Jan, that was a fine piece. I mean, all your reminiscences are wonderful, but I had tears in my eyes all the way through that one. Thank you for sharing your writing with us. I, for one, am honored. My folks' home places are either long gone, or still being lived in, but I have treasured items from their lives. Juliane Gale Bertagne p.s. Am praying for Gabbie, and hoping nothing is seriously wrong. ----- Original Message ----- From: <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Saturday, August 26, 2000 4:00 PM Subject: DanvilleCrossing-D Digest V00 #263

>I am looking for information on JONATHAN HOWARD PALMER (1835-1915) and his wife MARTHA JANE WINSETT PALMER. Both were from Henry County but moved to Fulton, Kentucky< I was wondering about the Palmer family in Henry co. Do you have any Henry's or Benjamin's in that family? I'm looking for possible connections to a Palmer family in Stewart Co before the Civil War. SueB

Yes, the Morris Cemetery located in Big Bottom is in Humphreys County Cemetery Book 1. There are only 3 people listed: Leslie C. Morris, born 20 Dec. 1909, died 14 Dec. 1927. Nannie M. Morris, born Dec. 7 1904, no other date. Other graves known to be here, but too overgrown to locate them. Listed 25 Nov. 1965 by Mrs. A.V. Anderson, Bill and Gladys P. Anderson. Morris Cemetery obituary: Elvington, Clover--6 months, died August 1930; son of Mr. and Mrs. Grover Elvington. Hunphreys County Cemetery Book 2 list Hunphreys County Burial 1921-1968. It states: The following were abstracted from the burial records of Luff-Bowen Funeral Home in Waverly and from the records of Garland-Hensley Funeral Home in Waverly. Only information of a historical and/or genealogical nature was abstracted. The death records for elderly persons who died in the 1920s and 1930s are considered most valuable for research as some of the information covers a period for which there are few, if any, county records. As there are many unmarked graves in the many cemeteries in the county, these records are the only record of the burials in some of these graveyards. If you have some names you would like me to look up for you, I'll be glad to. Just send them to me and dates if possible but not necessary and I get them to you soon as possible. Jessie Hopwood e-mail [email protected]

Hi, Does anyone know if theres been a survey done of the Morris Cemetery in Hustberg, located in Humphries Co? thanks, Alan Hines

Has anybody run across a Boaz Chapel Cemetery? I am looking for information on JONATHAN HOWARD PALMER (1835-1915) and his wife MARTHA JANE WINSETT PALMER. Both were from Henry County but moved to Fulton, Kentucky after the Civil War. Both are buried in this cemetery, but I do not know if it is in Fulton County, Kentucky, or maybe Henry County, Tennessee. If anybody has a book on cemetery records of Fulton County or Henry County I would appreciate a lookup. Thanks! Knox Martin

