After all that cold and ice, and now suddenly, it's spring. Driving the kids to school on Monday, and pointing out to Mimi, our visitor from Germany, the different flowering trees. The tulip trees bloom first, and then the Bradford pears and the redbuds. But it was February 28, I told her, and it could still get cold again, and freeze everything back. I was out of town for a few days, and now the trees are starting to leaf.
With the loss of the two large dogwood trees that used to be in the backyard, all that's left for hanging the birdfeeders are two large Chinese privets, so that's where we have them. There's the new squirrel proof feeder with the motor, that does seem to have intimidated the squirrels sufficiently that they just stay away from it, and the finch feeder filled with thistle seed, and the hummingbird feeder that never got brought in for the winter and now needs to be cleaned up and refilled. Now that I know that privet is an invasive species (thank you, Trees Atlanta), I know we should get rid of it. I guess we could put the bird feeders on poles, but we haven't.
On President's Day weekend, Caroline and I participated in the Great Backyard Bird Count. I was a little disappointed that during the half hour that we counted, there was less diversity in our backyard than usual. That weekend both the robins and the redwing blackbirds were having conventions in Atlanta, and the locals were staying in, I think, kind of like what we did during the Olympics. That said, we were able to identify most of the birds we saw except for several little brown birds that I assumed were some kind of sparrow but I had no idea which kind.
So later - after we did our count - I got out the binoculars and the bird book and really looked at them. As it turned out, they weren't all alike. One of them had a dark spot on the breast and I think was a song sparrow, and the other had a yellow spot by its eye and was I think a white-throated sparrow.
When I got back home yesterday, all the feeders (including the suet feeder on the dining room window) were empty, except for the finch feeder, which was half empty. Too tired last night to do anything about it, but after I put on coffee this morning it was the first thing I did. Suet in the suet cage, sunflower seeds in the window feeder and the big feeder on the privet, thistle seed in the finch feeder. While I was out, I checked on the trees. There is now the first sign of green on the apple tree I planted last year, and there also are signs of life from the dogwood tree we planted on Mother's Day. But only two of the four blueberry bushes seem to have survived.
Back inside, with a cup of coffee, on a grey damp March morning. The cardinals are back, and the downy woodpecker that comes to the suet feeder has already been by. It makes a racket, when the metal cage knocks into the dining room window. And if you look, there are the little brown birds hopping on the ground.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Teaching the Dog to Read
A couple months ago, on my return from a trip I learned that in my absence Tom had been trying to teach the dog to read. He said that the dog wasn't making much progress. On further investigation, I learned that he actually was trying to teach Bullwinkle the alphabet. I told him that that no doubt was the problem, that the whole language method would probably be more effective than phonics.
Since then, there was an article in the New York Times about Chaser, a border collie that knows the names of more than a thousand objects, along with some additional verbs. This border collie is owned by a retired psychology professor from Wofford College, who - from the time the dog was a puppy - spent 4 or 5 hours a day teaching the dog words. Border collies are energetic, smart, obdient, and hard-working, and according to Dr. Pilley, Chaser's owner and teacher, she still demands 4 to 5 hours a day. "I'm 82," Dr. Pilley told the New York Times, "and I have to go to bed to get away from her."
Now we knew about border collies and their vocabularies before this report; we thought that border collies could learn 400 words, and if border collies could do it, surely Bullwinkle could too.
Bullwinkle is mature - he's 9 years old in human years - with a graying muzzle and a very sweet disposition. He is not particularly obdient (see, for example, this and this) and not exactly energetic either, but since he was a puppy he has been in a household where we talk about current events over dinner and we read newspapers and magazines and books, so surely that counts for something. (Caroline was in a study, the Early Childhood Longitudinal Study, and every year or so I would be interviewed by phone. Whenever they would ask how many children's books were in the house and I said "hundreds," I'm not sure they believed me.)
We do think Bullwinkle knows quite a few words; most of them have to do with food. He is obsessed with food, and I think if he were given the chance he would eat until he was sick, or worse.
