Family Stories – GenealogyAtHeart.com

Croatian Family Stories – An Update

Lori Samuelson and Dr. Nikolina Antonić in front of Turopolje Manor

Today’s blog is the last in my Croatian series and it adds to the family stories I have previously written about. My maternal grandmother, Mary Koss, was a dramatic storyteller. As a child, I loved her tales of the old country. As I aged, I wondered about the content and began researching for facts. Boots on the ground enabled me to check out the truth in ways I could never do online.

The picture above is of a typical Croatian nobleman house from the beginning of the 19th century. This one was built in 1806. The family business was housed on the first floor with the family living on the second floor. The homes typically were furnished with artwork, porcelain collections, a stove for heating, and a piano. We always had a piano which my mother hated taking lessons, porcelain knickknacks, and art. I never thought of my family as owning those items in the old country as nothing was brought with them to the U.S. The families entertained often and a sign noted that guests of this home, constructed by Petar Modić, were the Kusević and Pogledić families. Those names were of interest to me as my grandparents had friends in the U.S. with those surnames and I knew they had been from nearby villages in Croatia. And yes, my grandparents entertained often. I had no idea, that all these families had been considered noblemen nor that the families had been acquainted for more than a hundred years before their emigration. I was also surprised to learn how much land those titled people, known as PL, owned. Dr. Antonić’s dissertation was on land deeds from the 1200s in the area so our next visit was to the castle my grandmother recalled our family protecting.

Due to earthquake damage, we couldn’t get up close to Castle Turopolje. I was astounded to discover how close the site was to my ancestor’s villages. Running downhill from their homes through the woods would not have taken more than ten minutes. Like in my grandmother’s story, the castle had a moat which you can see is now weed-filled. This castle is a replica, built in the 1900s, of the one that stood in the same location where my relatives defended against the Turks. You can read my blog about the original event here.

Another surprise was the discovery that not only my Kos line but my Grdenić line was also titled PL. How I missed that information as a kid is beyond me! Unfortunately, the volume with the Kos information was missing from the Croatian National Archive and I’m awaiting a copy from another organization.

My grandmother’s paternal side, the Kos family, originated in Dubranec. You can see the forest area where they were granted privilege by the king to hunt for their bravery in defending the castle. Just around the bend, the village of 99 homes begins.

Mary Koss’ Birthplace in Dubranec, Croatia. Photo by Google Maps

I’m using a Google Maps photo of my maternal side’s ancestral home, built before 1861 as noted in that census. For privacy reasons, I am not showing a current photo as the house has had some changes. I had no family pictures of it and in my mind, I had always thought it would have been a wooden structure, much like Turopolje Manor. I have no idea when the stucco was added over the original wood but many homes began that custom by the mid-1800s. The residences to the right and left had been bricked. My grandmother had her home in Gary, Indiana bricked during the Depression; perhaps she did that because the neighbors had done so in Croatia. All three homes, along with a parking lot and a medical facility, were once the Kos family farm. The family-owned much more land and as the family grew over the years, lots became subdivided to include more dwellings. This I discovered at the Croatian State Archives. My family always had a kitchen garden when I was growing up so I wasn’t surprised to see that there was space for one. My grandmother had mentioned a garden, too. The building is no longer in the family. It had been turned into a tavern but the owner recently died so we could not go inside to visit. There are no Kos’ left in Dubranec according to the neighbor on the left side and Mr. Hrvoj, a distant cousin of mine, who happened to walk down the street.

Around several more turns up the mountain, we found ourselves in my maternal great-grandmother’s ancestral home, the Grdenić’s. The village is small and consists of a few farms. It looks as I thought a village from the 1800s would:

Anna Grdenić’s Ancestral Home, Jerebic, Croatia

There are no Grdenić’s left in Jerebic according to the farmer who came out to see who was visiting. It is a working farm with roosters walking freely. Although the house now has electricity, running water, and plumbing, it did not when my great-grandmother lived there. The well is no longer used but I can imagine my two times great grandmother drawing water from it:

Lori Samuelson in Front of the Grdenić Family Well

My grandmother’s middle name was Violet and I was surprised to see all the wild violets that grew around the house.

Records in the archive stated that the family was known for their fine vineyard. I should have known the family grew grapes as I have blogged about their winemaking during Prohibition yet I never thought about that custom coming with them to the new country. I have the family recipes and one of my kids still follows them. Sometimes the hints are right in front of us yet we fail to recognize them. My husband and I laughed when we heard about the vineyards as we have always had a grape arbor and we had just planted grapes a few days before we left for Croatia.

Next, we went back down the mountain to Dubranec to visit Our Lady of the Snows Roman Catholic Church which is a 5-minute walk from my Kos’ family home:

The Earthquake Damaged Church of Our Lady of the Snows, Dubranec, Croatia

The church was badly damaged in the 2020 earthquake and is off-limits. The priest lives in the village but we were unable to locate him. Here is my original family legend about Our Lady of the Snows.

I was hoping to find gravestones for the missing vital information that former leader Josip Tito had destroyed but unfortunately, the cemetery only contains newer graves. Dr. Antonić explained that the Croatian custom is to pay annually for the grave upkeep and if payment is not made, after some time, the remains are removed and stored in a combined gravesite. I couldn’t find that location and will have to contact the parish priest for more details.