Jan, You said this well, The pace for folks is so fast today and the yesteryears times and place are precious. It thrills me to go back and see where my family lived and comes from ,though so simple. I was given some broken dishes from my ggg-grandfather Obediah Hardin, Benton Co.Chalklevel Community . He moved there in 1816. Some might have looked at that as a box of broken dishes,I saw it as history,my history. Anyone knwing anyhing about Obediah,I would love to here from you. [email protected] Joe H ----- Original Message ----- From: "j" <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Friday, August 25, 2000 11:53 PM Subject: [DC] Sunday Afternoon Rocking > <Note: Because I will be off line a good deal of the weekend, Sunday > Afternoon Rocking is being sent early.> > > Saying Goodbye to a Home Place (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) > > Afternoon All, > > The day comes for most of us when we learn to say goodbye, not only to > persons of importance in our lives...but also to places. This summer that > chore came to rest on my own shoulders. Although I had tried to prepare for > it, it was not an easy one, and the experience was a voyage of emotions and > memories... > > I pulled up in front of a home place that had not been dwelt in for a > number of years, and because of the circumstances, it stood as some > encapsulated version of a time that had been, a living ghost of time > standing still. My grown daughter beside me saw mostly simply an old home, > one she remembered but not well, she saw an empty front porch with glider > hanging limply from one leg. She saw curtained windows hiding rooms she > knew housed dusty furniture in the same positions they had been left long > ago. She dreaded sorting closets and wardrobes that held clothes from eras > mostly before her own birth, plowing through letters and papers written > long before she had joined the family. I saw something far different...and > perhaps I saw beneath the layers of dust and cobwebs to another time in the > same place... > > They sat waiting for us on the front porch, chatting, laughing. My father > was there, my uncles. One reclined on the glider looking down toward us at > the street, throwing up his hand to wave. Another grinned broadly, then > went back to the story he was telling with animated gestures. My father > tapped his pipe on a porch post and told me to pull the car up a bit closer > to the curb. I knew they were reminiscing about the old times "down home" > and after I greeted my aunts I would join them a while on the porch and > listen to the tales I loved so dearly. > > Blink back hot tears...no time for pain...a luxury for later, perhaps, time > only to be true to a family..to a responsibility...later...later... > > Laughter and merriment drifted through the open front door, fragrant aromas > of a dinner being prepared drifted out to greet us. A rocker creaked in a > front room and I peeked in to see Pa sitting with his Bible spread out in > his lap, peering through a magnifying glass to read the words. He glanced > up at me, brown eyes twinkling and asked if they had the "spread on the > table" yet. > > For days we sorted, this box to Goodwill, this to a second hand store, that > to the dump. And softly over my shoulder always a ghost... > > The pink dress billowed from the closet, and I remembered her twirling to > show me how it would look on a dance floor. She pulled out the pretty > "peek-a-boo" shoes that matched and told me that we would shop for some > pretty pink shoes for me too. She sat in front of me and handed me nail > polish so that I could "make her toenails pretty" and watched smiling as I > tried very hard to do it just right. She reached down and curved her soft > hand around my cheek, "You can be my little girl too, you know." And so, in > a way, I guess I was, since my aunt never married and never had children of > her own. > > Because there was so much to do, and such a short time to do it > in....because the days were hot, and the house of another era...I could not > stop to linger, but sometimes.... > > The postcards were of western steers and wide open spaces. My grandfather's > scratchy handwriting was hard to decipher, but I was used to it and long > ago had learned to make out the words a stranger would not take the time to > do. He was in Texas visiting kindred, something he did almost every > year...he wrote of folks I had heard of all through my childhood...and they > were having birthdays, going to dinner on the ground, visiting one another, > living and breathing again as he told of the fine time he was having. I > thought I would write back to him, and tell him one day I would join him > there... > > Surely no one would want these. Hat boxes...a grandfather's finery from the > 50's and 60's. Hat boxes...an aunt's finery from the same era... the > aromas....Old Spice. If I looked over my shoulder, Pa would be standing > there smiling. Tigress...my aunt was laughing as she came in the door with > a bundle of packages and surprises. I set aside one of Papa's hat boxes to > keep...an old bottle of Tigress cologne. > > My choices of remembrances were odd ones. I warned my daughter that the > small box of what looked indeed like something aimed for the dump was > merely the menagerie of quirky little things that would go home with me, > and she looked askance at my strange choices but accepted. > > And so it was at the end of a week, a time capsule had been emptied. Some > distributed to other family members, some left at a second hand store, some > taken to charity, some thrown away. The house that had greeted me with long > ago conversations and laughter, long ago rustling sounds of busy folk in a > happy household now echoed in hollow finality. Even my own ears could no > longer hear them, my own eyes no longer see any more. Empty. Except for a > few stray pieces of furniture here and there, all signs that a few days > before bore evidence of a once vibrant healthy laughing family were gone. > Whispers of the past softly floated to the floor, quieting as they drifted, > settling at last among the dust to await the final cleansing, the final > purging. > > Goodbye. And yet...perhaps it is not. What greeted me when I pulled up to > finish the chore that no one left in the family was able to do lived not in > an empty house, but in a heart's memory. I can see my father and my uncles > as clearly in my mind sitting where I sit now as I could gazing up at an > empty front porch with a broken glider. I can hear my aunts' laughter and > see Pa's twinkling eyes as clearly as the day I walked through a time > capsule of things not touched in many years. The things are not what makes > them live. If that were so, the daughter who stood beside me could have > seen beyond those things as well. She would have heard them, caught herself > almost laughing with them, answering them, calling out to them. She would > have smelled the same things I smelled and touched soft hands and seen > flashes of the past. No, it was not the things in a house left untouched > that make all this so real. The past of that house lives only in my memory, > and I can revisit where ever I am. The past is not about a home place that > served its purpose well, and now, for sake of practicality, must no longer > exist for us. It is about a heart. It will live as long as I remember...as > long as I share those memories with those who cannot. There need never > really be a goodbye. > > just a thought, > jan > > Copyright ©2000JanPhilpot > .________________________________________________ > (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 > [email protected] > _________________________________________________ > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > > ==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== > My family Coat of Arms ties at the back ...... > is that normal ??? >

