Mary Louise Eklund

Category: Genealogy

Why Genealogy? I Ask Myself That Periodically

So why did genealogy become my hobby? I hate people who wear their ancestors as a badge. I’m not a dog that need a documented breeding bloodline. Does it matter who my 4th great grandpappy was? I want to be taken for my merit not the merit or misdeeds of people I didn’t know and couldn’t influence due to linear aspects of time. Yet, genealogy is one of my favorite hobbies. Why?

Thomas Fain Bright ( the chair front row on left) is my great grandfather on left. His wife next to him Molly I remember her funeral. Her father is James Madison McCravey at the end on the right (my great great grandfather) fought in the Civil War as a Confederate. Leslie Bright the boy in the back row in about the middle of the photo is my grandfather.

I’ve always loved history. I’ve liked tales of the past as long as I can remember. I don’t know why but it’s always made me feel better to think humans have experienced the same feelings I have for thousands of years. I loved historical romances when I was a young girl. In high school I had a teacher, Liz Morrell, who challenged me to look at real history through real people’s eyes. I loved it even more. If you want a good mystery – read history there’s plenty of them. Want a good scare – read history there’s plenty of them. Want the feel good story of the year – read history there’s plenty of them. Want steamy romance – read history there’s plenty of them. I think you get my point. I found all I wanted in real true tales. History isn’t just dates and military movement to me but people living life!

Genealogy was a way to get the everyday person’s view of history, their world at that time. Depression job loss – my grandfather’s time with Singer Sewing Machine Company I posted about. How it is to come of age – my other grandfather’s clothes progression to long breeches. Horrors of Andersonville, Sultana, explosion and what happened to the families that endure such painful loss – I’ve found them in my family tree.

The father Pleasant M Rogers is my 2nd great grandfather. Next to him is his wife Margaret Clark. He’s holding Minnie Christine. She’s holding Josie M. Sitting on the ground is William Victor. Standing behind is Ida Alberta my great grandmother. Photo taken about 1891

Honestly it doesn’t HAVE to be my family tree. I’ve helped friends intrigued by stories I’ve found in my tree find some stories in theirs. The child left to be raised by an aunt & uncle grew up thinking they were the parents but noo, life changed when all was flipped. What happened to the lost child of someone? Find their life and tell it – who knew he’d wind up out west panning for gold then have a hand in the railroad dying a rich man?

For me it’s looking into the faces of the pictures I discovered and seeing a person. A person who had feelings like me, who lived events I’ve only read about, and who is now gone but not forgotten. Maybe shelved for years and rediscovered but not forgotten. Now when I eat a Cracker Barrel I wonder who those faces are in those old pictures, what genealogist out there is trying desperately to find a face to put with the story?

My grandmother, Winnie Bradford, is the girl behind the one hold the flowers standing between her parents Joe Berry Bradford & Pansy Brown Bradford.

Another thing I’ve learned is we’re all connected. If not literally in the 14 generations I’ve gotten so far then through experiences. To me all of it is ours, our story as humans. How we made it through good times and difficult times. It’s inspiration.

It’s all about citation and documentation. I LOVE to document things and fit them together. It’s the old auditor in me. Want to be put in my family tree program? You gotta have documentation otherwise you wind up in my notes to investigate or in my family lore files. My tree is one that’s well reinforced with documentation – marriage certificates, death certificates, birth certificates, censuses, wills, land deeds, dairies, letters, photos, newspaper articles, and on and on. All to be deliciously filed and scanned and attached to the facts they document. See my penchant for neat files in previous posts.

In the middle back row the woman in the dark dress is my great grandmother Ollie Belle Hicks Rolen. In front of her are her parents my 2nd great grandparents Margaret Jane Denton and David Crockett (aka Crockett) Hicks.

This is a job that’s never finished. Every answered question seems to raise ten more questions to answer. I’ll never run out of things to do in my hobby. Every year more are born and more die. You want to fall into my realm of investigation you have to die. I do paper research, grave yard research, book research… I leave the living to my mother. I’m happier in the stacks with that musty smell thinking “AHHH THERE you are! I’ve been looking for you!” Than I am over tea trying to get people to lay their lives open warts and all.