Our Lady of the Snows Roman Catholic Church Cemetery, Dubranec, Croatia

The former article mentioned a mysterious pilgrimage site that was identified by genealogist Lidija Sambunjak. We were on our way to Marija Bistrica:

My great-grandmother Anna Grdenić Koss, according to my Great Aunt Barbara, went on a pilgrimage to this site. I had a postcard that was written to my mother when my Aunt Anne Marie and Aunt Barbara visited Croatia in the 1980s. Unfortunately, the name of the site wasn’t written on the postcard. I blogged about solving the mystery recently. I believe Anna made the pilgrimage after losing her first two children at birth. I have records for one of the two, one may have been a miscarriage. I suspect Anna was praying for a child to survive and that occurred after the pilgrimage with my grandmother, Mary. Anna would go on to have three more children, Joseph and Barbara, who survived to adulthood, and Dorothea, who I can find no record of that died as a child. The distance to this church from the villages is an hour by car over steep mountain roads. I know that my female ancestors were strong women but this journey would not have been easy. We did see pilgrims hiking to the church and it reminded me that once, long ago, Anna was one of them. Like most of Croatia due to the earthquake, the church is under construction but we were able to go inside.

Boots on the ground research enabled me to walk in my ancestor’s footsteps. It was an emotional journey that added richness to the family stories that were told to me as a child. I am fortunate to have connected with such knowledgeable women in Croatia who helped me gain insight into my family’s history. This was a trip of a lifetime that I will carry with me forever.

Cemetery Caper

Back in November, I visited a local cemetery to pay my respects to my husband’s Great Half Uncle, William O. Johnson. When we arrived we couldn’t get into the mausoleum as the door was locked. There was no sign on the door that provided the hours it was open.

There was no cemetery office and we were the only ones in the cemetery so we went home, disappointed. I immediately went online to Findagrave.com to discover how I could connect with a cemetery trustee.

What I found was a transcription from Dorothy A. Ditmars History of DeKalb County Cemeteries (1924) that states “…The present manager of this cemetery is Mr. L. Gengler, an attornery (sic) of Garrett, Indiana).”

The next paragraph transcribes a “printed page (source unknown)” that John Martin Smith had in his private files that stated, “Lots are mowed by Oliver Maurer, who has been employed as caretaker since 1954.”

I looked for another site that contained more recent info and found that every other site had copied the same information. Luckily, a newspaper article appeared in the Garrett Clipper on 23 June 2020 about a new Columbarium that was being installed in the cemetery close to the mausoleum. The article mentioned contacting the nearby Roman Catholic Church for information on purchasing lots and niches.

I emailed the church office and a week and a half later hadn’t gotten a response. I thought they might be busy as it was nearing Christmas. I decided to go to my local genealogy library to research some street names in the city and while there, mentioned I couldn’t get into the mausoleum. The librarian was working on a county cemetery project and had just finished with the cemetery I was interested in minutes before I entered. She handed me the book of copies of lot purchases. I found several for the family I was interested in, the Blairs, but none of the Johnsons, which were the ones I needed. Then it hit me, the records for the mausoleum were missing from the book.

I know this sounds unbelievable but for my long-time readers, you know weird things happen to me whenever I do boots-on-the-ground research – a woman came into the library asking for a book of newspaper articles from 25 years ago. While the librarian retrieved it, the woman and I spoke and she just happened to be the reporter who had written the story in 2020. She encouraged me to call the church office and not rely on waiting for a response from their email system. She also gave me the answers to my street names questions that I hadn’t been able to find on maps in the library.

I called the parish office as soon as I got home and was told that the clerical staff would check with the priest and call me back. The next day I got a returned phone call but no answers. The church runs the cemetery but not the mausoleum. They don’t know who is responsible for that. They have no key and didn’t know it was locked. They were going to check with the caretaker, Dave, for further info.

I asked if there were mixed burials in the mausoleum; by mixed I mean people of various faiths as the original intent when the cemetery was laid out in 1897 was to have a section for Roman Catholics and a section for “others.” Having spent so many years in the South I was used to the separation in cemeteries by race but hadn’t come across much by religious affiliation. I was told that the church doesn’t have the mausoleum records, and no one knows where they are or how many spaces are unsold there. The clerical person said she knew families buried in the mausoleum who were of differing faiths.

Not surprisingly, the church has yet to call me back to tell me what the caretaker said about how we could access the mausoleum. On Valentine’s, I went to a genealogy lecture locally and was speaking with a woman who said she knew who had the mausoleum books but had no idea how one accessed entry into it. She said she’d get back to me. Still waiting, sigh!

Genealogy is such a study of patience but also one of perseverance. At the last DeKalb County Genealogy Society meeting I asked if anyone knew where the records might be housed. No one did but one of the members happens to be the caretaker for a nearby cemetery’s mausoleum. The key he has happens to open the mausoleum I’m seeking to enter. We’re planning to get together soon so my husband and I can pay our respects.

I still intend to hunt down those missing records and that’s on my agenda for May.

I will be taking a break from blogging for the next two weeks while my husband and I go on a genealogical adventure. I’ll surprise you with the details when I write again on April 29th.

Another Genealogy Mystery Solved!

Back in 2016, I blogged about a family story my maternal grandmother told me about a church, Our Lady of the Snows, in what was then Austria-Hungary. It was a remarkable story that, as an adult, I wanted to investigate.