This is the thing that I don't understand. This is a dog that will jump on the dining room table and snatch a loaf of bread or a stick of butter, if given the chance. But the 40 pound bag of dog food is sitting out in the foyer, next to his bowl - the bowl he will toss across the room if not filled with food when he thinks it should be - and he has never knocked the bag over or tore it open to get into it on his own. It's not that he doesn't know that's where his food is, and it's not that he couldn't get into it - he just hasn't.
We used to have a cat named Rocky, who decided he didn't like sharing his house with the dog and moved next door to live with Kathy and Steve; he died of cancer a few years ago. When Rocky was still in our house at least some of the time, we had dry cat food sitting out for him so he could eat when he wanted to. Bullwinkle started eating Rocky's food, and Rocky - I know this was deliberately done out of spite - did knock over Bullwinkle's close-to-empty bag of food and helped himself to dog food. At the time, I told Tom this proved that cats are smarter than dogs, but that may not be true; they simply may be more devious.
Bullwinkle may not know more than a dozen words, but one morning when I returned from a before dawn trip to the grocery store, he broke out in frenzied barking that stopped as soon as he saw it was me. He doesn't have much opportunity to be a watch dog but I am pretty sure if anyone did try to get into the house at night he would be as loud as our alarm system. He also knows the sound of a half of a dog treat tapped against the back window, and even when he is barking at possums on the other side of the fence, he usually will come running. Not bad for an middle-aged, overweight Laborador Retriever, even if he can't read.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Current Events
Off and on all weekend I've been trying to write something coherent about Egypt. We've been following unfolding events on television, and on the web. Some great reporting, from the media I usually follow and some I haven't before, like Al Jazeera English. Learning about the complexity of how the military and the security forces are organized and how the fissures and factions and loyalities there will shape what follows. Admiral Mike Mullen on the Daily Show (the Daily Show!), talking about the close ties between the U.S. military and the Egyptian military. In clinic on Friday, sneaking a quick look at Al Jazeera's live blog between patients. Yesterday afternoon, I turned on the television, looking for an update about what was happening. CNN didn't even have any news on (isn't the second N supposed to stand for "news"?) but MSNBC did.
The key factor that determines outcome, when the citizens of a country take to the streets, is whether or not the organized guys with guns - whether it be the police or the military - will kill their own people. All week, waiting to see what was going to happen. It seemed, last week, that it might be the day that Things Turned Bad. Gangs of thugs were attacking the protestors and the journalists who were sharing the story with the rest of the world. Remembering Iran, in 2009, and before that, Tiananmen Square. What would the military do?
As it has played out, tt seems that they are planning on outlasting the Mubarek government, whose days are numbered, and probably in days and not weeks. What will follow? Hopefully a government that is more responsive, and less corrupt, and less inclined to let thugs in uniform terrorize its citizens.
I was embarrassed, the other night, with Piers Morgan asked an Egyptian official if he would like to take the opportunity to apologize for the attacks on Western journalists, as if roughing up Anderson Cooper was somehow worse than attacking Egyptian journalists. One Egyptian journalist has been killed, already, and countless others have been beaten, harrassed, intimidated, and detained. It has been a systematic assault on the reporters who have bringing us the news. They are brave people, and I am grateful they are still there. A free press is critical to democracy, and in the long run, that's what will build peace, and prosperity, and stability to the country and the region.
I remember 1989, when the Iron Curtain came down, and one country after another declared their national independence. Who could have imagined that in a few months, the Soviet empire in Eastern Europe would come to end so quickly, so bloodlessly? Just because we didn't see it coming, doesn't mean it can't happen. We do not know how this particular story will end, but we are hoping for a peaceful transition to democracy.
So the other night, Tom mounted the flag holder on one of the columns on our front porch, and we hung the flag of Egypt. I haven't heard of a march is support of the people of Egypt here in Atlanta, and if there was one, I probably wouldn't have time to go to it. But if you are on Wessyngton Road, you can find our house.