John Bright and Mary Jane Browder Bright my 2nd great grandparents

Genealogy has given me a topic to discuss with my parents. My mother and I share the same hobby so we can build on what the other finds. My father is a treasure trove of family lore, stories I’ve heard all my life but never wrote down. Now I’m hearing them again and encouraging him to write them down. Oh the lovely hours in stacks that will lead to investigating! It gives us something to share, to talk about, to do together beyond comparing medical visits.

My 2nd great grandfather. He was a sheriff in the mountains of East Tennessee. His son became a revenuer. Looks the part of a lawman doesn’t he?

Finally it gives me something to pass on to my son. Here is who we are. This is how we fit into those stuffy history books. It makes the past live for him because he can say he has a connection to it. I hope it keeps me remembered by my 4th great grandchild. She cared, she cared enough to send these stories down to me so I too would share something with her – our connection to life future and past.

For me it combined my love of history, my love of stories, my love of office supplies (files!), my love of order and documentation, my always needing something to do, and gave me another connection with my parents. I can’t think of a better hobby.

As always I’d love to hear from you. You can comment here (it’ll show up when I get it). You can catch me on twitter as @marylouiseeklund or on Google+ as +Mary Louise Eklund. I don’t go to Facebook any more though there’s an old profile still there. BUT you can email me at marylouiseeklund at either yahoo.com or gmail.com.

Until next time!

January 12, 2012
Grandpa’s Stories Weren’t Just Stories After All

Yesterday’s post was about my maternal grandfather, this one is about my paternal grandfather, Leslie Newland Bright. During the depression he sold Singer sewing machines to homes in the coal mining villages of Virginia. Here’s a photo from a company picnic in 1928.

Singer Sewing Company Picnic 1928

That’s Grandpa standing just above the C in Co. here’s a an enlarged cut out of him from the picture.

Leslie N. Bright

As the family lore goes, he started working for Singer as a S&C Man. That was sales and collections. He didn’t have a car then so he’d get on the train at a flag stop and ride up to a small mining village. This was mostly in the Virginia and Tennessee area. He’d go selling and collecting in the village. If he sold a sewing machine he’d ride the train back get the machine and then ride the train again to deliver it.

Eventually he became a manager for them and got a car allowance. He bought a new car every 90 days. Why? He said he trashed the cars driving those old mining roads in the Appalachians. The ruts were so bad that one time he set the car to drive then climbed in the back seat to help hold the sewing machine.

One of the tales he told was repossessing a sewing machine in an old mining village shack. He went in to get the machine and the family wouldn’t give it back. He shot through the floor of the shack making the chickens rooting under it fly. Then he got the machine and put it on his back. He then walked out and up over a small bridge. The father of the family shot at him but he kept going. Supposedly grandpa said he figured the man was a bad shot and if he didn’t hit him the first time he wasn’t gonna.

Now Dad heard this story growing up and put it down to the tall tale his father told. Then one day when they had a farm of their own a man came in to do business. As they were talking the visitor told of a Singer Sewing Machine man that came to his uncle’s house to repossess a sewing machine sold on credit. The man shot up the house killing some chickens, took the machine and calmly walked out as the visitor’s uncle shot at him. Grandpa sit there nodding at the story. He never said it was him. He never let on he knew any more than the man said. However, MY dad was stunned. It wasn’t a tall tale after all.

Grandpa left Singer Sewing Company during the depression. He said he didn’t realize how hard it was until he’d left the job. He went from that to pulling steel tracks from old mines. He had work down on his knees in the old mines pulling up the mine car tracks. Very hard work, really hard work compared to the Singer job.

As always I’d like to hear from you. You can comment here (your comment will show when I get it) or reach me on Twitter (@marylouiseklund) on Flickr or over on Google+. You can e-mail me at marylouiseeklund at either yahoo.com or gmail.com.

Until next time – enjoy what’s left of 2011!

