A Soldier's Day at Camp Logan, Texas

What a treat to discover someone's photos of Camp Logan on the internet (linked here, but not copied). I'm not exactly sure how it works, but the upload from the internet worked fine on blogger. Always such an education! So I have no idea who the person is in the postcard, but since Uncle George did the same kind of job I thought it was a perfect image to go along with his description!

Camp Logan, February 11 – ‘18


Dear Ones All:
Just a line to let you know that I’m still alive and enjoy your daily letters even tho I am bad about answering. I usually receive the letters about every other or every 3rd day, from two to four in a bunch. But I enjoy them just as much anyway. Didn’t get any today, so will spend the time I would usually spend reading it in writing one to you.* Right there I was interrupted and didn’t get a chance to start over until this P.M. (the 12th). Just got thru reading 3 letters from the noon’s mail so I will hurry and answer the two from you folks with this.

Went to a show over on “The Street” with Andy last night. Expect to go up town to-nite if nothing serious occurs to change my plans. Wish you could have enjoyed? the pleasant little ride I took Sat nite. The Major was “Field Officer of the Day” and so I had to get out the horses for us to go over to Div. Headquarters for orders and the field officer’s banner. This at 5 P.M. It had rained all the afternoon (just a drizzly, hang to it kind of storm). It is only about 1/6 mile to Headquarters but we had to ride over just the same. Then I stood in the rain and shivered (I had on a slicker but of course my feet were soaked and my hands cold) for about half an hr. before the “Field Officer” going off duty rode up with his orderly and the flag. Then we orderlies had to wait while our respective Major’s got their orders and the old one was relieved. So it was about six P.M. when I rode back to the corral and rubbed off the horses, bedded them down and blanketed them. By that time the corral was flooded, water up to my shoe tops in many places. At eight P.M. out we went to make the rounds of the camp and didn’t get in until 9:30. By that time I was wet and tired enough to go to bed. Sunday morning I got up at 6:30 and worked on horses and equipment till we went out for the rounds at 9:00. Rode until 12:00 then put up the horses in our corral, ate my dinner, sat down for perhaps 15 min. then out again getting ready to leave at 2: 00. Back in at 3:45 and fed and bedded my horses (also cleaned them what I could for the 3rd time that day.) Then out again at 4:40 to go to Headquarters to deliver the reports and banner to the succeeding field officer. Got back and horses put away just in time for mess at 5:30. So I went from 6:30 A.M. to 5:30 P.M. and only sat down 3 times (one of those time for dinner). That of course except sitting in the saddle. And of course had to carry the banner or flag wherever we rode, tho a stirrup boot holds the weight of the pole so it isn’t so bad. There, I guess that is a pretty good outline without saying anything I shouldn’t, tho I doubt if there is anything to be at all secretive about in the duties of the “Field Officer.” Was pretty near all in when the siege was over. But haven’t rode since, tho must take the horses out for a run this P.M. Went to gas school yesterday morning. Probably will have to go again to-morrow. Now I better close and get to work or I’ll lose my job.

Oh, yes. I have signed an allotment home to you folks (I think it will go to mother but I’m not sure.) If you ever need any of it why use it, and what you don’t need put in the F & Merchant’s Bank for me on my savings acct. That much for when we go across if we do. But while I am on this side I will ask you to forward $10 or $15 every month when you receive it as I will only receive $3.50 per month now on this side. But we had to make the allotment arrangements the other day and I thot best to arrange it now for the way I wanted it if we go across, and then I’d know for sure everything was working as it should while I was over there. You see, I could have refused to allot any while in this country and then when we went across they would have held out all but about $7.50 and saved in Wash D.C. for me at 4% till I returned.

But you couldn’t get any of it to use if you did need it that way. And in case I should get croaked you might not know how much I had coming and it would be hard to get, I was afraid. So soon after next pay day you should receive $15.00 of my pay and if in the opinion of the officials you are at all dependent or need it the Government may add five or ten. If they do, don’t think you are robbing them as lots that need it less than you are receiving it, tho I made no special plea for it. If the checks for farm produce, etc. keep you going all right, as I hope they will from now on, you may forward me the whole $15, but if you are at all pinched hold out $5.00 and use it. Just how bad are the finances anyway? And don’t forget if I do go over in the early part of the summer, to use all of it if you need it, and bank it for me only if you have plenty. Until then I can use at least $10 of it a month if you can spare it.

You see we get an increase in pay for foreign service and as they claim we can only have $7.50 per month over there, I’ll be O.K. when we go over. I wonder if we ever really will? Just now my pay is disposed of as follows.

$5 per month for Liberty Bond.
$6.50 “ “ “ $10,000 insurance
$15 “ “ “ allotment
$3.50 “ “ in cash
$30.00 Total pay

Now I really must close. Hope I’ve made this clear, but fear it is pretty hazy to one trying to read it.
Love and love again to all
George S. Sherwood

Should the owner of this photo not like it linked here on this blog, please let me know and I'll delete! It's at http://www.rootsweb.ancestry.com/~usgenweb/tx/harris/postcards/clogan.jpg

The Faces of Robert Richardson of Topsham, Vermont

My sister and I looked at a photo portrait buried in a store room at my parent's home and said, "Who is that and where did it come from?" We didn't remember seeing it before, although we could have seen it years before and not remembered since it was no one we had known. This time, if it wasn't the first time I had seen it, the person looked familiar. On the back of the picture was scribbled "D. E. Stephens, Elgin, Minn." My immediate thougth was that this must be David Stevens, our great-great grandfather. And then my following pressing thougth was, "If this is David, there should be another matching one of Rosina Jane" because Jane had died two years after David and it was unlikely that only one person of the couple would have had their photo taken and printed. We dug around and discovered no matching treasure. That evening, as I thougth more about it, I mused, "Hmm. Maybe this is Robert Richardson." That would make sense, because I knew a photo had been taken of him when he was 80 years old in 1885 and as I recalled, it looked something like this. His wife, Rosina M. Healy Richardson, had passed away in 1872, thirteen years before. Later that week I drove the three hours home and few days later, looked at the few old photos that I had acquired. Another two weeks later I was talking to some acquaintances about having discovered this old family photo, and they told me to be careful, because they had discovered, almost too late, that a couple of old family "photos" were actually charcoal drawings. A family member had fortunately started "dusting" only an upper corner and the surface had rubbed away. On my next trip I looked again at the picture and sure enough, it WAS a charcoal. His face, fortunately, was protected by glass, but it took quite a bit of windex to remove the dust of years which obscured the lines of the charcoal. Still not sure of which old relative it was (so many old male relatives had gray hair, long salt and pepper beards and wrinkled faces), I brought it home to compare to a group of old photos. Sure enough, the face in the portrait is Robert A. Richardson, born in Bath, New Hampshire in 1805. The top photo here shows the newly discovered portrait. Also shown is the original photo that was taken in 1885 and a closeup of the

portrait.

How fun to find and be able to identify this portrait that was completed so long ago. So the mystery of the D.E. Stephens is solved. I had wondered about that because the last name was Stevens, not Stephens. But it makes sense if it is the artist or the owner writing the place that the portrait is to be shipped. And the fact that Grandma Rosina had been gone so many years is why there would only be one portrait and not two. I'm so glad we could identify this. I plan to put identification an dates on the back so that future generations (should they care) will know who man is. It is always painful to look at photos of interesting people from generations past and to not know who they might have been. Looking at both the photo and the portrait, it is easy to see the strong similarities, but also the differences that made recognition by memory alone more difficult. And I'm sure Grandpa Richardson would have appreciated the loss of age lines and spots that could not be disguised by the photograph. Rosina Jane who had lost her dear mother so long ago, must have taken some comfort in the face of her loved father on her wall in her home so far away in Elgin, Minnesota.

Happy Birthday Wishes to Sister Susan

In 1919 George Sherwood wrote to his sister Susan Sherwood Weber who was back on the old Wisconsin farm in Kendall. Her birthday was a week away and a week later she would be 25 years old. She would now be 115 years of age were she still alive, but it was just 90 years ago this year that this missive came to her from "Over There" perhaps around this time. The photo I had thought was Grandma Susan around her high school graduation turned out to be Aunt Dora. Hopefully this one is her - as my parents believe :-). I guess I'll find out.

