Eternal Love

It was six months ago that I lost the love of my Life.  My husband Merrill passed away quietly at home on June 26 2013. Since then, I sold our home of 35 years and moved to a one level two bedroom two bathroom home that is easy for me to care for. It is in a lovely adult community that includes a clubhouse and an opportunity to meet new people and enjoy the many activities, 

There still isn't a day that goes by without shedding a tear.  But I am blessed with four children that give me great comfort.    They have been, and still are, with me every step of the way and I know this has been hard on them as well.  All we can do is love and comfort one another.

I have been diligently trying to put one foot in front of the other.  I dipped my toes into the water and hope to start a genealogy group next month within my new community.  The word is out and it appears that there is a genuine interest among many. I am hoping that will help me resume doing something I genuinely enjoyed and help heal the hole in my heart.

What brought me here today was remembering a poem I wrote years ago.  I would like to share it with you.  It is called.

Eternal Love

Yesterday our love was young

I think of all the songs we'd song

learning of each others ways

What happened to all those lovely days?

Today our love is deeper yet

since the first day that we met.

Four children now throughout the years

along with gladness and lots of tears.

Tomorrow our love grows stronger still

and every day still brings a thrill.

Alone again with memories past

and yet new journey's do we cast.

Into eternity my love went

oh how lonely my days are spent.

Wait for me, I'll join you soon there

our greatest love in heaven we'll share.



Heart vs Head

I have strayed away from writing in my blog this year.  Two weeks after celebrating our 50th wedding anniversary, Merrill was diagnosed with stage IV pancreatic cancer.  My heart is broken, life will never be the same without him.  I cry every day.  I haven't had much interest in writing at all for genealogy was something I shared with my husband. 

My focus is looking forward to building a new life for myself.  There is always a battle going on within me, heart vs head.  Sometimes I must listen to my head and not my heart to make the right decision. The loving heart can blindside you and wrong choices can be made in making the right decisions for the future. The hard thing is learning and understanding the difference to achieve the right solution.  

It became important to me and our children to turn this negative situation into a positive one for not only us, but for Merrill as well.  On September 28 we will doing a walk in Boston for Unite to Fight Pancreatic Cancer.  Our team has been working hard and have raised a little over $6000.

I am just going to write off 2013.  I don't see myself having much if any free time, with moving, settling into the new home I purchased, then the holidays and Christmas shopping. 

Sunday's Obituary - Magdalina

Mrs. Crouch, 93, Dies at LeMars on Jun. 23, 1851
Civil War Veteran's Widow Came to U. S. in Sailing Vessel

LeMars, Ia.--Special--: Mrs. Magdalena (Roesch) Crouch, widow of the late Andrew W. Crouch Civil War veteran, who would have been 94 years old June 23, died Sunday morning here at the home of a daughter, Mrs. Harold Pew, after suffering a stroke Saturday night.  She was the daughter of Mathias Roesch and Magdalina Jehle.

Mr. Crouch, who was the last surviving member of the Grand Army of the Republic post here, died in January shortly before his 96th birthday.

Mrs. Crouch was born June 23, 1851, in Aachen, Germany. She came to the United States at the age of 5 in a sailing vessl with her parents, who settled in Wisconsin.

On September 15, 1871, she was married to Mr. Crouch at Potosi, Wis. The following year they homesteaded 10 miles north of Sioux City in Plymouth county, where they resided until 1901 when they retired and moved to LeMars.

Funeral services will be held at 2:30 p.m. Tuesday in the Methodist church in LeMars, Rev. J.J. Share will officiate. Burial will be in the LeMars cemetery. Her grandsons will be pallbearers.

Survivors are a son, O. W. Crouch, Hinton; five daughters, Mrs. C. C. Hauff, Merrill; Mrs. H. Van Dyke, Sioux City; Mrs. W. F. Douglass, Hampton, Ia; Mrs. A. C. Lemon, Moscow, Idaho, and Mrs. Pew of LeMars; three half brothers, Otto, Charles, and August Roesch, all of Lancaster, Wis.; 19 grandchildren, 19 great grandchildren and a great great grandchild.

Four grandsons and three grandsons-in-law are in the military service. They are Lt. (jg) Dean Lemon and V-12 Student Ralph Lemon, both in the Navy; Maj. Guy H. Todd in France; S. Sgt Richard Pew in England; Sgt Donald Douglass in Pacific area; Pfc. Richard Stillinger and Raymond Hodapp, both in the United States. S. Sgt. William E. Bergman, a great grandson-in-law, was killed May 29, 1944 in Italy.