As I always recommend, I looked through the paraphernalia I’ve collected from family over the years and found the postcard pictured above. On the back was a cryptic handwritten message in blue ink to my grandmother that said, “Where Anna used to walk when she went on pilgrimage.”

I assumed Anna would be my maternal great-grandmother who I lived with in childhood. I had no idea she had gone on any pilgrimages. Unfortunately, the postcard was not signed nor did it state where the church was located. The only clue was the postmark – I was aware my great Aunt Barbara and my Aunt Anne Marie, named after her grandmother and mother, had gone to what was then Yugoslavia, to visit. I have no handwriting samples from my Aunt Barbara, though I do from my Aunt Anne Marie. The writing didn’t match Anne Marie’s and so I guessed it was written by Barbara. What I don’t understand is why she would not have written “Where Mom use to walk…” instead of using her mother’s given name. Since both are deceased I’ll never know for sure; possibly, since it was a postcard that anyone could read, she wanted to disclose no personal information. She was a private person who never shared any genealogical information with me when she was alive.

In my blog about the story, I asked readers if they could identify the church. No one responded. I’d already asked family and they had no idea, either. I searched online but turned up nothing.

Last week, I began corresponding with a Croatian genealogist who promptly wrote that it is called Marija Bistrica and it is about a 12-hour walk from my family’s ancestral village of Dubranec. My great-grandmother was quite a fast walker in her 80s so I can picture her climbing hills quickly to reach the site from her home.

Lidija, the genealogist, provided me a link to the site and at one time, the church was called Our Lady of the Snows. The “miracle” at Marija Bistrica does not match the story that my grandmother told me of her village church but it does involve a war in which she told other tales.

I was also informed that the village church was nearly destroyed in a devasting earthquake two years ago. That saddens me as 400 years of my maternal lines are buried there.

I have been blogging lately about ways to overcome your brick walls and I’m adding to my ever-expanding list what just happened to me – contact a genealogist or historian in the area you are researching. I could have had my answer seven years ago had I just reached out to someone knowledgeable about the area where my ancestor’s resided. Now I’m planning my own pilgrimage to this sacred site!

October Genealogical Coincidences Part 5

Clip from one of my many FamilySearch.org emails

This is the 5th blog in my personal synchronicity series. If you find what I’ve written weird, I will definitely agree with you. I can’t make stuff like this up!

I had put genealogy on a back burner with the move and after July 5^th, temporarily stopped accepting clients. My last day of research in Tampa had been a duesy! I started at the Circuit Court looking for property records and found a very interesting document for my Client. I was going to then go to the University of South Florida, on the other end of town, to look at funeral home records. I decided it would be nice if I took pictures of the former home and business of the Client’s grandfather since I had to pass them anyway.

I was turning onto Florida Avenue and looking for an address that had been changed over the years. I was trying to judge the location I needed from a business that had been in the same place. Out of nowhere, a car was on my tail so I quickly turned into the first drive I saw. I stopped at the side of the building and determined the place I was looking for was directly across the street.

As I got out of the car I noticed a man looking at me with a confused expression on his face. I decided to let him know I was a family historian who was only going to park for a second to take a picture for someone who lived in New England and whose grandpa used to live across the street. The man said, “And then you’re going to take care of your flat.”

Huh? What flat? Evidently, I had turned so quickly that I hit a sharp spot on a curb and sliced open my front passenger-side tire. Oh no! I was supposed to be at USF in 15 minutes. I am not good at changing tires. The man understood my panicked look and said it was a good thing it happened where it did. What was he talking about?

Turns out I did this in front of a tire store. Weirder still, the Client’s grandfather had owned a tire store and I had just taken a picture of that building. The kind man put on my spare and I made it just a few minutes late to my next appointment.

When I got home I told hubby what happened and he said he was glad as he had meant to tell me he was concerned that my tires would not make the long trip from Florida to Indiana. We had new tires put on the following day. Someone in the universe was definitely looking out for me!

Our oldest adult child closed on their new home at the end of July while we were all still in Florida. Since there is a law in Indiana that sellers have a week AFTER closing to move out, we all decided not to move out of our Florida home until we knew their new home would be unoccupied. We didn’t have a lot of time as we would be closing on our Florida home later in the week.

We decided that we would all drive up to Indiana on August 1^st. Accept, things don’t always go as planned. Hubby was going to drive a U-Haul but our youngest decided at the last minute not to drive my husband’s car up. We left hubby’s car at the realtor’s home until we had unpacked the Pods in Indiana, with the idea we would fly back to Florida and then drive the car up.

We thought it would be a great idea if the rest of us left in the middle of the night – not many people on the road and cooler temperatures for the wheels. We packed my car and our eldest’s car. A few minutes later we discovered our eldest’s car had a flat tire. Hubby decided he would leave in the middle of the night and the oldest and I would remain to get the tire fixed and then head out. We ended up leaving Florida at about 10 AM on August 1^st instead of midnight. Those 10 hours made a huge difference!

It was a horrendous drive. There was smoke in Florida from a brush fire that made visibility poor. The check engine lights came on; we almost ran out of gas in Atlanta as we were stuck in a major traffic jam during rush hour. The tire light came on and we had difficulty finding a tire store open at 6 PM. Turns out, the tires were just overheated and after waiting an hour, we were back on our way. There was road construction through the mountains of Tennessee. It rained through all of Kentucky and it was now dark again. We also were traveling with 4 cats between us and they were starting to lose it after 12 hours, barely halfway in our journey. And it was unbearably hot, at 10 PM in Tennessee it was still in the 90s. Our car air conditioners were struggling.

