Here is something you might like to subscribe to - this is an example of the memories: -------------------------- From: J Philpot <[email protected]> Subject: Sunday Afternoon Rocking Date: Sat, 17 Mar 2001 21:54:19 -0800 Reply-To: [email protected] X-Topica-Loop: 1700025510 X-Sender: [email protected] X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Version 4.3.2 Sunday Afternoon Rocking Ears to Hear (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) Yesterday my daughter and I drove miles within a fifteen-mile radius, over and over again, up one road and down the other, back again. Yesterday my daughter, who never seemed interested before, was a visitor to her own hometown. We did not plan the excursion. I simply passed a place we had passed every day of her life and repeated a story from my youth that she had heard before. Overnight she realized she had not stopped to look at the places she had seen every day for all of her life. Overnight she realized she had not heard me when I had told the same stories I told again yesterday. Suddenly she could not get enough. Up and down and all around we drove, she pumping me for more information about the places and people I had known. She eagerly asked "how this place used to be", what that land once was, who had owned it, who the people were who had owned that business, what had happened to "these people". I told the same stories, and her enthusiasm fed my own. I reached deeper, pulling out memories and tidbits I had not thought about in years. She marveled at the tales that she could remember me telling, but suddenly were taking on a "new life" for her. And I marveled…that my now adult daughter, come to visit, now had caught the spark, now could hear, now would eagerly question. At last…what I have waited so long for has begun. And now I can be assured, our oral history will continue… There is a good deal to be said for oral history. It may not take the place of an aged bonafide document, but it is infinitely more interesting. The colorful slants on a situation or thing assumed by the teller paint a picture of the attitude of a time better than any cold print can. The memories passed on are filtered, teller after teller, until only the main nugget of interest remains. Embroidered they may be, and such embroidery has misled many a descendent, but somewhere in even the telling of them lies a fact, or the story would not be worthy of its passage through the conversations of the years. Once a little girl tugged at a grandmother's sleeve, and good-humoredly the older lady told tales of an Irish lad on a ship who grew up to become a Confederate soldier. Another day of begging for a story brought a "haint tale" of a many greats grandfather who worked an iron furnace and reappeared to ask a long ago peer to go to a "hiding place", as his family left behind would now need that money. Still another story was told of a native American family who wandered until they found a "safe place" nestled in the heart of the Tennessee hills, where they superficially put aside their heritage, but remembered it in the telling to their own. On and on the stories went, unwinding like a ball of colorful yarn to spill into the lap of the little girl who would one day set out to see for herself which of those stories were embroidered, and which held an element of truth. Her dream would be to take all of that colorful yarn and knit it together into a grand adventure of a coverlet to wrap securely around a family's sense of self. I have yet to "prove" all of those stories, but all, I have found, contained that nugget "of truth". And more than a few of the stories have pointed me in the direction of the aged bonafide document called "proof". The documents we want…they prove our names and dates upon the paper. But the oral history is in some way, infinitely more precious. How many times, I have wondered, were the stories my grandparents told me, told before? How many ears have heard them, and how many heard them with ears that were awake? Why were the stories so important that they were never lost with the multitudinous events of the past? Why, because they were important, of course! Because the day of inception was one in a family that was to be remembered. Because the event was considered at the time to be a momentous one in a history. Because the teller wanted those to come to know, and because those who came heard, and thought those who came still later should know. And so the stories came to me. And one day my daughter had ears to hear. Another day, perhaps, she will pull out those stories, she will dig deep in her memory, she will remember what seemed most momentous to her in the telling, and she will have a child with ears to hear…I hope. Just a thought, jan Copyright ©2001JanPhilpot ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be shared...simply share though e-mail as written without alterations...and in entirety. If planned for a publication, permission must be granted by the author. Please forward sufficient information concerning the nature and intent of the publication. 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] Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to [email protected] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jan: Thank you for sharing that. I had an aunt, who never married, and she was the family historian long before the trend to do genealogy caught on here. When I was a child, she would tell these old stories over and over again, that her grandfather from Tn. had told to her. When in my early 30's I decided to start doing some research, I remembered the stories my aunt had told, and these stories gave me the clues to find what I was looking for. When my dau. was younger, she thought it really funny that I spent time going to libraries, and to cemeteries. She would tell people that I was "digging around" in old cemeteries. Now that she is grown, and has grown children, the "genealogy bug" has bitten her, and she loves it as much as I do. Betty Guthrie McCollum ----- Original Message ----- From: <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Sunday, March 18, 2001 5:47 PM Subject: [GADADE] Sunday Afternoon Rocking > Here is something you might like to subscribe to - this is an example of > the memories: > -------------------------- > From: J