Ancestors | dual personalities

January 29, 2025

“The eyes of the Lord range throughout the earth”*

by chuckofish

I am proud to say I finished reading Drums Along the Mohawk–all 654 pages! It was well-worth the effort. Really a wonderful book. The author, Walter D. Edmonds, writes in his Author’s Note:

To those who may feel that here is a great to-do about a bygone life, I have one last word to say. It does not seem to me a bygone life at all. The parallel is too close to our own [1936]. Those people of the valley were confronted by a reckless Congress and ebullient finance, with their inevitable repercussions of poverty and practical starvation. The steps followed with automatic regularity. The applications for relief, the failure of relief, and then the final realization that a man must stand up to live…They suffered the paralysis of abject dependence on a central government totally unfitted to comprehend a local problem. And finally, though they had lost two-thirds of their fighting strength, these people took hold of their courage and struck out for themselves. Outnumbered by trained troops, well equipped, these farmers won the final battle of the long war, preserved their homes, and laid the foundations of a great and strong community.

Woohoo, yes, they did.

I was also reminded of how truly hard it was to be a woman on the frontier–something today’s bloggers/influencers, who find it “hard” to have babies and bring up children today, might find mind-boggling. Just to give birth to a baby in 1779 and then watch it starve or freeze to death or be tomahawked and scalped is beyond their comprehension. It’s kind of beyond mine, and, yes, yes, parents do have plenty of modern problems today–iphones and activist teachers etc. etc.–I know, but at least I have the grace to be thankful for my OB-GYN, and safe, warm house, and well-stocked grocery stores. Ye gods, women, get some perspective!

Anyway, we should all take a moment every once in awhile to remember our ancestors who stepped up and made many sacrifices so that we can enjoy our freedom. And stop whining. Please.

Today is the birthday of one of my favorite ancestors, John Wesley Prowers, who was a pioneer on another frontier. I think of his mother, my great-great-great grandmother, who gave birth to him in 1838 in Westport, MO, a frontier outpost on the Missouri River where just a handful of white people lived at the time. She gave birth to my great-great grandmother the following year. Then her husband died. She did have family nearby and the settlement was growing, but wow.

Anyway, it is my practice to watch a good cowboy movie to celebrate JWP’s birthday–usually the great Red River (1947). But I think I might dip again into Lonesome Dove (1989) this year. JWP, you will recall, was a friend and business partner of Charles Goodnight, upon whom the character Captain Call (Tommy Lee Jones) is based.

Here’s to the sunny slopes of long ago.

And this is really, really good. “To the rest of the country—the rest of the world–we don’t matter, here in the Middle of Nowhere. And that’s fine, for the most part. Most of us are happy to let the noise and craziness of the world pass us by. But that doesn’t mean that we are unseen by God. That we are unnoticed by Heaven.”

Have a good day! Read an old book. Watch an old movie. Praise God from whom all blessings flow.

*II Chronicles 16:9

3 Comments

April 4, 2024

“His play was only exceeded by his gracious manner.”

by chuckofish

This is the day that the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it!

Baseball season has commenced and the home team is off to a ho hum start. Not that I really care, but caring about baseball is definitely a thing in our flyover city. Anyway, it is a good excuse to watch Major League (1989), a silly movie that I love.

As games go, baseball is the greatest. This is a thoughtful piece about just that. “Unlike other sports, baseball celebrates the human being over the ball, for in baseball, runs are never tallied by the location of the ball but only when the baserunner makes it home. Scoring does not come through conquest but at the end of a long treacherous journey back home.”

Love of baseball was something that my grandfather and I had in common. As a child, I would write him letters about the Cardinal exploits during the long, boring summers. He was a diehard Red Sox fan and, at the time (the sixties), I was a diehard Cardinal fan. Bunker had played ball growing up and he was on the University of Vermont team. He must have been pretty good as he was traveling with the team as a freshman.

He dropped out of college after his freshman year to scout out his prospects in different branches of the military during WWI. The war ended before he could sign up and he never returned to college. School and Bunker never clicked. As you recall, he was asked to leave several prep schools. I’m not sure he ever actually graduated from high school, but he made it to college anyway and got to play ball while he was there. He was a team player, a Scotsman and, therefore I suppose, clannish. Throughout his life he belonged to a veriety of men’s clubs–the Masons, the North Chester Club, various fishing groups.

And he continued to play competitive sports.

Well, I digress. One thought leads to another. And that reminds me, today is our pater’s birthday (1922). He and Bunker got along fine and respected each other although they were very different. They agreed about the basics and shared a gracious manner.

