Genealogy Forum NEWS
December, 1998
RANDOM THOUGHTS II
Ice formed in the trees, snow along the road, On the way to grandmas, the story to be told.
A Reason For Thanksgiving
Forwarded by Jmccluer@AOL.com
T. Givings and family made their way through the dark wilderness as far as they could then decided to set up camp. The other families traveling with them agreed, so the horses and wagons were drawn together in circle. Frank Years and his wife Minny were the first to step down from their wagon, followed by Mr. Chrismus and his wife Mary. Hank Easter instructed his oldest children Hank Jr. and Bunny Easter to gather some wood for the campfire. Men and women were scurrying around the camp preparing it for a long, cold nite.
Clara Givings, the wife of T. Givings was a favorite amongst the groups children, not only because she was their school teacher, but she read wonderful stories to them. At nite, Clara Givings would have the children select a book from the wooden trunk in her wagon and she would read it to them after their meal and when chores were
done. Although the they won't admit it, the adults in the group hung around around to listen as well. Most of the men turned their backs on the group, smoked their pipes, looked at the stars and tried to act aloof. The women weren't quite as separate, but they appeared to be busy by working on quilts, darning socks or combing the hair of their daughters as the campfire licked at the dark sky.
The first to fall to slumber were the toddlers, next the under 10 years group who were usually busy pinching and poking each other so that was a blessing. The teenage children carefully examined everyone in the camp as if they were grading them for some sort of contest, perhaps they were...especially those of the opposite gender.
Soon, most of the children were asleep and carried to the shelter of the canvas convered wagons. Swirls of wind blew puffs of snow through the wooden wheels of the wagon and in between the horses that were tied in a line between two trees. Occasionally, the horses would shift their weight and whinny. They were uncomfortable as they knew a storm was coming and wanted to find a warmer place.
The next morning, an early winter storm had caused snow to heap around the campsite. Snow had drifted halfway up the tall wooden wheels of the wagons and the trees above them strained under the weight of the freshly fallen snow.
It was decided by the men of the group that breakfast should be on the road before another storm hit. So in a line the wagons went forward towards the valley home. Strips of salted beef and cold root tea were the ingredients of their morning meal.
As they made their way to the Valley Meeting house, someone cried out from its darkened doorway.
"Mary Chrismus!!! you finally made it. Hello there Mr.
Barry Chrismus!!! Come inside! Hank Easter! I haven't
seen you in awhile! come in! Come in all!!"
The figure in the doorway was Aunt Ree Yoonyun. She wasn't everyones Aunt, but everyone called her Aunt Ree because she was a special lady who treated everyone like they were part of her family. The Meeting House was a church, mortuary and a special place where the occasion dictated a meeting of anykind could be held. It was a large cabin for its time, walls fifty feet in length, with two separate areas for
kitchens. A three-walled overhang stretched the entire length at the back of the cabin where men could swap stories and children could play from the protection of weather and beast.
The day had no special name and the group thought that it should. Let's call it Chrimus Day after Mr. Chrismus cried one of the children. One of the elder men shook his head and said "No, that's been taken child let's think of something else." "Name it Easter Day!" cried Bunny Easter. Aunt Ree Yoonun chuckled, hug the child and explained to her that Easter Day had already been taken as well.
One of the teenagers exclaimed"Let's name it Givings Day! After Clara Givings! After all, she reads wonderful stories and this would be a good day to appreciate her for all that she has done!"
All thought the idea was excellent, until Clara Givings went to the center of the group waving her hands and stating "I do appreciate the thought, but I want my husband to be included in this day, so it should be named after the both of us." So it was to be. it was Clara and Mr. T. Hanks Givings Day.
Of course, after many years, traditions are lost, stories are mistold and as we all well know the female is often lost in genealogical studies because her name is often not recorded. So, as it turns out Clara Givings was soon forgotten and the day eventually became known as T. Hanks Givings Day.
To make the story even more confusing, a census taker consistley wrote in the years to come, the name Givings as Giving and T. Hanks as Thanks. Thus, here we are left with the name "Thanks Giving Day", rather than Clara and T.Hanks Givings Day. But, someday perhaps some genealogist will find this out and set it straight.
by Jim McCluer
The Night Before Christmas In Uniform
Forwarded by JCBServ@AOL.com
Twas the night before Christmas, he lived all alone,
in a one bedroom house made of plaster and stone.
I had come down the chimney with presents to give,
and to see just who in this home did live.
I looked all about, a strange sight i did see,
no tinsel, no presents, not even a tree.
No stocking by the mantel, just boots filled with sand,
on the wall hung pictures of far distant lands.
He had medals and badges, awards of all kinds,
and a sober thought came through my mind.
For this house was different, it was dark and dreary,
I found the home of a soldier, once I could see clearly.
The soldier lay sleeping, silent, alone,
curled up on the floor of this one bedroom home.
The face was so gentle, the room in such disorder,
Not how I pictured a United States soldier.
Was this the hero of whom I'd just read?
Curled up on a poncho, the floor for a bed?
I realized the families that I saw this night,
owed their lives to these soldiers who were willing to fight.
Soon round the world, the children would play,
and grown ups would celebrate a bright Christmas day.
They all enjoyed freedom each month of the year,
because of the soldiers, like the one lying here.
I couldn't help but wonder how many lay alone,
on a cold Christmas eve in a land far from home.
The very though brought a tear to my eye,
I dropped to my knees as I started to cry.
The soldier awakened and I heard a rough voice,
"Santa don't cry, this life is my choice."
"I fight for freedom, I don't ask for more,
my life is my God, my country, my corps."
The soldier rolled over and drifted to sleep,
I couldn't control it, I continued to weep.
I kept watch for hours, so silent so still,
and we both shivered from the night's cold chill.
I didn't want to leave on that cold dark night,
this guardian of honor so willing to fight.
Then the soldier rolled over, with a voice soft and pure,
whispered, "Carry on Santa, it's Christmas day, all is secure."
A Christmas Missed
Forwarded by GFS Waffle@AOL.com
A Christmas wreath hung upon the door,
Where a crepe had hung not long before.
A little boy kneels down to pray,
In his sweet and childish way.
As his Mother listens to his prayer
She glances at an empty chair;
She thinks of the soldiers who came in the fall,
The black rimmed letter still in the hall.
As he finishes his prayer,
He adds with joy,
"Tell Santa I've been a good little boy.
I want a glove, a bat and a ball,
But I want my Daddy most of all."
And his Mother cries as she tucks him in bed,
How can she tell him, his Daddy is dead?
For Further Reading
Various. "Patriotic Ancestors". Genealogy Forum News. July 1998.
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