Seeking a Calvin CARTER, born Va or NC, mid 1700s... Would be perhaps in any county in Ky., late 1700's till perhaps 1813....May have had son John Jr., born 1-2-1813, and Jobe, born 1807, and was a deaf mute... Thanks. DICK CARTER [email protected]

If you find the Cleaton Church, can you check for any Wickliffe's or Cundiff's who may have attended? Thanks, Sandy [email protected] wrote: > > Does any one know if this church has records from the 1800's?

From:  Jan,  [email protected] 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 [email protected] Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to [email protected] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seeking information on George NUTTERFIELD, Born abt 1771, died after 1823... I know that he was a Soldier in "The Army of the Territory South of the Ohio", from about 1885 thru 1798... This was apparently a Ranger type organization, which patrolled, and did what they thought necessary for the preservation of their way of life and that of the country... He was, at the same time a member of Lt Walker's Davidson County Rangers...Which I believe was a part of the above "Army". I know that George NUTTERFIELD married a Nancy W McWilliams/Williams (There is an indication that her maiden name MIGHT have been STEPP), in 1804, in Shelby Co., Ky., and that he gave permission for his 12 year old daughter to marry, in Nelson Co., Ky., in 1823, to an Andrew PITTMAN...His wife Nancy is shown living alone in Owen Co., In., on the 1840 census... I have been unable to find any other reference for George, and very few references to the name. All that I did find, were after George... Where did he come From? Did a space ship leave him? Did a bird leave him on a rock, so that the sun would hatch him? The ONLY other reference that I have found, for the name, is for a Ralph NUTTERFIELD, in Baltimore, in the mid 1600's...Surely there were others of the name... Any help appreciated... HEEEEEEEEEELLLLLLLLLPPPPPPPP!!!!!!!! DICK CARTER [email protected]

I wrote to them a couple of years ago, and someone even gave me a phone number to call, but got response. Let me know if you find something. Thanks.. Joe ----- Original Message ----- From: <[email protected]> To: <[email protected]> Sent: Tuesday, November 13, 2001 7:58 PM Subject: [KYMUHLEN] Cleaton Baptist Church > Does any one know if this church has records from the 1800's? > > I wrote to the church but did not receive an answer. > > I remember my Grandfather said something about the Cleaton Baptist church > > Was separate somehow from the other church's. > > Any information will be helpful. thanks > > > ============================== > Shop Ancestry - Everything you need to Discover, Preserve & Celebrate > your heritage! > http://shop.myfamily.com/ancestrycatalog > >

Does any one know if this church has records from the 1800's? I wrote to the church but did not receive an answer. I remember my Grandfather said something about the Cleaton Baptist church Was separate somehow from the other church's. Any information will be helpful. thanks

From:   Jan, [email protected] 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, sitting the table to see what will 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 [email protected] Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to [email protected] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

My gg grandfather had a son Goalson Stepp Carter, who apparently was named for an uncle, Gholson Stepp Nutterfield... I am seeking any information on Gholson Stepp NUTTERFIELD... Where did the name come from?? There was a Gholson/Gholston STEPP/STAPP who was prominent in the Stepp/Stapp line in the early 1700s...Does anyone have record of a STEPP/STAPP marrying a George NUTTERFIELD, or a McWilliams, in KY or WV., in the mid to late 1700's? I have a Nancy W McWilliamss who marrried a George NUTTERFIELD in 1804 in Shelby Co., KY., but, apparently her maiden name might have been STEPP/STAPP... Can anyone help???

