The Name Game

By now, my followers have probably have deduced that I dabble a bit in genealogy.
I began during the early years of the World Wide Web, when there was just a fraction of today's information available on the internet.
Trips were made to the Maryland Historical Society in Baltimore, the Hall of Records in Annapolis, the Baltimore County Historical Society in  Cockeysville, and a couple of area LDS family research centers. Visiting the old buildings that housed some of these records was an added highlight.
In those early days, I learned a lot about Soundex, using microfilm readers and tackling the challenge of deciphering old handwriting.

Names back then, proved to be quite a challenge. I learned to never be surprised by the spelling of some of the old family surnames. The Irish O' was dropped, e's and a's transposed, letters added, letters left off, and so on. Sometimes, it was just what the census taker or immigrant official may have heard in trying to understand what was being said. Just as the ancestral newly immigrant families came to build new lives, so were some of their names reborn into a new life.

My ancestor Beatty, or Beattie/Baty/Bady/Betty, married a Demoss, which may harken back to the French then Dutch Dumas, (perhaps another dose of royal blood - was he really a comte?).
In the Beatty line, there were plenty Williams and James' and one had to exercise much care in keeping them in their proper place.
Flanagan could have more n's, or a vowel switched to i or e.
And Phelps could appear as the phonetic Felps or even Phillips, a totally different name.

And it wasn't just the last names. First names had their own issues!
I was at quite an advanced age (as a child!) when I learned that my father had another name. Of, course, he was Dad or Daddy to me. I had always heard him called Jesse and was surprised to learn that he was a Patrick, too.
The story goes that my great grandmother wanted him baptized Jesse but the priest said no, he had to have a saint's name, even though Jesse is a good biblical name.
And, that he was supposedly named after a good friend of Nanny Weber.
Jesse Boudinot does flow off the tongue quite smoothly although Patrick Boudinot is not without its own  charm.
Rarely, did I hear him called by Patrick though once, there was a phone call asking for Pat that sent me into a dither. Was it for my dad or my sister, Patricia, known as Trish and that someone didn't know she wasn't a Pat? And while we are talking about my sister, it's quite obvious Patricia Lee is named after our father. My other sister is Catherine Maureen, very close to our  mother's Irene Catherine. And then there is me, Barbara Susan and I don't know who I am named after.

Dad wasn't the only one of his family to have another name.
Leonard Passano carried on another fine family name but his moniker was Lolly, maybe so as not to be confused with his father, Leonard Passano known as Len. Uncle Lolly could wiggle his ears.
A distinguished Hugh Fidelis was transformed into Oots or Uncle Ootsie. Did someone in the family know Latin?
Sweet Aunt Sis wins most original first name, Felixena, proudly named after her McCurley great grandmother. It is easy to see why it was shortened to Sis as the name may have been a challenge for her young siblings.
Aunt Nancy was really Ann Rita, sharing not just the names her mother Ann and Ann's sister, Rita. She also carried on the legacy of beautiful women in the family.

Dad's two remaining brothers, William Calhoun and Harry Cornelius, also shared names of their ancestors but some how escaped the family's unusual naming habit.
William became a normal Bill, but a Bill with his own hill and Harry stayed Harry, unlike the first of that name who came into to the world as Adam Cornelius and left it as a Harry.

I wonder what other name gems will be uncovered as I dabble among the ancestral roots?

A definate goal

In my last post there was a word that passed the spell check but it was actually one misspelled by me and I was very much ready to edit the post. Curiosity stayed my hand when I looked up the mistake and learned its meaning. I decided that it could stay. Remember this.

There is a purposely misspelled word in today's title. I think it may be one of the most misspelt words in the English language. I have even seen teachers with advanced degrees do it a slight injustice.
I am sure that you have noticed it. But I will not let it overshadow the more important word.
Goal.

The new year is 51 days old and I now have a goal for 2017. My sister and I have entered a sprint triathlon again. We have begun training, starting with the swimming. Each visit to the pool for lap swimming, we are pushing each other to do more lengths. This is my strongest leg of the triathlon. I'm not extremely fast but I'm very comfortable in the water. We will also will be adding cycling to the training program and for me, the run is a walk since my jog is just about as fast as my walk. I suppose that the cycling part is my weakness. Maybe I will look for a spin class. Will definitely be doing some riding on the road before mid June.

We did this same event last year. Trish was in a different age group. We both medaled. Not terribly difficult since there aren't that many individuals in our age group competing. We were just happy to finish.The award was added bling. But still, a definitely nice reward.

