Into the future . . . and the past
Jan. 2, 2012

Rowdy politely admires Christmas dinner and in case you wondered - no, he's not spoiled in the slightest.

A change in the calendar greets us and with it come introspection, intentions and partying.  In our case, there was precious little partying, okay - none - but still I greet a new year as an auspicious occurrence.  There is no particular reason to think January 1 will bear any variation from the last day of December, but it remains a marker for me, as many others, to strive for improvement in my habits and in my relationships.

I view each passing day in the same way, but with less drama perhaps.  A new calendar year invites questions: have I progressed toward stated goals?  Am I being of service?  Have I turned less toward judgement of myself and other people and more to being the best I can be?  Some I can answer in the affirmative, but always, more effort to be put forth.

As we evaluate progress and look with optimism to what is to come, it seems a good time to honor the ancestors and all those who have come before us, thus a perfect time to revisit the resting place of my great grandmother and those close to her.

We have been before to her homes in Littlefield and have visited her grave previously; now we will take advantage of the relative proximity to do so once again.

Driving in this northward direction, the landscape changes some - we find ourselves surrounded by oil wells to a lesser extent to see them replaced by more agriculture, primarily cotton but also crops of alfalfa and milo in addition to horse ranches.

One approximate quarter-mile stretch is marked along its length by signs showing the names of the thoroughbred race horses that have been bred there.





Tank anyone?

Startled might be too weak a description of my reaction as we come upon Sam’s Surplus, an emporium of military leftovers, but not the usual Jerry cans and ammo boxes.  Sam has one way or the other procured for sale such items as missiles, tanks, helicopters and Jeeps, nothing really for which I am in the market but worth a photo stop.





We pass through LaMesa, a good sized town that evidences prosperity and then Levelland, also bustling and sporting freshly-fallen snow.  I am surprised at the changes in temperature and precipitation across flat plains that display no other particular demarcations.

Cranes!

Sitting in the leisure seat, I had time to gaze across the countryside and wonder at a distant very large flock of birds, curious of course about what they were.  Although Chris is mostly amenable to my flights of fancy to turn off our course, cease forward motion for a look-see or some other detour from destination, he declined to attempt this chase, so we were left to wonder.

Not for long, though: soon we saw other gyrating columns undulating far upward, some veering off into formations and generally filling the sky.  As soon as we stopped, we knew for sure we had encountered thousands of sandhill cranes - their unceasing murmurings sounding for all the world like purring.

How exciting to chance on these beautiful graceful birds!  I tried getting pics of them in flight but without any great success, and the only ones we were close enough to photograph on the ground numbered in the hundreds, not thousands (remember: these pictures can be enlarged by clicking on them).


Honoring ancestors . . .

A most favored subject for me: finding ancestors, mine or someone else’s - it matters not.

I have long intended to put into writing how some of our discoveries have occurred, even saw it on a “to-do” list not long ago and renewed that resolution in my mind; now is the time to take action.  I begin with one aspect of our search for Kelleys, my name of birth.

On a date in 1991, we determined to utilize Christmas vacation for our first trip to the hill country of Texas, birthplace and/or home of our ancestral Kelley, Winans, Owen and Taylor families.  Dad and his parents were born near Barksdale, a burg that earns that description.  We loaded up Dad, two of our children and all incumbent luggage, taxing the springs of Maxi, the minivan.

Not now to go into the many great stories and connections that resulted from that sojourn, I will write only about what transpired after a stop on the way back to Arizona.  My great grandfather, Frank Kelley, and his father, James Kelley, are buried in Barksdale, but we knew from research that Frank’s wife, Julia Travis (Winans) Kelley was interred in Littlefield, Texas, and we wanted to locate her grave.

Time constraints of work and school dictated that we drive straight through to home at the end of our exciting and busy vacation with a late-day stop at the burying ground in Littlefield.  We were surprised by the large size of the cemetery and could see that we might not have enough daylight to locate her resting place.  There were five of us, though, so we deployed in a military-like fashion, each person jogging up and down his assigned rows.  We had just about despaired of success when someone called out they had found her near the back.

We all gathered and placed flowers on her grave and for the other kin buried next to her.  On one side was her son, Archie Kelley, my grandfather’s only sibling, who died at age 45. 

On the other side are her sister, Dovie (Winans) Harper and a brother, Doc Winans.



 


Time allotted was short and we were shortly off for the all-night drive home.  Afterward, I wrote a letter to the editor of the Littlefield newspaper (as a newly-retired newspaper publisher/editor, it seemed a natural).  This was early in our genealogy research days when we had little information about the family and were anxious to gather all we could.

In the letter, I briefly explained that I was descended from Julia and was anxious to obtain any information possible about the family.  I was overjoyed to receive three phone calls in response to my query.  Two were from sisters, Janice & Janine:  They remembered Julia from their childhood.  Not only that, they had her Bible!  Piecing together their story and those from cousins later, we found that when Julia died in hospital in Big Spring, some folks went into her house and helped themselves to her belongings before her brother, Frank Winans III, could get there from his home in Big Spring.  Frank looked after her in her later years.

I’m still shocked at the thought but know nothing of the circumstances although I have trouble imagining what circumstance could excuse that behavior.  At any rate, the sisters’ father somehow salvaged Julia’s Bible and displayed it in the front case of his store for many years, waiting for a Kelley kin to come by and retrieve it.  Upon his death, the sisters continued to save the Bible and were most happy to send it to me right away.  Imagine that!  This family saved that Bible for more than 30 years to return it to its family!

Since then, we have become good friends with them and another sister and have visited back & forth in Texas and Colorado.  They are dear people whom we cherish and whom I intend to visit again during this time in Texas.

The other call was from a woman who was a bit older and whose father had pastored the church that Julia and her mother, Martha (Mattie) Ellen (Owen) Winans had attended.

These three people most graciously shared their remembrances of our family, relating things that we could never have known otherwise.  It seems that Mattie was known as Granny Winans.  Because of her toothlessness, she had the appearance of nose and chin nearly touching.  Another inadequacy - hearing loss - was compensated for when the church provided a rocking chair up front for her.

The friend who shared these memories, Omega, was in her teens when she sat up with Julia during the night that Mattie died in Littlefield.  Mattie, my great, great grandmother, was buried beside her husband Frank Winans in Barksdale.  Omega remembered them loading the coffin onto the train to take her there.

Julia and her seven younger siblings were close, often sharing living quarters and employment.  We learned that Doc suffered from Parkinson’s disease and that he also lived and died in that same house; his room was at the northwest corner. 

Dovie, too, died in Littlefield, but I am not sure which house they were at then.  It was just about the time that Julia moved closer to the middle of town.  Their previous house included acreage on which she and Dovie grew vegetables and grapes commercially. 

Later, Julia babysat for neighbors to earn extra money.  We have visited both houses, shown where they are by our Littlefield friends.  The current visit was no exception.  One of the houses was abandoned even the first time we went there, but its condition and that of the outbuildings was relatively good, so much so that we can recognize it in old photos.  This time, though, we see that it will not be standing much longer.  All but the barn and part of the cistern are flattened and the roof of the house has deteriorated to the point that it will not last much longer.

Evidently, Julia also gardened and had a grape arbor, less extensive, at the house in town.  Most of that has given way to an addition on the house, which is still occupied.  My older brother tells me he visited Julia there with our Grandpa Kelley and that her eyesight was very bad; when she first spotted his tow-head, she thought he was bald.  I am sad that I did not get to know her or even that she existed although I was ten years old when she died.

This time and each visit, we remember her and the others by putting flowers on their graves and by trimming the trees that threaten to overtake the family plot.