Jessie, Wasn't that the place you went to feed the mules, or horses? I thought you just pulled up to which ever hay bail you wanted. You know, regular, high fiber and the really high test get up and go!!! LOL Giggle giggle. Ronda [email protected]

<Note: Because I will be off line a good deal of the weekend, Sunday Afternoon Rocking is being sent early.> Saying Goodbye to a Home Place (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) Afternoon All, The day comes for most of us when we learn to say goodbye, not only to persons of importance in our lives...but also to places. This summer that chore came to rest on my own shoulders. Although I had tried to prepare for it, it was not an easy one, and the experience was a voyage of emotions and memories... I pulled up in front of a home place that had not been dwelt in for a number of years, and because of the circumstances, it stood as some encapsulated version of a time that had been, a living ghost of time standing still. My grown daughter beside me saw mostly simply an old home, one she remembered but not well, she saw an empty front porch with glider hanging limply from one leg. She saw curtained windows hiding rooms she knew housed dusty furniture in the same positions they had been left long ago. She dreaded sorting closets and wardrobes that held clothes from eras mostly before her own birth, plowing through letters and papers written long before she had joined the family. I saw something far different...and perhaps I saw beneath the layers of dust and cobwebs to another time in the same place... They sat waiting for us on the front porch, chatting, laughing. My father was there, my uncles. One reclined on the glider looking down toward us at the street, throwing up his hand to wave. Another grinned broadly, then went back to the story he was telling with animated gestures. My father tapped his pipe on a porch post and told me to pull the car up a bit closer to the curb. I knew they were reminiscing about the old times "down home" and after I greeted my aunts I would join them a while on the porch and listen to the tales I loved so dearly. Blink back hot tears...no time for pain...a luxury for later, perhaps, time only to be true to a family..to a responsibility...later...later... Laughter and merriment drifted through the open front door, fragrant aromas of a dinner being prepared drifted out to greet us. A rocker creaked in a front room and I peeked in to see Pa sitting with his Bible spread out in his lap, peering through a magnifying glass to read the words. He glanced up at me, brown eyes twinkling and asked if they had the "spread on the table" yet. For days we sorted, this box to Goodwill, this to a second hand store, that to the dump. And softly over my shoulder always a ghost... The pink dress billowed from the closet, and I remembered her twirling to show me how it would look on a dance floor. She pulled out the pretty "peek-a-boo" shoes that matched and told me that we would shop for some pretty pink shoes for me too. She sat in front of me and handed me nail polish so that I could "make her toenails pretty" and watched smiling as I tried very hard to do it just right. She reached down and curved her soft hand around my cheek, "You can be my little girl too, you know." And so, in a way, I guess I was, since my aunt never married and never had children of her own. Because there was so much to do, and such a short time to do it in....because the days were hot, and the house of another era...I could not stop to linger, but sometimes.... The postcards were of western steers and wide open spaces. My grandfather's scratchy handwriting was hard to decipher, but I was used to it and long ago had learned to make out the words a stranger would not take the time to do. He was in Texas visiting kindred, something he did almost every year...he wrote of folks I had heard of all through my childhood...and they were having birthdays, going to dinner on the ground, visiting one another, living and breathing again as he told of the fine time he was having. I thought I would write back to him, and tell him one day I would join him there... Surely no one would want these. Hat boxes...a grandfather's finery from the 50's and 60's. Hat boxes...an aunt's finery from the same era... the aromas....Old Spice. If I looked over my shoulder, Pa would be standing there smiling. Tigress...my aunt was laughing as she came in the door with a bundle of packages and surprises. I set aside one of Papa's hat boxes to keep...an old bottle of Tigress cologne. My choices of remembrances were odd ones. I warned my daughter that the small box of what looked indeed like something aimed for the dump was merely the menagerie of quirky little things that would go home with me, and she looked askance at my strange choices but accepted. And so it was at the end of a week, a time capsule had been emptied. Some distributed to other family members, some left at a second hand store, some taken to charity, some thrown away. The house that had greeted me with long ago conversations and laughter, long ago rustling sounds of busy folk in a happy household now echoed in hollow finality. Even my own ears could no longer hear them, my own eyes no longer see any more. Empty. Except for a few stray pieces of furniture here and there, all signs that a few days before bore evidence of a once vibrant healthy laughing family were gone. Whispers of the past softly floated to the floor, quieting as they drifted, settling at last among the dust to await the final cleansing, the final purging. Goodbye. And yet...perhaps it is not. What greeted me when I pulled up to finish the chore that no one left in the family was able to do lived not in an empty house, but in a heart's memory. I can see my father and my uncles as clearly in my mind sitting where I sit now as I could gazing up at an empty front porch with a broken glider. I can hear my aunts' laughter and see Pa's twinkling eyes as clearly as the day I walked through a time capsule of things not touched in many years. The things are not what makes them live. If that were so, the daughter who stood beside me could have seen beyond those things as well. She would have heard them, caught herself almost laughing with them, answering them, calling out to them. She would have smelled the same things I smelled and touched soft hands and seen flashes of the past. No, it was not the things in a house left untouched that make all this so real. The past of that house lives only in my memory, and I can revisit where ever I am. The past is not about a home place that served its purpose well, and now, for sake of practicality, must no longer exist for us. It is about a heart. It will live as long as I remember...as long as I share those memories with those who cannot. There need never really be a goodbye. just a thought, jan Copyright ©2000JanPhilpot .________________________________________________ (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 [email protected] _________________________________________________