We made it driving straight through, driving for 20 hours. The following two weeks were a blur of remotely closing on our Florida home, dealing with Pods, flying back to Florida, and then driving back to Indiana again.

By the middle of August I was exhausted, bruised from lifting boxes, and really missing genealogy. I had my laptop and decided to pull it out and check my email.

Sure, there was lots of spam, missed sales, and several emails from FamilySearch.org.

I don’t know about you but I don’t get a lot of mail from FamilySearch, maybe monthly. But there were lots of emails notifying me of new finds. All of the discoveries were in regard to my Leininger and Landfair lines. These were the folks who I was now following in their footsteps by relocating to where they once lived.

In the many years that I’ve had a FamilySearch account, I only recall receiving one email about a Leininger find. Why was I suddenly getting all of these notices now?

I have no idea. Perhaps the spirits were trying to use the internet to let me know that they were glad I had returned to Indiana. Perhaps not.

Next week I’ll be writing two book reviews about synchronicity. Happy Halloween!

October Genealogical Coincidences Part 4

This fourth Saturday of October brings another strange story that personally happened to me in July. As I’ve previously blogged, our family decided to relocate from Florida to Indiana and our house went up for sale online on June 29^th. By July 1^st we had a bidding war and then, both parties decided to walk away from the contract by July 8^th.

This was a problem as my husband and oldest child had flown to Indiana the weekend of July 4^th and we had a contract on another home. My husband and I decided to cancel our contract until we found a new buyer.

A few hours after the second contract was canceled I received a call from our realtor informing me we had a new contract on our home. I told him that was impossible as it had only been shown to two people. He insisted the person who placed the contract had seen it.

I didn’t want to call someone a liar but clearly, a tour hadn’t happened. I told the realtor I wanted an open house on Sunday and I thought we should accept back up offers, given what had just occurred. He agreed and said he was going to verify with the purchaser’s realtor to find out when the person had seen the house.

I got a call about a half hour later, at 11 PM. Our realtor said I better sit down. “What now?” I thought. The realtor said the man had seen the outside of the home as he and his wife had stayed in my city during the pandemic and he often visited the park across the street from our home. So, the man wasn’t lying exactly. He had seen the exterior but not the interior; he viewed the interior through the internet.

I told the realtor I really wanted him to see the interior in person before we signed the contract as that was the problem with the first two that fell through; one spouse came and wanted it and when the other spouse was brought back, he didn’t. The realtor agreed and said the man had a flight the next day and he would see it in the late afternoon. I asked where he was flying in from. “Chicago,” said the realtor.

My husband and I are originally from the Chicago area so that surprised me; most of the new residents of our then-city was arriving from the mid-Atlantic states. The realtor said there was more . . . the man was from the same small town my husband had been born and raised in.

Wow, what a coincidence, I thought. But of course, that wasn’t all. When we looked at the contract we realized the man lived on the street we used to drive on as teenagers to go to the Lake Michigan beach. There were many beaches we could have used but this beach was considered “our” beach. He lived only 3 blocks from where we used to park.

Stranger, still, I somehow recognized his name. Since my high school annuals were packed, I went on Ancestry.com to check out the yearbook database. Sure enough, I went to high school with a guy with his name. Turns out, he wasn’t the same person.

The purchaser visited the next day and was shocked when he saw that we have a painting of the town in which he lived that my sister-in-law had bought my husband years ago.

We bought our home from an architect who designed it; he, too, was an architect.

This deal went through and it went quickly – in 3 weeks.

I mentioned in a previous blog one of our reasons for relocating was that we couldn’t get our insurance coverage increased. Because he was purchasing it, he was able to get fully insured. He is only going to live in the house for 6 months of the year and go back to his other home for the rest of the time. This made us feel good; he will definitely be someone who will keep the home we put so much effort into in good condition.

So, what does this synchronistic event mean in my life? Jessica Estrada’s blog, “No, It’s Not Just a Coincidence…” suggests that synchronicity “… is an event where needs are met, people are encountered, or things just come together perfectly when we need them. In other words, being in the right place at the right time.”

The house was definitely meant for him and to interpret my cousin Shakespeare saying all the world’s a stage, us players have all gone around the playhouse. My father’s family relocated from Ft. Wayne to northwestern Indiana. My husband and I relocated from northwestern Indiana to Florida. The purchaser follows us to Florida while we move to the Ft. Wayne area where my father’s family had started out. Full circle.

There’s one more Saturday in October and I’ll finish the month out with one more strange story. Or, perhaps, two – strange occurrences seem to be my destiny this year!

October Genealogical Coincidences Part 3

Photo Courtesy of Lori Samuelson 15 Oct 2022

The month of October is moving along and I have another strange personal story to share with you.

In June, my husband and I decided we were going to relocate from Florida to Indiana. We had lived in our home for 18 years so we had a lot of stuff. Summer in Florida is not the time to have a garage sale. We decided we would just pack everything up and squeeze it into Pods. We called it playing Big Jenga.