It's the one with the Egyptian flag on the front porch.
The key factor that determines outcome, when the citizens of a country take to the streets, is whether or not the organized guys with guns - whether it be the police or the military - will kill their own people. All week, waiting to see what was going to happen. It seemed, last week, that it might be the day that Things Turned Bad. Gangs of thugs were attacking the protestors and the journalists who were sharing the story with the rest of the world. Remembering Iran, in 2009, and before that, Tiananmen Square. What would the military do?
As it has played out, tt seems that they are planning on outlasting the Mubarek government, whose days are numbered, and probably in days and not weeks. What will follow? Hopefully a government that is more responsive, and less corrupt, and less inclined to let thugs in uniform terrorize its citizens.
I was embarrassed, the other night, with Piers Morgan asked an Egyptian official if he would like to take the opportunity to apologize for the attacks on Western journalists, as if roughing up Anderson Cooper was somehow worse than attacking Egyptian journalists. One Egyptian journalist has been killed, already, and countless others have been beaten, harrassed, intimidated, and detained. It has been a systematic assault on the reporters who have bringing us the news. They are brave people, and I am grateful they are still there. A free press is critical to democracy, and in the long run, that's what will build peace, and prosperity, and stability to the country and the region.
I remember 1989, when the Iron Curtain came down, and one country after another declared their national independence. Who could have imagined that in a few months, the Soviet empire in Eastern Europe would come to end so quickly, so bloodlessly? Just because we didn't see it coming, doesn't mean it can't happen. We do not know how this particular story will end, but we are hoping for a peaceful transition to democracy.
So the other night, Tom mounted the flag holder on one of the columns on our front porch, and we hung the flag of Egypt. I haven't heard of a march is support of the people of Egypt here in Atlanta, and if there was one, I probably wouldn't have time to go to it. But if you are on Wessyngton Road, you can find our house.
It's the one with the Egyptian flag on the front porch.
Saturday, January 29, 2011
Mother's Day
On the shuttle back to the airport parking lot the other day, a man got on with a box with a handle like travellers from Maine use to carry lobsters, but this one said "Caramel Apples." Someone said a caramel apple would hit the spot on the way back to the car, and someone else asked if he'd brought enough for everyone. He didn't say anything; he had earbuds in his ears, and I think he missed the whole exchange.
When I was a freshman in college, my roommate came back from somewhere with a caramel apple for me. After the apple was eaten, I planted one of the seeds from it in a cutoff milk carton and put it in the window of my dormitory room. The seed did germinate and I think for the rest of the year I had it in my dorm room, a bit of green in a room on the sixth floor of a twelve-story building with windows that didn't open.
At some point I took it home with me, to my parents' house, and my dad planted it in the alley. The standing joke of course was that if it did ever make apples, we'd have an awful time keeping the insects off the caramel. It did make a few apples over the years but they weren't very good and they didn't have caramel on them.
The tree eventually died; by the time I sold the house, it was gone.
Last winter, a neighborhood group raising money for the new park at Highland and St. Charles had a plant sale, and I bought a Granny Smith apple tree, along with some blueberry bushes and strawberries. My only prior experience with apple trees was not that successful (see above), and I didn't get off to too good a start with the new one, leaving the bareroot tree out of the ground for a while before I got it planted. But I did get it in the ground eventually, and it made leaves in the spring, grew a little in the summer, and dropped the leaves in the fall. It's 3 or 4 feet tall and years away from making apples, caramel or not. But as the winter days drag on, something to look forward to, waiting for the leaves to emerge on the little tree, seeing it grow. Someday, if all goes well, there will be apples; planting trees definitely requires a longterm view.
Then last year on Mother's Day, we were all working in the backyard, getting kudzu off the back fence and doing some general clean up. There used to be two dogwood trees in the backyard, but they both died - blight or drought or old age or some combination of the above, I guess. At some point that afternoon I told Tom I knew what I wanted for Mother's Day, that I wanted a dogwood tree. (I could have told my children this, given that they were technically the ones responsible, but going straight to Tom was more efficient.) So he went to Pike's and got one, and the kids dug a hole and we planted it, near where the other dogwood trees had been, on the other side of the yard from the apple tree.