Rejoice in the day. Take a few moments to remember those who came before you.

“In my soul the afternoon grows wider and I reflect.”
–Jorge Luis Borges

5 Comments

May 25, 2023

This splendid woman

by chuckofish

Recently I acquired a small battered book entitled “First Baptist Church Centennial Celebration–in Celebration of the 100th Anniversary of the founding of the church in Las Animas, Colorado 1874-1974”.

It includes a history of the church. Our great-great-grandmother is prominently featured.

She was, indeed, a founding member, trustee, superintendent of the Sunday School, and the organist. Her husband, John S. Hough, was not a member; he was a Quaker and remained so his entire life. My great-grandmother Anna Hough was a member; she was 10-years old in 1874. Her two older sisters, Ida and Susie, would have been members too, but they died in 1875 and 1876 and were not included, therefore, in the list of charter members.

The history goes on to tell us:

The original building was an adobe structure built on land owned by John Prowers. The bell on this church was known to be one of the first bells ever to ring in the Arkansas Valley.

I love that the “two little girls” Anna Hough and her cousin Katie raised the money to buy the bell. Gee, girls were empowered even back in the 19th century!

In other news, we will toast Ralph Waldo Emerson today on his 220th birthday (1803):

The world rolls round,—mistrust it not,—
Befalls again what once befell;
All things return, both sphere and mote,
And I shall hear my bluebird’s note,
And dream the dream of Auburn-dell.

Read the entire poem here.

And it’s time to start thinking about what movie(s) you will watch on Friday to celebrate John Wayne’s 116th birthday (1907)! Also keep in mind when making your selection that there may be multiple viewings of John Wayne movies over the upcoming Memorial Day three day-weekend! If you are in Fort Worth, go to the The John Wayne: An American Experience exhibit in the historic Fort Worth Stockyards, TX for lots of special events!

You never know who you might run into.

And news flash, there was a bear sighting in Festus, Missouri, 35 miles south of us on Tuesday. It was a big bear! It was hit and killed by a car on I-55 later that night. Can you imagine hitting a bear while driving your car? Zut alors! We are going to have to be on the lookout when we go to our favorite winery!

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June 18, 2018

“See! the streams of living waters, springing from eternal love”*

by chuckofish

It’s tiger lily time in flyover country. They are everywhere! I do love these heat-loving beauties. And, boy, this weekend was a hot one!

I went to three estate sales (no luck) and did a little shopping of the home-store variety. I went to church. Other than that, it was strictly inside for me this weekend: I yakked on the phone and worked on some inside projects. It warmed my heart that daughter #1 in Mid-MO went estate-saleing and was more successful than I.

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I finished reading The Bondwoman’s Narrative, a 19th century novel by Hannah Craft and possibly the first novel written by an African-American woman. (Daughter #2 had left it at home for me.) In 2013 Crafts’ identity was documented as Hannah Bond, an enslaved African-American woman on the plantation of John Wheeler and his wife Ellen in Murfreeboro, North Carolina. Bond served there as a lady’s maid to Ellen Wheeler, and escaped about 1857, settling finally in New Jersey. Here’s a review of this very interesting and well-written book by the great Hilary Mantel in the London Review of Books.

I should mention that yesterday, besides being Father’s Day, was also Bunker Hill Day, which commemorates the battle of Bunker Hill on June 17. It is also the birthday of our maternal grandfather, who was always known as Bunker because he was born on Bunker Hill Day in 1900.

Here’s an appropriate word from old Henry David Thoreau in honor of Bunker:

The fishermen sit by their damp fire of rotten pine wood, so wet and chilly that even smoke in their eyes is a kind of comfort. There they sit, ever and anon scanning their reels to see if any have fallen, and, if not catching many fish, still getting what they went for, though they may not be aware of it, i.e. a wilder experience than the town affords.

(December 26, 1856)

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Today is a busy day for me and I have to pick up the wee babes and their parents at the airport tonight at 9:00 pm–way past my bedtime!

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All in a day’s work.

Have a good one.

*Hymn 522, John Newton; the painting is by N.C. Wyeth, “Thoreau Fishing”

5 Comments

March 14, 2014

Here’s mud in your eye!

by chuckofish

Monday is St. Patrick’s Day and a lot of people will be celebrating this weekend. However, besides watching The Quiet Man, which I blogged about here, I am not a great one for celebrating the feast day of old St. Patrick.

