It Doesn't Matter

I think that every parent at one time or another [and maybe more than once] has "lost" their child.  Maybe it was in a department store.  Maybe it was at the grocery store.

No matter where it was, while you were looking for them, if you're the praying kind, you probably prayed, "It doesn't matter just as long as I find them."  [Or something like that.]  Then after you found them safe and sound [maybe hiding amongst the stacks of toilet paper in the grocery store], relief washed through you like a cleansing rain.  And your very, very first thought was, "It doesn't matter why you ran off.  I'm just so glad I found you."

Later there will be time for lectures and scoldings, and [my favorite], "Don't ever do that again!" demands later.

But the "I-don't-care-I'm-just-so-glad-I-found-you!" feeling is powerful.  Maybe even desperate at times.  Nothing else matters.  Just that I found you.

This is exactly how I feel when I'm searching for my ancestors.  [*snort*  Minus the panic.  Sometimes.]  When I finally find them, that's how I feel.  Never mind that I've been looking for them for years.  And not just looking for their vitals either.  I'm talking about really finding 'em.  Their nicknames.  Their likes and dislikes.  Their hopes and fears.  Their stories.

So here's what I have to say to my very, very dear ancestors:

It doesn't matter that I really don't have a "go-to" person in my family for remembrances, stories and whatnot.  [Did you never talk about yourself?  Geez Louise.]

It doesn't matter that I spend countless hours in libraries so cold that meat could be hung in there looking for you in books that look like they haven't been read, much less touched, in years.  All for just a shred [A measly shred.  Is that too much to ask?] of your very existence.

It doesn't matter that I'm going cross-eyed trying to read your contemporary's awful [God-awful] handwriting in hopes of finding where you lived or who you lived with [Geez.  Another wife? *rolling eyes heavenward*].

It doesn't matter that I have to look for your tombstone in a cemetery that looks like its last visitor ~alive or not~ was in 1965.  Or that your tombstone is probably underneath the brush left from the last hurricane.  And that it's broken.  Or that the side of town that your cemetery is in is not so good ~to say the very least~ and after looking, like forever, I still can't find you, and my tummy is growling because I skipped breakfast and lunch to find your tombstone, and I have 30 minutes left before I have to pick up the kids from school.  And there's nary a fast food restaurant around.  Nor a bathroom.  Nor a gas station [cuz, oh yeah, I need gas, too.].

It doesn't matter that I have to drive to Galveston Island, Texas and take photos of where the family farm once was.  Near the beach.  [And the waves can be heard from there.]  Or that I have to go spend time on the 3rd floor of the library where the archives are located looking for you instead of relaxing on the beach with a frosty fruity drink.  Or that I have to take the ferry from Galveston Island to Bolivar Peninsula to take photos of more beach-front property you might have lived on or nearby.  Or that I have to go back again because I got a lead on your church records.  [O.K., so maybe some searches are a little more enjoyable than others.  Thank you.  But maybe you could just send me a message in a bottle while I relax on the beach.]

Likewise, it doesn't matter what your journey was to get to me.

It doesn't matter if you ran away from home.  [Just make sure you left me a paper trail. *wink*]

It doesn't matter if you changed your name five times.  [Just who the hell were ya', anyways?]

It doesn't matter if you had two divorces, three wives, and a few mistresses.  [Oh well, some people never learn.  Just a few more leaves on the trees.  Oooh, and the stories.]

It doesn't  matter that you eloped.  [At least you only married once.  Unlike some people.  I hope you eloped in a neighboring county, though.  Not in some far-flung place that I'd never think to look in.]

It doesn't matter that all you ever had was that little piece of land that you farmed on out of necessity.  [I just hope you were happy.  And that you left the farm records behind.]

It doesn't matter that you were excommunicated  from the Catholic Church because of all your divorces.  [Paper trail. Paper trail.]

It doesn't matter that you lost everything in the hurricane.  [I'm proud you survived and bounced back.  Otherwise, whose great-granddaughter would I be?]

It doesn't matter that you didn't leave any photos behind.  [I wonder if we looked alike.  And who is responsible for my freckles?  Was that you Annie O'Brien?]

It doesn't matter that if you and I are truly related, that you weren't a patriot in the American Revolutionary War.  [I mean, I wasn't there.  Who am I to judge?  I'm just glad you stood up for what you thought was right.  Besides, without you, who would I be then?]


It just doesn't matter.  You're family.  You're mine.


You see, I'm just so glad that I found you.

Life's Not Fair

Like most parents [I'm sure], I go 'round and 'round with my kids to get them to do their chores.  In fact, right now as I write, my daughter is cleaning out her closet.  Under protest.  With big "sighs".  Rolling her eyes heavenward.  [I have absolutely no idea where she gets that from.]

My son this morning even exclaimed, "This isn't fair!"  That's when I rolled my eyes heavenward, and replied, "I don't care.  Life's not fair.  Get used to it."

I snorted and added, "You don't have any idea what you're talking about.  You have it so easy."  And they do. "I had to pick up my toys, to clean my room, to clear off the table after dinner, to feed and teach the 2 double yellow-headed and 3 double red-headed parrots how to talk,  and to feed and breed the hundreds of parakeets out in the aviary.  Oh, and in the summer time, that was on top of working for both my mom at her pet shop and my dad at his truck and trailer business."