Dearest of Sisters,
I didn’t intend to write you alone, or to exclude the rest of the family when I came over here, but the spirit moves me to rave a little, and the only excuse I can think of is to call it a birthday letter, tho it is now only a week until your birthday. Anyway, you can read the folks as much of this as you want to. Even now I don’t know just what I am going to write, but I know I want to talk to “My dear little Sister” even as we loved to do in bygone days.

And first of all, I have just rediscovered one of the oldest of truths. The World is full of and lives on Love. Not the sudden flare of passion that surges over all red blooded men and women at times and threatens – yes often does sweep them off their feet for a time; but the kind of love that burns on year after year, flaming at times, again smoldering beneath the ashes of burned out passions, hopes and desires, but still glows on deep down in the human heart, warming the soul and keeping alive the conscience of the individual and society. And so smoldering it only awaits the slightest stirring of these ashes to break forth again into purifying flame, lighting the plainest countenance with the most beautiful of glows, reflections from the flames of love. And how did I stumble onto the old, old story. By the simplest of means – observation. Yet I had seen the same picture many times before and it meant little to me.

I did not know what I would write about when I came to the casino, but that same little spark in my own heart bade me write you, so I came in and stood in line with some impatience to get my allowance of paper & envelopes. After receiving a double share from the sweet-faced old lady behind the desk, I began circulating around the room looking for a place to write. And as I went I became still more impatient, for every place seemed full. You see as yet the beauty and significance of the scene had not impressed me. But as I passed on, I began to scrutinize each man more closely, in hope of finding one nearly finished and as I passed man after man, here one writing, there one laboriously doing up or addressing a package, my chaos of thots began to take shape, my impatience left me, and suddenly the beauty of it surged over me as a young fellow at the desk near which I stood, oblivious to his surroundings lovingly, almost reverently folded the little souvenir handkerchief he had been holding, and carefully placed it in the envelope he had just addressed. Then he once more carefully withdrew it and looked at it as tho picturing the joy it would bring those who received it. And with a last caress he returned it again to the envelope gave it a final pat and turned again to his writing, his face illuminated by the fires of love burning in his breast. And as I look about me I see that same reminiscent, loving look in nearly every face, softening and relieving the stern harsh lines the last few months have brought. Those souvenirs are all bought at the sacrifice of some trip or anticipated pleasure of their leave period. And as those letters are written concerts, trips, cafes, etc, are all calling one to forget and enjoy life, as of old, after months of isolation, suffering & death in the lines. Yet all the places are filled, and men who hate writing in the ordinary sense wait patiently for their turn at the desks. Why? Because the fire of love (for sister, brother, mother, father or friend or sweetheart) makes them wish to share the thots, the scenes, the pleasures they are enjoying. And so I have come to feel more strongly than perhaps ever before that love is the strongest, purest truest phase of life or perhaps life and love are inseparable phases of our being. And so perhaps you can get a little of my meaning from the little lace collar I mailed you for your birthday the other night in case my letter isn’t quite clear, for I yet remember the loving little pats I gave it as I addressed it and sent it on its way to the Dearest little Sister a Soldier Boy could Have. Oh, how I hope you get it, for it bears my love direct to you. Write and tell me all about your birthday.

Yesterday we went to the to the top of Mt. Revard on the cogwheel railway, hoping to see Mt. Blanc with the glasses but when we got there we were right on a cloud tho it was clear when we started up. But the scenery was beautiful and the trip of an hour and a half up on the cogwheel well worth while.
Then we borrowed some skis up there (free for soldiers by Y.M.C.A.) and had some fine rides – and tumbles. Got back just in time for dinner, 6:30 P.M. The day before that we took a trip on the boat across and up the lake to the old Abby. It was founded back in the early days of Christianity by St. Bernard, was used as a burial place for the kings and prices of France and Italy for many years, but was nearly destroyed by the French Revolution. Was reclaimed & rebuilt by King Felix of Italy in 1824 and changed hands from Italy and France and back several times until finally it was deeded forever to the King of Italy by France in 1860 because it had been reclaimed by Felix who was buried there with his wife and contained the restored graves of so many of the other Italian Kings and Princes. 15 monks have charge of the Abbey, one of them having been there for 30 years now. The paintings and carvings are mostly modern but they are truly wonderful.

On the same trip we saw the pass thru which Hannibal led his army across this mountain range in his march against the Romans. And after a years army experience one realizes more than ever the magnitude of his task and wonder of its success when they consider that he went thru an even more rugged part of the Alps Mts. than we have here before he was finally able to strike at Rome from the North.

Now I’ve got to close.

Love once more to you all and may many more happy birthdays come to my dear little sister Susan – Her Brother
Corp. Geo. Sherwood, Hdqts Co
108th U. S. Engineers, Amer. Exp. Forces

The Prairie Division in WWI

On March 14th, William Lewis Judy, on officer in WWI, wrote a short piece on the contributions of the Prairie Division (the 33rd Division) of the American Expeditionary Force. On March 16th, Great Uncle George Sherwood wrote home and included a copy of the mimeographed hand-out that he had received. I have looked around the internet and have not found a copy of it thus far. Apparently William Judy wrote a book called A Soldier's Diary which gave a day by day account of his experiences in WWI, but it seems to be out of print. But his immediate impressions are recorded here, as usual saved by Susan Sherwood Weber our loveable if slightly eccentric pack-rat. It was obvious that in the year that George was "over there" he received at least 150 letters, none of which seem to have survived the trip home and which is explained in his letter.

Echternach, Luxembourg
March 16, 1919

To All the Dear Ones at Home:
Sometimes I wonder if you don’t get rather tired of these letters sent to you all collectively, but there isn’t news or time to write each one separately, and after all I presume it is as much joy or sorrow to read my poor attempt at correspondence all together as it would to write short missives to each.
This is Sunday and as I’m sitting on the bed in my room with a book as a writing pad, instead of being in the office. Just went thru a bunch of the old letters for home, dating back as far as Nov and reluctantly consigned all but two to the flames as it is impossible to keep much of that sort of thing around when it comes to a move. While no moves seem to be contemplated for awhile, I would much rather go thru them (the letters) at leisure and treasure up their messages in my heart and pick out a few to keep a little longer, than to have to throw them to the fire in an impersonal bundle when orders do come. I hope they come soon as I think I need a change of scene. I feel like a bird in a cage.
The ankle is getting along as well as can be expected under the circumstances. Now use only our cane and while it is very sore and pains while walking or using it, it seems to be slowly improving.
There is a little rumor now that we may go home via Germany & Holland. Wouldn’t that be a proper and fitting sequence of events and windup for the career of the Fighting Yellow Cross Div in Europe. Am sending a little write up one of the divisions men got up.
We have had some wonderful weather the past week but today is cloudy and cool and not so pleasant. Expect to go to the cinema this evening as there is a continuance of the show we saw there last week which is pretty good. Don’t you want to go along?
Worked over at the office all of the morning and ought to be there this P.M. but don’t propose to do it as my system is crying for relaxation. Someway, they can’t seem to be able to let us office force get away from it holidays or Sundays any more than they did in campaign times. I wonder what they think mere men are made of. It isn’t making me any thinner but never had my nerves as raw or felt so keyed up as I have the last two months. But the old German saying applies very well. “So geht es im krieg.” Will I know how to act on a Sunday back in civilian times I wonder?
By now I hear you all worrying and saying “poor overworked boy.” So I’ll hasten to add that there is probably no need for worry, and I guess what ails me most is “I want to go home.” Now we are stared in the face with the proposition that our files do not meet the Gov’t requirements, so the general upheaval for the next month won’t probably leave me much time for lengthy or interesting letters. Expect Johnnie and Willets back from leave this week which will make us less short handed, tho.
The enclosed service stripe is my very first one, and was worn on my overcoat till we got some new ones at Aix-les-Baines. The ticket took me to the top of Mt. Revard and back while we were at Aix on the cogwheel railroad. The yellow slip is a check from a ticket to the local cinema. May have sent one of those before. Now I’ve got to ring off and shave.
Love again and again to all.
George Sherwood
108th Engineers, Amer. E. F.
Censored: P.S. Thompson
Captain U.S.A.