December 30, 2011
When Boys Were Supposed to Wear Dresses

Sammie Sue Rolen on the right and John Hollis Rolen on the left

In the above picture is my maternal grandfather John Hollis Rolen. He always went by Hollis. On the left in the picture is his oldest sister Sammie Sue, she went by Sammie Sue all her life.

This picture has a few stories behind it. First one that comes to mind was when Aaron my son saw it as a little boy. I explained who the people were, that the little boy on the right grew up to be father to his Granny. He looked confused and asked “Didn’t they know he was a boy?” LOL!

The answer is yes they knew he was a boy but little boys wore dresses until about 5 or 6 then they moved to knee britches. Then when they got to be 12 or so they moved up to long trousers. Was the custom then to which my son replied “I’m sure glad they don’t do that now. People would laugh at ME in a dress.”

I remember Papaw, that’s what I called Hollis, telling me about transferring to knee britches. He father was home and they celebrated by going to the barn and putting one of the dresses on a stick and lighting it on fire. The marched about singing while Lavator, Hollis’s father, waved the burning dress. When they got back into the house Ollie Belle, Hollis’s mother, was irate that they burned a perfectly good dress!

Another story Papaw told was he had a pair of yellow knee britches as one of his first pairs. Early on during the privileged time where he had a boy’s haircut and just moved into knee britches he was playing by the mailbox. The mailman came up on horseback and addressed Papaw as “fine sir.” Which Papaw replied, “It’s me Hollis bet ye didn’t recognize me in my little yaller britches.”

So now back to the story that explains the sour faces in the photo. Ollie Belle, Granny Rolen to me and my mom, said she tried to get them both looking their best for the picture. However, Papaw was mad that they wanted to take away his new whip. Sammie Sue was mad at him for ruining her pretty pictures. Best Ollie Belle could do was get a picture of two pouting children dressed in the best clothes. Oh well what’s a mom to do?

I have to say that pouting boy face carried forward in family genes. It looks just like Aaron did at that age when he pouted. Except we didn’t dress him in dresses. Much to his relief and mine, I’d hate to maintain all that finery in hand washing and ironing.

As always I’d love to hear from ya. You can comment here or reach out to me on Flickr, Twitter, or Google+. Email is always welcome send ’em to marylouiseeklund at either yahoo.com or gmail.com.

Until next time keep your skirts down and a tight hold on that whip!

December 29, 2011
Christmas Past in Photos

Christmas morning photos are never pretty, never flattering, and honestly they shouldn’t be. They should be memories of good times, great presents, bad presents, and the gratification of the anticipation of that Red Ryder BB Gun or whatever was the equalization for you.

So after making our morning photos some of me need years of distance before I post them on the internet. However these have years behind them…

We often confused the TV with the Tree

This was my folks house in the ’70s. Apparently we either gave gift offerings to the TV or often confused the TV with the tree. That’s Samson there in the floor. He was my beloved cat I got in 1976 and my folks had him well until after I was married. He was HUGE. He was the runt of the litter so name was meant to be ironic but he grew to be 4 inches between the base of each ear. At his healthiest he was a lean muscular 30lbs. One big lover in the house and the terror of rabbits, snakes, and birds outside on the farm.

Thought you needed another photo of Sam about 1979

Thought you needed another photo of such a fine feline fella. Best as I can guess this is Christmas of ’78 – ’80. We have always gotten our pets Christmas gifts – a tradition that carries on today.

Life was good with a ballerina, baby boy doll, and new rocker that fit me

My life was good getting nice toy hauls. But I remember that robe. I hated it. It was frilly and stiff. My grandmother had an idea that Christmas morning pictures should be pretty. She’d even get up and dress for them. She wanted us to dress for Christmas dinner. It’s because of her we made pictures of the dinner table (how would she feel of our Pizza Roll lunch & out for dinner tonight?) Still I make picture of dinner tables but these are at least amusing

Nannie dressed for Christmas morning photos

As I said Nannie dressed for Christmas morning pictures and this morning my son showed the same trait by dressing for early morning unwrapping of presents. As a kid he told her he was sorry she got only clothes but this year that’s what he got, clothes, by his own request.

