No Place to Dream On

 

 Uncle Peg’s Chronicles

October 15, 2026

“No Place to Dream On”

 

“These were their settlements. And they kept good family records.”^[1]

 

Don’t forget to look for the title which is embedded in the chronicle.

 

 

 

FAMILY ALBUM

 

And I Quote:

 

I enjoyed reading your "My Story." Byron and I often enjoy walking through the woods behind our home but also like to find new places to hike and this time of year is the best. I love seeing the leaves changing color and raining down upon us as we traverse the trails and enjoy the fall aromas and sounds of nature the wooded forests offer us. Glad to see you had some nice visits with cousins too. ~ Annmarie Driscoll Holmes.

 

Peg, Loved the story of the violin. ~ Karl

 

Peg, Loved the pics as always but was really fascinated by the story of Billy and the violin.  Don't you wish we could go back and spend a day with them?  Billy sounds like he might have become an engineer if born at a later time.  Keep up the good work, interesting stuff. ~ Ruth – a conversation ensued.

 

Thank you for your Oct 2 chronicle Peggy. Lovely story telling as always and good facts and photo shares. ~ Jolynda

 

I am so glad about getting the chronicles that you spend much time writing.  Thanks for including me! ~

Janet.

 

It was nice to see you again. Thanks for including me in the chronicle. I really enjoyed reading it. ~ Tim

 

The time and effort in the research you did is amazing, as always.  I hope everyone appreciates the contribution you are making. ~ from Paula, re my article, not my chronicle.

 

Thanks, everybody.

 

I didn’t have a photo in mind for the header, so I scrolled down my massive collection of photos, looking for something fun and different. My father, Donald Moore, is on the left, and my uncle, Ralph Lutes, is on the right. They are in front of the farm house in Hill Grove, taking down the willow tree. They look like they are having fun, but perhaps they just stopped their sawing to grin for the camera. No idea when they did this. However, the photo reminded me of the quote of Natalie Goldberg, which is in the section 2026 to 2028. That is the yard that was recently hayed, where in September, I sat upon a log from one of those felled trees, to eat my cake. The tire swing is long gone, but I remember it. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, it was a beautiful lawn.

 

 

1926 to 1928

 

1924 to 1928 are the years that our Holmes ancestors spent renewing relationships that had somehow fallen by the wayside but with organization, letter writing, and challenging travel – by hook or by crook – they managed to come together again. They reacquainted and rediscovered their family ties. And then, one by one, they died, and many of those ties died with them.

2026 to 2028

 

What a relief it is to send off an article to “Generations.” It’s a release. It is done. Whether or not it is entirely correct or finished is irrelevant. Too late now. I need to finish up the family version, which will have some changes and more information for family purposes and not be under the copyright of the journal.

 

That will sit on my shoulders for a while. I also have two articles on the back burner of my brain, about two men who visited Riverbank House quite often and had stories that intrigued me, although the gentlemen are not in the family. The articles won’t be as long, but I’m sure I’ll be just as compulsive about my words and paragraphs as I am with our family history. No rush on those. For now, I have something else to concentrate on.

 

I agreed to give a presentation to the Saint John branch of the genealogy society at the end of January. This will be via Zoom, so I won’t have to travel in winter. You can join me if you like. The topic they asked for is “tips for writing a family history story.” Title, for now, is the same, although I might squeeze a sub-title in there – who knows. I want to leave the word “tips” in there to keep me in blinders – as I cannot teach how to write a full family history story in forty-five minutes. I am going to focus on William Zinsser’s book, “On Writing Well,” but I am also reading other how-to writing books. Zinsser’s is the only book I have found on non-fiction writing. The others concern writing in general.

 

So, what does that have to do with you and this chronicle?

 

This presentation will come from two basic sources: my how-to books and my experience. I write for two audiences – you, my cousins, and those members of NBGS who read my article in the journal. I practice my writing on you. Some of you edit and read for me. And some of you comment – see the quotes in the letters to the editor at the start. I give you excerpts – I don’t often include the personal stuff you share with me.