This year, we are in the same age group. We are competing against each other. And that's okay because my goal is again, really just to finish. If I can better my time, that's an added plus. I am hopeful that my knee and my hip will cooperate and not complain so much during the training, and I can accomplish this goal. I am realistic, too. It could be a not so pretty finish for me. Either way, there is definitely a lovely and cold beer waiting to be enjoyed afterwards. This is even a better reward!

And now, what was that not so wrong word in the last post?
If you like, leave a comment for me if you definitely know what it is.

When a hundred is not what it seems

The first post of 2017 probably should be about the new year and any resolutions. I don't do resolutions. Quite pointless for me since they are usually forgotten or ignored. So, I generally just steer myself toward very generalized goals and just maybe, I find myself on a new path leading to good things like a healthy lifestyle and learning new things, etc, etc. Experience has taught me a lot and I just may not need a map for the coming year.

I like maps. And I can read a map fairly well. Usually. My sisters will tell you that I'm wrong since when we were in Ireland, we traveled for two hours but only covered barely an inch on the map. But I was driving then, and not looking at the map but looking at road signs. And now, I will never, ever, ever forget that there is a huge difference between the M4 and the N4. Still it was a lovely adventure driving through the spectacular Wicklow Mountains.

In its infancy, the Maryland colony was very different from the state of Maryland.  Parts of the state were still part of the Virginia colony and there were only four counties, St. Mary's, Charles, Anne Arundel and and Kent counties, in the mid 17th century. By around 1660, Baltimore County became its own entity and as the state's population increased, the number of counties grew too.

One of the more confusing things I encountered in the family research was hundreds, a descriptive term found in the tax lists and in the early land patents. One would assume that it meant something very important in a geographical sense. There are several possible origins. It appears about the time of the Roman rule over Britain. One meaning could be a hundred families in a certain area. Or maybe it meant that there could be found in the area, a hundred warriors or fighters to serve in an army. Whatever it's beginnings, the term found its place in the early counties, each hundred with a constable or sheriff and a justice of the peace. Information can be found at Rootsweb.com, should you be interested.

I live very close to Old Court Road where it begins its journey from the Patapsco River through Baltimore County, almost to Towson, the county seat. Local history tells me that in my neck of the woods, it was once an Indian trail. One of the oldest roads in the state, it originally was part of a road that led a traveler from Annapolis to Old Baltimore, which was sited on Bush river in Harford county.  From there, one could reach Philadelphia. The port of Old Baltimore eventually silted up and the new Baltimore sprouted and flourished at its present day spot in the Patapsco river basin.

It looks like I may be living in what was at one time the Upper Patapsco Hundred, since I am north of the river. Same hundred as my tavern owning ancestor. Lower Patapsco hundred was south of the river, and eastward was a different hundred altogether.

One can find copies of old maps all over the World Wide Web. A good collection resides at lib.umd.edu.
Looking at these old renderings of the colony with the Chesapeake bay and its tributaries, I am amazed how accurate they could be without the benefit of the satellite imagery that we have today. Not perfect, of course, like the one I saw with Delaware so shrunken as to be absolutely minuscule. Rather bizarre looking, really.

Old maps, even as late as 1877, sometimes bore the names of the landowners so you could easily see where the old homestead once stood. Quite useful for the amateur genealogist.

Some ask why this small obsession with the past and genealogy and family history. I could say that I like knowing where I'm from. But I think it is really quite simply just a love of history. And with that, whatever the early cartographers could teach me with their works of historical art.

Sowing the Quaker Oats

My first cousins number over forty. Quite a lot and with a big age range. Not too unexpected though, in this traditional and mostly Roman Catholic extended family.
And, it could have been even a greater number had not my parents been a pair of a "sisters that married brothers" foursome.
Family gatherings and reunions on both sides were always well populated.

In today's ramble, I am returning to one heavy limb of the ancestral family tree that I share together with my two sisters and twenty-nine of my many first cousins.
Disclaimer: this is by no means a scholarly treatise but rather, a casual sum of results from my bouncing around on the internet.

Born a Protestant, my ancestor Thomas Wynne most likely converted to Quakerism at the time he married his first wife, Martha Buttall. He embraced the Quaker faith with full enthusiasm, authoring pamphlets, being persecuted and even imprisoned, according to that fountain of global information, Wikipedia.
His daughter, Sidney Wynne married William Chew, also a Quaker.
William and Sidney Wynne's daughter, also Sydney, married Charles Pierpont the senior. Charles was a Quaker.
William and Sidney's daughter Ann married Christopher Randall, maybe not a Quaker.
Charles Pierpont, Jr., son of Charles and Sidney Chew, married Johanna Randall, daughter of Christopher Randall and Ann Chew.
So, Charles the second married his first cousin, Johanna!