Sarah said it should be our Mother's Day tradition, to take a picture of the dogwood tree every year. I thought that was a great idea but of course we didn't get around to doing it. Maybe this year.
When I was a freshman in college, my roommate came back from somewhere with a caramel apple for me. After the apple was eaten, I planted one of the seeds from it in a cutoff milk carton and put it in the window of my dormitory room. The seed did germinate and I think for the rest of the year I had it in my dorm room, a bit of green in a room on the sixth floor of a twelve-story building with windows that didn't open.
At some point I took it home with me, to my parents' house, and my dad planted it in the alley. The standing joke of course was that if it did ever make apples, we'd have an awful time keeping the insects off the caramel. It did make a few apples over the years but they weren't very good and they didn't have caramel on them.
The tree eventually died; by the time I sold the house, it was gone.
Last winter, a neighborhood group raising money for the new park at Highland and St. Charles had a plant sale, and I bought a Granny Smith apple tree, along with some blueberry bushes and strawberries. My only prior experience with apple trees was not that successful (see above), and I didn't get off to too good a start with the new one, leaving the bareroot tree out of the ground for a while before I got it planted. But I did get it in the ground eventually, and it made leaves in the spring, grew a little in the summer, and dropped the leaves in the fall. It's 3 or 4 feet tall and years away from making apples, caramel or not. But as the winter days drag on, something to look forward to, waiting for the leaves to emerge on the little tree, seeing it grow. Someday, if all goes well, there will be apples; planting trees definitely requires a longterm view.
Then last year on Mother's Day, we were all working in the backyard, getting kudzu off the back fence and doing some general clean up. There used to be two dogwood trees in the backyard, but they both died - blight or drought or old age or some combination of the above, I guess. At some point that afternoon I told Tom I knew what I wanted for Mother's Day, that I wanted a dogwood tree. (I could have told my children this, given that they were technically the ones responsible, but going straight to Tom was more efficient.) So he went to Pike's and got one, and the kids dug a hole and we planted it, near where the other dogwood trees had been, on the other side of the yard from the apple tree.
Sarah said it should be our Mother's Day tradition, to take a picture of the dogwood tree every year. I thought that was a great idea but of course we didn't get around to doing it. Maybe this year.
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Hiking the Homestead Trail
Monday was a holiday, and we took our traditional Martin Luther King Day hike at Red Top Mountain State Park this year. With rain expected during the afternoon, Tom planned for us to be off the trail by then. So we loaded up everyone and the dog and we got to the Visitors' Center parking lot around 11 a.m..
We should have thought to bring a trail map with us, because (probably thanks to cutbacks to state park budgets) the Visitors' Center was closed. But we basically know the way, having hiked these trails before. We took the Sweet Gum Trail as far as the lodge, then the White Tail Trail to the edge of the lake, then back to the Sweet Gum Trail until it intersected the Homestead Trail, which we took back to the Visitors' Center. It was 4.5 miles or so altogether, and we did get back before the rain started.
It was a nice walk. There was still a little packed snow in places on the trail, but it was mostly clear. Not too many people there, given that it was a holiday - maybe people were still concerned about the roads, after the big Ice In the week before. There were some dogs who were happy to be out of the house. We didn't see any deer.
While we were walking, I asked Tom if we were in Bartow County. Maybe, Tom said, he wasn't sure. Why was I asking? Some ancestors had moved from North Carolina to Georgia, I told him, and I was thinking that they might have been in Bartow County for at least a while. Maybe if I want to do some family history research there's some to do that is not so far from home. Jacob Rhyne, who had left his first wife and married a woman named Sally Hope, had moved to Georgia, and so had Jacob Stroup, the second husband of Jacob's mother (and the father of Jacob's first wife). Red Top Mountain is red because of iron ore, and I knew there used to be iron mining there; Jacob Stroup had been an ironworker, and I thought that he might have been in Bartow County for a while, so maybe there was something to find out that would be interesting.