I helped our oldest pack up their home as they had also sold and was going to relocate. I had gotten the inside of our homes boxed fairly quickly but I really dreaded the garage. In Florida, basements are rare because the water table is so close to the surface. Many subdivisions do not permit sheds so the garage becomes the catch all place for everything that has no other room to go.

Ours was packed as our youngest had moved home at the start of the pandemic so their household items were also out there.

If that wasn’t bad enough, we had been getting a lot of rain so the mosquitos were in full force. It was a hot, dirty, itchy job. And then there was the attic!

We had two small attic accesses that contained items that we couldn’t part with but didn’t know what to do with, like my grandmother’s old wooden ironing board, a folding student desk with an inkwell we once acquired at an auction, our kids’ old treasures, and something I had totally forgot we had – my dad’s wooden toolbox.

Actually, the toolbox was my grandfathers and my dad had it passed to him. He had given it to me years ago and asked me to pass it on to any son’s I might have. At the time, I didn’t have any. So, it had been forgotten in the attic.

My husband was in the attic and I was on the ladder, grabbing the items he was handing d0wn. I lost my grip on the toolbox and it fell to the floor. Thankfully, it didn’t shatter but it did come apart slightly where the old glue had given way. I opened the box to see if the contents were ruined. What I found made me gasp.

My husband, still in the attic, asked me what was wrong. I was speechless, which is rare for me. My husband asked me if I was alright. I said yes, with tears in my eyes. He came down the ladder to find out what was going on.

I was holding a brittle yellow newspaper that had been stuffed in the toolbox. I don’t recall ever seeing it before. The headline was meaningless to me and the paper was dated 1933. I knew where my father was living that year, in Lake County, Indiana, where he was attending high school. The newspaper, however, was from Fort Wayne, Allen County, Indiana. It was the area where we were relocating to.

Although it was insufferably hot in that garage I got the cold shivers on my neck. I knew my paternal grandfather relocated to Ft. Wayne in the mid-1960s but he certainly wasn’t there in 1933.

I have yet to learn who in the Leininger family was in Ft. Wayne at that time or why that particular page was placed in the toolbox.

What I do know is if I hadn’t been a klutz and dropped it, I might not have ever found that newspaper.

I have no idea what the universe was trying to tell me but I felt that my ancestors were sending me a message that our relocation was the right decision. Times were tough during the 1930s and our move was not a fun experience for any of us. What we were going through, however, paled in comparison to the experiences my ancestors lived through during the Great Depression.

And weirdly enough, the newspaper is now back in the area where it once originated.

October Genealogical Coincidences Part 2

Yesterday, hubby and I visited his 1st and 2nd cousins who we have not seen for almost 50 years! After my coincidence series ends I’ll be writing about ways to connect with family that has become disconnected. I think it will be helpful to you with the holidays approaching.

As Spooky October continues, here’s another synchronicity that I experienced in May.

I’ve blogged before about issues I was having with a lineage society that I have chosen to not name (Lineage Society Disappointments and Lineage Societies – What gives?!) I was going on three years waiting for a response if my paperwork was going to be accepted or not.

Initially, the paperwork had been accepted but two weeks after I received a confirmation email and an invitation to attend the annual meeting, I was informed my acceptance was in error as I had not selected an individual that met the criteria for the organization. They also cashed my check for membership.

I asked if there was a list of accepted individuals and I was told there wasn’t. I then provided a few other possible candidates and was informed that one would work. After correcting the forms and resubmitting I waited three months and did not hear anything. I inquired by email if the paperwork had been reviewed. I was told that the genealogist was busy traveling and would let me know by the end of the month.

Another three months passed and I again emailed asking for an update. I was then informed that the genealogist had asked another genealogist to review the application. I was told to be patient as that individual was extremely busy.

A year passed and I again asked. It was now the start of the pandemic and I was told that more documentation was needed. This was problematic, of course, since archives were closing around the world. I had two questions that needed a response. I could reply with proof for the first question but the second was more challenging. I submitted a response within three months which was amazing, considering I was trying to obtain documents from four countries in the late 1600-early 1700 time period during the global shutdown of archives.

Oddly, one of the organizations I reached out to for assistance was the same one that the genealogist had but I was conversing with a different individual. It turned out my contact’s wife happened to have the same individual in her family tree and he was interested to learn what I uncovered. I promised to share my findings, which I did.

Another year and a half passed and I heard nothing from the lineage society. I decided to reach out to the president of the organization who I knew from another society. She forwarded my email to a gentleman who had recently taken over for the genealogist that was handling my application.

He profusely apologized and said he had never received any of my paperwork when the position was turned over to him. No surprise there! He asked for me to send proof my check had been cashed as that was also not clear to the new treasurer. He gave me his phone number and asked that I call him.

I found my canceled check online and emailed it to him; then called as he had requested. When he answered I told him who I was and he replied, “Hi, Cuz.” Cuz? Turns out he is related to me on my father’s line as he noticed my maiden name on the application and several of the great greats I had included.

My application was approved and my newfound cousin and I have spoken and emailed several times. Here’s some additional weird stuff about us:

He lived 50 miles from me in Florida for about 50 years
He had just relocated out of Florida for the same reasons we were
His new home is 50 miles from where my husband and I own property and considered moving
We share very similar views about many things, history in particular
I was writing an article about a Civil War myth purportedly that occurred in my former city and told him I was stuck on researching the man who was at the center of the story. He happened to be familiar with the man’s father, who was an early settler in Payne’s Prairie, close to where he lived most of his life.