Speaking of dressing for the holidays – can you be too matchy matchy in holiday sweaters? They think NOT!

Speaking of fashion I too made some dubious choices. First off note in the late 70s I made the duckface before the duckface was cool! Also yes, that’s my name in patchwork on the legs of my jeans… what can I say it was the 70s.

Like I said we have lots of table photos for Christmas dinner. In this one mom looks like “Kill me, just kill me now.” Which I went hunting for smiling mom picture. Didn’t find one until I started doing Christmases at my house. LOL!

That’s FUNNY!

I looked through Mike’s old family photos. They were laughing, except one where it looked like Len was trying to get out of the photos.

There’s more blasts from the past on my flickr account. If you are really curious you can click on any image here to go there and cruise around.

As always glad to hear from you here, on Twitter @marylouiseklund, google + under my name and of course on Flickr. Won’t be posting real regularly over the next week but once life returns to a routine after the holidays. Here’s wishing you a great New Year!

December 25, 2011
Tis The Season

So obviously keeping a blog with everything else I’m doing isn’t working. I’m rethinking what I’m going to do with all my social media and blog. I’m thinking of turning this into more of a personal journal than official writing blog. Apparently that will suit my style.

For those who met or followed me on Facebook. I don’t do that any more. Ever since Facebook updated their system to track you even when you sign out, I stopped using them. I considered that an invasion of privacy and apparently so did the FTC. You can now find me on Google+ because it’s a system that turns off when you log out. They already had their brush with the FTC with Google Buzz and cleaned up their act. I’m me over there too, Mary Louise Eklund feel free to circle me any time. Also say hi in the comments.

I’m also on Twitter. Love it as I can shout out to the world from my phone when a thought is worth sharing. I’m marylouiseklund over there. Note one e for the end of Louise and the start of Eklund in that handle. Also over to the right my tweets run so you’ll see links I think are interesting shared there.

Now to tell you what I’ve been doing since August.

Three Gems – Jewelry Booth

Hmm, I’ve been doing craft shows selling my jewelry. I’ve had a booth with two of my friends Paula Lawlor and Jean Rabe. We’ve had great shows and really bad shows but in the end I just want to support my craft addiction. After the first of the year we plan to open an esty store. I’ll let you know about that when it happens.

Jean is moving at the end of January, her husband has taken a new job a bit south of here. He’s already moved there. I sure will miss them. Jean was a bit part of our writer’s group. She brought years of experience in writing and editing to our group of newbies. Now we’re on our own after January.

As for our little jewelry/craft group. We’ll go on with lessons learned from this year. There are some other crafters interested in joining us. After the holidays we’ll meet, choose what craft fairs we want to do starting in the Spring and start the application process for them.

Mike a the Emporer’s palace Tokyo

Mike had active duty in Japan. This was months after the big earthquake in northern Japan. He did get to go sight see once before the work started. We got to chat regularly over the internet. No we didn’t use Skype but instead Yahoo IM but the voice chat. I think he enjoyed Poland more last year because with that group he got to see more of the host country. Here he was on base most of the time working the night shift. Never know what you’ll get but the Navy still lives up to its promise of seeing the world.

Aaron in his first dorm room

Aaron moved out into a dorm at University of Wisconsin in Madison. He’s doing so well. He comes home regularly to see his girlfriend Sara. As a result we get to see him regularly. As you can see he’s having a great time a college discovering odd things like an old gas mask without the filter and public transportation.

Having a great time at college!

I rediscovered the fun of having ideas, doodles, plans, notes, and such all in one nice book. My new journal book of choice is a large moleskine with grid paper. The great thing about gridpaper is I can draw out floor plans of settings I create in my stories. I can do calendars, and such. Also when I take a notion to sketch it helps having a grid. I’m not a good sketcher but at times it makes me happy.

Yes we were THAT close to him

We didn’t just sit around all the time but did do a few things without going to a single theme park. We took an airboat ride out on a local lake. That was lots of fun. We got to see alligators and other wild life. I told Mike it felt like I was riding a couch across the water. I loved it and would like to go do it again sometime.