Ira Now you have me worried I noticed he had been quite try calling him 901-584-3840 He has a heart problem and a breathing problem I lost my Husband July 25th so I have been busy and did not keep up with him His Gr Gr Grandfather and mine were Brothers Sue

In a message dated 8/25/00 11:11:17 PM Central Daylight Time, [email protected] writes: << Have you tried his E-Mail [email protected] Sue >> Yes Sue I sure have, and no replies> I even ask his a couple of questions and you know how eager he is to help people, nothing heard. Concerns me. Ira

Hello List "Gabby" is very conspicuous by HIS absence or messages to the various nets, on the "Danville Crossing" Circuit. Is there anyone aboard that can give us any information about Raymond? Ira Bell

Have you tried his E-Mail [email protected] Sue

Can anyone help with a census in Henerson co.? I have a possible lead on my brick wall LUM JONES. Stuart Wright said he had a Lum Jones born about 1858 in Henderson Co. Any help would be appreciated. Pat in Michigan

Looking for any info on Peacock family members that lived in the DC counties in the 19th century. My Great great grandfather, Dr. Rufus Wilie Peacock, was in the 1850 Henry Cnty. census (residing at the Manley residence), while his mother and siblings are found in the 1850 Carroll Cnty Census. The parents, Wiley and Lefa Peacock, left Wayne cnty NC and settled in this area of TN abt. 1832-1836, possible first in Henry or nearby Cnty. I can find nothing on the family betw, NC 1830 and TN 1850, and have no info on just where they settled, or what happened to Wiley (where/when died). I haven't located them in any 1840 census records (but then I only have access to those that are on line). A lookup for Wiley (Wilie) and Lefa in 1840 censuses of nearby counties would be very appreciated. Only thing I have on Wiley is an obit of Rufus that says he was a "wealthy planter." The Wiley/Lefa Peacock children, besides Rufus, according to the Carroll Cnty 1850 census were Nancy (m.Kirkland), Barney W., Mary Ann (m. John Bean Vickery), Peneicy (m. Steven M. Thompson), Elizabeth M., Amanda C., and Lefa L. Also, Rufus married Mary Jane Woodson in Gibson Cnty in 1852, then Martha Davie in Haywood Cnty in 1860, then Ann Martha (Norfleet) McCullogh in Clarksville in 1870. His daughter Mignonette (Nettie) (by 2nd wife, my g grandmother Martha) married Harry E. Horton, who might have been from this area of TN. Any help would be appreciated. - Ray ___________________ Currently Researching: HORTON, PEACOCK, DAVIE (ALSO NORFLEET, WOODSON) Ray Horton [email protected] 814-864-2958