T H E P R A I R I E D I V I S I O N
By William Lewis Judy.

All right reserved except where credit is given.* of course this was 1919

The Thirty-third Division has a nick-name, a distinguishing insignia, and a rattling reputation.

In the States they called us the “Prairie Division”. Over here we are the “Yellow Cross Division.” When we shall shake hands again with the Goddess of Liberty and smell again that familiar smell of the Chicago Stock Yards, we shall once more be the “Prairie Division”.

Now, who are we, anyhow? Well, we fought with the bloomin’ British on the plains of Picardy in Northern France in July and August, 1918, and when the decorations were handed out on that bright summer’s day on the green behind the old chateau at Molliens-au-Bois, King George himself was there to pin the medals on the breasts of the Illinois boys.

We fought side by side with the Tommies, -- good pals they were, -- and with the Americans of the British Empire – those fighters after our own hearts – the Aussies – I mean the Australians, the daredevils of a rough and ready Empire. They it was who paid us the biggest compliment ever given a Yank crowd over here. The whole world now knows the famous phrase and I’ll tell you how it came about. The Aussies celebrated the Fourth of July with us at Hamel when we went over the top together up near Albert, and after it was all over, they took us by the hand and said: “You’ll do us, digger, but you fellows are damned rough”. Here, too, took place an event that shall be forever glorious in the annals of England and America, here for the first time in history the soldiers of the two mighty nations fought side by side in a common cause, and this event shall grow more glorious and more sacred in years to come when these two mighty nations look back to it as the first symbol of the new and greater union between them.

We fought with the French and now we are to get fifty Croix de Guerre[1]. The King of Belgium heard about us and is sending us eight of his medals. The Congress of the United States
gave us seven Medals of Honor. They have given forty-eight to the whole A.E.F. and the Prairie Division is wearing one-seventh of the total. Pretty good, eh? The big safe at Division Headquarters is now too small for it is crammed with D.S.C[2]’s., from our own G.H.Q. – one hundred and ten to date, to be exact – and more of them on their way.

We have a lot of doughboys like Corporal Paul Hobschied of the 131st Infantry. He’s wearing a D.S.C. because up at Chipilly Ridge he laughed at the Boche snipers, made a dash at them, on his way stopped at a German dug-out, rapped on the door with a few hand grenades, and single handed chased out thirty German’s yelling “Kamerad”, and brought them back as prisoners.

Then there is Corporal Jake Allen, another of Joe Senborn’s boys. Jake and his squad charged a machine gun nest and himself stuck the bayonet into five Germans. The fifth Boche was tough and the Corporal’s bayonet broke off inside of him. But Jake gave him the butt of the rifle, sent one more German to Kingdom Come, and captured the remainder of the crew. In the Prairie Division, we don’t look down on Corporals since these things happened.

We’ve a buck private in the 124th Machine gun Battalion, Clayton Slack – slack by name but not by nature. He’s going to get a Belgium Medal, a Croix de Guerre, a Medal of Honor, and maybe a lot of others, because all alone he rushed a machine gun nest, tagged ten German’s as prisoners, grabbed two loaded machine guns which were killing our men, turned ‘em around and gave the Germans Hail Columbia with a shower of their own bullets.

Now I come to the grand old man of ‘em all – Colonel Joe of the 131st, of the Dandy First of the Old Illinois National Guard. He’s sixty-three, but likes a fighting spree. Out in the front he went at Grossaire Wood, and led his men over the top, across No Man’s land, and on the run, took a hill that the Germans said they’d hold forever. They’re still there holding the hill, but hiding under the ground and some wooden crosses. Well, the Colonel had his steel hat knocked off by the burst of a shell, but say – have you seen him on dress parade? There’s a Distinguished Service Order which the King of England gave him and I think he’s the only American officer wearing one of ‘em. There’s our own D.S.C. – he’s got that, of course. And there’s a Belgium medal too that is his pride.

------Ask a Boche where he had the hottest time of his life and he’ll tell you at Consenvoye Bridge, when, Colonel Allen’s engineers n the lead, the Prairie Division chase him out of the Bois de Forges, held by the enemy for four years with the boast of the Boche that it could never be captured – especially by Americans. ------ [George added arrows & “Oh! You 108th!”]

We have fought everywhere in the A.E.F. We have been with the British, with the French, with the French Colonials, and with our own troops. There are three American Armies – First, Second and Third – and we’ve been in all of ‘em. There are nine American Corps and we’ve been in all of them except the First and Eighth. We’ve got the record in this regard.

Our troops have camped along the North Sea, on the Somme, on the Meuse, and on the Moselle. They have passed through Chateau Thierry; they have bivouacked in Germany; they have rested in the shadow of the Amiens Cathedral; they have marched through the shell-torn streets of Verdun; they have eaten bully-beef in Alsace-Lorraine; and now they are wintering in Diekirch that famous resort of the Grand Duchy of Luxembourg. From Texas to Deutschland we have traveled and now we know it’s true what they say – “Join the Army and see the world.”

What Division captured more prisoners and more guns, and advanced more kilometers than any other Division except three of [or?] four? The Prairie Division.
What Division captured 1436 prisoners in one day? The Prairie Division.
What Division had a general wearing a wound chevron? The Prairie Division.
What Division was one of the five American Divisions rated by the German High Command as first-class? The Prairie Division.
What Division Commander was praised by G.H.Q because the horses of his Division and the care of them “stood as a perfect model of the standards that ought to exist in these matters throughout the Army? The Prairie Division.

Our Divisional colors are yellow and black; fast colors, guaranteed not to run. The design is a yellow cross on a black circular background two inches in diameter. Yellow is an unusual color for a fighting crowd, but in far-away Texas, when we marked our equipment for over-seas, Colonel Gardenhire had only yellow paint, and that is why we have used yellow. It’s a good color. It is the distinguishing color of the Cavalry and, in the Philippines, the Yellow Cross on Government property terrified the superstitious natives and kept them from stealing it. Over here it had the same effect on the Boche.

We are proud of the Yellow Cross and proud of the fighter who has been our leader from the day the Division was organized – Major General Geo. Bell, Jr., known by all the rank and file of the Regulars as “Do it Now” Bell.

When the French officially took possession of the City of Metz, the capital of Lorraine, on the 6th of October, 1918, bringing to pass their dream of half a century, the troops selected from the entire A.E F. to represent the Untied States in the grand parade before the President of the
French Republic, before Premier Clemenceau, Marshal Foch, Marshall Petain, field Marshal Sir Douglas Haig and our own General Pershing, were none other than a bunch of Chicago Lads, the battle scarred doughboys of the 131st Infantry, who had carried the Yellow Cross to victory every time they “hopped the bags.” They led the procession at Metz and the Governor-General of Lorraine said that their appearance and conduct merited the highest praise.

The boast of the Thirty-Third is that it never lost a fight, that it never received an order in battle which it did not carry out, and that an objective was never given to it that it did not take from the enemy on scheduled time. It is more than a boast – it is cold truth recorded in the books of the German armies as well as in the records o four own G. H. Q.

We came to France with a great reputation to uphold and high standards to maintain, for we are the Prairie Division; we hail from the fields of Illinois, out where the prairies begin their stretch, out where the East joins the West, and the best of the two is kept. Behind us are the traditions and glories of a great State – a State in which that other great war – the greatest until its time – gave to the nation its great leader in the White House – Abraham Lincoln, and its great leader in the field of battle – Ulysses S. Grant.

We have fought as worthy sons of worthy sires. We shall return from our long journey strong men and noble, victors and proud, because in the hottest of the battle, in the front ranks of the bravest, we fought as only Americans can fight. We shall march down Michigan Boulevard, victors and glad, yet with a bit of shadow in our faces, for we are not forgetful of our brave comrades who went away with us and with us did not return, because on the sacred soil of France they fell fighting bravely for their flag and the honor of their Division, and forever more they rest on the fields where their fame was won – in the shades of the forest of the Argonne and by the banks of the Somme.