I must admit that I do have some Irish blood. My Irish ancestors–the Carnahans–hailed from County Antrim in Northern Ireland. Our great-great-great-great-grandfather, David Carnahan came to the U.S. in the mid-18th century, fought in the American Revolution and settled in Alleghany County, Pennsylvania. The Carnahans were staunch Presbyterians. One of our cousins, James Carnahan (below), a Presbyterian minister, became the President of Princeton University where he served from 1823 to 1854 (longer than any other President).

His cousin James was married to my namesake Catherine Rand in 1857 by the Episcopal bishop of New Hampshire and had seven children in Ravenna, Ohio. They, of course, were brought up as Episcopalians.

My most favorite Irish thing is the Cuala Press which was established by Elizabeth Yeats, sister of William Butler Yeats and Jack Yeats, in 1908. It played an important part in the “Celtic Revival” in the early 20th century.

“In Each Gold Flower”, Text by Temple Lane and Illustration by Dorothy Blackham, Box 3, Folder 6, Cuala Press Printed Materials Collection, MS2005-35, John J. Burns Library, Boston College.

I have a framed print in my office and one at home that I bought in the Trinity College Bookstore in Dublin. I do love these woodcuts!

Up for auction in the past

The real things go up for auction from time to time and are worth a pretty penny. If I had money to spare, I would have my own collection! Don’t you just love them?

Of course, no discussion of favorite Irish things would be complete without mention of Errol Flynn. Although not strictly speaking Irish–he was born in Tasmania of Australian parents of English, Scottish and Irish descent and an Anglican–we can enjoy his movies on St. Patrick’s Day if we want to. And thanks to a good friend who sent me this DVD, I will be watching this classic Flynn opus:

I also plan to watch The Sea Hawk (1940) which I DVR’d on TCM last week.

It is a fun movie directed by the great Michael Curtiz. Unfortunately Olivia de Haviland is nowhere in sight. But it does have Flora Robson as Queen Elizabeth I, and if you ask me, she is 10 times better than Bette Davis as the Virgin Queen.

As for food, nothing Irish comes to mind. When we were growing up our mother would make corned beef and cabbage and boiled potatoes on March 17, mostly because she just liked them. I was never a fan of this meal. I preferred the corned beef hash she made the next day.

What is your favorite Irish thing?

Well, while you’re thinking about that, I’ll wrap this up with the words of Pat Cohan: “Ah, what a day for Innisfree! On a day like this, I can say only one thing – Gentlemen, the drinks are on the house!”

Sláinte to all Carnahans!

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January 29, 2014

How the West Was Won

by chuckofish

Today is the 176th anniversary of the birth of one of my favorite ancestors, John Wesley Prowers, who was born on January 29, 1838 near Westport, Jackson County, Missouri.

Readers of this blog will recall that John was the older brother of our great-great-grandmother Mary Prowers Hough. Not much is known about their parents, Susan and John Prowers. Some say they came from Virginia, arriving in Missouri where John built a sturdy two-story log cabin near the Missouri River, which stood for nearly 75 years. The senior Prowers died (we know not why) in 1840, leaving 22-year-old Susan alone (literally) in the wilderness with two children under two and very little else save the sturdy cabin. She re-married–what else could she do?

Anyway, John Wesley Prowers did not get along with his step-father and skidaddled in 1856, at the age of eighteen. He went to work for Robert Miller, Indian agent for the Kiowa, Comanche, Apache, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes of the Upper Arkansas region. They headed for Bent’s new fort. Soon he was working for Colonel Bent at the fort, who put him in charge of the wagon trains, freighting supplies from the trading posts on the Missouri to those west, making twenty-two trips across the plains over the next six years.

In 1861 he married the 15-year-old Indian “princess” Amache Ochinee, the daughter of Ochinee, a sub-chief of the Southern Cheyennes, near Camp Supply in Indian Territory. In 1862 when John made his usual trip to Westport he took his bride east with him and she remained there with his sister, giving birth to their first child. They named the baby Mary Hough Prowers after her aunt (my great-great-grandmother, Mary Prowers Hough)–which has been confusing genealogists ever since.

The Prowers went on to have nine children, eight surviving to adulthood. John became a cattle baron, building up his herds until at the fall round-up of his ranch, the cattle shipment was a matter of train loads, not carloads. Sometimes, according to his daughter, as many as eight train loads left the ranch for eastern markets. At one time, the fall “check-up” showed 70,000 cattle bearing the Box B and the Bar X brands. Later Prowers cut out the middle man, building his own modern slaughter-house in Las Animas.

