The Grass Widow

I can hear you now - Grass widow you say?  What on earth could that mean? Is it a short story or an idiom for a pothead's wife? Where did you find this Jamie?

My answer, in the Kentucky birth records of the 1800's and if you'll wait a second, I will be happy to regale you with the details, you know. The "w's"; who, why, when, where...  I am not including the how, 'cause, well, that's a private story probably lost to time.  

So let's Go back a second and forget those w's.  Writing in such an organized fashion really cramps my style.  Let me tell you a story, of, how I have become acquainted with "The Grass Widow."

It starts out rather innocuously, like most shocking tales.  I was researching an Uncle 3 or 4 times removed.  A Mr. Thomas McNeal.  He was a brother to my great-great grandfather, John Hackworth McNeal (known as Pat for a not- so -obvious reason).  Both resided in Boyd and Greenup, Kentucky and have records scattered in Pennsylvania, Ohio, and Kentucky.  But that's a whole 'notha story.  So, anyways, I have the leaf thing going on in Ancestry (always, they never, ever-ever, end) and figured I would check it out.  It was something useful; an actual, well documented, and nicely written, birth record!  You know, that's always better than nice.  Turns out it was for a child of Thomas and his wife Mrs. Elizabeth Montgomery McNeal in regards to his daughter Catherine.  Well, having learned a thing or two from a few years of research, I decided to read the whole, well-written, and comically notated page.  As follows:

Curated over at Ancestry.com

And there it is.... A Grass Widow, the father listed as "The Father Not known to Me".  Umm, okay, I thought to myself, I can't imagine what this is. Well, maybe I can. Maybe her husband was out west in the grass fields, or he had been killed in some incident named after grass.
 Being a child of the 1980's, my other thought was the MariJuana. Ya know what I mean, green corn, ganja, reefer...Did you know they were toking it up back then? it wasn't even illegal!  Anyways, I realized, due to the definite difference in time and reason, that was not it.  And so, I reverted to the forever trustworthy, Google search.  If it's on the internet it must be true, right?  Well, no, but in this case, yes.  It's on the Internet in a real, honest to glory be, dictionary slash web site.  And here is the ever glorious definition, and explanation of such; a thing which has forever changed my life.  Okay, that's a bit of exagerration, but it has blown a few brain fuses. 

http://www.thefreedictionary.com/grass+widow

Basically, what this is saying, is that she was a woman left to her own devices. Her husband wasn't around, if she even had one, and the implication was that she had been for a roll in the umm... grass and got caught with the evidence. The child has a last name other than hers so the mystery deepens even even farther. Umm. Hello, was this record keeper making commentary on how this baby came to be? Where did he learn such a term, antiquated even in the 1800's.  My only best guess is that he was an immortal, and obviously slipped up in his hiding skills. HA!  Probably not,  I think his humor was a little wry - a few lines above the grass widow a set of twins was born, annoted as "This is doing a fine business!"  I swear, it is true, the proof is right before you.

So now. We know how the story ends.  Wait, what... We don't?  Of course not, but maybe, just maybe, I will take it upon myself to do a little off tree family research and uncover the the "grass widow's" secrets.  

Until then, keep digging, you never know what treasure you may uncover!

On being the family genealogist.

I don't know who this amazing lady is, but she is who I feel I would
have been in her time.  This Photo is from the Florida Archives,
she is unidentified. 

I am a family historian, a genealogist, a keeper of memories.  I honor the legacies and stories of my ancestors every day as I think about them, know their struggles, learn their heartaches.  I find peace in my daily life through knowledge that their lives made mine possible;  That my modern struggles pale in comparison to the struggles that they faced on a daily basis.

In a previous post I pondered the thought of HOW they could just keep going.  Moving from one place to another with nothing modern to help.  No cars, no planes, no moving trucks, not even a bank. They carried what they owned or paid someone else to.  Someone who was as likely to run off with their things as they were to make it to the destination.

My ancestors (and many other Scots-Irish and German people's) were the first into areas that other people hadn't gone.  They faced attacks from wild animals, native peoples, and sicknesses.  They didn't have a row to hoe till they got there so they really put their faith in God.  Really.  The thought of dying while probably just as grim as now, wasn't a high wall, it was just another bump in the road.  They did things daily that today we mark off with "don't try this at home" and even worse "you may be killed if you attempt this".

Our ancestors knew how to do things with nothing.  They did it.  They brought us here. It is the least I can do to make sure that their legacies are remembered.  Good, bad, or ugly, I carry with me the blood of generations of Americans who haven't been remembered well.  It's my goal, almost a deep calling, to uncover who they were, where they went, and what they did.  It is my duty to remember them for everyone else and share that knowledge wherever it is wanted.

It is awkward to explain to people this connection I have always had with my ancestors, maybe I am a little "off my rocker" or maybe it's a special strand of DNA that makes me different.  Whatever it is I am proud to have it and I intend to continue the quest until all avenues have been exhausted.

Thanks for reading. Leave comments!

I wrote this while listening to inspiring music by Clanadonia on Youtube - Scottish Music is kind of amazing at bringing out the writing magic.