 

I thank you so very much.

 

Tip: You have to write for your audience, but write for yourself as well. Write naturally. Your voice will eventually find you, as you go along.

 

It’s like inheriting land from your family. It’s always been in your family: they have always owned it. Someone comes along and wants to buy it. Writers, if they are smart, won’t sell too much of it. They know once it’s sold, they might be able to buy a second car, but there will be no place they can go to sit still, no place to dream on. Natalie Goldbert, “Writing Down the Bones,” page34. That chapter was about many writers’ dream to sell their work and making lots of money. Unless you depend on royalties for a living, it’s a pipedream. 

 

The quote was a trigger for me – back to September, when I went to the Cedar Café and bought an expensive piece of cake and sat on an old log on family property and ate it before walking the newly hayed imaginary dooryard, front lawn, and orchard.

 

Tip: Make use of your verbs.

 

Verbs are the most important of all your tools. They push the sentence forward and give it momentum. Active verbs push hard; passive verbs tug fitfully. Active verbs also enable us to visualize an activity . . . Many verbs also carry in their imagery or in their sound a suggestion of what they mean: glitter, dazzle, twirl, beguile, scatter, swagger, poke, pamper, vex . . . Don’t choose one that is dull or merely serviceable . . . Be precise, use precise verbs.

 

Then William Zinsser goes on to talk about adverbs and adjectives and nouns, in his book on how to write non-fiction, “On Writing Well,” page 68.  

 

As I research, I learn. Hopefully, my next articles will be better.

 

 

 

News from Holmes

Congratulations to Wesley and Bailey (Hamblin) Hagmann on the arrival of their third son, Ranger Cage. Ranger arrived in a hurry on September 30^th. He is also welcomed by his brothers, Wylder and Dash, his grandmother, Michelle (Holmes) Morey, his grandfather, Jon Hamblin. Sorely missed: Rick Morey and Butch Holmes would be so proud.

Ranger – Wesley Hagmann and Bailey Hamblin – Jon Hamblin and Michelle Holmes (and Rick Morey) – Ernest ‘Butch’ Holmes and Karla Lay (and Connie Lepon) – Jerome K Holmes and Alma Vincent – Jerome C Holmes and Jennie Edwards – William Holmes and Anna Heath – Daniel Holmes and Charlotte Hoyt – Samuel Holmes Jr and Phoebe Holstead – Samuel Holmes Sr and Elizabeth Fountain.

Ask for a photo and I'll send you an email.

FAMILY HISTORY LESSON

Busy, so here is another section from my article for Generations. I think most of you know that I have Uncle Billy’s guest book. In the article and CCC, there will be footnotes.

THE GUEST BOOK

1909 – 1915

On the second day of September 1912 there came to this pleasant valley two young fellows from Montclair New Jersey USA by the names of Herbert Snead and Ira S Snead, who stayed a week, caught a few fish . . . and had the time of their lives.

Between Billy and Maggie Snider’s return from Sussex and 1909, they changed the name of their lodge from Portage House to Riverbank House. I used both newspaper accounts and the guest book to research the lodge and some of the guests. Thanks to my research, I changed my opinion about Uncle Billy from thinking he was a mere tinker to getting to know a multi-faceted, interesting individual. They were a generous couple. I enjoyed reading and sharing quotes from their guest book – they are an apt description of the ambiance of both Portage Vale and the lodge.  

Spent a few days around Portage with H. K.

The guest book remained in the desk in the farmhouse kitchen for years. When my cousin handed it to me at a family reunion, Mum remembered seeing it. It is an important family and local historical list. I scanned it and put it into the New Brunswick Genealogy Society website so it will not be lost. The fact that the Riverbank House proprietors hosted people from near and far shows that the Sniders had an eclectic circle of family, friends, and acquaintances.