They did not die in vain, neither have we fought in vain who fought by their side as they fell. They who in later years shall wear the Yellow Cross in token that they fought with the Prairie Division, shall wear a badge of high honor, and a fitting distinction for the brave men and fearless fighters they showed themselves to be.

Written At Diekirch, Grand Duchy of Luxembourg, Europe,
Fourteenth day of March, nineteen nineteen.

[1] The croix de guerre (English translation: War Cross) is a military decoration of both France and Belgium, where it is also known as the Oorlogskruis (Flemish). It was first created in 1915 in both countries and consists of a square-cross medal on two crossed swords, hanging from a ribbon with various degree pins. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croix_de_guerre

[2] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Distinguished_Service_Cross_(United_States)

George Writes of Elsie Janis

15G
Somewhere in France
7-24-18

Dear Brother and Sister Weber:
Having received No 43 from “you all” as they say in Houston, I have by intricate? Mathematical processes arrived at the ultimate conclusion that I owe you 28 letters to date, not counting the numerous ones I hope you have on the way to me by now. If you don’t believe it, compare the Data at the head of this letter with that at hand and see if I can not prove my proposition. G. E. D.
Next, before I forget it, let me call to your attention the fact that we had the rare and extreme pleasure of hearing Miss Elsie Janice[his spelling][1] (of Stage and Vaudeville fame) give us an entertainment a la American, the other evening. If you have ever been skeptical regarding the sincerity or bravery of some of the actors, etc. who come over to entertain the boys, forget it.
Miss Elsie at least had proved herself a little soldier, at least most of us feel that way. For it is certainly not money or notoriety she is seeking here under Jerry’s nose, within reach of his shells and bombs, for she had plenty of both the former back in the states and she is taking much the same chance with the latter that we are in her work over here. From the time she stepped on the crude stage provided, until she finished her stories, songs and dance, she typified for most of us a real American girl, and she started a train of reminiscences which will stay with us for days.
Also, give the Y.M.C.A. and Red Cross a boost when you can, for they are much in evidence over here and in my estimation are doing all they can for the boys of all the allied armies. Now I’ll bring this to a hasty close with love to all my home folks.
Your loving brother,
George
[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Elsie_Janis Note that photo was stated to be copyright free.

A Touch of Spring Splendor ~

Today I've struggled with feeling "blue." Not only did my husband get his hours cut, not only are we paying for tutoring, not only do we need to either fix the dryer or replace it, not only have I been hoping to replace five windows and the carpeting for years, but it looks like I can't avoid 2K of dental surgery bills for my daughter who apparently MUST have her wisdom teeth removed. Sigh. This economic down turn is the pits, not the least because we are constantly being told by the media that the sky is falling. Mostly the economy works because we believe in it. So we're not believing at moment. But enough of politics and money. On the OTHER hand, what a surprise when we got up this morning, opened the slider for the dog to go out and WHAT!!! SNOW!! Where did that come from???? OK, I know, I know, the sky. But still - I don't remember hearing anything about a forcast for snow. But maybe we didn't turn on the radio yesterday at all - perhaps that was the problem. But snow there was! The day has gone on, the money challenges have increased, but hope for spring's arrival came unexpectedly brought to attention by the snow. And the other good news of the day! My wisteria arbor is finally completed and the wisteria planted -- after only three years past the promised deadling :-). So I guess the good outweighs the bad. And besides, when it's all said and done, we can't take the money (or even the lack thereof!) to the grave.

Feeding the Birds vs. Feeding the Bird

One of the drawbacks to feeding birds is that ALL birds can want to participate. This puts our family in the unenviable position of having to discriminate about which birds we want to feed. All, the poor little Cooper's Hawk, who just wants to have breakfast or dinner just like all the other little songbirds, often comes by looking for a handout as well. His arrival requires I take a trip upstairs out on the deck and spend time jumping, clapping, shouting and sometimes even photograph taking to move him on to a more distant eatery.

Early last year I had once seen a small Pine Siskin crouched in the corner of the deck and I thought, "Oh, poor thing, he must have run into the glass." And perhaps he had (Siskins are quite stupid compared to most), but when I went out to rescue him from possibily being eaten by a cat, the fear of me drove him off the deck into quickly moving path of the hawk who had been waiting unbeknownst to me. Life is full of unintended consequences - alas. That round went to the hawk.

But today the victory was mine. This beautiful but unappreciated hunter finally flew off in pursuit of a Junco, but a little yelling on my part distracted him enough to let the small dodging bird escape and off the hawk went, looking for a better diner with more of a welcome.

I bear him no ill will, but better that he eat a bird I do not know!

George Writes from Somewhere in France

Two days after arriving in France, George Sherwood writes home to the folks in Wisconsin. On the old family farm lived his parents Will and Ella Jane as well as his sister Susan and her husband Herman who shared the 14 room farmhouse that had been in the family since 1868. The newer third of the home had been renovated so David and Rosina Stevens (Ella Jane's parents) could live with them in their declining years. They had passed away in 1910 and 1912 respectively. The tradition of the families living together continued to the next generation as it had actually begun when Will and Ella Jane welcomed Richard and Grace Sherwood to stay with them after they were married and Will was renting the farm.

David and Rosina and Will and Ella Jane are all buried together under one large monument in the Kendall cemetery. Herman and Susan joined them only a few steps away decades later.

The love of family is so apparent in the history of this family. I love Uncle George's letters and am delighted that I remember him when I was a child. How fun it would have been to have been old enough to hear these stories from him directly, but I love that the words are recorded for all of us here. I appreciate all the history recorded on the envelope as well as the letterhead of the writing paper, both of which are included here.

My dear Home Folks:

Another warm, sunny day beams down on us over here “somewhere in France.” I should imagine it would be rather interesting to you over there to try to guess where I am when I write each time for tho I may be able to tell when we move some of the time, it will always have to be “Somewhere in Europe” etc. regarding where we are.

Haven’t been able to pick up any of the French language yet, but am getting used to their money and its values compared to ours a little. Candy, soap and shoe polish seem to be very high and hard to get, at least here. But some candy and tobacco can procured at the U.S. Commissary quite reasonably. I haven’t received any mail yet since we arrived here, but that is rather natural I expect. Do not expect letters from me more than on an average of one per week as there is little one can write about and so there is no use bothering the Co. Commander to censor a lot of foolish palaver, and add more to the already congested mail.

I think I forgot to number my last letter, so I’ll call this 9G and try once more to keep track as I go along.

This is a very pretty country around here, especially as it is just like spring here now. I am well except a slight cold. Wish I knew the same for all of you at home.

Will close with love and best wishes from – France –.

Your loving son and brother,

George

Greetings to everyone of my friends and get them to write.

OK
J. C. Campbell
1st Lieu., 108th Engrs.

From Pvt 1/Class George Sherwood "Over There"

I came across this letter from Thanksgiving 1918 and discovered a summary of Great Uncle George's time in France in WWI. What a treat ~ most of his letters don't name specific battles and places since all they could usually say was "Somewhere in France" but this time he named lots of places and events.


14th. Somewhere in France. THANKSGIVING* ‘18
Tilly sur Meuse, France. 28th November, 1918.