When we got back to the parking lot, a Bartow County Sheriff's car pulled into the parking lot. Probably Bartow County, I told Tom.
No time to look anything up until today. So I was quite surprised to find that Jacob Stroup is credited with building the first iron furnace there, in 1836, and that the last one he built was at the entrance of what is now Red Top Mountain State Park. The remains of it and another one he built are under the water of Lake Allatoona. Tom and the kids have sailed on Lake Allatoona for years, and the girls went to Girl Scout camp there, too. How many times have we been at this park? And I had no idea.
On March 19, the park is firing up two iron furnaces to commemorate the early iron industry in Bartow County. We've enjoyed for several years attending the Georgia State holiday iron pour downtown; this year, I hope I can make it to the one at Red Top Mountain, now that I know that indeed this was where Hannah Hoyle's second husband ended up.
We should have thought to bring a trail map with us, because (probably thanks to cutbacks to state park budgets) the Visitors' Center was closed. But we basically know the way, having hiked these trails before. We took the Sweet Gum Trail as far as the lodge, then the White Tail Trail to the edge of the lake, then back to the Sweet Gum Trail until it intersected the Homestead Trail, which we took back to the Visitors' Center. It was 4.5 miles or so altogether, and we did get back before the rain started.
It was a nice walk. There was still a little packed snow in places on the trail, but it was mostly clear. Not too many people there, given that it was a holiday - maybe people were still concerned about the roads, after the big Ice In the week before. There were some dogs who were happy to be out of the house. We didn't see any deer.
While we were walking, I asked Tom if we were in Bartow County. Maybe, Tom said, he wasn't sure. Why was I asking? Some ancestors had moved from North Carolina to Georgia, I told him, and I was thinking that they might have been in Bartow County for at least a while. Maybe if I want to do some family history research there's some to do that is not so far from home. Jacob Rhyne, who had left his first wife and married a woman named Sally Hope, had moved to Georgia, and so had Jacob Stroup, the second husband of Jacob's mother (and the father of Jacob's first wife). Red Top Mountain is red because of iron ore, and I knew there used to be iron mining there; Jacob Stroup had been an ironworker, and I thought that he might have been in Bartow County for a while, so maybe there was something to find out that would be interesting.
When we got back to the parking lot, a Bartow County Sheriff's car pulled into the parking lot. Probably Bartow County, I told Tom.
No time to look anything up until today. So I was quite surprised to find that Jacob Stroup is credited with building the first iron furnace there, in 1836, and that the last one he built was at the entrance of what is now Red Top Mountain State Park. The remains of it and another one he built are under the water of Lake Allatoona. Tom and the kids have sailed on Lake Allatoona for years, and the girls went to Girl Scout camp there, too. How many times have we been at this park? And I had no idea.
On March 19, the park is firing up two iron furnaces to commemorate the early iron industry in Bartow County. We've enjoyed for several years attending the Georgia State holiday iron pour downtown; this year, I hope I can make it to the one at Red Top Mountain, now that I know that indeed this was where Hannah Hoyle's second husband ended up.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
After the Ice
Atlanta doesn't do well with winter weather. This is the south, so it's not supposed to snow, even though it does, sometimes. Ice is more of a problem than snow, and what happened this week - in addition to the sleet and freezing rain - is that nighttime temperatures have been very cold so anything that managed to melt but stayed on the roadways and sidewalks turned to ice overnight.
I was out of town when all this started on Sunday. Expecting my flight back Tuesday to be cancelled. Checking Delta.com frequently on Monday, but my flight was listed as "on time" so I was hoping for the best. If I did make it back to the Atlanta airport could I get home? Wondering about taking MARTA, or being stuck in an airport hotel. Hoping for the best.