Seeking information on George NUTTERFIELD, born where?, Perhaps between 1771-1779) married Nancy W McWilliams/Williams, 1804 in Shelby Co Ky. Information also indicates that Nancy's maiden name was STEPP, which would indicate an earlier marriage for her... I know that George was a member of Lt Walker's Davidson County Rangers, for the Army for the Territory South of the Ohio, from at least 1792, thru 1798. Nancy later appears, alone, in Owen Co., In., on the 1840 census. George and Nancy had at least children: Eliza NUTTERFIELD, born 7-26-1810,who married, at the age of 12, Andrew PITTMAN, in Nelson Co Ky, 5-23-1822, and later married John Carter Jr., born 1-2-1813. Where not known. ELIZA NUTTERFIELD CARTER was my G G Grandmother. Eliza and John Jr., had children Elizabeth Ann 1828, Nancy Jane, 1829, Matilda, 1831, Margaret 1833, Calvin A, 1835, Ludwell 1837, Goalson 1839,John Stamper, 1840, Columbia 1843, Lucy Jane 1845, George Mason, 1847,Alonzo 1848, and Morris, 1850. I believe that Elizabeth, Nancy, and Matilda, were from an earlier marriage, as John probably would have been too young at the time of their birth. Gholson Stepp NUTTERFIELD, born 7-8-1812,in Shelby Co Ky, married 6-30-1830, in Vermillion Co In., Sarah Cooper, and subsequently moved to Iowa. Other children of George and Nancy , were probably LOTT NUTTERFIELD, SARAH NUTTERFIELD, And Matilda NUTTERFIELD... Lott married in Martin Co., In., Sarah Mitcheltree on 9-9-1823. Matilda married in about 1823, Mr James Richey, In Ky, and subsequently James Baldon, in Owen Co., In in 1834. Any help would be appreciated. DICK CARTER [email protected]

Andrew J PITTMAN,born 1798, married 1822, Nelson Co., Ky, to 12 year old Elizabeth "Betsey" NUTTERFEE... With parents consent...First child born perhaps in 1828. Seeking possible divorce ELIZA/Elizabeth PITTMAN, from ANDREW J PITTMAN, 1830-1837, Sullivan Co In...Or, Nelson Co, Spencer Co., KY... Andrew J Pittman is also shown as marrying Millie Zimmerman, Nelson Co., Ky., 7-31-1837.. Why? Was there a divorce, annulment, or death??? Is there a difference in the names ELIZA, and ELIZABETH? I have seen families with both names among their children.. Seeking possible marriage of JOHN CARTER JR to ELIZA NUTTERFIELD/PITTMAN, perhaps Sullivan CO., IN., about 1830-1837... John CARTER JR, b. 1-2-1813, Ky., died 2-27-1901, Putnam Co IN., married to Eliza NUTTERFEE, 1830-1835, in Indiana or KY... John Carter and Eliza had 13 children, birthdays between 1828 and 1851, in Ky., and Owen Co In. Youngest 4 children born in KY., possibly to previous marriages for both... Any and all help appreciated, as this has been a long (30+ year) frustration... Thanks. DICK CARTER [email protected]