DEAR ONES ALL

Here goes my first letter since the Censorship loosened up and I’ll try to make it a little Diary of my travel since I left Camp Merritt, New York, U.S.A. on that memorable morning of May 7th, 1918. We had our moving orders the night before, so were all packed up even to our blankets, but were sleeping more or less fitfully under our overcoats when the clear notes of Reveille roused us for the last time on American soil. Soon we were eating our last mess there, and then, just as the sun began to tint the east with rosy dawn, assembly blew, and with shouldered packs and rifles we silently swung out through the mist on our “March to the Sea.” It was a night to be long remembered as those long lines of silent men marched out through the deserted streets of the sleeping camp, the only sound breaking the stillness, the thud of marching feet, the metallic clang of rifle or bayonet, or the muffled tones of occasional commands. After a march of about six miles, MOST of it uphill, we came out on the Palisades of the Hudson R. above New York city. Below us several hundred feet lay the little pier of Alpine and how aptly named can only be appreciated by one who has made the precipitous descent with packs and heavy marching equipment as we did.
After a short wait here, the Newburgh (river boat) took us for a cruise down the Hudson to the piers where we were immediately loaded on the U.S. S. George Washington. The last thing we did in the States was eat a Red Cross Bun and drink a Red Cross coffee. They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach and I guess that is right as I have had a soft place in my heart for that worthy institution ever since. We lay in the harbor for a day, then all were ordered below and with decks clear we were tugged out by the Statue of Liberty and the George Washington started once more [toward] Sunny France.
For ten days all we saw was water, water, water and the other ships of our convoy. There were only three of us till we got well in to the danger zone, then we were picked up by some little torpedo boat destroyers. The last morning out we were wakened at four A.M. by the submarine siren and stood to at Abandon Ship stations for about an hour while we put back out to sea a little way and the destroyers did some hasty maneuvering but neither we nor the supposedly sighted sub were hurt. Then about eleven A.M. we sighted the most westerly point of France and sailed up the beautiful harbor of Brest. We disembarked with the first of the lighters which came out to us at about four P.M. of May 18th. We were stationed at Pontanezen Barracks; about five kilometers from Brest. These Barracks are supposed to be an old convent made over to accommodate Napoleon’s troops. They are old stone Buildings and tho in fair repair their appearance and the stone wall all around them seem to bear out the statements regarding their age and history. Here we first learned to think and speak in terms of kilometers and francs, and to eat beans and goldfish (salmon).
After a week in Brest we entrained and after a trip of two days on the odd little trains of France found ourselves in Oisemont, about 30 kilos northwest of Amiens. We only bivouacked there one night and then moved on to Avenes, where we stayed three weeks while we got used to the sound of cannon, and were equipped with British guns and gas masks. The first night we were there we were treated to a real Hun air raid. As I was still orderly at that time I was billeted in the Chateau Avenes, my first introduction to a real French chateau. From there we hiked to Araines where we entrained and went some 30 kilos to Poulainville. Got there about noon and by night were in our shelter tents in Pierrigot. Our camp was in a grassy orchard and was nice and clean for about three days, then it began to rain and we soon learned to appreciate what we had read of the Somme mud. We also learned our first lessons of experience with shells and bombs. This was supposed to be a training period for our Div (the 33rd), but it would be hard to tell it from a regular campaign. At the end of this period we were brot together as a Regiment at Quarian Woods, about ten kilos from Amiens. During our stay with the British the work of the lines companies was mostly done on and back of the line from Albert toward Amiens. While we were there I made arrangements to quit work with the Major as I could see nothing in it, and hoped to really get into a little more by getting away from the stables and horses for while. I might stop here to say that I saw such towns as Villers Bocage, Beaucourt, Contay, Vignacourt and last but not least Amiens (Cathedral[1] and all) while we were in this sector. We entrained at Amiens on August 25th and the next morning found us just passing through the outskirts of Paris. That afternoon we ran into the Chateau Thierry district , through the town itself and out along the river beyond where such fierce fighting had been done a couple of weeks before. The towns and villages we saw and passed through that afternoon were total wrecks, the stark crumbled walls of churches and homes bearing eloquently mute testimony regarding the ruthlessness of the War Gods. At two A.M. we arrived at our destination at Ligny where we at once unloaded. I saddled the horses and at 4 A.M. we moved out of town in formation. Not much like the ponderous moves we used to make in our training days in the States. I shall never forget that morning when we entered the sleeping little town of Ménil sur Saulk [Saulx]. I was sent on ahead on my horse to look up the billeting officer we had sent on the day before. I had lost my cap from the train so was compelled to wear my steel helmet, and with a knapsack of the Major’s equipment slung at my side, raincoat partially hiding the identity of my uniform, and spurs on my feet, I probably cut quite a warlike figure. Anyway that is the only reason I can imagine for the look of amazement I created on the countenance of the first simple French woman I roused in the town. You see it was just breaking day as I rode into the village and even the ever-present M.P. was not in evidence, as we were the first American Troops to billet in that town. So I rode up to the door of the only house showing a light and knocked loudly. The face of a woman showed for an instant at the window then was as hastily withdrawn and the light extinguished. But in that fleeting glance I had seen such a mixture of incredulous amazement and fear that I thot then, and have still an idea, she took me for a German Uhlan[2] as I stood there holding my horse in the uncertain light of dawn. At any rate I got no more response tho I knocked loud and long again. So I mounted my trusty steed again and did a Paul Revere down the cobble paved street, across the quaint old bridge to the other side of town where I got a surprise. I saw a fairly elderly man walking in the street just as I crossed the bridge, so I rode up to him and said in my badly mutilated French, “Bon Zwar, Monsieur. Parlez vous Anglais.” What was my surprise when he replied, “Nein, aber Deutsch.” I had tried a few times to talk to some of the French in German before but had long since given it up as the language was so very unpopular. This is the only time I have used it to any advantage since I landed but I got along famously as the man’s vocabulary seemed to be almost as limited as mine. At any rate I was able to get what little information he had to offer and by ten A.M. our Battalion was all in the village and comfortably billeted. Being the first Americans in the town we were quite popular while there. In less than a week we moved to an adjoining town known as Stainville where we staid four days and where I gave up my work as orderly for the Major. I celebrated my return to the ranks of Hdqts. Co. by working all day as runner, then rolling my pack and hiking full equipment to our next stop at Gary (or Gery) a distance of about 18 miles. That is the longest and the hardest hike of my army career and I’m satisfied to let it hold first place for the rest of my life, tho I believe I could do a few better if I knew every step was taking me HOME.
A few days at Gery, then a short hike one evening and we loaded on a French Truck Train and after an all night ride of some sixty kilos we landed at Blercourt, and marched back to Nixeville Wood and billeted in some French Barracks where the size of the cooties was exceeded only by their appetites. The accepted by unwilling hospitality forthwith and have been very faithful ever since in spite of repeated hints and rebuffs. As soon as our stock and transport caught up with us we moved to Sivry-la-Perche where we had our headquarters for about a week. While there we were shelled two night s in earnest. Then we moved to Ft. de Sartelles for about a week. All three of the last named places are within 12 kilometers of VERDUN. The line Cos. had now been in the lines for two weeks and rumors of a drive in the sector they had just taken over from the French north of Verdun on the Meuse R. were prevalent. There were batteries of artillery in the woods on all sides of us and three 12” Naval Guns mounted on the railroad in the back of us were all ready for action. On the morning of Sept. 26 we were awakened in our dugouts by what felt like a young earth-quake, and from the steady roar and tremble of the ground knew that the guns had opened up the barrage for the drive that was destined to liberate the hills of Verdun from the Huns. I was Regt. runner that day and believe me the suspense was fierce, wondering how they were getting along up at the line, wishing I might be there. The smaller batteries of the Fort and in the woods near and far kept up a deafening roar, punctuated occasionally by the bellow of the 12 inch Navals back of us, or a Jerry shell at long intervals. The letter you got from me dated Sept 26 was written while the barrage was going on and the first step of that momentous drive was drawing to a close some ten kilometers north-east of where I sat writing between runs. That afternoon the order came for every available man in Headquarters to go up to the front and help in the emergency so we were loaded into trucks, and up we went to Cumiers. I was in the village 10 min before I knew it was a village which is eloquent proof of what was left of it.
The two weeks we spent up there were the pleasantest I have spent in France for tho we were only operating an engineer dump and working on the roads it was a mans size job and we were making it possible for our infantry to hold what they had gained and prepare to drive Jerry still farther back out of the hills where the French had striven so hard for the last three years. Well, the next move was back to Germonville, where I worked as telephone orderly and runner until we moved out of the lines, through Verdun to Dugney. After a few days there we moved down there and the line Cos. moved up into the lines in sight of the Metz. Things were just promising to get interesting down in this sector when Kaiser Bill Capitualted and Marshal Foch was able to make a peaceful entrée into delivered Metz, instead of the warlike one that was inevitable soon. If you cannot find the name of this village on the map just follow the Meuse R down about 20 kilometers and you will have [come]pretty closet to our present location.
There is little doubt that the war is over as the terms of the Armistice make it suicide for Germany to make a false move, so now we will try to be good soldiers and patiently do the hardest part of all – wait until the victory won at so much sacrifice on both sides of the pond is secured beyond shadow of doubt for all time. Then how happily will we return to you all and those civilian pursuits we temporarily laid down that the right to follow them might be preserved, not only to the States but to the World. So hurry up and prepare the “fatted calf.”
With love and hope for a speedy return to God’s Country and our loved Ones.