A new inscrutable rule that you can't use your cellphone til after you clear passport control. I tried, walking up the jetway, but got caught and had to hit the "disconnect" button. (I started to say "hang up," and wondered if children now wonder why anyone would refer to ending a telephone call as "hanging up." But I digress.) Tom hadn't answered but called me as I was making my way towards passport control. I'm here, I said, but can't talk. Can't use cell phones til after passport control. Already got caught once. Call you back as soon as I can.
I asked the officer at passport control if I was going to be able to get home. He looked at the address on my customs declaration and said "probably." He said it had taken him 3 hours to get in that morning from Acworth. Good luck going home, I told him. He shook his head and said he wasn't sure he was going home.
Once I was out of the cell-free zone, I called Tom. He thought if I could get out of the parking lot I probably could make it. The guy at park and ride said they would make sure I could get out. It had been just a little above freezing for at least some of the day, so when I got to my car, some of the snow and ice had turned to slush. The park and ride guy helped me get the ice off my car (there wasn't much), and I headed out at about 4:30.
The drive wasn't fun (and some of it was terrifying) but I did make it. Fortunately there were not many cars on the road. Lots of ice and snow left on the interstate, especially on bridges, and Wessyngton Road was barely passable. But I made it. I parked my car and didn't drive again til yesterday.
Kids out of school all week. Caroline and Sarah were supposed to be having their end-of-semester exams, but those have been rescheduled for next week. Watching the dog slide on the ice in the backyard. Keeping the birdfeeders filled, and putting the suet that the squirrels had attacked on the diningroom window with a piece of packing tape, and seeing an array of birds I'd never seen up close, pecking at the suet, knocking the metal cage into the window and making a racket.
Of course, the week of the January 2011 ice event was also the week we learned the name of a third term congresswoman from Tucson, Arizona. On Saturday, the first news alert was that she'd been shot, then that she was dead, then that she was alive. Watching CNN in the airport lounge before departure Saturday night, CNN International in my hotel room, and back to CNN once I was home. On Wednesday night, we watched the President's speech, and on Thursday, we watched the pundits talk about the President's speech.
It was one of those moments when you think, is this the inflection point, is this the time that people stop shouting and start talking, that short term strategy gives way to something more constructive? Is it a time when we actually have a chance to take action in the long term best interest of our country? I remember wondering the same thing about September 11. The feeling didn't last long, but we did get wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
By Friday, the roads were a little clearer, and I went to the office. The House Republicans were in Baltimore, and the news cycle had move on to events in Tunisia (a chance for Americans to learn a little geography). Floods in Australia. Is anything going to be any different, this time?
It's Saturday morning. In a little while, Iain and I will walk the dog and see if Alon's is open. Hoping for something better, as life resumes.
I was out of town when all this started on Sunday. Expecting my flight back Tuesday to be cancelled. Checking Delta.com frequently on Monday, but my flight was listed as "on time" so I was hoping for the best. If I did make it back to the Atlanta airport could I get home? Wondering about taking MARTA, or being stuck in an airport hotel. Hoping for the best.
A new inscrutable rule that you can't use your cellphone til after you clear passport control. I tried, walking up the jetway, but got caught and had to hit the "disconnect" button. (I started to say "hang up," and wondered if children now wonder why anyone would refer to ending a telephone call as "hanging up." But I digress.) Tom hadn't answered but called me as I was making my way towards passport control. I'm here, I said, but can't talk. Can't use cell phones til after passport control. Already got caught once. Call you back as soon as I can.
I asked the officer at passport control if I was going to be able to get home. He looked at the address on my customs declaration and said "probably." He said it had taken him 3 hours to get in that morning from Acworth. Good luck going home, I told him. He shook his head and said he wasn't sure he was going home.
Once I was out of the cell-free zone, I called Tom. He thought if I could get out of the parking lot I probably could make it. The guy at park and ride said they would make sure I could get out. It had been just a little above freezing for at least some of the day, so when I got to my car, some of the snow and ice had turned to slush. The park and ride guy helped me get the ice off my car (there wasn't much), and I headed out at about 4:30.