[snort] And my kids complain about cleaning their rooms?  Give me break!

Well, all this reminded of Pearl and Harve Pointer.  You know, the beautiful Pearl (Williams) Pointer?  [She was a looker, wasn't she?]  I've recently been reading her account books, or day books, of the Pointer farm in Iowa from as early as 1918 through the 1940's.  Man, we had nothing on Pearl.  She really worked.  I mean, really worked.

These books are a treasure trove of what a midwest farm was like in the 1920's, 1930's and 1940's, and I can sum it up in just one word: work.

They list all the purchases and all the sales on the farm as well as yearly inventories and loans [both given and received].  From the car they owned in the early 1920's, to the road work performed in and around their farm, to the boys' allowances and pay for work on the farm.  Not to mention, what pastures different animals were placed in.  It's all there.  Below are some of my favorite entries:

Bought:
3 Oct 1922 flour, mittens, oil, thread, meat $4.80
[Just as varied as a Walmart receipt of today.]

10 Oct 1920 Hail Insurance $20.00

5 Oct 1937 hair oil, putty .30
[Gotta slick back Harve's and the boys' hair.]

15 March 1920 buggy top $8.50
25 Jun 1924 buggy tongue $3.00
[Gotta keep the buggy in working order.]

20 Nov 1919 lime, cement, sand $5.18
20 Nov 1919 work on chimney $4.50
20 Nov 1919 Thimbles on chimney $.50
[Um. You mean they didn't just call the chimney repair dude?]

[Speaking on calling...]
3 Dec 1919 telephone rent $5.25

14 Sep 1919 paint for wagon $2.05

20 Sep 1919 weinies and liver $1.05
12 May 1920 plants and bologna $1.50
[There are a lot of entries for "weinies".  Apparently they liked them.  And they're cheap.  And the bologna?  The BEST bologana I've ever had is the bologna that's made in Iowa.  I know.  Iowa's known for its corn, but the bologna is their best-kept secret.]


3 Jan 1922 Lester's suit $5.00
11 Jan 1922 Harold's suit $7.08
9 Nov 1921 Shoes for girls $8.50
9 Nov 1932 Shoes for boys  & hose $5.76
[There are many entries over the years for the kids' clothes, but what stands out are the school clothes and the suits.  And really, nothing's changed about that, has it?  Oh, and I'm pretty sure the hose were for the girls.]


20 Sep 1919 shingles for house $75.70
5 Jun 1923 wallpaper, hats etc. $10.60
15 Feb 1926 lumber for chicken house $53.00
[Um.  I don't see an entry for the labor for the shingle work.  S'pose they put 'em on themselves.  On one page is a listing of room dimensions of the house for wallpaper.  Then wallpaper was purchased here and there after that.  Again, no labor listed anywhere for the wallpaper or for the chicken house.]

8 Feb 1922 Valentine $1.44
[What I wouldn't do to see that Valentine and scan it and share it with y'all...]


29 Jan 1918 bought bull of Franklin's $50

[There are a ton of animal purchases and sales over the years, as you might expect.]

23 Jan 1918 glasses $6.00
1 Feb 1918 fur coat lined $15.90
18 Feb 1918 organ $6.00
18 Sep 1924 watch repair $1.35
11 Jan 1926 Radio $102.50
[Um. I wonder whose glasses these were ~ those listed above and those pictured here.  It's not clear if the glasses  pictured were Pearl's, but it's suspected.  This farm family was better off than others if they purchased a radio in 1926.  Also, I wonder whose watch was repaired?  The one pictured here was Pearl's daddy's watch [A.O. Williams].

In big handwriting the following was written on page 45:

$191.38 eggs sold in 1920. 374 2/3 number of dozens sold.

Yes, eggs were sold every year, but this was a big egg-producing year for the farm.  [Hm. I wonder who did all that work? *eyes big and round*]


The building and maintenance of the roads to, from, and around the farm were apparently kept up by those who owned the farms.  Listings of the work done and how much it cost exist for every year for the Pointer farm.  Here are a few of the entries for 1923:


Feb 15th & 16th - 1 day digging snow; 1/2 day getting dump boards
Apr 9 - 1/2 day fixing bridge
July 14 - 1/2 day get boards for culverts
July 16 - 1 day putting in culverts
July 17 - 1 day putting in culverts & getting boards
July 18 - 1/2 day putting in culverts
July 30 - 1/2 day putting in culverts


Wow.  Looks like they had more culverts than they thought.  And culvert work sounds like a lotta fun.  And easy too.  [snort]


Here's a much-needed purchase [I'm sure.]:
10 Jul 1937 lemons, ice 50 cents
[I wonder who, um, had to make the lemonade?   Bet that tasted reeeaaal good.]


Well, I'm sure you get the picture.  At least I do.  There was a lot of work to be done back then on a farm, and probably not enough hands to do it with.   I wonder what Pearl said to her kids when they said, "That's not fair.  I don't wanna do any more culvert work."  Yeah, me too.  I'm thinkin' she told 'em something like, "Life's not fair.  Get back out there and get that culvert work done."


[Note: I do believe I will make the Pointer Family Farm Daily Books required reading this summer on our trip up to Iowa for the Pointer Family Reunion ~ from a copy, of course.]