George S. Sherwood
Pvt. 1/Class

Censored
WmAPeterson
CaptUSA

[1] See photo of the Cathedral at http://en.structurae.de/photos/index.cfm?JS=68732

[2] See example at http://flickr.com/photos/33784579@N05/3217736015/in/pool-73218976@N00/page2/

Hummingbird Lucky Day for Me!

Please note post below - also dated today. After writing that and uploading photos, I was able to get this photo as well. Is this my lucky day or what! Of course, this one did point out to me the rain and bird-bath-sprayed windows that could use some cleaning. Easy to ignore until seen dramatically magnified in front of the cute bird ~ Hmmm. Somebody's got to clean those windows :-)~ someday, but not today. He was no more than a foot and a half away!

My Dear Little Hummingbird Friend

What I love most about doing most of my work from home (besides being able to wear jammie's and slippers on some lazy mornings) is the fun of watching all my small bird friends go about their daily business of feeding, bathing, preening and bickering. Not the least of these is the least in size - my small hummingbird friends. They do all of the above and particularly enjoy being as territorial as possible. During our last weeks trip to Portland, OR to visit mom, I sent out an SOS to my neighbor when we discovered the weather was supposed to get colder and maybe even snow. Well, it did all of the above and Teresa rose to the occasion and both mornings we were gone she came over and exchanged the warm hummingbird syrup sitting on the counter with the frozen nectar hanging in the tree. One of the two mornings our "little friends" were waiting on the frozen feeder and as soon as she replaced it were drinking happily.

Today the weather had remained cold all day and I had to change out the food twice as it froze within two hours of being put out this morning. I also had to melt the window feeder and it has been well-used today by my favorite little male. I'm so pleased the Anna's stay here over the winter and don't go south like our Rufus friends, but it does give us responsibility for their well-being now that we've allowed them to rely upon us. We feed them all winter and through the spring; once summer and all the glorious flower come, they rarely come to the feeders. And why would they with real nectar to be had all over the yard. A few minutes ago I was able to capture the images here -- my camera can't keep up with the speed of the wings, so he does look a bit wingless in these photos! Enjoy - I certainly am!!

Thanksgiving 1865

1865-1207 – Reflections on Thanksgiving Day 1865

This is our State and also our National Thanksgiving day[1] and how much we have to be thankful for. I have been enumerating some of the blessings with which we are surrounded, well may we as a people and a nation render praise to the Almighty Ruler of events for His many mercies to us during the past year. One year ago we were mourning the absence of a beloved Son[2] who was languishing in a Hospital suffering with wounds received in his Country’s Service. Now he has regained his health and is married[3] to a worthy young lady and is very pleasantly settled in a home of his own. Our other children with the exception of our eldest daughter[4] are settled near us. One remains single[5] and is at home to gladden us by her presence. Two with their families have moved farther from us this fall[6] but as they have bettered themselves by the exchange I will not be so selfish as to wish them back although we are lonely without them ~~~
My aged mother[7] resides with us and I have the satisfaction of ministering to her wants in my poor ways. Sickness is ravaging in our vicinity making many homes desolate, but we have escaped thus far and are enjoying a competent share of health. We also have a comfortable home with enough to satisfying natures wants. We have the comforts of life if not its luxuries. These with enumerable other blessings call for our warmest gratitude to the Giver of all good, and while we acknowledge our shortcomings this past year may we be more faithful in the performance of our duties in time to come looking for guidance and strength to Him in whom alone we can put our trust ~~~
Our national too has every reason to be thankful for the termination of the War, that peace is once more restored, and our nation’s flag again proudly waves over this whole United States ~~~
Africa’s Sable Sons too are rejoicing in freedom. No longer to bear the galling chains of bondage or feel their master’s cruel lash lacerating their feeble bodies. Well may they say the Year of Jubilee is Come. Let us as a nation and people be more mindful of His goodness and ever acknowledge Him in all our ways

R ~~~~~
[Rosina M. Healy Richardson]

[1] President Andrew Jackson had proclaimed the 7th of December as Thanksgiving Day that year even tho President Lincoln had proclaimed the last Thursday in November during three of his four proclamations.
[2] Henry Carlton Richardson , see article on web under Vermont in the Civil War – Henry participated in the battle of Cedar Creek which was a significant battle for the Union. He was apparently injured there and had a long recovery. He mustered out on 7/17/65. http://vermontcivilwar.org/index/namesearch.php ; also http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cedar_Creek_and_Belle_Grove_National_Historical_Park
[3] Henry married Jennie L. Whitcher (also in a Whitcher family history called Lois Jane Whitcher) on October 12, 1865. Jennie was also sister to Julia Whitcher who had married Henry’s brother, Nathaniel on Nov 3, 1861. Marriage certificate reads Jennie Whitcher. She died in 1868 and he married Lydia Whitehill to whom he was married for many years.
[4] Rosina Jane Richardson Stevens and her husband David were living in WI or MN at this time.
[5] Evalina Irene Richardson, later known as “Aunt Nellie” to most of the extended family.
[6] Son Nathaniel Richardson and wife Julia Whitcher who now lived in Lancaster, NH; and likely son Robert Fletcher Richardson and wife Rosette Dexter who if they moved away returned soon and lived there.
[7] Jane Tabor Healy who was born in 1786 and died in 1870; she had been married to Nathaniel Healy, son of John Healy and Mary Wight before his death in 1841.

1872 Letter from Switzerland

In July of 1872 Joseph Warren Healy wrote a letter to his sister Rosina Healy Richardson from Switzerland, describing their work and travels in Europe. Most of the spellings of the Swiss peaks in the Alps are confirmed, but two are not. Joseph Warren Healy was a minister, physician and educator. He was married to Jane Hibbard Clark.

Sab morn, July 28th 1872

My dear Sister:
A leisure Sabbath in this mountainous country suggests the dear ones in our American Switzerland and furnishes opportunity for a half hours communion which I would gladly exchange for the more natural method of “face to face.”

Months have passed since we heard from any of you – months of varied and pleasant experiences to us, opportunities to which we have looked and for which we have labored for many a toilful year. We reached London in Jan and spent some five months in the mission for which we came to Europe, meeting with a good measure of success. During that time we saw much of London – a world in itself – England and Scotland. In July we started on a summer vacation, crossing the channel to Holland; thence to Antwerp and Brussels in Belgium, to Cologne, up the Rhine to Mayence[1] and Heidelberg and Badden Baden in Germany, and are now spending a few weeks in Switzerland. We shall return the last of August to London via Paris. You cannot expect a recital of the events of these months nor a description of the thousand panoramic pictures of beauty and grandeur that have passed before us. Volumes were too limited space and pen inadequate. The Old World is a garden where nation and art seem to have exhausted their skill, a storehouse crowded with relics of historic ages. When young America is as grey-haired as fatherland what a history it will make, and what a world epitomize. Years, not possibility is our need.