Note: She was named for her mother, Magdalena Roesch

Magdalina and Andrew Crouch

celebrate their 70th wedding anniversary

with their children

Milton Otto Roesch

Milton was born on October 15, 1902 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin to Otto Roesch and Mary Belle Pierce.  Sadly, Milton died on July 5, 1908 at the age of six.  He is buried in Hillside Cemetery, Platteville Grant County Wisconsin.

What Makes Me Me

I can't help but become sentimental when it comes to uncovering the secrets that lead to who you are.

Where did that strawberry blonde hair come?  Why do I rub my two fingers together?  Who was left-handed in the family that one takes after?  Why does my sister have thick hair and I have thin hair?  What about those idiosyncrasies?  Where in heaven’s name did those come from?

It’s fun to locate pictures of our ancestors, but those pictures are black and white and leave much to the imagination or yet to be discovered.   Certainly no home movies were left behind to validate information.  We can only rely on what an elder in the family remembers or what we find in cousins that we meet along the way. 

Only through meticulously researching the past are we able to uncover those long hidden secrets.

Let’s start at the beginning.  I have four children, two of them, a son and a daughter have strawberry blonde hair.  In the winter it's tends to be a darker blonde, but in the summer it lightens up to the strawberry blonde.  My mother’s side of the family had red hair and I always assumed that was where it came from.  

My husband’s mother was adopted.  Her birth mother died of TB at a very young age.  After researching his maternal birth grandmother’s side of the family we actually met some of his cousins, who much to our surprise had strawberry blonde hair.  We also discovered from the adoption papers that his maternal grandmother was a southpaw.  My husband was born left-handed but was trained to use his right hand.  Today he is ambidextrous.  Our daughter with the strawberry blonde hair is also left-handed. 

Strange how I rub my first and second fingers together, especially when riding in a car.  Never really paid much attention to it until others pointed it out.  Come to find out my dad performed this habit on a daily basis, and his father before him.  Recently I discovered I have a daughter who also inherited this feat.

These are just a few of the miracles of DNA that I have uncovered.  What can you find?

Names, dates, and places are the first things we discover.  Then we find pictures and cousins, sometimes simultaneously.  Then the personal side of what makes us who we are. Who we look like, the talents, personality, traits and habits we inherit that make us who we are, are some of the most fascinating discoveries of all.

Accepted At Last

The Florida Historical Society's main office is located in the old Post Office in Cocoa Village, Cocoa, Florida.   I remember going into the post office with my grandmother as a child.  It is a big impressive building. 

My mother donated some old photographs of the Cocoa and Eau Gallie area.  They asked her to write about her life as she remembered it which they published.  She was a Roesch afterall.  Now my family history was beginning to intrigue me.  Inside the front entrance of the FHS hangs a plaque with my mother's name engraved upon it.  My sisters and I were happy to make this happen for her to leave a lasting memory of her existence to the history of this area.

When I became interested in genealogy, every March while in Florida visiting, I spent time in this formidable building asking questions, sharing information and researching my Roesch history.  Every visit starting with the first visit frustrated me to no end.  Sometimes, I hate to admit, it really made my blood boil and my hair would stand on end.  I never felt welcomed and was made to feel intellectually inferior when it came to my family history.  Seems they thought they knew more than I did, especially when they told me I was pronouncing my family name Roesch incorrectly.  If you were to ask my husband he would tell you I embarrassed him on more than one occasion, most likely half-a-dozen times.  I just couldn't help myself, this was important to me.  Assuredly they weren't looking forward to my visit every March, but they were always gracious and I tried, I really tried to be polite. 

It was in March of 2008 that I stopped in for a last visit prior to my book, "Forever Laced" being completed for publication.  Two very important things happened.  First, Ben DiBiase, the Educational Resources Coordinator brought out a file box from the archives. He untied the cover and to my surprise lifted out correspondence my grandfather had written in 1932. The letters were found in the Roesch House in Eau Gallie that the FHS now owns and is part of the Rossetter Museum.  These letters along with responses were very important to see.  It put my grandfather's, William Philip's, life story into perspective for it showed how hard he was trying to find work during the depression.   

Then the man who always seemed to me to be a know-it-all, who refused to believe how to pronounce my family name walked in.  He sat at the table with us and asked in the softest voice I had ever heard him speak, "What was the relationship between your grandfather, and John McAllister?" I had uncovered his name and the relationship while researching the history of the Roesch family and felt quite satisfied to tell him, John was my grandfather's uncle.  This was a question, he as a genealogist hadn't been able to uncover.

