Double Shot of Blood is Good for the Soul

Have you ever struggled to explain how you are related to someone?  Sometimes, it is so very easy.  You can say, "He's my mother's brother."  That works well. 

In my world, however, it can be quite difficult to just say it.  I mean, I sometimes find I need a pen and paper just to explain it to my closest blood relatives.  Take, for example, my dear sweet cousin who called last week just to chat.  I met sweet Barbara some 12 years ago while I was researching my grandfather's bloodline.  She had an unusual name to my ears and she was living in the same metro area as I was.  Or at least, someone with that surname was.  So, I took a chance and wrote her a letter.  Gee, do you even remember writing letters and sending them through the mail?  That seems like ages ago.  Anyway......

Barbara gave me a call after she had received the letter and told me that she was indeed the granddaughter of my grandfather's first cousin.  She had stories to tell and I had ears anxiously waiting to listen.  And, then, she dropped the news that we shared another bond.

It seems her grandfather on her mother's side was the brother of grandfather's mother.  Seems confusing, eh?

To make it clear really does take a paper and pen, or a great chart printed by my favorite genealogy program, but it is true.

My sweet cousin was able to provide more information for me and was able to introduce me to both her parents.  Now, yes, they were quite old and memories were fading.  But for me, they were a link to grandfather.  For me, they were a love bond ready to happen.  For me, they were family and I was happy to listen and hold their hands.  Just thinking that those wrinkled hands of old had known my greatgrandparents and hugged them and shared family meals with them just brought shivers down my spine.  Of course, hearing them share some more lore with me brought tears to my eyes.

So, here I sit, still trying to untangle the weave of the cloth of which I am made.  Every time a new string appears, there's another new story for my ears.  Just last week, Barbara shared with me that my greatgrandmother had worked in a cigar factory.  A cigar factory?  Really?  I didn't even know there was one in the Low Country.

So the search was on....  Using my trusty fingers on the keyboard, I found the cigar factory that had been mentioned.  I just wonder if she worked there when it first opened in the early 1880s or if she worked there before her marriage or after the birth of her children.  I still haven't figured out if I can determine that, and I may not be able to find the trail.  But, the image of her that was painted for me by another great-niece of hers became clearer as this niece told me that greatgrandmother loved her snuff.  You can read the story of how I found her here.

Ahhh, genealogy.  How many double shots of blood do you have running in your veins?  I have several of them....from the late 1800s.  Brings new meaning to who is related to whom?  Or is it how many times are you related?

©AS Eldredge 2013.

Remembering Black History: Whispers in the Savannah Barracoons

Recently, I gathered my children and headed on a road trip to Savannah.  After all, the weather was delightful and I was ready to escape all the dreariness of winter and cabin fever.

I wanted to be sure to talk history and show some historic places to the kids.  While I didn't have the time on this trip to visit the final resting spot of my 2g-grandpa at Laurel Grove Cemetery in Savannah, I did make the time to wander River Street, and of course, the Pirate House.

I find the history of River Street and the surrounding area fascinating even if my family had no ties to Savannah.  My 2g-grandpa is only laid to rest there as he was traveling home to South Carolina after having been wounded in the Civil War when he died.

River Street dates back in time to early Savannah.  I can just imagine the ships arriving with new supplies, visitors and cotton being taken to market. I remember going to Savannah often as a child and my Yank dad pointing the Slave Barracoons that are right at River Street.

Looking at the barracoons, you can see the small windows each one had to allow air in and out.  The doors are long gone, but evidence of them being there at one time are still visible.  The barracoons were and are rather dark and dismal.  It's just hard to believe that people were kept there as they were most likely jammed in tight.  Up above one opening on the day we were there was a gorgeous tree who had just sported its new spring coat.  What a contrast of color and hope that tree presents next to the barracoon.

Today, these temporary holding places for slaves are used as parking spots. There are no signs or plaques to indicate what these holding places were used for.  I find that sad.

I struck up a conversation while I was there with two local gents who thanked me for taking the time to look at the barracoons and tell my children about them.  The gents also were happy to tell me that spirits of the past can easily be felt in the lower levels of the some of the antique shops which are down on or right above River Street.  I imagine the fear those poor souls felt would be something that could linger in the air.

The gents also said slaves who had been transported to Savannah from other places would be kept on Hutchinson Island until they were brought over to the Savannah port to market. Included in the lore from the gents was that slaves, their ancestors, would gather the unwanted fish thrown to the island by the fishermen boats at night.  They said lobster and shrimp would have been on the menu as those sought after treats of today were not so popular with the Savannah folk back then.

The gents also regaled me with other stories about when George Washington was in Savannah, but to date,  I have found no supporting documentation for their statements on slavery rules in Savannah.

Ahh, genealogy.  Learning about others' roots in early America can make you sit still and listen for  whispers in the wind.