Everything here is old and picturesque. Our picture heading will serve as a starting point. This summit, of comparative Alpine height only 5905 feet presents one of the finest terrain pictures. In the rear are seen the immense chain of snow clad Alps, composed of ranges of mountains, the Santis, Glarnish, Todi, Wingelle, Bristense, Uffpipotlist, Titlis, Berner Oberland and Pilatus, with their 128 distinct summits, each of which is named and pointed out to the tourist. At our feet and in distant view may be seen embosomed among hills and skirted with fields, villages, vineyards and sylvan woods. Lake Zug, Lucerne, Sempach, Lauerz and a score of other lakes, charming, resourceful and historic. Here may be seen Tell’s Chapel where Gessler was slain by the Washington of Switzerland, they famous battle field of Morgarten, the valley of Muotta, etc, etc. The picture is incomparable and furnishes food and study for the lover of beauty and history for weeks and months. The picturesque points of this magnificent landscape embrace a circuit of 300 miles and viewed at a glance are overwhelming. The Author of this great picture gives the finest view in the evening or morning, veiling or unveiling one after another the features of this landscape. Hundreds of thousands make a pilgrimage to this Horeb, and tarry for the night on this summit. Half an hour before sunrise sounds the Alpine horn. Hundreds expectant wait for opening Day. A faint streak in the East heralds the promised transfiguration. Like a ball of fire the sun rises from the emerald lake. Moon and stars flee at his coming. The extreme horizon is soon girt with a band of gold. The mountain peaks in succession are tinged with a roseate blush and reveal their individual features, intervening shadows gradually melt away, hills, forest, village, lakes, rivers and lands each reveal themselves. At length the whole scene is flooded with golden light and the immense panorama of light and shade, hill and dale, mountain, lake and landscape crowd upon the vision and inspire the soul with inspiration of the grand and beautiful and bear it upward to Nature’s God, the author of all this wonder and to the soul’s love of which the highest natural beauty is but the expression and prophecy.

Would that you were here to enjoy this feast with us. Hope we shall together enjoy those richer feasts and diviner glories in that land of infinite delight where the sun never sets and the beauty never fades.

Mrs. H and family join in love to you all,
Your brother,
J. W. Healy

Write us in London, 18 Adam Street, Strand, W. C.

[Little did Joseph Warren Healy suspect that his sister Rosina M. Healy Richardson had passed on to those diviner glories nearly two months before on June 4, 1872. She never read this letter he penned, but her children kept and cherished these words on her behalf.]

[1] An alternative spelling for Mainz, Germany on the Rhine River.

Unexpected Christmas Gift - 180 Year Old Letter

I had the unexpected pleasure of coming across this letter today. A young girl, niece of my G-G-G-Great Grandfather Nathaniel Healy was writing her first letter to him after the death of his brother, her father, John Healy. After reading this I feel, well, a bit uneducated and illiterate. Obviously Nathaniel Healy was impressed with this letter as well since he retained it, passed it on in the family, and it has surfaced here again 180 years later. Her handwriting is small, an example of elegant cursive almost lost today.

Dear uncle –
Since I have seated myself to address you, the most singular emotions have, unlicensed, taken possession of my bosom. They crowd into my mind unbidden and I have almost said unwelcome. Past occurrences bear no more resemblance to reality than does midnight to noonday the present itself a dream, and futurity omens the same disappointments. I cannot think you and my father were nursed upon the same lap, encircled by the same maternal arms. It looks impossible. And but for the hope of recovering my reason as I advance, I should be unable to proceed. I am, however, far from wondering at this sudden commotion of my mind, considering the various circumstances that agitate it. Conversing with one whom I have never seen or spoken with, one who lives at such a distance and what is still more absurd, one perhaps that is totally ignorant and unmindful of such a person as myself. I have heard of uncle Nathaniel Healy so have I heard of Mithridates, and Pompey that destroyed him, and Caesar that overthrew Pompey and Brutus that slew Caesar and probably had they lived in my day I should have been curious to see them, and what of that? Who would not, but this does not prove that they would have regarded me. Oh! but my uncle does not possess the wicked heart of Mithridates nor the presentation of Pompey, the ambition of Caesar or the sword of Brutus which have conspired to render them famous more than their virtues. I did not find this name upon the bloodstained page of history. The name of my uncle first sounded in my ear when playing on the knee of my Father, fondly pronounced by him and has never since failed to cast a spell upon my senses for how can that which was dear to him be otherwise than dear to me. Then since I have overcome part of my skepticism I will proceed to say your relatives are all tolerably well in this place, the connection is extensive and I cannot write particularly. Uncle Eben Healy visits us quite often, he is an excellent man and Aunt Eliza Killum [Killow or Killim also options] lives on his farm 1/a a mile, I think they must value each the other’s society highly. My mother wishes to be remembered, she remembers you with much pleasure and thinks the distance is not so great but you might visit us. My two older sisters are married, have two children each. Sister Mary the oldest wrote you immediately after the death of my brother, five years this summer, but received no answer (I hope mine will have better fortune). Sister Sally lives in Auburn eight miles from us. Brother John was married last March. Jesse is younger than myself, he is seventeen. Betsy is next in age to John, her health is not good nor has it been for two years. Hannah is the youngest of the family. So, uncle, I am bless’d with a mother, sisters and brothers, but the early bereavement of my father bids me not think them immortal, for I am sensible a great deal of pleasure has flown with him. Then every flower I beheld promised pleasure when I should restore it to the hand of my father, the crimson strawberries, the first mellow fruit that summer showered into my basket was always carried in haste to him. Now May’s roses pine neglected on the stem and seem to wonder as the retarded hand which over gathered them with so much alertness. But why gather roses since he for whom they were culled in [illegible] of me. My father too was the first who disclosed to me the fair pages of science and now I turn the leaves but slowly. I have, dear uncle, sometimes been so sensible of my loss that life seems almost divested of every charm. At other times when beholding the ungenerous world, I would not have him again witness its unkindness even if a wish were the pledge of his return. Please to remember me to your family together with my brothers and sisters. I must conclude my letter by begging of you to answer it as soon as possible. And now uncle I have a [illegible] album and although I have no claim upon your practical talents, yet I must request of you one verse of your own composition to insert therein.
Do uncle send it in my letter and you will confer the greatest favour possible upon --------
Your affectionate niece
(Dolly Healy)

Nathaniel Healy
Elbridge
Aug 31, 1828
PS Do write minutely respecting yourself and family, DH

Happy Birthday My Dear Jesus

What a wonderful Christmas! It has been quiet, just our immediate family. The day started with another gorgeous snowfall. The snow lately has been a royal pain because it has messed up traffic and schedules everywhere, but now that we've reached Christmas day it is beautiful, glorious, magnificent. What could be better than having the snuggling blanket of snow covering everything once again. And what a great day. Maybe it's just one day a year, but today nearly everyone stops to celebrate Christmas. And whether we recognize Jesus or not, His impact on the world is shown once again as we celebrate the holiday throughout our land and most of the world.

So, happy birthday Jesus. Thanks for coming here into our chaos and loving us. Thank you to God our Father, Jesus our Savior and Holy Spirit our Comforter and Guide for all you do every day providing the resources we need to live and intervening countless times when we make stupid or evil choices and need to be corrected. Thanks for creating us, redeeming us and changing us one day at a time. Thank you for never abandoning us and leaving us the prisoners of randomness on our planet whirling through space.

What is the purpose of man asks the catechism? To worship God and enjoy Him forever, isn't that the answer? So thank you for letting me know and enjoy You as much as I can. Blessings on You this Christmas Day -- and all honor, glory and power that is Your due. Thank you for your care today and every day until my time is past. Happy Birthday to you, most Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace, Alpha and Omega - Beginning and End, the Bright and Morning Star.

1916 Present to Dad

In 1916 my Great Uncle George gave his father a cute little Christmas card. Being broke it seems he had no money for a present; but being creative he came up with a plan! Apparently his dad had arranged to pay him for some major help around the farm while he was home from college so he acknowledged payment in full for any work done before or after the gift was given during the month of December.

Merry Christmas to all! God Bless us Every One!

Gossip and Fun from 1886 Wisconsin

In this entry my great-grandfather, while he was living in Elgin, Minnesota (and apparently when he met my great-grandmother, altho learning about how they met hasn't been come across yet :-)), has received a letter from his younger sister Grace who is still at home in Glendale (now Kendall), Wisconsin. This letter shows in community relationships that the more things change, the more they stay the same!!