Charles Pierpont number two was apparently expelled from the Quaker meeting. My guess is it could be because when he married Johanna, he may have married outside of the Quaker faith, which I learned was a big no-no. While Johanna's mother was born a Quaker, her father Christopher Randall may have had Anglican (Episcopalian) roots since a later Christopher, was a prominent member of St. Thomas, a chapel of ease in Garrison, an extension of St. Paul's parish of Baltimore, gleaned from an online source.
But, not to worry. Charles, jr., in a letter, asked for acceptance for himself and his family back into the Quaker fold. All was forgiven apparently, since some of his children's weddings were witnessed at meetings some years after the date of his expulsion. The Quakers kept some detailed records of their early meetings.

The Quaker tradition continues somewhat with the marriage of Charles and Johanna's daughter, Mary Pierpont to Felix McCurley of Baltimore. Felix was the son of Patrick McCurley and Sarah Webb. Sarah appears to have roots with the Fawn Grove Quaker meeting, near York, PA, (according to another website) but I'm not sure what Felix's affiliation was.
Felix and Sarah were parents of a second Felix whose daughter Felixena, married my Phelps great great grandfather. By the time of this union, the Quaker influence maybe had come to its definite end.

My Quaker forebears were quite prolific.
Thomas Wynne, Sidney's father, had nine children.
William Chew, son of Samuel, was one of eleven.
There was a bit of a dry spell when Anne Chew and the possible non-Quaker Christopher Randall were blessed with just three heirs.
Anne's sister Sidney and her husband Charles produced fourteen little Pierponts.
The family of their son Charles and his cousin Johanna numbered nine more Pierponts. Not a bad number considering that the Quaker Chews may have been shorted a few more descendants when these two first cousins united in marriage.
Their daughter Mary, together with Felix the first, were parents of eight.
My great-great-grandfather, William Clagett Phelps, was just one of two, possibly because his mother, Felixena had died at a young age but she was one of seven born to the second Felix and wife Ann Rebecca.

I am one of many, added to the tiers of second, third, fourth and more cousins, together with those mysterious 'times removed' people, all too numerous to count.
And, while the original Quakers may have been diluted over hundreds of years, their descendent family pot continues to bubble with a porridge of progeny.

Ear Worm

Years ago, my dad and Uncle Sam ventured into the entrepreneurial world and together had a Cities Service gas station. I don't remember too much about it. It was very close to home and we could walk to it. About the same time, we had a portable record player. Hi-Fi, it was. It may have come as some promotion at the gas station. I can't really remember but that gas station and the record player share the same page in my memory book.

There were a few LP records, too. One was the Beavers, a knock off of Alvin and the Chipmunks, maybe. And a collection of Spanish tunes, one in particular that is forever in my brain. Even while writing this I can bring it back to life along with the mental video of my feeble attempts at traditional Spanish dance. Later, Beatles albums were added to my list of favorites.

In high school, the family graduated to a stereo although the kind encased in a cabinet like a piece of furniture. No genuine equalizer but there were speakers and we could adjust the treble and bass levels. Add some headphones and I could be at the concert, listening to Carole King and Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young as I lay on the living room floor.

All of those records, together with a few years of piano lessons (enough to learn to read music) and the grade school chorus and church choir were the beginnings of my formal introduction to music and song that wasn't a jump rope ditty or childhood game.

More than eleven years ago, after the death of my husband Steve, I embarked on a different musical journey, taking up the Celtic or folk harp. Why the harp? A woman (she is now a very good friend) played her small harp at Sunday mass and it was beautiful and different.

What began as something to keep me busy, evolved into much more. I was very lucky to find a gifted teacher not too far from my house. A new world of workshops and traditional music introduced me to many wonderful musicians of all ages, ranging from enthusiastic students to accomplished performers. I hopped on a musical bus ride that just keeps on going.

I believe there is no question that certain talents are natural gifts that not everyone shares. I don't consider myself a natural musician. I am getting better at learning by ear but it does not come easily to me. My sister, on the other hand, has a much better ear than me. In my father's family, there was his brother, Uncle Harry, who was said to always have a guitar in his hands and Aunt Nancy's granddaughter, Kelley, is gifted with a beautiful singing voice. On my mother's side, no musicians that I know of although cousin Mike, in Colorado, does a mean karaoke. I myself, still like to sing, though not too well and like many, it is usually a private concert in my car.

