I have been reading more Westerns since receiving large print books from the Tennessee Library for Accessible Books and Media. I have a special attachment to the late 1800s because of my father-in-law and my dad.
My husband’s father, Grover McMurtrie, was born in Pennsylvania in 1865, but didn't stay there. At five years of age, he walked behind his folks’ covered wagon to the Homer Flats in southern Michigan. That was the area between the present-day Battle Creek, Jackson and Eaton Rapids. It was not yet a settled place.
Back in the 1800s Grover worked as a butcher. He had his own meat market in Homer. Back in the day, that meant more than just killing hogs and cattle, cutting up the meat and selling it. Grover even made his own bologna.
His first marriage didn't last long. Divorced, Grover remarried in 1917 to my husband's mother, Myrtle Lair. It seemed that life was one big disappointment for Grover. A series of financial reversals and living as a sharecropper during the Great Depression meant money was hard to come by.
He would crisscross the area around Homer with his wagon of meat products. My husband, as a small boy, would accompany him on his rounds. As well as being a butcher and a farmer, he could play the violin. My husband remembered him playing for schoolhouse dances.
In school, one of my daughter Anne’s teachers asked the class about their grandfathers. Anne spoke up saying her Grandpa was born the year Lincoln was assassinated. The teacher called her a liar, saying that just couldn't be. Anne came home in tears. If I had known I would be writing my memoirs, I would have spent more time asking about his remembrances of that time long ago.
Then there was my father, Owen Stimer. He was born in 1899. Dad joined the Marines during the Great War after his mother passed away. The hostilities ended while he was in basic training at Mare Island near San Francisco. On the parade grounds, the recruits were told that if they stayed in the Marines, it would be several months before they would be discharged. But… if they just went home, no one would try to stop them. They were encouraged to go AWOL. Many did, including my dad and his cousin, Ross Stimer.
Dad didn't quite believe there would be no repercussions. He and his cousin took off to hide out in Idaho at a sheep ranch. They didn’t stay long, soon returning to family and friends in Michigan. Dad was glad to go home. He had developed an abiding dislike for sheep. From what he said, Idaho was still “wild country” in 1918.
Are there stories of long ago in your family? I know that the Civil War is still fresh in the memories of residents around here in East Tennessee. Their families should record the stories or they will be lost forever.