Philpot <[email protected]> > Subject: Sunday Afternoon Rocking > Date: Sat, 17 Mar 2001 21:54:19 -0800 > Reply-To: [email protected] > X-Topica-Loop: 1700025510 > X-Sender: [email protected] > X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Version 4.3.2 > > Sunday Afternoon Rocking > > Ears to Hear (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) > > Yesterday my daughter and I drove miles within a fifteen-mile radius, over > and over again, up one road and down the other, back again. Yesterday my > daughter, who never seemed interested before, was a visitor to her own > hometown. We did not plan the excursion. I simply passed a place we had > passed every day of her life and repeated a story from my youth that she > had heard before. Overnight she realized she had not stopped to look at > the places she had seen every day for all of her life. Overnight she > realized she had not heard me when I had told the same stories I told again > yesterday. Suddenly she could not get enough. Up and down and all around > we drove, she pumping me for more information about the places and people I > had known. She eagerly asked "how this place used to be", what that land > once was, who had owned it, who the people were who had owned that > business, what had happened to "these people". I told the same stories, > and her enthusiasm fed my own. I reached deeper, pulling out memories and > tidbits I had not thought about in years. She marveled at the tales that > she could remember me telling, but suddenly were taking on a "new life" for > her. And I marveled.that my now adult daughter, come to visit, now had > caught the spark, now could hear, now would eagerly question. At last.what > I have waited so long for has begun. And now I can be assured, our oral > history will continue. > > There is a good deal to be said for oral history. It may not take the > place of an aged bonafide document, but it is infinitely more > interesting. The colorful slants on a situation or thing assumed by the > teller paint a picture of the attitude of a time better than any cold print > can. The memories passed on are filtered, teller after teller, until only > the main nugget of interest remains. Embroidered they may be, and such > embroidery has misled many a descendent, but somewhere in even the telling > of them lies a fact, or the story would not be worthy of its passage > through the conversations of the years. > > Once a little girl tugged at a grandmother's sleeve, and good-humoredly the > older lady told tales of an Irish lad on a ship who grew up to become a > Confederate soldier. Another day of begging for a story brought a "haint > tale" of a many greats grandfather who worked an iron furnace and > reappeared to ask a long ago peer to go to a "hiding place", as his family > left behind would now need that money. Still another story was told of a > native American family who wandered until they found a "safe place" nestled > in the heart of the Tennessee hills, where they superficially put aside > their heritage, but remembered it in the telling to their own. On and on > the stories went, unwinding like a ball of colorful yarn to spill into the > lap of the little girl who would one day set out to see for herself which > of those stories were embroidered, and which held an element of truth. Her > dream would be to take all of that colorful yarn and knit it together into > a grand adventure of a coverlet to wrap securely around a family's sense of > self. I have yet to "prove" all of those stories, but all, I have found, > contained that nugget "of truth". And more than a few of the stories have > pointed me in the direction of the aged bonafide document called "proof". > > The documents we want.they prove our names and dates upon the paper. But > the oral history is in some way, infinitely more precious. How many times, > I have wondered, were the stories my grandparents told me, told > before? How many ears have heard them, and how many heard them with ears > that were awake? Why were the stories so important that they were never > lost with the multitudinous events of the past? Why, because they were > important, of course! Because the day of inception was one in a family > that was to be remembered. Because the event was considered at the time to > be a momentous one in a history. Because the teller wanted those to come to > know, and because those who came heard, and thought those who came still > later should know. And so the stories came to me. And one day my daughter > had ears to hear. Another day, perhaps, she will pull out those stories, > she will dig deep in her memory, she will remember what seemed most > momentous to her in the telling, and she will have a child with ears to > hear.I hope. > > Just a thought, > jan > > Copyright ©2001JanPhilpot > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ > (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be > shared...simply share though e-mail as written without alterations...and in > entirety. If planned for a publication, permission must be granted by the > author. Please forward sufficient information concerning the nature and > intent of the publication. > 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] > Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to > [email protected] > ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ > > > > > > > > ==== GADADE Mailing List ==== > Find any good research materials or websites lately? > Please share... > >