From:   Jan, [email protected] Hello folks, This is one of those days when my mind wanted to weave a story.  Bear with me as I explain just why. One of the beautiful things about our ancestry is the patchwork of it, and it is that very patchwork of different walks of life, different ideas, different ways that has fascinated me.  I have often thought of it, one family coverlet, and all the pieces of different cloth that make it up.  Within my family are doctors and truck drivers, carpenters and soldiers, lawyers and teachers, homemakers and factory workers, company executives and craftsmen, ministers and nurses, bookkeepers and firemen, janitors and construction workers.  There are the wealthy and those who live very simply.  The list goes on.  Folks from every walk of life, folks who made all manner of decisions about the path they wanted to walk down, yet call themselves "a family".  And in this country, it was all possible.   Often I have wondered at the descendants of the same common ancestors, descendants of the same roof overhead, and wondered how it was that a common tree tended to branch out so many different directions leading to so many different ways of conducting a life.  And in my thinking, imagination took hold, and I thought how it might be that branching off could have begun.  Excuse me now, I am going to step into the shoes for a moment of a boy who could have been in one of those families.  He could have had brothers and sisters who chose a far different life than he, not any better, not any worse, perhaps.  Just different. Yet the fabric he was cut from was stitched side by side that of a different texture and pattern, and made up a part of the same family coverlet. Something Like Poetry (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) Papa always said wasn't but two things for certain in this life: you gonna pay taxes and you gonna die.  From my point of view he might have added two more: Mama gonna have a new baby this year and you gonna work from sunup to sundown six days a week and have little for your efforts.  The seventh day you going to be so dagblasted wore out you can't hardly stay awake through the sermon. I don't rightly know what it was give me the idea, but it came to me at an early age that all I had known in all of my young life was a new youngin every year to scoot over and make room for, and rising at the break of day to work in the fields, falling into bed too bone weary to even eat supper at night come dark.  Seemed that is all I saw of Papa's life too.  And it come to me if that was what life was all about, I was not real sure I wanted any part of it. Fact is what I hungered for was what I could not have, and it sung in my heart like the beat of a fervent poem.  Tickled me pink when the times when farm work was slow and I could go down to the school house with the younger ones.  Got so Mr. Henry, the schoolmaster, took an interest in me.  Loaned me some of his books.  He knew what I most wanted was books about doctoring and he got ole Doc Watson who had studied some back east to loan me his books too.  Papa did not like to see me reading them.  He couldn't rightly make out how they were gonna do me any good, and he said I far better off not to get ideas in my head about things that could not be.  Papa said I didn't need to know to read any better than enough to know I was not getting cheated, didn't need to write much more than to make my name, and didn't need any more figures than it took to figure what I would get for my efforts and what I owed the general store.  He said what schooling I had would do that much if I stayed beside him and learned the common sense of it.  I would be a farmer, he said, same as him and his daddy before him and before that even.  And I best be getting used to the work of it and learning what I could.  No time for foolishness.  Papa didn't see the use in school.   I managed to slip off out to the barn some nights with a candle Mama eased me and do my reading then.  Sometimes when Papa was off to town or over to the neighbors, she would rush in and help me with my chores, and so I got an hour or so to myself.  I don't know that Mama understood, but Mama knew I had a hunger and she knew I was different from Papa. If Papa ever wanted to be anything but a farmer I don't know what it was.  Seems like something about it was right for him, for I am not sure I ever saw him truly unhappy about it.  In fact, weary as he was, he seemed right satisfied.  Seems like sometimes I could see him feeling something more when he picked up the soil in his bare hands, or he looked up at the sky.  Seems like sometimes there was something soft in his eyes, and sometimes something like fire.  Seems like he felt something I could not see, and I could not feel.  Seems like, but then Papa never really let you know what he might be thinking.  I can't imagine Papa with a dream, but maybe he had one anyhow.  Maybe he had one, same as me, just different. The closest thing I ever heard to poetry come out of Papa's mouth was one morning just as the sun rose when he looked out over his fields, at the morning light tingeing the tops of his crops with a hint of gold, the mist on the hills behind them.  He saw it and he listened.  Then he said the reason the birds were singing was cause they had seen all that he had worked for, and it was good. Come the spring of my sixteenth year, I figured to do something about it.  I broached it to Mama first off.  I think that was the first time I ever realized Mama was getting old.  She was working her bread dough, and she put her hand up to brush a wisp of hair out of her face.  Some of the flour caught in her brown hair and it was then I noticed it was not just the bit of flour making white of it.  She sighed when she heard what it was I had to say, and she turned after a while to look at me straight on.  The sun slanted in the window, lighting up one side of her face and leaving the rest in shadow, and it was then I saw that the shadows were not smooth, but played soft little wavering whispers on the planes of her face. "I held my breath till you was ten," she said, "When a youngin reaches ten, likely he will live.  Then I held my breath till this day.  And it has come." I left the next morning at daybreak with a bit of ham and johnny cake wrapped up in a leather pouch.  I headed for the place Doc Watson had told me to go.  There was a loft there waiting for me, and chores to do for my board, and a school where I could learn what I wanted to know.  In a few years he said, I could come back to him if I wanted, as he was feeling winter in the summer now deep in his bones and there would be a place.  I would not work no easier than Papa, he said, just different.  If that was what I wanted.  It was.   I left behind me a carving of a bird for Papa.  I carved its mouth open, like it was singing.  I hoped he would remember the morning he spoke something like poetry, and understand. 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 [email protected] Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to [email protected] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have a George NUTTERFIELD, married to NANCY W McWILLIAM, 8-25-1802... Who was she.. Her parents?? I have an indication that she was a STEPP, as at least one of her children, Gholson STEPP NUTTERFIELD,born 7-8-1812, used the STEPP name... Does anyone have any information on any of these persons? Does anyone have information on the name STEPP?, connecting with WILLIMS or McWILLIAMS??? Thanks. DICK CARTER [email protected]

I have a George NUTTERFIELD, married to NANCY W McWILLIAM, 8-25-1802... Who was she.. Her parents?? I have an indication that she was a STEPP, as at least one of her children, Gholson STEPP NUTTERFIELD,born 7-8-1812, used the STEPP name... Does anyone have any information on any of these persons? Does anyone have information on the name STEPP?, connecting with WILLIMS or McWILLIAMS??? Thanks. DICK CARTER [email protected]

