Dripping, Costco, Bruce Willis, roots, tangents
October 5, 2009

After a drippy night, we point our noses toward Hillsborough, the seat of Orange County, driving through ever-more-dampness, hitting the granddaddy of all potholes. With our eyeteeth jarred, we continue, none the worse for wear.

Ah, a Costco fix at long last! Perusing the store allowed me to feel pretty much right at home. We sampled some samples and bought very little. Making an attempt at purchasing liquor, we discovered after much ado that one can buy booze in this country only at an ABC Store; the local ABC Store was not open, presumably because it was Sunday. I am unsure what local regulations govern this status, but am guessing that this is a government-run establishment. Evidently, it is completely satisfactory with local government that other purveyors provide wine and beer. Perhaps the rationalization (there must have been one) is that those beverages lack the danger incipient in other distillations.

If one insists on imbibing while traveling, one encounters all manner of differences in how one may obtain one’s liquor of choice. In some places, wine and beer are sold in a separate department, liquor elsewhere. In others, the department must be accessed by a door different than the one used to obtain food. If there’s a different way to control and arrange the sale of intoxicating beverages, a government somewhere has figured it out.

Wow, what a tangent! I was going to talk about the very expensive, but fairly posh theater in which we found ourselves on Sunday afternoon. Our flick of choice was “Surrogates”, not that the film itself seemed overwhelmingly attractive, but because I was yearning to go to the movies, and Bruce Willis was the leading man. Can’t go wrong with that, I said, but then that’s what I said about Johnny Depp when he came up with the movie “Sweeny Todd.”

Actually, it was pretty intriguing, although I must say seeing Bruce Willis as his own surrogate (“surry” they familiarly called them), robotic with hair was a bit startling. Anyway, heroic, triumphant ending and all that.

I saw a poster for a movie called something like "Men who looked for goats". The name wasn't especially important; I was taken with the slogan: "No goats, no glory."

Forests, who am I . . .

I had thought we might walk in the Duke Forest, but by that time, the late hour, gray skies and claustrophobic treed atmosphere deterred me. I don’t know what the Duke Forest is, but suppose it is a private or state area such as we’ve seen in other places. Near Flat Rock, there is the much larger Dupont Forest, where John took us hiking, and in Indiana, we walked in the McVey Forest, planted by fellow descendants of our McVeys. It is so different from what we are accustomed to with our huge national forests.

Monday morning, we arrived at the Hillsborough public library to do research preparatory to moving down the street to the Orange County Courthouse. We have found that it works well to utilize a local library if possible before moving on to governmental records.

Before we began that tactic, several times we checked court documents, then went to the library and discovered additional names we should have been looking for. In this case, we never ended up in the courthouse at all because the library had everything we were likely to find. It took about four hours of slogging through microfilmed property and marriage indexes and records, a wholly tedious undertaking, with mixed success.

While I slogged, Chris perused hardcover volumes. One account he found told about a local loyalist who absconded with the County records to keep them out of the hands of the Patriots during the American Revolution. To keep them hidden, he buried the documents on his property. When they were unearthed three years later, the papers were in a state of decay (somehow not too surprising). In 1842(!!!), the County finally got around to employing someone to copy them. Way too little way too late: about 80% of the records were not salvageable.

Discouraging news which made it even more surprising to locate some of our family’s records anyway. It was an interesting search, much different than what I’ve done anywhere else, for example, one film reel might contain all the marriages for certain letters from the 1750s to the 1950s, at least alphabetized, thank goodness, because much of it was barely legible and some of it not at all.

We got the marriage of our Jesse Bracken to Jean Cantrell, 1790, and some of Isaac Bracken’s deeds in addition to others from the family. The deeds were helpful only to the point of giving us vicinities of their residences.

Hillsborough, fellow lunchers . . .

Before we drove out looking for their properties, we did some sightseeing around Hillsborough, as pretty and interesting a town as I’ve ever seen. It is filled with homes predating the American Revolution and others of the 18th and 19th centuries. All is well-kept and charming, large lots - treed but with open lawns. It is like a step back into the time period, and without the tourists that a place like that typically attracts. Instead of the often-seen plaque attached to a house explaining its antiquity, in Hillsborough, they have posted signs street-side, making it easy to read building name and date. I thought it was an excellent idea.

I loved the Inn at Teardrops of 1767 with its graceful and unique teardrop-shaped windows in the doors and a few others I photographed, at least one as old as 1754 near the 1759 Carolina Inn.





















While enjoying a late lunch on the sidewalk outside a local eatery, we had a great conversation with one fellow who lives there and his sister-in-law who was visiting from nearby. He has been there for a couple of years and likes it very well, he said, pointing out that it is a cohesive community, unlike Williamsburg where he lived before, and has the educational and cultural advantages of major universities and colleges close at hand. Soooo, put it on the list.

They are proud of his son-in-law who seems to be on the cusp of a successful music career as one of the Avett Brothers. I will have to look up their music.

A funny plaque posted by the Courthouse relates how a pioneer group led by Daniel Boone lit out from that spot for exploration. That part’s not odd, but the explanation that they marched solemnly away into the wilderness seemed pretty strange. I like to think of them being giddy with the excitement of the unknown.

Homesteads . . .

Then, we were off and away to the ancestral homesteads. In these cases, we could do no more than get fairly close to the vicinities of their farms, possibly on the property, but no way to know for sure. Without section, range and township to guide us, we were reduced to triangulating based on the “waters” on which they sited and the neighboring properties. Cantrells and Brackens were near each other in very attractive country - rolling forested hills carved by small streams. The crops now are pretty much confined to tobacco and hay and one other that we didn’t identify, but was possibly peanuts.

Our only known ancestral death here was Jacob Cantrell in 1790. We think it’s possible he is buried at Union Ridge; however, that burying ground was too large to survey in the time we had. I was a little disappointed, but realistically didn’t expect to find a stone that old. Our Stalcup progenitors did not remain here so there wasn’t much to look for on them.

All in all, a long day, tiring and not very exciting, but then sometimes research is less than exhilarating.

What was exciting was skyping with Sara last night and watching baby Trinity Grace crawl as if she’d been born knowing how; the child zoomed! It really brought home how quickly they change.

The day ended a bit drier than it began, but ne’er a sun did shine. It’s feeling very autumnal in these parts, although the anticipated leaf color change has not progressed anything like it did last year by this time. Encyclopedic partner maintains that the incessant precipitation delays or deters the fall blush.