Leu Garden Roses

We toured the Leu House and Gardens. There they have a wonderfully historic house with beautiful gardens. Mrs. Leu loved roses and her rose garden was unbelievable! The roses were in bloom and I did enjoy making pictures of them until the mosquitoes came out at dusk! Didn’t see the rest of the gardens as we ran to our car to avoid the blood thirsty swarms! Next time going more toward mid day when the sun is high and mosquitoes are low.

Early Stages of the clean up from the plumbing disaster

Life’s not all been crafting, moving and vacation. We did deal with a huge plumbing issue that happened when the sewage pipe from the second floor cracked and drained through our walls and into our basement. The whole basement had to be redone. That took a while to get in order but our insurance covered most of the cost. THANK GOODNESS!

Grandpa Mac holding Baby Aaron

We lost Grandpa Mac this fall. He was Mike’s maternal grandfather, Dale McAllister. It was sad but a blessing Grandpa was freed from his body. He’d not been in good health and had to be in a nursing homes. We’ll miss him. The funeral service was excellent the minister recounted many of his funny tales make all of us smile remembering the man we knew.

As for writing, I’m working on a Steampunk novel. I’m using the characters from my two published stories. It picks up just after the Steampunk’d story. All of it takes place on the Plebeman estate. It’s been fun and soon the first draft will be done and sit on the hard drive to cool before my editing/rewrites. Then it’ll be out to betas.

Next big project will be an urban (but really rural setting) fantasy set in town I grew up in and my parents still live, Greeneville, Tennessee. I’ve been working on that story concept and plot for months. It should be fun to revisit the area but with a fictional twist of course.

As for genealogy, I’m still plugging away at it. I’ve come to terms that I will always have a filing cabinet of information awaiting input into my family tree program. I’ll always be collecting more documentation and always be behind. All this despite I only deal with dead ancestors and relatives. Such is the life of an amateur genealogist.

We haven’t had any snow that stuck to the ground until today. I’d been counting my blessings and hoping for a snow-less winter but that’s too much to ask for in Wisconsin. I count my blessings that it is late starting this year and hope for an early spring, say oh in March!

Hope the holidays are treating you well. Now that you know what I’m up to give me a shout out to tell me what you’ve been up to. You can reach me here, Google+, Twitter, Flickr (where you’ll find this photos in large sizes and many more from these events & other things), or at either of my e-mail addresses marylouiseeklund at yahoo.com or gmail.com. I try to make it easy to be found.

December 17, 2011
How I Got An Idea

There are two things I’ve discovered people do when I tell them I’m a published author. They either tell me their great idea for a best-selling novel or they ask where I get my ideas. After encountering this over and over I asked more experienced authors about it. They assured me that’s common and I’d best get used to it. So for those who have ideas I urge them to write that novel! For those who wonder how published ideas form, here’s how I got inspiration for my latest short story.

Starting next Wednesday, 4 Aug 2011, GenCon 2011 opens. With that is the release of Carnage & Consequences an anthology of short stories by GenCon authors. I was thrilled to be invited to submit a story for consideration. I’ve been attending GenCon for three years to hone my writing skills in their writer’s symposium. It’s the best advice for the most affordable price around even if you don’t write sci-fi or fantasy. I was beyond thrilled when the story was accepted! The story is “The Rider” a ghost story set on the French Broad river in the Appalachian mountains of Upper East Tennessee.

Both sides of my family can trace roots back in those mountains to land grants for service in the Revolutionary War. I grew up in those hills hearing family stories handed down for generations. When casting around for inspiration for a ghost story, my mind fell upon the tale of my 4th great-grandfather James Rolen. His death seemed one that would leave a restless lost spirit behind. From the family lore I spun a tale that hopefully tingles your spine and pulls on your heartstrings at the same time.

My 3rd Great Grandfather Joab Rolen son of the real James Rolen

What was family lore and what was story? First off, there have never been any reports I know of about a rider coming from the French Broad to take boys into the river to drown. There have been no tales of the ghost of James Rolen but there was the family lore of his death.