The following year I returned with books in hand and donated two for their library. This time I was made to feel truly welcomed and treated with respect.  I was surrounded by those I had spoken with for so many years asking me, of all people, questions about the Roesch family and how it related to the history of Eau Gallie.  Finally, I felt accepted as one of their own.  I'm home at last.  And by the way, he now pronounces the name correctly, Ray-shh.

As a final note, my great grandfather, William Russell Roesch was the founder of the newspaper named the Eau Gallie Record.  I was able to convince his grandson, my uncle Clyde, that the collection of newspapers, some over 100 years old now in his custody, should be donated to the Florida Historical Society for safe keeping before they completely disintegrate. 

Ben DiBiase accepted these newspapers , 'Eau Gallie Record', 'Melbourne Times' and the 'Cocoa Tribune' stating in his letter written August 14, 2012, "Again, I want to thank you for making this donation possible,  these papers will be of great use to researchers in the future.  In fact, I have already received research requests from people who are interested in the history of Eau Gallie and would like to see these newspapers. He graciously included two CD's with digitally scanned copies of the newspapers, one for me, and one for my uncle.  Now we can enjoy these for a lifetime.

The Radio & Edgar Allen Poe

It was 1972 we were living in Concord, New Hampshire.  I was a housewife raising four children the youngest only twelve months old.  I loved listening to the radio as I went about doing the things that a young wife and mother do around the house.  No time to sit and watch TV but the radio was always on.

Being a lover of books, especially old books, something being announced on the radio caught my attention .  Someone was selling five books containing ten volumes about Edgar Allen Poe.  The asking price was $25, a rather hefty sum for us at the time where every nickel counted, but I couldn't resist.

I made the call to the woman who was selling them and told her I would be by later that day to purchase them.  That afternoon I collected my treasure and brought them home. 

Later that evening, after the children were bathed and put to bed, I sat down with my new purchase  and examined them with great care.  Some of the pages had never been slit apart so you couldn't see what was written in between.   Whomever owned these books not only loved Poe but loved poetry in general.  It was also clear that he loved distinguished American Literati.  A chapter in the book gives information about many authors that includes a sample of their handwriting.

The book had every story and poem that Poe had ever written.  To my surprise, inside each book were many newspaper clippings mostly about Poe but some of other poets as well who all mention Poe in one way or another.  One clipping read: "Author of 'Curfew Must Not Ring Tonight' Dies; aged 89", (1939) Rose Hartwick Thorpe, victim of heart attack. 

The oldest newspaper clipping I found was dated 1918.  "Hard Work Wins", Sir Fredrick Taves, a noted British Surgeon, said that hard work counts far more than brilliancy.  Brilliancy, like genius, is an accident.  It is born, not made. The world would be a dull, flat plane intellectually if it did not throw up brilliant people.  Hard work would never have given us Shakespeare, Beethoven, Keat, Heine, Poe, of Shelley. Woe to them who expect brilliancy alone to give them the success that is worthy and enduring.

Poe was a struggling writer whos works were rejected again and again but he worked hard and persevered.  In 1933 an article "Poe in an Informal Mood" stated, Poe was very far from being the stark, solemn, unsmiling figure that so many picture him.  he could even laugh at himself.  When he had won the hundred dollar prize in 1833, and Mr. Latrobe, one of the committee of award, asked the unknown young writer what else he had for publication, he replied that "he was engaged on a voyage to the moon".  He then apologized for his excitability, which he laughed at himself.

All that I find, all that I see, all that read, not only puts Poe into a previously unknown perspective for me, but also gave me information on all the other brilliant writers of that time.  I'm so glad I was listening to the radio that day.

Hey, Good Buddy

I'm taking you back to the early 1970's, the days of disco, flared pants, floral shirts, black and white television and the CB Radio. 

We owned a green station wagon with beautiful blonde wood adorning both sides of the car.  It was a pretty big car; they don't make them like that any more.  Seats belts hadn't yet been invented and our kids could climb over the seats and settle into the back with pillows and blankets. 

Once when returning home from an over-night trip my five children, I only have four but am counting my husband here, when a camping ground was spotted with a stream running through it.  I was begged by all to p-l-e-a-s-e stop and camp there.  Being outnumbered what is a mother to do but to say yes. 