I’m not sure what lesson I was supposed to learn from the universe but it does drive home the point that genealogy is a study of patience! If my application had been approved immediately I would likely never have connected with my “Cuz” nor obtained the information I needed to complete the article.

Next week – another creepy occurrence that happened to me in June.

October Genealogical Coincidences Part 1

Happy October! This is the month I reflect on the genealogical coincidences that I’ve personally experienced or heard about from clients in the past year. This year was a duesy for me!

Perhaps you don’t believe in synchronicity, defined by the Oxford Languages dictionary as “the simultaneous occurrence of events which appear significantly related but have no discernible causal connection” and Google links these types of events as “incidents of spiritual significance.” The word was coined by psychiatrist Carl Jung; the law of synchronicity states we are attracted to people, places, and events that help us meaningfully evolve.

Even if you think the stories I’m about to relate this month are mere hocus pocus, I think that you’ll agree that they are odd occurrences. Strange – weird – even spooky!

Back in January, I blogged about my discovery of missing family photos that I thought I had scanned years ago (Scanned Your Photos? Think Again!). I related how a simple office reorganization project after I bought a new piece of office furniture made me aware of my paternal side’s photos disappearing from Google Photos. That led me to months of scanning diaries, letters, photos, certificates, and other documents that once belonged to our Indiana relatives.

My immediate family was tired of my project by March. Hubby had to constantly step over piles of items I was arranging for the scanner. I declined invitations from family and friends as I was obsessed with getting every item scanned and saved into Dropbox. I was constantly sneezing from the dusty brittle old papers but I forged on. I locked the office door when I wasn’t in there to keep the cats from messing up these precious papers.

I could not explain why I was so insistent that I had to finish by June 1^st. It was a self-imposed deadline that just popped into my head early on in the project. I tried to rationalize it as that was the first day of hurricane season in Florida where I was living. I dreaded the thought of a hurricane as we had lost everything once in Hurricane Elena in 1985. To lessen my anxiety, I reminded myself that my home did not even need flood insurance as it was high and dry by Florida standards. We had renovated and included every safety device, from the windows to the roof, to prevent storm damage (Home Renovations Then and Now and More Genealogy Tips Based on Renovation Musings). I decided I was just being irrational. Furthermore, in the unlikely event, I’d have to evacuate, at least I wouldn’t have to lug all these items with me.

In the middle of May, I was asked by the non-profit historical society in my city to attend an in-person conference given by my then-county preservation office. I was so excited as this was the first face-to-face conference I was going to since the pandemic. I assumed it was going to discuss the typical Florida preservation problems – mold, insects, and humidity. Instead, I learned that everything I thought I had done right to preserve my home was in vain. It was a sobering realization. Basically, an NOAA study from 2015 determined what my county would look like after a category 4-5 storm hit. Only two land masses would remain. The County’s plan, though the word plan is not accurate, was to have all of us attendees use a new FEMA App to record places that were of historical significance so when they were gone, the County would receive funds to build bridges between the remaining land masses to the mainland. No worries about remembering what the buildings had been like! A grant was given to a University of South Florida professor to make 3D videos of the sites so future generations could “visit” them.

It took me about an hour to realize this was not a sick joke. I had difficulty wrapping my head around the fact that, if my home survived, I would be living on an island. The traffic getting home from the conference further frustrated me as what should have taken a half hour took an hour and a half due to congestion, accidents, construction, and poor planning.

I didn’t say anything to my family that night as I thought I was in shock. I tried to tell myself I misunderstood. Being an optimist, I always thought the calvary would arrive and save us all from global warming which, interestingly, was never mentioned at all at the conference.

I began to research what I had heard and discovered that the elevation of Florida has radically changed in the past 20 years. I found the NOAA study and maps that confirmed what I had been told. It was time to share this with my family.

Initially, like me, my hubby was skeptical. He gently told me he’d like to do his own research. I encouraged him to do so. My main concern was our home and flood insurance policies. We were severely underinsured given that housing prices had skyrocketed and we had not increased our coverage since we purchased the home 18 years earlier.

By day’s end, hubby let me know the research he had done had also rattled him. We decided to make a phone call the following day to our insurance agent. We also shared the information with our adult children. Both didn’t seem surprised and felt we should all relocate from the area. I was dead set against that. I loved my home and the city where I had planned to spend my remaining years. I even had my burial site paid off. It was already on Find-A-Grave. I was not going to go anywhere!

Well, that was until we had to deal with the insurance agency. First, we were laughed at. When we insisted that we wanted to raise coverage we were given one hurdle after another to jump through. We were told that we needed a Wind Mitigation Report that would cost $150.00. We reminded our agent that we had one in our file. Next, we were told that our file was empty. I had a copy so I emailed it. A week went by and we were told that the document was invalid because it was over 3 years old. We’ve yet to find any law that states that a new report must be done every 3 years. We had a recent report finished and submitted in a few days.

Meanwhile, our adult children kept needling us to leave Florida. Our oldest was so certain that we all were going to move that they began packing. The kids wanted us to make lists of what we were looking for in a new community. Hubby and I dragged our feet; the last insurance claim we had filed was years ago so we should have no problem increasing our coverage. Wrong again!