The drive wasn't fun (and some of it was terrifying) but I did make it. Fortunately there were not many cars on the road. Lots of ice and snow left on the interstate, especially on bridges, and Wessyngton Road was barely passable. But I made it. I parked my car and didn't drive again til yesterday.
Kids out of school all week. Caroline and Sarah were supposed to be having their end-of-semester exams, but those have been rescheduled for next week. Watching the dog slide on the ice in the backyard. Keeping the birdfeeders filled, and putting the suet that the squirrels had attacked on the diningroom window with a piece of packing tape, and seeing an array of birds I'd never seen up close, pecking at the suet, knocking the metal cage into the window and making a racket.
Of course, the week of the January 2011 ice event was also the week we learned the name of a third term congresswoman from Tucson, Arizona. On Saturday, the first news alert was that she'd been shot, then that she was dead, then that she was alive. Watching CNN in the airport lounge before departure Saturday night, CNN International in my hotel room, and back to CNN once I was home. On Wednesday night, we watched the President's speech, and on Thursday, we watched the pundits talk about the President's speech.
It was one of those moments when you think, is this the inflection point, is this the time that people stop shouting and start talking, that short term strategy gives way to something more constructive? Is it a time when we actually have a chance to take action in the long term best interest of our country? I remember wondering the same thing about September 11. The feeling didn't last long, but we did get wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.
By Friday, the roads were a little clearer, and I went to the office. The House Republicans were in Baltimore, and the news cycle had move on to events in Tunisia (a chance for Americans to learn a little geography). Floods in Australia. Is anything going to be any different, this time?
It's Saturday morning. In a little while, Iain and I will walk the dog and see if Alon's is open. Hoping for something better, as life resumes.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
More Lessons from Family History
They were my first cousins, four times removed, according to Ancestry.com; I'll have to take Ancestry's word for that (I don't really understand what "four times removed" means), but my great-great-great-grandfather and their father were brothers. The girls were born in Tennessee, in 1815 and 1818. Most of my ancestors moved west during the 1830s, to Alabama, Mississippi, and Arkansas. By 1837 my great-great-great-grandfather had left Tennessee and was in Arkansas. I think the girls' family must have moved there around the same time, because Nancy Jane, the younger sister, married in Arkansas in 1838 and her older sister Mary married there in 1839. The men they married were brothers; the Dunlap boys also had been born in Tennessee. I don't know if the two families, the Whartons and the Dunlaps, were from the same area of Tennessee, or if the young people met in Arkansas. In those days, families were large; Mary and Jesse Jr. had ten children, and Nancy Jane and Lorenzo had eight. They lived in what is now Madison County, Arkansas. I have read that Jesse Dunlap ran a general store, a mill, and a blacksmith shop; I don't know about Lorenzo.
By 1857, the two families were ready to move west, to California. I've read that Jesse's family left with three wagons, nine yoke of oxen, thirty cattle, three guns (plus pistols and knives), provisions, gear for trail, and $320. Lorenzo's family had one wagon, four yoke of oxen, and twelve cattle. They were part of a wagon train that assembled at Beller's Stand in April 1857. Jack Baker lead the group, which set off, following the Cherokee Trail west.
In September 1857, the wagon train was camped in an area known as Mountain Meadows in southwestern Utah. There, they were attacked by Mormon militiamen and their Indian allies. All of the emigrants, except for a few small children, were murdered. The seventeen survivors included three of Mary and Jesse's children and two of Nancy and Lorenzo's children. The children were cared for initially by the families and neighbors of the men who had murdered their parents and siblings, until 1859, when the Federal government sent the Army to retrieve them. The children were returned to Arkansas and were raised by relatives.