I used to have a copy of Ky Marriages for the name{s) McWilliams/Williams/Nutterfield/and Pittman, for the years 1790-1830.. I have misplaced it. Will some kind soul resupply me? Thanks DICK CARTER [email protected]

Seeking information on George NUTTERFIELD, born where?, Perhaps between 1771-1779) married Nancy W McWilliams/Williams, 1804 in Shelby Co Ky. Information also indicates that Nancy's maiden name was STEPP, which would indicate an earlier marriage for her... I know that George was a member of Lt Walker's Davidson County Rangers, for the Army for the Territory South of the Ohio, from at least 1792, thru 1798. Nancy later appears, alone, in Owen Co., In., on the 1840 census. George and Nancy had at least children: Eliza NUTTERFIELD, born 7-26-1810,who married, at the age of 12, Andrew PITTMAN, in Nelson Co Ky, 5-23-1822, and later married John Carter Jr., born 1-2-1813. Where not known. ELIZA NUTTERFIELD CARTER was my G G Grandmother. Eliza and John Jr., had children Elizabeth Ann 1828, Nancy Jane, 1829, Matilda, 1831, Margaret 1833, Calvin A, 1835, Ludwell 1837, Goalson 1839,John Stamper, 1840, Columbia 1843, Lucy Jane 1845, George Mason, 1847,Alonzo 1848, and Morris, 1850. I believe that Elizabeth, Nancy, and Matilda, were from an earlier marriage, as John probably would have been too young at the time of their birth. Gholson Stepp NUTTERFIELD, born 7-8-1812,in Shelby Co Ky, married 6-30-1830, in Vermillion Co In., Sarah Cooper, and subsequently moved to Iowa. Other children of George and Nancy , were probably LOTT NUTTERFIELD, SARAH NUTTERFIELD, And Matilda NUTTERFIELD... Lott married in Martin Co., In., Sarah Mitcheltree on 9-9-1823. Matilda married in about 1823, Mr James Richey, In Ky, and subsequently James Baldon, in Owen Co., In in 1834. Any help would be appreciated. DICK CARTER [email protected]

Andrew J PITTMAN,born 1798, married 1822, Nelson Co., Ky, to 12 year old Elizabeth "Betsey" NUTTERFEE... With parents consent...First child born perhaps in 1828. Seeking possible divorce ELIZA/Elizabeth PITTMAN, from ANDREW J PITTMAN, 1830-1837, Sullivan Co In...Or, Nelson Co, Spencer Co., KY... Andrew J Pittman is also shown as marrying Millie Zimmerman, Nelson Co., Ky., 7-31-1837.. Why? Was there a divorce, annulment, or death??? Is there a difference in the names ELIZA, and ELIZABETH? I have seen families with both names among their children.. Seeking possible marriage of JOHN CARTER JR to ELIZA NUTTERFIELD/PITTMAN, perhaps Sullivan CO., IN., about 1830-1837... John CARTER JR, b. 1-2-1813, Ky., died 2-27-1901, Putnam Co IN., married to Eliza NUTTERFEE, 1830-1835, in Indiana or KY... John Carter and Eliza had 13 children, birthdays between 1828 and 1851, in Ky., and Owen Co In. Youngest 4 children born in KY., possibly to previous marriages for both... Any and all help appreciated, as this has been a long (30+ year) frustration... Thanks. DICK CARTER [email protected]

My gg grandfather had a son Goalson Stepp Carter, who apparently was named for an uncle, Gholson Stepp Nutterfield... I am seeking any information on Gholson Stepp NUTTERFIELD... Where did the name come from?? There was a Gholson/Gholston STEPP/STAPP who was prominent in the Stepp/Stapp line in the early 1700s...Does anyone have record of a STEPP/STAPP marrying a George NUTTERFIELD, or a McWilliams, in KY or WV., in the mid to late 1700's? I have a Nancy W McWilliamss who marrried a George NUTTERFIELD in 1804 in Shelby Co., KY., but, apparently her maiden name might have been STEPP/STAPP... Can anyone help???