By early June we still had no response from the insurance agent. He was too busy that week, he took some time off, and he stopped returning phone calls and emails. In desperation, hubby showed up at his office in mid-June, receiving a promise that our report would be sent to the insurance company in the next few days, however, we were cautioned that it was up to the insurance company to determine how much coverage would be available to us and since we didn’t require flood insurance, we could only purchase the bare minimum which was far less than the home was worth.

We were beginning to lose hope so we decided to take a week to explore northeastern Indiana as a possible new home.

Why Indiana? Great question! It met all of our criteria for what we were looking for – available fresh water and food sources, jobs for the kids, hospitals as we age, plenty of outdoor activities, friendly people, historical preservation, and of course, genealogy opportunities. Plus, it has no hurricanes.

We know that no place is perfect so weather threats will always be possible though the risks are somewhat lessened where we moved.

On our excursion, we met so many Florida transplants who told us they understood completely why we were relocating. This was comforting as so many of our friends and neighbors in Florida thought we were crazy.

On the day that we flew back to Florida, our oldest received an offer on their home. They hadn’t even listed it for sale; the large offer came via a letter. I was certain it was a scam but it was not. They sold their home without having anyone do a physical walk-through; Zoom was used instead. We listed our home the following week with a realtor and it was sold in 48 hours. This was after the interest rates were raised and when, supposedly, the market was in a downturn.

The people who were purchasing our homes wanted us to move out quickly – in 3 weeks. How thankful I was that I had set a June 1^st deadline to finish scanning my genealogy. It was done, for the most part, boxed carefully and ready to move.

And that piece of furniture I had purchased in January to organize the office, at the store that day I couldn’t decide if I should also buy another matching piece but decided against it. This past week, as hubby and I walked through Joann’s he happened to see the furniture I hadn’t purchased. He remarked how we now had space in our new home and maybe we should get it. The store had one left in stock. I am happy to report our office is now fully organized! If someone had told me in January when I bought the first piece it would be 9 months and a major move until I finished reorganizing I wouldn’t have believed them.

We all know what happened to Florida this past week; my fears became reality. Although I am relieved that my former city was spared this time, I know we have made the right decision. Who would have thought that looking at an old family photo album and deciding to reorganize my office would have resulted in such a major upheaval in my life?

Another odd event happened to me in May that I’ll blog about next week. Until next time, Happy Hunting!

History, Genealogy and a Festival, Oh My!

Robert LeRoy Leininger. Leininger Family History and Genealogy. Columbia City, IN: Self Published, 1971, 7f.

What a busy week it’s been for me! The Association of Professional Genealogists conference is wrapping up today. It was wonderful – timely topics, fun networking events, and it was great to see colleagues again. I highly recommend you attend next year if you are contemplating going Pro.

Today, however, I want to focus on an item I finally crossed off my bucket list. Last Sunday, I attended the Johnny Appleseed Festival in Fort Wayne, Indiana. It was on my to-attend list since I first learned about it years ago.

I fell in love with John Chapman, aka Johnny Appleseed, when my mom read me a library book about him when I was in pre-school. I don’t recall the title but I do recall one of the pictures. Granted, I now know the information wasn’t 100% factual but it did make a major impression on my young mind. I can still picture the book page depicting him in blue pants with ripped hems, suspenders, scraggly brown hair, tall and thin with forest animals following him as he threw apple seeds from a beige bag slung across his body.

I wanted to be him! How cool to be able to walk barefoot, plant seeds, and have all the animals be your friend!

Fast forward to 1985 when my father gave me a necklace that belonged to my grandmother and an old toolbox he had inherited from his father. He wanted me to pass them along to my children someday. Inside the toolbox were newspaper clippings, undated and the paper unknown, mentioning a reunion for relatives of Johnny. Unfortunately, since I’m still unpacking, I can’t put my hands on it and I could have sworn I scanned it but I can’t locate that, either. Sigh.

The clipping intrigued me. Why would my father have saved it? Was he as enamored with Johnny as I was? I wasn’t close to my father so I had no idea. I should have asked but I didn’t.

In the late 1990s, after my father’s death, I linked up with a Leininger researcher who kindly sent me an electronic copy of two books he had written in the 1970s about the family. That’s where I discovered that Johnny was connected to me through marriage. The map above shows the location of Johnny’s farm.

My “relationship” with Johnny is through my paternal line. Although Johnny had no children, and it’s in dispute whether he had ever married or not, he was close to one of his siblings, sister Percis (1793-1859), who had married William Broom (1792-1848). Percis and William’s daughter, Elizabeth (1829-1863) married John George Leininger (1826-1917). John George is my 2^nd great uncle, brother of my 2^nd great grandfather Theabald (1824-1900).

Genetically, I’m not related to Johnny. When Johnny was in the area, he stayed with Percis, as Elizabeth fondly recalled as an adult. In his older years, he visited Elizabeth and her family, as her children remembered.