The story handed down through the family and recorded in the family Bible starts when James Rolen married Sallie Smith from South Carolina. He took her home to the family farm owned by “old man William.” They have a son born 07 Feb 1808 but Sallie wasn’t happy. She missed her family. James wanted to stay on the land because he was next in line to inherit. The marriage spilt. Sallie took little Joab to South Carolina with her.

Years pass, then by letter Sallie informs James she’s married a Mr. Gould. They intend to move out west. James agrees not to prosecute Sallie for bigamy if she’ll turn Joab over to him. Arrangements were to meet in Cosby, Tennessee during the early Spring of 1813. They met at the McMahan Inn, a familiar stop for those traveling west. There Joab was given to the father he didn’t remember. Sallie and Mr. Gould rode off for a new life in the west.

According to Elizabeth Anna McMahan the wife of Archibald McMahan the inn owner, James stayed a few days getting to know his son. During this time there were hard rains swelling the French Broad river. Time came that James felt he had to return to the east side of the mountain to assist in planting on the farm. Eliza Ann fretted with the two crossing the swollen river and pleaded for James to wait. He wouldn’t but a deal was made. He would leave Joab with the McMahans until his return after planting. Eliza Ann promised to take care of Joab as if he were one of her own.

My 3rd Great Grandmother Anna McMahan Rolen wife of Joab Rolen

Her fears proved true. James and his fancy black stallion were caught in the river currents and swept away forever, drowned. Men from the community tried to save them to no avail. The McMahans weren’t sure of just where James had come from over the mountain or where Sallie was going out west. They had an orphaned boy on their hands. Good to her word Eliza Ann raised Joab as she did her children. She wrote down what she knew of James and Sallie keeping alive the memory of the father who wanted his son.

Joab married one of the McMahan’s daughters Anna. He became best friends her brother David. The two often entered into land deals together and became the largest land holders in Sevier County, Tennessee at the time. From this they became rich men, check out the gold buttons and diamond ring David paid extra to have painted on his photo included in the slide show above.

Joab and Anna had 10 children. One was named James in memory of Joab’s lost father. I’m descended from their son George Washington Rolen through my mother. He was sheriff of Sevier County Tennessee for many years. All their children were successes in many ways State Senators, businessmen, teachers, Post Masters, and preachers. Their stories are fodder for more posts and short stories at another time.

As a hobby genealogist I crave documentation. I’ve documented Anna and Joab’s marriage. His close relationship with her parents from their wills. His close relationship with David from the land transactions where they bought and sold land as partners. In David’s will Joab is highly regarded. However, when it comes to documentation James remains a mystery.

Sallie and her Mr. V. Gould settled in Indiana which was the west then. They had 7 children. I’ve not researched that lineage beyond that point.

David Crockett McMahan brother of Anna & best friend of Joab Rolen

I have tried hard to find James, my 4th great-grandfather. On the other side of the mountain from Cosby is North Carolina. However, the route to the McMahan Inn fed people from Virginia and South Carolina through the mountains to the west. Searching so far has given me some tantalizing leads to William Roland, possibly the “old man William” that James talked about to Eliza Ann and Arch McMahan?

So many questions are left unanswered. Was William a Rolen or from James’s maternal line? Was William his father or grandfather or possibly an Uncle? Where was this farm over the mountain that produced such a successful man whose fine clothes, saddle, and horse were noted by the Cosby residents that saw him? I’m afraid we don’t know. I continue my search to link that William Roland a Revolutionary soldier with a North Carolina land grant to a James Rolen born in the 1780s and married a Sallie Smith from South Carolina.

The man of mystery and his sad death inspired the ghost of my story “The Rider.” The people in the story are from my Appalachian roots, a feisty crone who knows more than she appears to at first glance, a boy living in a mountain cabin as the world changes from World War I. The divide between the lives of the mountain folk and those of the city dwellers. All ideas rooted in reality but spun into a tale.

That’s where I got this idea. There’s no predicting from where the next idea will come.