From: Jan <[email protected]> Ghost of a Chance (from the "Sunday Afternoon Rocking" series) I have been visited by the "Ghost of a Chance" more than a few times. And perhaps someone reading this will have been visited by one by the end of that reading. For I have a 166 year old secret to disclose, and I want someone somewhere to meet the "Ghost of a Chance", who for you, has appeared. The Ghost of a Chance, is exactly that, arriving unexpectedly, a tangible glimpse of the past, a tangible wisp of something not quite possible that simply, for whatever reason, IS. It was the "Ghost of a Chance" that made possible a stone for my great uncle in a National Cemetery, more than 75 years after his death in World War I. Two illusive scraps of information I had to find in order to apply for that honor for a long dead patriot whose body never returned from the battlefield in France he died on. His identification number and his birthday. The first I finally found in his wallet, on a listing of personal possessions returned to the family. Finding the second I feared to be a "ghost of a chance". He was born before government birth records were kept, if there had ever been a family Bible no one knew of it, no one still lived who knew that birth date. And the "Ghost of a Chance" appeared. Going through a box of old papers belonging to my grandfather, a tiny torn scrap of paper fell to the floor. So tiny, so nondescript, I might not have even noticed it had fallen. But I did, and started to throw it away. Then looked again. And on it, in my grandfather's handwriting, was scribbled "Jud's birthday", underlined twice, and then the date. My grandfather had been dead for over thirty years. A mere box of scraps had been kept by my father, and passed to me on his death. I have no idea why my grandfather wrote his long dead brother's birthday on a tiny scrap of paper, or when. I have no idea if my father even realized he had gathered a tiny scrap of paper with that birthdate when he piled old papers into a box. I have even less idea how it managed to survive and wind up falling to the floor of a house hundreds of miles away precisely when I needed it. But I figured it was the "Ghost of a Chance" again. Yes, I have been visited by the "Ghost of a Chance" many times in my searches, but the most magnificent and dramatic visitation of all was not for me at all, yet just as exciting. For someone, somewhere, that illusive dream we all hope for and dream of has happened. Those descendants do not know it yet, because I do not know who they are. But I am hanging on to the "Ghost of the Chance" for them, so she does not get away… We all have the ancestor who seemingly was never born, never married, never held a job, never appeared on a census list, never died, was never buried. We have all dreamed that ancestor would suddenly and miraculously "appear", in some long forgotten family Bible, on some ancient crumbling bit of paper, somehow and some way make his or her long ago presence upon this earth tangible. All of us who have ever searched the past have not just one, but many such stumbling blocks. In our greatest dreams of all, we think how wonderful it would be to find an actual diary, an actual journal. Of course that is impossible (isn't it?), but perhaps somewhere, in an old trunk, a dusty attic… And we keep hanging in there, hoping the "Ghost of a Chance" will appear for us. I hold the "Ghost of a Chance" tightly by the end of a wispy gown right now. I am hanging on because I know that "Ghost of a Chance" is important to someone somewhere. The "Ghost of a Chance" breezed into my life a few weeks ago. She was 166 years old. I wish she had been my ghost, but alas, she is mine only because for whatever reason she chose to come to me to make herself known. Somewhere out there, someone has an ancestress named Sarah B. Jackson. She also called herself "Sally". She had a "Cousin Julia", an "Aunt Strong", and a brother James. Sarah attended Goshen Female Academy in Goshen, New York in 1835. Sarah wrote a journal that began in January of 1835, and ended during her days as a schoolteacher in Babylon, New York later in the summer. 166 years later, Sarah's journal resurfaced between the boards of a very ancient house in Kentucky. After its discovery, it was simply placed upon a shelf in a country home as a curiosity. By being in the right place, at the right time, by meeting the right person under the right circumstances, I was given the opportunity to transcribe that journal. It has been returned to its owner, but photos and the transcription are waiting for the descendent. There are no clues how that journal wound up in Kentucky, how it survived so many years hidden away. There are no clues what happened to Sarah, and only by following the clues of everyday life in her journal was I able to finally place where she had written it and substantiate that the events she spoke of actually happened. But for someone somewhere, there is a treasure. The treasure every single one of us who ever traced genealogy have dreamed of, longed for, and known, realistically, was only the "Ghost of a Chance" and not realistic. Or is it? Are you the descendent of Sarah B. Jackson? Your "Ghost of a Chance" has become reality. Hoping, 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 [email protected] Comments about the content of these messages can be sent to [email protected] ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Good morning eveyone..trying to locate a Linus KIPER who was to have been b. around 1856 poss. in Muhlenberg Co. and who was m. to Marilda. I have very little to go on and apoligize for this. Thanks for any help you might be able to offer on this difficult line. kim

Thanks, Jan. Lona