Delving into one’s ancestry is a fun and absorbing business. I’m finding out about ancestors from way, way back. Some of those finds are surprising. They are all fascinating. These people had stories and I, rooted in the present day, am listening, trying to hear what they had to say.
They were from different parts of the country or other countries and were as diverse as you please. I like thinking about each one, how he or she went about the day, what problems they may have faced and how they confronted them. They are real life mysteries.
A little closer ancestry involves my grandparents at Etta Bend. Their histories, I know either first hand, or through my mother’s stories. A century from now, my own story may seem mysterious to future descendants. But, that’s a bit of a stretch for my imagination.
A hundred years! A century! That sounds like a long time and it is, but it also seems like yesterday when reading newspaper clippings about Etta Bend, my mother’s childhood home. Friends and neighbors visited each other. There was a lot of interaction between people. According to news items sent to me by my cousin Brian Wagnon, these were some of those activities at Etta: Levi Latty went to Welling on business, Etta school began October 13 with twenty-four pupils, W. B. Willis (my great-grandfather) purchased a wheat drill, Mr. and Mrs. G. B. Forrest (Uncle George and Aunt Etta) visited Mr. and Mrs. A. J. Barker (my grandmother’s uncle), and quite a few mentions of the Misses Latty (Alice, Susie, Georgia) visiting their friends or friends visiting them.
Life buzzed at Etta in those days. Today, it looks quite different. Farms and the early day people are gone, thanks to Tenkiller Dam. Even the Latty house and barn are gone. Sometimes, I wonder where it all went. It was there, a place on the map, very much alive, very busy and thriving. Now, not even a footprint is left.
Sometimes, I wonder if I went to the old home place, got out of the car, sat down on those rock steps leading into the yard, and listened, would I hear the voices of long ago? Would I see Pappy coming in from the fields with his mules Barney and Jude? Would I hear Ma call her family to supper? They lived and worked, laughed and cried, endured tragedies and rejoiced in triumphs, and moved on, leaving a lasting impression on my heart. Sometimes it’s good to borrow them back for a bit, and remember.
I weave memories and bits and pieces of the past into my books. Whatever I do, or think, or love is influenced by my heritage, even the mysteries; because, after all, who doesn’t enjoy a good puzzle to build a story around?
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