Glendale, Jan 10 – 1886

My Dear Brother,
Your letters came among a good many others in due time. Was glad to hear you had so good a time Christmas and that you took part in the exercises as it all helps to pass away the time pleasantly. We had a grand good time at Lemonweir. Took in three dances and went to the Catholic Church Xmas morn – it was the first time I had ever been in the church. It is finished off lovely inside and the singing was very good.
I must tell you what I got for presents. First an Album from Pa, Aunt G, Mariam and Sam. A hand mirror “plush back” from Susie, handkerchief from Clara, perfume from Auntie. I think I fared pretty well, don’t you.
I went to a Masquerade New Year and had a grand time. There were over sixty numbers. I went with Levi Brown and Lew and Jimmie Gallagher’s. They went masked but I had never been anywhere with him before so that they didn’t anyone know me. My suit was the prettiest in the hall; it was to represent night in a snowstorm. Every one caught on so it must have been quite “plain” – see?
Well, Will, we have had quite a tragedy here in the neighborhood. Old Andrew Smith poisoned himself last Sun. You perhaps have heard that his wife left him a short time ago. He has threatened to kill the children but Mr. Dunning took them away from him. There is no doubt in people’s minds that he was crazy. The account will be in the
Elroy paper next week. Will send it to you. He died at Mr. Senegal’s and it gave them a fearful scare. It must have been a fearful death from all accounts. It was his request to be buried on his farm and he staked his grave out.
We were over there one evening last week and Mr. Dunlap’s folks were there. The same evening we woke up the valley over there in big shape. Sam said he guessed Old Andrew would turn over if we didn’t stop making such a noise.
Marthy says they killed him trying to make him vomit up the poison by giving him tobacco juice. She is the worst old seed I ever saw.
Harry is married and they have gone to Sparta to live and Nell’s father was cranky about the marriage but guess he will come around all right.
We were over to Cutlands today; had a first rate good time.
Susie was as well as usual when we last heard from her. And the rest are all well. I am going up to Elmer’s the first of next week.
Well, I must say good night and get some something to eat as I am hungry.
Your loving sister,
Grace

Grandma & Aunt Dora's View of our Shared Task

Being the "Keeper of the Letters" now I enjoy recognizing some of the feelings of my grandma and Aunt Dora as I read the letter below. This was their shared appreciation of this wealth of family history that Great Grandma Ella Jane and her maternal Aunt Nellie had collected and cherished over the years. Some of them have been previously posted here and others will be in the future.

I was just ten months old when this was written ~ little did I know how signifcant their thoughts would be to me decades later. Now I have the fun priviledge of listening to the thoughts of those long gone loved ones and sharing them with those of you who care ~ enjoy!

Sunday, July 20 – 52

My very precious sister – Two weeks since we reached home. I am beginning to feel myself. Was very weary – it was so hot. I do hope we did not leave you so worn out that you were ill after we left. You know dear, I too felt as tho brother did not take the same interest we did in the vast amount of material that mother and grandmother and Aunt Nellie had worked so long and hard to assemble, led by the guidance of the Holy Spirit without knowing why they should do it. Likewise, you, led by the same Spirit, had protected those things over all those intervening years. It would have been beautiful if we three could have worked together as we two did, but he just did not seem to have our feeling in the matter. Perhaps our Father has given to the women of the present day the urge to keep the records and to receive the blessings for so doing.
I know I have received great spiritual blessing for what we did and you will remember that command to honor our parents has its promise of long days in which to complete the work.
George was wonderful to me. We stopped at Leslie and Ida Atwater’s, drove over the family lot in the Burns Cemetery. Leslie called Aunt Grace Jewett at Chippewa Falls and we all drove up (110 mi) and back the next day. She was able to tell us where to find my father’s[1] grave at Mindoro. We drove past the old Atwater home where I was born, the great-grandmother home tho the house was different. She was a Post and the Kendrick name was the later husband. I also learned that Grandfather Atwater did have other brothers and sisters. Uncle Milt lived close to the Mindoro Cemetery and I remembered visiting there when Mother and I came back from Minn, before she and dad were married and it was at Mindoro I talked over a local phone for the first time. By the way the Skelton and Robinson names we ran across were sisters of G-Father Atwater (Em & Harriet), doesn’t that sound like Uncle John s’ daughters[2]? George said he planned to start a day early as we could have time for any thing I needed to do and he was so wonderful and considerate. We spent 2 nights at Leslie’s and got a really early start July 4th and through La Crosse before heavy traffic started. Ida spoke of the time you called there. They were away and only one or two of their girls and Lenore’s son were there. I can imagine they knew practically nothing about me or my family. Uncle Len passed away 2 years ago. Just walked down stairs and dropped. Since we got home went to the orchard as when you were here, picked and put up cherries and apricots. Last week the Evans family from Winslow Ariz, was in town and here nearly every day. Now I must not start another sheet. More love than I can say for you and love to family. Will write each one soon.
Your sister,
Dora
[1] Elmer Atwater
[2] John Sherwood, Dora’s Uncle, also had two daughters, Emma and Harriet. In 1880 both girls lived at home and their step mother was still alive. In 1900 Emma lived with her father and there was no one else at home. In1920 Emma lived alone. I have never been able to find out if Harriet was married or not. As the 1890 census is mostly missing due to a fire, I don’t know if Harriet still lived with her father, if she was married, or if she and Emma were living together away from home at that time.

Remembering John Q Richardson, An Elgin "Old Settler"

Following is a letter written by John Q Richardson of Elgin, Minnesota in May of 1912. He was writing to his cousin, Ella Jane Stevens Sherwood who lived in Kendall, Wisconsin. At that time he was almost 84 years old and still was a hard worker.

Elgin, Minn., May 6, 1912

Dear Cousin Ella:
I think it time I sent you a letter.
We are still moving, slowly perhaps. Delie has been having a cold but is nearly well. I have been well for three whole days and hope to keep on. When I can go a week and have no trouble with my liver I shall feel glad. At the farm they are done seeding. The silage is nearly all eaten. Thirty young cattle are turned out to pasture. Ralph has two men, good ones. The hogs – eight sows are in pasture.
But the apples are not gong to be more than one twentieth as many as we had last year. There are very flew blossom buds.
And nine tenths of the blueberry bushes were killed to the ground. Some of those will start from the roots.
[In Ella’s handwriting added along side his writing, “He set about 150 blueberry plants from here and all were alive last fall – mother.”] The first two months of last winter were very cold. I think the blossom buds on the apple trees were killed then.
Last evening Delie and I went to a show of pictures at the church. It was the Head Hunters of Borneo, and other fine sights among the Malays. It was fine.
Men began, this morning, to build a house across the street. It will be about thirty feet square and two stories high.
My work, lately, has been setting red raspberries in the woods on the farm. I get them here, where they are building that house. They will not begin to bear much for two years. Of course I have my horse here.
--10:40 AM
The clothes are washed, ready to hang out.
As for going East, I must sow some garden seeds and I must see how my health is. It will be several weeks before I can start, if I go. I want to go, very much. I want to see the old farm once more.

Tuesday morning.

Yesterday I hired a German to work today in the garden, digging dandelions with a spade. I have been digging them lately.
About a month ago, my wind vane blew down. It had been on the barn fifteen years. But was made of pine and decayed. I wanted one that would last better. So I made it of burr oak. I had to hew it out of a stick four feet long and six inches wide – the half of the tree. It was well seasoned. I was nearly a week making it. But it is a good one. I got Ralph to do the climbing.
I have been reading Darwin lately. I got the books more than twenty years ago and read them then; but one forgets in twenty years. This is a wonderful world.
I have not heard from Pine Terrace for several weeks. Please write.
This is the fifth day of good health for me -- I am very glad.
I shall go to the farm by and by and get some milk and eggs, do a little hoeing, water Prince, and get home to dinner.
I have hoed the blueberry bushes. Some of them were killed to the ground but will start form the root. A good many are blossoming. I think I shall have less than a quart of berries this year. The bushes have spread some, even in one year so that if I live I can take up some outside plants and set them in vacant places – next year.
I hear form Cousin J. J. Smith of South Newbury, Vermont, that he’s milking machines were not a success and he has gone back to the old way. He milks twenty Guernseys. He has the best farm buildings I ever saw.
4:30 PM
I think I would better bring this letter to a close and send it tonight. I am still well, but awfully old – 84 next Saturday. Please write. Yours, etc.,
J. Q. Richardson

[Ella Jane forwarded this letter on to her daughter Dora with an additional note – “Guess I’ll send this too, but you need return only Uncle Roberts. Ralph’s wife is not very chummy and John and Delie miss Grandma’s letters, so I try to write often. Their birthdays are J – May 11th, Delia, May 21st. Send them a card please. Love to you each. Mother”]