Even though music doesn't come naturally to me, I do believe that I am musical. Anyone who has seen me dancing to the oldies with my sisters can see there is at least some innate rhythm, probably my primitive DNA drumming it's way to the surface. Musicality is something we all share in this universe. Many people may not have been gifted with a musical talent, but the fact that they are camping out in a line to buy concert tickets is proof to me that music speaks to them, that they enjoy the melody, the lyrics and the beat. They are indeed, musical.

So, I am enjoying my bus journey with the harp, happy to be a wee bit musical and to dance and sometimes even sing out loud, to the beat of the ear worm, that tune stuck in my head.

Happy Thanksgiving

More than two weeks ago, in the wee morning of a Sunday, the hours in the day fell back to standard time. There are many who dislike the shortening days of the season but I like a brighter morning and I welcomed the time change.

With the lessening of daily sunshine comes the reminder that winter is soon is on the horizon.
But it's really difficult to think about being ready for cold weather and the coming holidays when we are enjoying an extended and beautiful Indian summer. There's is always a to-do list that needs attention and I find myself eager to tackle those jobs that have me outside and sometimes those more important indoor ones must wait.

And I don't feel guilty any more in leaving things undone, having learned that enjoying a walk with a friend is one of those chores on that to-do list.

I am thankful.

Wishing everyone a peaceful and happy Thanksgiving.

What's In A Name?

Hoping to unravel a little more of the ancestors ownership of land, this morning I found myself revisiting mdlandrec.net, Maryland's online land record search. This is great resource for anyone doing genealogy or if you are just interested in how your neighborhood came to be named.

Today, was a look at the Howard County records. Unlike Baltimore County, they do not have copies of the actual records online but they do provide information on where to find it. I think the county's Historical Society can access the database and you can also make a visit to the Maryland archives in Annapolis.

It's apparent that there was no system of addresses like street names, etc. yet in place. And, you could name your piece whatever you desired, it seems. I am sorry to say, I completely lost all sensibility while reading some names of the land parcels. Here is a sampling from the years 1670 to 1771. Actual names are in boldface.

Doughreaghan Manor, the manorial estate of Charles Carroll, seems to be at the top of the acquisition list, with 10,000 and 7,000 acres and Charles didn't stop there, acquiring other pieces of property, miniscule in comparison to the home place.

Some bore place names, memories of the old country, I think,  like Edinburgh, Caledonia (at 11638 acres, a joint effort of individuals to keep up with the Carrolls, perhaps) and even Lapland. The owners were a learned lot too, with To Be Or Not To Be, Terra Eacultabalis (my high school Latin fails me) and Grecian Siege. A bit of religion is thrown in with Ash Wednesday  and you prayed that your Mount Gilboa was a Mount Hope and definitely not a Mount Misery. Another one  has me thinking it could be an epitaph, I Have Been A Great While At Rest. The royals and nobles are remembered too, Good Will To His Lordship and Fredericksburgh.

Was there a story behind Find Out If You Can, Molly's Delight, Sally's Chance,  Robinson's Mistake or Dorsey's Advantage and Joshua's Loss? (Did someone gamble unwisely at cards?) Could there be a favored nephew remembered fondly with Unkle's Good Will? And then there is the amateur genealogist's dream, September 14, 1739 I Was Born John Hammond, Son Of John.

It was definitely a struggle back in the 1700's with Poor Man's Beginning at just 100 acres. Life could be full of Disappointment, Little Worth or even Worthless, with Poverty Discovered while dealing with Strife and much Hard Grubbing, and all was easily Lost By Neglect. It was a life that was Hard To Get And Dear Paid For, Costly  and Watts Left or What is Left  could be Anything at 56 acres which was certainly better than Something at 26 acres and Fire Tongs.

And you hoped to maybe have good neighbors if you lived at Ill Neighborhood, Neighbors Spite and Dunghill Ground Thicket, but it could be a wee bit uncomfortable if you lived at Pork Plenty If No Thieves and the farm next door was Chandlers Slaughter.

But not all was doom and gloom as you Look Sharp and the Dispute Ended with Peace or at least, Titt For Tatt  and you could be Content with five acres instead of seeking more Contentment with 350 acres, basking in the Silence of your Beautiful Croft and your Second Addition to Snowden's Cowpen.

In Conclusion, I can only say you are probably glad I have reached The Finish of today's rambling.