I had never heard of the Mountain Meadows Massacre until I found mention of it attached to the lives of Mary and Nancy Jane, first cousins of my great-great-grandfather. Historian Will Bagley has written a compelling book about it, Blood of the Prophets: Brigham Young and the Massacre at Mountain Meadows, which provides the historical context for this dreadful event. The Mormons and the Federal Government were on the verge of war in 1857, and Mormon leaders were preparing for the defense of Utah from an invasion by the United States. It is not clear that Mormon leaders ordered the massacre of the emigrants at Mountain Meadows (although Bagley believes they did), but they did create the environment that led otherwise law-abiding men to massacre men, women, and children. The historical record is clear; closing the overland road through the Great Basin was Brigham Young's trump card, and he was prepared to play it as the conflict with the Federal Government escalated. Bagley quotes Brigham Young:
"If the United States send their army here and war commences, the travel must stop; your trains must not cross this continent back and forth. To accomplish this I need only say a word to the [tribes,] for the Indians will use them up unless I continually strive to restrain them. I will say no more to the Indians, let them alone, but do as you please. And what is that? It is to use them up; and they will do it."
"Use them up" means "kill them."
It was decades later that one man, John Lee, was tried and convicted of the murders at Mountain Meadows, in what passed for justice at the time.
I don't know if Brigham Young and his inner circle actually gave an order to kill the emigrants or not. The journal pages, the diaries, and the letters that might have clarified the role of Brigham Young and the other leaders of the Mormon Church of the day have disappeared. But the records of the speeches they made and the sermons they gave have not been lost. These are the men who created the environment that allowed the Mountain Meadows Massacre to happen, and so history has held them responsible.
By 1857, the two families were ready to move west, to California. I've read that Jesse's family left with three wagons, nine yoke of oxen, thirty cattle, three guns (plus pistols and knives), provisions, gear for trail, and $320. Lorenzo's family had one wagon, four yoke of oxen, and twelve cattle. They were part of a wagon train that assembled at Beller's Stand in April 1857. Jack Baker lead the group, which set off, following the Cherokee Trail west.
In September 1857, the wagon train was camped in an area known as Mountain Meadows in southwestern Utah. There, they were attacked by Mormon militiamen and their Indian allies. All of the emigrants, except for a few small children, were murdered. The seventeen survivors included three of Mary and Jesse's children and two of Nancy and Lorenzo's children. The children were cared for initially by the families and neighbors of the men who had murdered their parents and siblings, until 1859, when the Federal government sent the Army to retrieve them. The children were returned to Arkansas and were raised by relatives.
I had never heard of the Mountain Meadows Massacre until I found mention of it attached to the lives of Mary and Nancy Jane, first cousins of my great-great-grandfather. Historian Will Bagley has written a compelling book about it, Blood of the Prophets: Brigham Young and the Massacre at Mountain Meadows, which provides the historical context for this dreadful event. The Mormons and the Federal Government were on the verge of war in 1857, and Mormon leaders were preparing for the defense of Utah from an invasion by the United States. It is not clear that Mormon leaders ordered the massacre of the emigrants at Mountain Meadows (although Bagley believes they did), but they did create the environment that led otherwise law-abiding men to massacre men, women, and children. The historical record is clear; closing the overland road through the Great Basin was Brigham Young's trump card, and he was prepared to play it as the conflict with the Federal Government escalated. Bagley quotes Brigham Young:
"If the United States send their army here and war commences, the travel must stop; your trains must not cross this continent back and forth. To accomplish this I need only say a word to the [tribes,] for the Indians will use them up unless I continually strive to restrain them. I will say no more to the Indians, let them alone, but do as you please. And what is that? It is to use them up; and they will do it."
"Use them up" means "kill them."
It was decades later that one man, John Lee, was tried and convicted of the murders at Mountain Meadows, in what passed for justice at the time.
I don't know if Brigham Young and his inner circle actually gave an order to kill the emigrants or not. The journal pages, the diaries, and the letters that might have clarified the role of Brigham Young and the other leaders of the Mormon Church of the day have disappeared. But the records of the speeches they made and the sermons they gave have not been lost. These are the men who created the environment that allowed the Mountain Meadows Massacre to happen, and so history has held them responsible.
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