The New England Genealogical Historic Society announced last week that President Obama and Massachusetts senator-elect, Scott Brown, are 10th cousins. Both the President’s mother and Brown’s mother are descendants of Richard Singletary (1585-1687) of Massachusetts. The two men’s cousinship proves a theory that I came up with years ago while researching my family genealogy–go back ten generations and you will have more cousins than you can shake a stick at.
When Dad submitted a DNA sample to Family Tree DNA in 2008, the test results verified my papertrail leading to John Young who settled in southeastern Virginia, near the Cumberland Gap, in the 1780s. But I was surprised that the test revealed an equally close DNA link to a second John Young (1778-1836) of Buckfield, Oxford County, Maine.
Here’s how my “We’re All Cousins” theory works. My mother’s great-great grandfather, Dodridge Bryant (family legend says he is related to William Cullen Bryant) was born in Massachusetts. Seeing how Maine is less than 100 miles from Massachusetts, it is entirely possible that my parents’ lines intersect within the last ten generations. On top of that, I am probably related to President Obama. You’re doubtful, you say? Consider the probability that Obama and George Walker Bush are related. Yep, they too can call each other “cousin”, although they had to go back eleven generations to find a common ancestor.
President Obama is also kin to James Madison, Dick Cheney, Winston Churchill, Jimmy Carter, Robert E. Lee, Lyndon B. Johnson, Gerald Ford, Harry S. Truman, and Brad Pitt.
So, go back ten generations–alright, make it twelve— and you will be claiming most of your co-workers, neighbors, and, very likely, President Obama, as cousins.
Sam Rayburn, 1882-1961, of Bonham,Texas, was a Texas legislator, congressman, and Speaker of the United States House of Representatives for seventeen years. He was elected to the House of Representatives as a Democrat in 1912, and represented the Fourth Texas District for forty-eight years, until his death in 1961.
The following letter of condolence from Sam Rayburn to Grandma Young (Maude L. Young) in the death of her husband, George, on 7 January 1945, was a good example of how closely the congressman kept in touch with his constituents. Mr. Rayburn was known for his contrasting wardrobes; while in Washington D.C. he wore suits, starched shirts, and well-polished shoes, but when visiting the people of Northeast Texas, he switched to informal shirts, jeans, and boots. Mr. Rayburn’s identification with the residents of his largely rural district made him an effective legislator. He was responsible for numerous projects that increased the quality of life for our family, such as rural electrification, farm-to-market roads, Lake Texoma, and Perrin Air Force Base.
I have a vague memory of going with Dad to the Sam Rayburn Library in Bonham to see a picture of Papa (Samuel W. Young, Sr.) with Sam Rayburn.
I am the keeper of Grandma’s Bookcase and this is what I found.
Two little girls sharpened their pencils twenty-six years ago today, and went to work crafting thank you notes for Christmas gifts. They creatively expressed their thankfulness, and the sunny paper remains imbued with the unmistakable fragrance of love and affection for Aunt Charlotte. Grandmother Rachel served as spelling consultant, and a great time was had by all!
I am the keeper of Grandma’s Bookcase and this is what I found.
Comedian Tim Hawkins provided a good deal of laugh therapy last night at church. Brother Richard introduced me to Tim a couple of years ago via youtube. Here’s one of my favorite performances by Tim–a parody of Carrie Underwood’s “Jesus Take the Wheel” in the form of a fishy story called “Cletus Take the Reel.”
1. If its cold at my place . . . it’s cold at your place.
2. If Hannah’s not at home in the evening . . . she is practicing with the school orchestra for the musical “Thoroughly Modern Millie.”
3. If you stay for supper . . . you will be served potato soup or vegetable beef soup or chicken soup or . . . . You get the idea.
4. If your Christmas tree left the premises around New Year’s . . . mine is still keeping me company.
An ornament from Aunt Margaret's sweet gum tree.
5. If the phone rings at 5:30 A.M. . . . it will be Andrew cheerily encouraging me to “not waste the day.”
6. If we are discussing our coldest winter in 25 years . . . we’re also trying to figure out how El Nino impacts Global Warming.
7. If you are lonesome for Christmas carols . . . Mark will give let you borrow our Christmas clock.
8. If you need someone to empty your trash cans . . . Milo will be more than willing to accomodate.
9. If Mark is reading . . . it’s from a Kindle.
10. If I wake up in the middle of the night . . . it’s because I’m wondering if my water pipes are freezing.
11. If I can’t find the plastic wrap . . . it’s in Hannah’s room where she has used it to wrap her lotioned feet.
12. If I thought that it was going to take a week to recoup from Christmas celebrations and New Year’s travels and cleaning and finishing the moving process from my old house . . . I learned that it really takes several weeks.
Hannah received these lemons, along with the lovely basket, as a Christmas gift from her oboe teacher. Her teacher grew them in her backyard. They are as big as small oranges! I made hot lemonade last night, and the juice of just two lemons yielded a full cup of juice. Tina started me several lemon trees earlier this year. This is the first time that I have lived in a place where lemon trees thrive, and I can hardly wait until I’m harvesting my own lemons and giving my own gifts of lemony sunshine.