My three girls and I huddled way in the back of that green station wagon where the full moon kept me awake all night.  My husband and son slept outside near the stream when a surprise visitor arrived, by the name of skunk, sniffing my son up and down. Horrified, my husband prayed his son would not move.  Whew, all's well than ends well, but it did get into our picnic basket.

Many of you already know I grew up traveling to Florida the first two weeks in July, when my father eared his annual two weeks vacation, to visit my maternal grandparents. We drove down route #1 reading all the South of the Border and Burma Shave signs.  But now married with four children we decided to drive down caravan style, with my parents in the lead.  Having done this for so many years, they knew the way like the back of their hand. 

To communicate we both installed CB radios prior to our departure.  Naturally we had to have names, we were called Green Dragon for our green station wagon, and they were Yellow Bird because they drove a yellow Mercury.  It worked great and we certainly got the hang of  of CB's quickly. 

There were always truckers on the road, it seemed like every other vehicle was an eighteen-wheeler.  And, every one of them had a CB. Sometimes we would get stuck between two of these trucks meaning you were in the cradle.  You always knew when there was a sheriff down the road because they would announce, "Hey good buddy, County Mountie spied just past exit 82".  Or, hey good buddy, Smokey (state police) up ahead giving out gifts ( tickets).  Then once in awhile you would hear a female voice break in attempting to entice a trucker to her stop. Oh my!  We heard a trucker respond and she replied, " Too late, you've already gone by me".  Happy my children were too young to understand.

The CB radio was used for emergencies like a potty stop, flat tire, potty stop, to get gasoline, or a potty stop. What can I say we had four kids and potty stops were important. Mom slept most of the way so dad kept driving despite the fact it was way past lunchtime.  It was only when we saw my mother's head pop up off the pillow that rested against the window that we would stop to eat.  No wonder dad wouldn't stop for lunch, he was trying to make up time.  Thank goodness we had a cooler on the back seat floor with cold drinks and a few snacks to tide us over.

The CB radio of its day made a rather long drive a fun one. Those days are long gone, filed away in history leaving me with wonderful memories that become more precious as time goes by.

Rev John Lothrop



My 9th Great Grandfather

Rev. John Lothrop, my 9^th great grandfather was born in England in 1854 to a prestigious family.  He was educated at Oxford and then Cambridge University. Upon graduation he was ordained a Deacon in the Church of England.

Years later his views began to shift toward Protestant views. During the 17^th Century it was crime to practice anything but the Church of England. This put himself at odds with the King on the topic of religious freedom.  This put Lothrop subject to severe punishment.

He was arrested and imprisoned in 1632 under terrible conditions and treatment. Two years later he was released on the condition he remove himself to the New World. He set sail on the Griffin along with 30 of his followers, arriving in Boston in 1634.

During the voyage, while at evening devotions, the Reverend Lothrop spilled hot candle wax on the open book which burned through several pages, causing holes about the size of a shilling.  Before landing, he carefully repaired most of the damaged paper and filled in the missing text from memory. A few of the holes in the pages remain."  The Bible is on display at the Sturgis Library in Barnstable, MA

Christmas Past

Kathryn Smith Lockhard

I can’t help but get a little sentimental over the Christmas' of yesterday.  It brings back the memories of being a child excited about all the bright presents under the tree with my name on them.  Bright colorful paper and bows that just delighted my eyes and tickled me down to my toes.

It was a great time, Christmas Eve gathering together with all my aunts, uncles, siblings and parents, too.  Cousins, there were many, and we filled the room as we sat on the floor with legs folded.  The gifts were passed out by the oldest of children who could read and be the most responsible not to drop perhaps a breakable gift.

When it came time to open the presents we had to wait our turn for tradition dictated the order was from the youngest child to the oldest adult.

At the end of the evening my parents would load the car with all the loot my sisters and I received. On the ride home we watched the skies for Santa and his reindeer.  Almost always we just knew we saw him.

Christmas morning the number one rule was to run to my mother and get her out of bed. She wanted to be part of watching her children’s delighted faces when we spied our gifts located beneath our stockings.  We could always count on finding an onion in our stockings.  It meant we had to try harder to be good during the next year.

I had turned 13-years-old, that September and it would be the last year I believed in Santa. Sad that childhood years end so quickly.  But that final Christmas when I believed, I told my mother I wanted tangerine lipstick.  She told me I was too young for lipstick.  But come Christmas morning in my stocking guess what I found?  You guessed it, tangerine lipstick.  I exclaimed to my mother, “ See, Santa thinks I’m old enough.”