Jan is the lady who does the posting, I subscribe and thought I would let the lists know about it - some of them are very good and it is a free list - delilah evans/avans At 19:09 3/18/01 -0600, you wrote: >Jan: > Thank you for sharing that. I had an aunt, who never married, and she >was the family historian long before the trend to do genealogy caught on >here. When I was a child, she would tell these old stories over and over >again, that her grandfather from Tn. had told to her. When in my early 30's >I decided to start doing some research, I remembered the stories my aunt had >told, and these stories gave me the clues to find what I was looking for. >When my dau. was younger, she thought it really funny that I spent time >going to libraries, and to cemeteries. She would tell people that I was >"digging around" in old cemeteries. Now that she is grown, and has grown >children, the "genealogy bug" has bitten her, and she loves it as much as I >do. >Betty Guthrie McCollum > >----- Original Message ----- >From: <[email protected]> >To: <[email protected]> >Sent: Sunday, March 18, 2001 5:47 PM >Subject: [GADADE] Sunday Afternoon Rocking > > >> Here is something you might like to subscribe to - this is an example of >> the memories: >> -------------------------- >> From: J Philpot <[email protected]> >> Subject: Sunday Afternoon Rocking >> Date: Sat, 17 Mar 2001 21:54:19 -0800 >> Reply-To: [email protected] >> X-Topica-Loop: 1700025510 >> X-Sender: [email protected] >> X-Mailer: QUALCOMM Windows Eudora Version 4.3.2 >> >> Sunday Afternoon Rocking >> >> Ears to Hear (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) >> >> Yesterday my daughter and I drove miles within a fifteen-mile radius, over >> and over again, up one road and down the other, back again. Yesterday my >> daughter, who never seemed interested before, was a visitor to her own >> hometown. We did not plan the excursion. I simply passed a place we had >> passed every day of her life and repeated a story from my youth that she >> had heard before. Overnight she realized she had not stopped to look at >> the places she had seen every day for all of her life. Overnight she >> realized she had not heard me when I had told the same stories I told >again >> yesterday. Suddenly she could not get enough. Up and down and all around >> we drove, she pumping me for more information about the places and people >I >> had known. She eagerly asked "how this place used to be", what that land >> once was, who had owned it, who the people were who had owned that >> business, what had happened to "these people". I told the same stories, >> and her enthusiasm fed my own. I reached deeper, pulling out memories and >> tidbits I had not thought about in years. She marveled at the tales that >> she could remember me telling, but suddenly were taking on a "new life" >for >> her. And I marveled.that my now adult daughter, come to visit, now had >> caught the spark, now could hear, now would eagerly question. At >last.what >> I have waited so long for has begun. And now I can be assured, our oral >> history will continue. >> >> There is a good deal to be said for oral history. It may not take the >> place of an aged bonafide document, but it is infinitely more >> interesting. The colorful slants on a situation or thing assumed by the >> teller paint a picture of the attitude of a time better than any cold >print >> can. The memories passed on are filtered, teller after teller, until only >> the main nugget of interest remains. Embroidered they may be, and such >> embroidery has misled many a descendent, but somewhere in even the telling >> of them lies a fact, or the story would not be worthy of its passage >> through the conversations of the years. >> >> Once a little girl tugged at a grandmother's sleeve, and good-humoredly >the >> older lady told tales of an Irish lad on a ship who grew up to become a >> Confederate soldier. Another day of begging for a story brought a "haint >> tale" of a many greats grandfather who worked an iron furnace and >> reappeared to ask a long ago peer to go to a "hiding place", as his family >> left behind would now need that money. Still another story was told of a >> native American family who wandered until they found a "safe place" >nestled >> in the heart of the Tennessee hills, where they superficially put aside >> their heritage, but remembered it in the telling to their own. On and on >> the stories went, unwinding like a ball of colorful yarn to spill into the >> lap of the little girl who would one day set out to see for herself which >> of those stories were embroidered, and which held an element of truth. >Her >> dream would be to take all of that colorful yarn and knit it together into >> a grand adventure of a coverlet to wrap securely around a family's sense >of >> self. I have yet to "prove" all of those stories, but all, I have found, >> contained that nugget "of truth". And more than a few of the stories have >> pointed me in the direction of the aged bonafide document called "proof". >> >> The documents we want.they prove our names and dates upon the paper. But >> the oral history is in some way, infinitely more precious. How many >times, >> I have wondered, were the stories my grandparents told me, told >> before? How many ears have heard them, and how many heard them with ears >> that were awake? Why were the stories so important that they were never >> lost with the multitudinous events of the past? Why, because they were >> important, of course! Because the day of inception was one in a family >> that was to be remembered. Because the event was considered at the time >to >> be a momentous one in a history. Because the teller wanted those to come >to >> know, and because those who came heard, and thought those who came still >> later should know. And so the stories came to me. And one day my >daughter >> had ears to hear. Another day, perhaps, she will pull out those stories, >> she will dig deep in her memory, she will remember what seemed most >> momentous to her in the telling, and she will have a child with ears to >> hear.I hope. >> >> Just a thought, >> jan >> >> Copyright ©2001JanPhilpot >> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ >> (Note: Afternoon Rocking messages are meant to be passed on, meant to be >> shared...simply share though e-mail as written without alterations...and >in >> entirety. If planned for a publication, permission must be granted by the >> author. Please forward sufficient information concerning the nature and >> intent of the publication. >> 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] >> Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to >> [email protected] >> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ >> >> >> >> >> >> >> >> ==== GADADE Mailing List ==== >> Find any good research materials or websites lately? >> Please share... >> >> > > >==== GADADE Mailing List ==== >GADADE is a mailing list for anyone with a genealogical interest >in the Dade County, GA area. Researchers for Walker County, GA; >Marion County, TN; and Dekalb and Jackson Counties, AL are invited >to join as well. > >