman,b.1750 and Andrew Coffman,b.1760 came to North Carolina Terr. in 1781. This Terr.. become East Tennessee in 1793. The County and State lines changed a lot but when all was said and done, Andrew Coffman was in Grainger County and David was in Jefferson County. These Brothers Stay and Make a life in the middle of the Indian's and raised big family's. I'm in hopes some of you on list have some facts/stories, and know where they are buried and their farms were located in Tenn.. I know David died in Al in 1835, but I'm mostly interested in Andrew in Grainger. Thank you so much for your time. Carl Coffman _________________________________________________________________ Get your FREE download of MSN Explorer at http://explorer.msn.com/intl.asp

Can't help you on those surnames.

I'm looking for information on the Bussell or Mullins families of Indian Mound, TN. Kimberly __________________________________________________ Do You Yahoo!? Find a job, post your resume. http://careers.yahoo.com

Hi Ray, This is what I have so far. I will read the other emails from you and see if I can find any other info. As I said before, they don't have Lauderdale County online yet, so I can't help you there. If you have any questions, just let me know. Claibore, F. A. 52 - M - W - Farming - 2000 - 6000 - VA - male citizen over 21 A. E. 45 - F - W - Keeping house Alabama Davie, J. W. 45 - M - W - Farming - 8000 - 3000 - Alabama- male cit over 21 Elizabeth 40 - F - W - Keeping house NC G. E. 22 - M - W - Farmer TN - male cit over 21 M. J. 20?- F - W - at home TN T. L. 18 - F - W - at home TN A. E. 10? - F - W - at home TN J. W. 08 - M - W - at home TN E. A. 02 - F - W - at home TN Some is a little hard to read, so I may have a mistake, but it's the best I can interpret. Take care.......Peggy

Great! ----- Original Message ----- From: <Peggyt1950@aol.com> To: <DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Saturday, October 13, 2001 3:33 PM Subject: Re: 1870 Census, Haywood and Lauderdale Co., TN > Hi, > > I've found the Claiborne's and am recording it right now. It took me a while > to figure out the page numbering. Be back soon.....Peggy > > > ==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== > My Family Tree has Root Rot !! > >

Hi, I've found the Claiborne's and am recording it right now. It took me a while to figure out the page numbering. Be back soon.....Peggy

Peggy, Looks like John Wesley Davie and Fielding A. Claiborne were in the 9th District of Haywood Co. in 1860. So was E.A. Greaves (Edwin), who moved to Lauderdale Co. by 1870 census, as per index. Jacob N. Wardlaw was in the 2nd dist Lauderdale in 1860. Same for Wm. E. Palmer and Mary (apparently Wm. died before 1870). Thnaks for your help. - Ray ----- Original Message ----- From: <Peggyt1950@aol.com> To: <DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Saturday, October 13, 2001 2:48 PM Subject: Re: 1870 Census, Haywood and Lauderdale Co., TN > Hi Ray, > > Do you have any idea what district they were in in 1850/60? Ancestry.com > does not follow the regular index. They film each page in each district and > each page begins with "Page 1." I'm looking as I write, but a district > number would really narrow the search. > > Thanks......Peggy > > > ==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== > My genealogy software won't accept "spaceship" > as a "Place of Birth"..... Now What ???? > >

Hi Ray, Do you have any idea what district they were in in 1850/60? Ancestry.com does not follow the regular index. They film each page in each district and each page begins with "Page 1." I'm looking as I write, but a district number would really narrow the search. Thanks......Peggy

Thank you Peggy, Dorothy on the TN-CENSUS list was good enough to check the INDEX info for me, but apparently, no-one on that list has access to the 1870 actual census for these counties. Here's what I'm looking for - the families of: John Wesley Davie (J.W. Davis in index), 45, Haywood Co. p. 429 Fielding A. Claiborne (index has F,A, Claibore), 52, Haywood Co. p. 427 Mary E. Palmer 40, Lauderdale Co. p.529 Jacob N. Wardlaw 50, Lauderdale Co. p. 534 Edwin Greaves, 55, Lauderdale Co. p.519 I have the 1850/1860 census info on these people. I'm also hoping to find my g grandmother living at the home of one of these 3g uncles/aunts in 1870. She was Mignonnette (Nettie) Peacock. She was born 1864. Her mother, Martha Davie Peacock died in 1866. I'm told her father, Dr. Rufus Wiley Peacock, my gg grandfather, shows up in the 1870 census in Brownsville, TN (Haywood), but that she isn't with him. Any help would be appreciated. - Ray ----- Original Message ----- From: <Peggyt1950@aol.com> To: <DanvilleCrossing-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Saturday, October 13, 2001 11:29 AM Subject: Re: 1870 Census, Haywood and Lauderdale Co., TN > Ray, > > Ancestry.com has just put the 1870 Haywood County, TN Census Images online. > They do not yet have Lauderdale. They have to be browsed, page by page and > each page takes about a minute to load. If you have an index and can narrow > the search somewhat, I'd be happy to look for you. Just knowing the district > would save hours. > > Peggy > > > ==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== > What do you mean my grandparents didn't have any kids ??? > >