July 31, 2011
My Unkie

Herbert Denton Rolen & Mary Louise Bright

I grew up with men that had odd nicknames—Trub, Hoot, Tip, Unkie. Being a child I never really thought of how those nicknames came to be. They just where. I took name to be what you told me it was. So my grandfather’s baby brother was Unkie. I never thought it was shorthand for uncle, nor did I think he was really my mom’s uncle. He was and always will be my Unkie.

Herbert Denton Rolen was the last of my maternal grandfather’s siblings. He died two weeks ago at the age of 93. The whole family feels the loss of that generation. I can’t say his passing was sad, it was a release for him. It was sad for us because we won’t have his grin that rumbling chuckle, or those strong gentle eyes watch another generation of kids grow up here with us. The sadness is selfish, for us. Still one of the good ones is gone from this life and I’ll miss him.

However, when I remember him I’ll always smile. My first image of him is in olive green work clothes – shirt and pants matching, sitting silently in the corner as I entered Granny Rolen’s house. He’d grin at me not in the condescending ways adults can smile at children but more in the conspiratorial way kids beam at each other when they know they could get into fun the adults might not wholly approve of them doing. Oh nothing harmful just stuff that could get good clothes dirty or make us late for dinner.

Granny, really my great grandmother, had grape and scuppernong vines. She was protective of them. I now know it was probably because growing such things in the climate of East Tennessee isn’t easy. As a kid I didn’t know why. But I knew I loved the fruit. If there were some ripe she’d go out with me to pick them. I wasn’t allowed to pick without her because she wanted to be sure to get just the ripe ones. One visit I waited for her to come out. The golden green globes looked so good I couldn’t resist. I picked one and popped it into my mouth. OH! It was bitter. Unkie came grinning from garden.

“That one wasn’t ripe. They are bitter until they turn gold.” He laughed as he watched my face and my hurry to spit the fruit from my mouth. “That’s why she wants you to wait.”

I suddenly felt guilty. “I’m sorry.” I was also worried I’d just gotten myself in trouble with three generations, Granny, Nanny, and Mom. I must have looked worried.

“Don’t worry I won’t tell.” He grinned and patted me picking some gold ones from higher up where they got full sun.

He and I were buddies then. Just like I was his brother’s, my grandfather’s, little buddy I was Unkie’s too. That day he became my Unkie because he didn’t tell on me. He understood what it was like to be a kid. He took time from working the farm to play with me. To catch tadpoles with legs, to chase grasshoppers in the field, to swing in the shade while eating ice cream we’d churned with Granny.

I knew he was in the Merchant Marines that’s why he wasn’t there all the time. You’d never think the man in dirty farm overalls, with the shy smile, and East Tennessee twang in his voice had traveled the world. He was good ole’ down home folk. However, he’d been to every continent except Antarctica. He’d sailed through the dangerous seas of World War II. He’d been in Vietnam during the fighting and even visited a nephew serving in the US Army there. He’d seen the world but loved the valley that held his family farm. He’d come back every summer to cultivate that land, to play with kids that showed up, to fool strangers into thinking he’d never left those East Tennessee hills.

One story he told was when he was a young man his mother sent him to town to get a new broom. At the time the transportation available was their old mule. Herbert was a large fella so his legs hung awkwardly off the mule as he rode to town for the broom. He got the broom and was riding home holding the broom to the side and plodding away on the hair too small for him mule. That was when he spotted his sister Sammie Sue with her new beau. She turned red and ignored her baby but not little brother distracting the beau. Well, being one who couldn’t resist a good laugh Herbert shouted “Howdy” to his sister waving the broom. He made making sure that not only the beau saw him, but everyone else on the street did too. As he’d tell the story his smirk would spread, his eyes sparkle, and he’d end the telling with a good laugh.

He was one who loved to laugh. The laugh was a warm and welcoming one rolling up from his belly, erupting as a chuckle, then breaking into a full laugh would roll out making all who heard it join him. The big man never seemed threatening but always seemed loving, cuddly, and safe. The kind of protector a child and a country deserved. The kind of man who was pleased to oblige both.