Hi, Lucille! It has been quite sometime since we have corresponded. I didn't know anything at all when we wrote to each other the first time. Thanks to my Cousin's Anne Cathey Smith and Barbara Daniels Gatlin I found on Genforum, they helped me connect some of the missing relatives on the Cathey side. Here is my straight line Cathey's from my mother's side: Ruth May Craft Stalls (born 8-9-25) My mother Katie Cladie Cathey Craft (born 12-3-1898 died 11-25-1935) William Glenn Cathey Archibald Cathey George Cathey George Cathey Andrew Cathey George Cathey (born 2-12-1804 died 1-8-1877) From here, Anne and I are trying to connect to the Cathey's Boyt Cathey has been researching for so long in North Carolina. Anne is certain of the connection. She has worked so hard on our family! Good to hear from you again! I hope we can help each other too. Paulette

Hello, I am back! Rejoined the list. I am still looking for Sarah Ida Milam b. 1879 in Dover,Stewart County,Tn (area) she first married James Stoneham (we believe) in 1796 Stewart County,Tn 2nd- Marion Butler b.ca1877 Stewart or Clarksville, Montgomery Co. Tn. Children of Marion Butler and Sarah Ida Milam- Thomas Butler ca around 1908 Mary Frances Butler b.1910 Clarksville, Montgomery Co.Tn,Died 1950 Monroe,LA Melvin Butler b. ca1912 I believe the family moved to Washington Co, Arkansas after 1910 I know Sarah Ida Milam was a grandaughter of Adam Milam from Warren Co,NC - I just don't know which son she belongs to. Thanks , Robbie

Hi Colleen, Not a whole lot to tell you. I did talk to Aunt Lucy and she does remember Mattie Coppedge. She told me she remembers her being a member of the same church, but she doesn't remember if she is buried at the church or down at the other cemetery. She did remember that Mattie was the post mistress many years ago. As far as the other ones, she couldn't remember them. Aunt Lucy can't remember a whole lot of things from many years ago. I have to catch her on a really good day to get her to remember people in our family. She can remember her mother, father, brothers and sisters, but any further back than that, she has to be at "peak" performance and we don't have many days of that anymore. I'm going home Labor Day weekend and I want to go and get Aunt Lucy and ride her around to the different places up there to see if I can jog any memories. While there, if I have the time, I will check both cemeteries to see if I can find the information for you. As far as the burial book, it is no longer in print. I know Anglin Funeral Home has one and my sister, Inez Keel, has one, but I don't know who else would have it. You might check with the funeral home and they may be able to give you the information by phone or refer you to someone in the historical society that can give you the information. Gotta run and go to baseball practice, but will keep in touch with info as I can get it. Jeanette

Anyone interested in the Danville Crossing Homecoming, PLEASE go to this site and answer the questions... I cant provide what you want as the next Homecoming if I dont know what it is... This poll will be open until the 8:00 pm EST, 26th of September, 2000. At that time the total will be tallied and posted as soon as possible. Cher TnDickson listowner DCHomecoming Chair/Founder http://www.misterpoll.com/poll.wga?id=927503406

Have you ever seen an 1800's gas station? Jessie

>Hi Paulette I may have ask you before what Cathey's you were researching (due to ole' timers disease) I can't remember if I have or not? I'll tell you my Cathey's were kind of secretive or maybe outlaws I can't verify much about them beyond my gparents. William Washington Cathey. I am planning a trip to Tn. soon, so maybe I'll stumble across something. I do know he existed because I knew him but I think he must have come from under a rock. Anyway just wanted to know who your Cathey's were Thanks, Lucille >Middle Tennessee Surnames: Cathey, Craft, Summers, and many more to be found >:) > > >==== DanvilleCrossing Mailing List ==== >What do you mean my grandparents didn't have any kids ??? > >