I always wanted to grow an apple tree but Florida is the only state where apple trees won’t grow. I tried, however! I once brought back seeds from a wild apple tree growing in a Pennsylvania cemetery where my husband’s Harbaughs were buried. A cemetery caretaker claimed the tree was the remnants of one of Johnny’s orchards which he had scattered throughout the then wilderness. I did get the seeds to sprout by placing them in a wet paper towel, inserted into a baggy, and kept in the fridge. As soon as I planted them in the dirt in a Solo cup, however, they shriveled and died. Now that I’m in Indiana I will definitely plant that tree! I won’t be using one of Johnny’s, though, as his trees produced fruit best for hard cider which was medicinal for the pioneers. I’m leaning towards Albermarle-pippin, a favorite of Ben Franklin, Queen Victoria, George Washington, and Thomas Jefferson. I plan on visiting a local orchard this week to get details on when I should be planting. A neighbor told me it’s best to plant fruit trees here in months that end in “R.” I love hearing these old ways to successfully garden. So much of that knowledge has been lost. I wish there were a book about farmer wisdom from days gone by.

But back to the festival – It was a beautiful warm late summer day in Archer Park, on the bank of the St. Joe River. It is the final resting place of Johnny who is buried on the top of a hill. So many vendors were selling homemade craft items, antiques, produce, and food typical of pioneer life. My hubby said this was his favorite festival he ever attended. Since much of the food was made on site, the smell of the campfires filled the air. Craftspeople demonstrated their skills in metalworking, sewing, photography, etc. They were so knowledgeable and I learned so much.

My favorite part was the cannon salute that opened the day. It was in commemoration of the opening of the Wabash and Erie Canal in 1832. Theabald and John George, along with their parents and some siblings, emigrated from Alsace-Lorraine to Ohio in 1827 via a canal to Canton, Ohio. That was likely the Ohio and Erie Canal. It reminded me of how important water travel was back in the day.

History, genealogy, and the festival were intertwined for me which made it so memorable.

October is around the corner and I’ll be writing my annual coincidence blogs. I’ve had some really weird things happen in the past few months that I’ll be sharing. See you next weekend!

Genealogy Relocation Lessons

Image courtesy of Jewish New Teacher Project

Genealogy at Heart has returned! After driving over 1100 miles twice last month and closing on our home two days ago, we are ready to return to our passion – Genealogy.

Relocating is fraught with pitfalls, stress-filled, and physically demanding. It is also an exciting new life adventure, educational, and invigorating. Flexibility is key. Here are some lessons I learned from my recent cross-country move that apply to genealogy. . .

My first thought about my family’s ancestors came about when we were loading a very smelly, rusty old trunk into the Pod. It belonged to my husband’s great-great grandparents who emigrated with their five children from Sweden to Indiana in 1851. The family had three trunks, the largest one was handed down to us; my husband’s sibling has the two smaller ones. Those three trunks held all the belongings of the seven family members.

As we lugged it out of the garage I remarked to my husband how amazing it was for them to fit all of their belongings into those three trunks. Our family of four households had five Pods, one truck, and two filled cars. As we sweated under the Florida sun, hubby said it would have been a whole lot cheaper and less strenuous if we had followed in his ancestor’s footsteps. Could be but immigrating back in the day was also costly; travel to ports, the cost of the ship’s fare, and the long journey that lay ahead weren’t easy.

Hubby and I are returning to the state where we were born and raised. We understand the customs, culture, and language. Many of our ancestors had to learn all of those while re-settling. I can’t even imagine how difficult it must have been. No wonder why a family moved together and located close to former friends and neighbors who had come earlier.

I had reached out to distant family who I have made contact through family research and asked them for their input as to where we should reside. It’s been nearly 50 years since I lived in my new location and obviously, things have changed. We found their information quite valuable. It never dawned on me to investigate why my ancestors selected a particular location or who helped them when they arrived. That’s something I’d like to do in the future.

I’d also like to research in-depth the transportation methods and routes. Sure, I know the ship’s name but I never took the time to really find out about it. I’ll be looking at the manifest to see how many were traveling from an area close to where my family had left, the size of the vessel, the days in transit, and so on. While we were fortunate to have interstates our trip was not easy. There was a flat tire, overheated vehicles (it was so HOT the day we left!), GPS glitches, construction, congestion, fog, the smoke-filled road from a fire, long stretches without a gas station, and exhaustion. Since hubby was driving the truck, we had to fly back to Florida to retrieve his vehicle and do the drive a second time. We had difficulty getting a flight and finding an Uber when we arrived as the plane had been delayed and it was then the wee hours of the morning. What obstacles did my ancestors encounter? I have no idea.

While packing, I realized that my family heirlooms were now returning to where they originated. I wanted to insure they’d arrive unscathed so I wrapped them well. I’m pleased to report that the few older pieces of china arrived safely. I can’t say that the furniture came in great condition. It never dawned on me that the heat, humidity, and movement would bring out nicks and scratches. The pieces were all bundled in blankets but that probably just made them hotter. I was able to salvage all but our bedroom set by bringing them into an air-conditioned home. I didn’t touch them for a week thinking they needed to acclimate as we did. Then I took a rag and went over them with Howard’s, a product I used in Florida. I had purchased it at an antique store but found it in my new area at Home Depot and Ace Hardware. It restored the luster and hid the blemishes, thankfully.

We have decided to downsize so our new home is much smaller than our last. It was a wonderful time to pass down heirlooms to the next generation who just happened to buy a larger home. Since we live less than five minutes from each other, I can still see them and enjoy using them on holidays. It is an odd feeling, though, to give them up. I guess I’m more of a material girl than I thought! It is comforting knowing they are in good hands for future generations.

Our physical move to our new home takes place next weekend so pardon me if my blog is delayed. I’m hopeful by the end of the month I’ll be back in the genealogy groove.