The last conversation I had with him was one of equals just like the day I’d eaten the sour grape. Except this time we talked of warfare, Navy, ships and service. He as a man who’d retired from it, me as a wife of one doing it. He’d showed me a picture of his ship. Then he turned it over and showed me the billets of his service, various ports of call, missions we’d call them in US Navy. He told of life aboard the ship, port calls, and fear during war. My son was there to hear it from one who had lived history. Unkie was tired when we said good-bye but it was a good kind of tired. I knew because that grin that had welcomed me all my life was still there on his lips.

Last week I drove to Tennessee to attend his funeral. We all mourned our loss. Then over a fellowship dinner graciously given to the family by his church we began to laugh and grin remembering him. He brought us together as a family with smiles, memories happy times we’d all shared with him. I am proud to say that good man, Herbert Rolen, was my Unkie.

March 3, 2011
Entry to the Blogosphere

Bathysphere4826 by Bob Richmond on Flickr. Image used through the Creative Commons 2.0 Attribution license.

Welcome to the first post in my blog. I’m not real sure where to start. Do I jump in babbling about the topic that entertains me for the day? Do I introduce myself? Do I set a statement of purpose for the blog? Do I need a bathysphere to enter the blogosphere? Maybe a blogysphere?

Since I can talk about anything, I know I have the first one covered. That’ll mostly be what I do, jump into a one-sided conversation on something that strikes my fancy. It’ll become two way if you comment because I will reply.

That brings me to introducing myself. As the blog says, I’m Mary Louise Eklund. I wear a lot of hats in life. I’ll write about all of them here. I’m a published writer of short stories. I’ve been published in Terribly Twisted Tales and most recently Steam Punk’d. I have more in the works. I’ll shout out when they are coming out. Given that I’ll write here about writing, words, language, reading, and all the stuff related to that. What I like, what I find frustrating, my process, inspiration, blocks, and all the stuff I go through trying to write.

I enjoy photography as a hobby. You can see my photos on flickr, again under my name. The most recent ones appear on my sidebar. I’ve sold a few in my time. I even worked as a photographer for a bit in my undergraduate days. I like going out and making photos of things, not so much into photographing people. It’s not that I don’t like people, I love to watch people. I just like to take pictures of things because they don’t fret over how they look. It’s also easier to find stuff that’s willing to pose and release for publication isn’t an issue.

On the people topic, I am into genealogy as a hobby. I love the stories I find, the interesting facts, and the thrill of the hunt. I like trying to solve the puzzle of family lore or where did so-and-so end up. Like Mark Hicks my 3^rd great uncle that went to the Confederacy in the Civil War when all the others in the family were Union. His brother was a Union Calvary officer. The family never welcomed Mark home and blamed him for turning in his brother-in-law who died in Andersonville. Mark wound up in Arkansas destitute and living on the dole. I found him. Those stories and the questions raised as I work through the information I have will show up here. I’ve even got a story inspired by my genealogical research and expect more to come from it.

I make jewelry. I do beading and am trying out resin pouring designs. I will eventually sell the stuff. I’ll link to that here when it’s up and running. I’ll chat about my working on it and other crafting. I crochet and take various courses in other things that hit my fancy. So far I’ve enjoyed fused glass, pottery, and precious metal clay working. You’ll get all about those things too.

I’m a family person. I’m a mom of a 17 year old who is in his senior year in high school. I’m a wife of a busy business man who is also an officer in the reserves. I’m also the only child of aging parents. I’m a person with chronic illness that’s manageable but not curable. I’m a pet parent, 3 cats and a dog. Those things I’ll keep to a minimum. If it involves another person I don’t want to say more than they are comfortable with sharing. I don’t want to whine and complain about health, there’s enough blogs made up of kvetching. However, I’m sure some off it will come through at times.

That takes care of introducing myself and what I’ll write about. What do I intend to do here? I’ll post regularly. My goal is at least weekly but hopefully more often. I’m sure it’ll depend on the ebb and flow of the other areas of my life.

December 24, 2010