For a man with very little formal education, he was a creative and scientific rancher/statesman. He was always trying to improve his herd and his ranch. He experimented to find the cattle best suited to the plains country, bringing cattle from Ireland (the Kurry breed) and he bought “Gentle the Twelfth” from Frederick William Stone of Guelph, Canada. At last he turned to the Hereford as the best North American beef animal, calling it the “American type.” Thus he set about systematically improving and enlarging his herds and acquiring larger range. During his lifetime he fenced 80,000 acres of land in one body and owned forty miles of river front on both sides of the Arkansas River, controlling 400,000 acres of land.

He liked to experiment with things other than cattle as well. He introduced prairie chickens and Bob White quail at the mouth of the Purgatoire River. Hoping to increase the wild game in the county he brought in white tail deer. He also experimented with irrigation, having miles of ditches dug on his ranch.

Unlike his sister, who was a devout Baptist, he belonged to no church or lodge, but he always gave generously to resident pastors, no matter what denomination. He founded a bank and had numerous partners who ran stores and shipping operations. He was elected to represent the county in the Legislature and again to represent Bent County in the General Assembly. Furthermore, he sent all his children, boys and girls, to school and to college.

My great-great-grandmother was a great believer in women’s rights and the need for women to be educated and to have their own property. I have no reason to believe that her brother didn’t feel the same way. I’m sure this stemmed from their own mother’s predicament when her husband died.

When a new county was created from Bent County on May 3, 1889, it was named for Prowers, the pioneer and cattleman. I could go on about this great man, and I haven’t even mentioned his dealings with the Cheyenne, but that’s enough for now. Tonight let us raise a toast to him in remembrance.

These words, attributed to the great warrior Tecumseh, seem appropriate:

“Live your life so that the fear of death can never enter your heart…Love your life, perfect your life, beautify all things in your life. Seek to make your life long and in the service of your people…Always give a word or a sign of salute when meeting or passing a friend, even a stranger, when in a lonely place. Show respect to all people and grovel to none. When you arise in the morning give thanks for the food and for the joy of living. If you see no reason for giving thanks, the fault lies only in yourself…
When it comes your time to die, be not like those whose lives are filled with the fear of death, so that when time comes they weep and pray for a little more time to live their lives over again in a different way. Sing your death song and die like a hero going home.”

John Prower’s 14-room house in Boggsville, Colorado

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April 19, 2013

You don’t say!

by chuckofish

Here’s something very interesting I found on the wonderful Design Mom blog. This article in The New York Times tells us that new research shows that “the single most important thing you can do for your family may be the simplest of all: develop a strong family narrative.”

Well, duh.

Kids who know a lot about their families “tend to do better when they face challenges.”

This does not surprise me, but it’s nice, I suppose, to have it officially validated.

The Camerons were a devout family who kept the sabbath.

The more children know about their family’s history, the stronger their sense of self-control, the higher their self-esteem. The researchers were “blown away” by this. Not I.

We agree with this ancestor who famously said, “God grants liberty only to those who love it, and are always ready to guard and defend it.”

The “oscillating family narrative” is the healthiest, the article goes on to say. You know, we’ve had our set-backs, but this family has always stuck together through thick and thin…That kind of thing.

Pretty Ida Mae Hough died when she was nineteen.

The key is really just talking to your kids. It’s hard to imagine that people don’t actually do that, but I guess they don’t.

The article goes on to advise that families work on ways to convey a sense of history: holidays, vacations, big family get-togethers. This got me thinking about our own little family traditions, such as “Compton Family Fun Night,” which consisted of every Friday going to Steak ‘N Shake for dinner and then on to Sam’s Club to buy groceries in bulk. We got the idea for the name from “Tanner Family Fun Night” on Full House, of course.

Role models

The Tanners would always do something super-fun like going roller skating or to an arcade. But it just goes to show you that all that is unnecessary–a trip to the big box store, if labeled “Fun Night”–can be just that. Good times, man!

Well-adjusted kids with plenty of self-esteem…

You can see how this works in an elementary school child’s psyche. It gives a positive and fun spin to routine activities that thereby become special to your family. All is okay in the world.

Another “tradition” in our family is that when pulling into our street and/or driveway I would always say “Home again, home again, jiggety jig!” I did this because my mother always did. I think she did because her mother did. (I still think it every time I get home. Yes, I am that crazy old lady.) I have no doubt that at least one of my children will unconsciously do it as well.

In our family we have always loved our ancestors. Anyone who reads this blog knows that! It’s not that our ancestors are better than anyone else’s. It’s that they are ours. In all their eccentricities, they belong to us.