The only fundraiser that I have truly enjoyed was selling Christmas wreaths as a member of the Denison High School band. Inhaling the heady, pungent evergreen scent as I helped unload the delivery truck, and delivering the wreaths to calls of “Merry Christmas!” was fun work. One year, in response to my knock at an unfamiliar house, a woman called through the open door for me to come in. I wasn’t in the habit of entering homes to solicit sales, and I proceeded with my “support the band speech” from the porch. She replied that she was crippled, and reiterated that I needed to come inside.
As I approached the friendly woman seated in a recliner, she informed me that she always bought a wreath from the band. I documented her order, and then watched with interest as she deftly picked picked up what looked like stubby nails and poked them into an orange. Although I was familiar with ground cloves that Mom cooked with, I had never imagined whole cloves to resemble miniature nails. I admired the pomanders and their spicy smell so much that all of my spare time for weeks was devoted to poking whole cloves into oranges. By Christmas eve, I had a very, very sore thumb, and a sack full of tissue-wrapped pomander balls to give as gifts.
Making orange pomanders in November and December is a tradition that I have passed on to my children, Sunday School students, and many preschoolers. Andrew even made and sold them door to door in our neighborhood. I solidly stud the oranges with cloves like my mentor showed me, instead of arranging the cloves in a pattern as some do. I also adopted the use of a nail to pierce the orange skin to save my thumb. When the orange is completely covered in cloves, I leave it in a paper bag for several weeks to allow it to shrink. Then it’s ready to be decorated with ribbon or yarn.
Mom made repeat trips to the grocery store around Christmas time to replenish my supply of whole cloves. I still marvel at where she got the extra money to buy them because they are expensive. Mark purchased my current supply of cloves from The Spice Man in Indonesia.
The blessing of selling Christmas wreaths, and learning to make orange pomander balls continues to this very day. I am rich in the smells of Christmas.
In looking over Hannah’s American history notes, I was intrigued how words and terms popularized by the Civil War fit so well with Tiger Wood’s domestic civil war.
Tiger Woods wished that he had learned to tar his heels and stick closer to home when he was forced to skedaddle from his house in the middle of the night when Elin thought he was a copperhead. Now his distinctly chilly home is nothing like his antebellum home. Since his sponsors are dropping him like a hot potato, Tiger might have trouble paying his federal income tax and find himself living in a pup tent.
1. Tarheel
The Morris Dictionary of Word and Phrase Origin says that tar refers to North Carolina’s long-leaf pine forests which produced an “abundance of rosin, turpentine, and tar.” The earliest recorded referrence to the heel part, in 1869, stated that ‘”A brigrade of North Carolinians . . .failed to hold a certain hill, and were laughed at by the Mississipppians for having forgotten to tar their heels that morning.”‘ I suppose that if the soldiers had tarred their heels, they would not have “slipped,” and lost the hill.
2. skedaddle
Civil War soldiers who ran away, scrammed, or left unceremoniously were said to have skedaddled. It’s possible that this definition is related to the word skedaddle used in Northern England which meant to spill but no one is sure.
3. copperhead
Northerners who were pro-Union but sympathized with the Confederacy were considered to be as dangerous as lethally poisonous copperhead snakes.
4. antebellum
It simply means “before the war” because ante is the Latin word for “before,” and bellum means “war” in Latin.
5. federal income tax
The nation’s first income tax was levied by the North in order to reduce economic stresses.
6. pup tent
The primitive, wedge-shaped tent for two people was considered to be kennel-like, only fit for dogs or puppies. Hence, it was called pup tent or dog tent.
Although Tiger may end up paying more money to Elin than to the federal government, I doubt if he will ever see the inside of a pup tent.
Grandma Maude tucked this letter into The Bookcase, and I’m glad that we can enjoy it today.
Dear Mrs. Young,
I don’t have anything new to tell but I know you are looking for a letter so will let you have what I know.
We are all fine, had a sweet long letter from George Fri, but haven’t heard since. He told me I wouldn’t as he may go to Pittsburg Penn, on Fri. That is 350 miles from where he is so I guess he went or I would have heard. Altho he was low on Stamps & money when he wrote. He told me not to send him sweet things So I am trying to think up some other things he would enjoy. I have him a radio, which will be a big surprise to him I hope. Be sure and not forget a[nd] tell him in your letter because I want to surprise him.
I have been sewing on the grandsons robes. It’s not easy either to not be able to try them on even tho I took the measurements Thurs.
Richard is begging for an air Rifle for Christmas, but Sam just pulls a stunt when he mentions one. So I don’t know how he will come out. I don’t think It would be bad as Richard is by him Self, not any children around here for him to play with. That is where the danger comes in I think.
I have been making some cuptowels & pot holders for Marg birthday. Don’t forget George’s because he is so far away. The 11th[.] I sent his card today. It was early but I got mine early too.
We are having some nice weather, haven’t we?
Tonight is my night to stay up til 11 oclock to watch “Tonight” Do you watch Jack Parr & Elsa Maxwell I enjoy them on Tru Tue night.
I am glad to get my machine back. Can’t get along very well without one. Charlotte got most of her sewing done. while she had had it.
Well I must write Margaret
Love, Rachel
I am the keeper of Grandma’s Bookcase, and this is what I found.
Christmas cacti bring me a lot of pleasure. They thrive on minimal care, live for as long as 20 years, and give a generous Christmas gift of delicate blooms. Even though it’s called “cactus,” it thrives in the same tropical environment as orchids, and is a native of Brazil. Grandmother Rachel always had one that bloomed pinkish-red around Christmas.