 

8 doz trout and a Bully Time.

                I studied several of the people who signed the Riverbank Visitors guest book. The guest house and fishing lodge opened much earlier than that, but this is the only guest book I have. Some people did not state where they came from. Some people signed the book once; some, several times. Some people’s writing was illegible. Some came for a day; some stayed days or weeks. There were 45 names of Snider and Holmes family members in the guest book.                                                                                                

Dunfield, Gifford, McAnespy and Teakles neighbours could walk there.                                                                

Members of the clergy visited. Rev’d Canon Smithers came from Fredericton in 1909. Rev. R Coleman of Petitcodiac came in 1910. Elder Elmer Roman and Elder Jas V Facer, from Utah, also visited in 1910.                                                                                                                                                                                                               

From the opposite side of the continent, a Mitchell family travelled from Victoria, British Columbia. Mrs. Herbert A Steeves came from Seattle, Washington.   

There were international visitors. Robert Matthew came from Cuba in 1911; Maurice Karn, from London, England, in 1911; and a Mr. Giles, from London, England, in 1912. Frances Smallwood came from St. John’s, Newfoundland, in 1911. Newfoundland was not part of Canada at that time.  

 They held political meetings there. On March 29, 1911, when the Liberal Conservative Club met, three men signed their names: Frank E Wallace, Kenneth R McLeod, and Walter Murray.                                                       

One child, Vivian Mitchell from Victoria, British Columbia, printed her name in the book. A toddler’s name was listed: James Hallett from Montreal.  There were two students from McGill University in Quebec: Roy A Davidson and a Routledge.

April 26 - April 28 – Caught 6 trout April 27^th weighing ¾ pound. 

Two of their guests particularly intrigued me. D Arnold Fox, who made a G-clef sign under his name and often talked about fish, was the organist of the Stone Church in Saint John. The other was Brigadier General Darias B Warner. Both men signed the first page of the book, several times in between, and Warner, the last page. Perhaps Gen. Warner and Prof. Fox were paying guests who became friends of the Sniders.

. . . Battle of Kennesaw Mountain 1864

Why did they come? Was it the need for lodging, a meeting, a little getaway from a busy life, curiosity, a neighbourly cup of tea? It was probably all that and more.            

Plenty of fish and pancakes.

How awesome it must have been for Billy and Maggie to watch auto parties drive up to the guest lodge.                                                                                                                                                                                                 

In 1913, a group of Thomas Bell, R G Haley, W B Tennant, and Wm Woodhouse, the chauffeur, all of Saint John, arrived, calling themselves the Pierce-Arrow party. What a beauty the Pierce-Auto was to behold.

Fish feeding well.

The people who signed the guest book were diverse: family members, neighbours, friends, travellers, musicians, politicians, competitive bridge players, automobile partiers, etc. From the few comments, it appears that all enjoyed the hospitality of the Sniders as well as the locality.

Mid-October in New Brunswick – a mix of sun, cloud, and rain, depending on the day. You might need a winter jacket in the morning and shorts and a t-shirt in the afternoon, but we are edging ever closer to the sweaters and jackets. The leaves are falling.

This ends week forty -two of our centennial virtual celebration of 1926 – 2026.

 

 

My Mind is Full of Questions

 

Uncle Peg’s Chronicles

October 1, 2026

“My Mind is Full of Questions”

 

“These were their settlements. And they kept good family records.”^[1]

 

Don’t forget to look for the title which is embedded in the chronicle.

 

FAMILY ALBUM

 

 

And I Quote:

 

I had to laugh about your little lie. – Cindy

 

It’s always fine to use a photo of mine. Thanks for the credit and confession. – Brett

 

That was a fun chronicle.  I really enjoyed the photos, and thank you for sharing the descendant information for so many of them.  I recognized a number of those in the photos, either from the 2016 reunion (I did manage to attend that one) or from their frequent mention in previous Chronicles.  So many people to track, and so many with whom you have stayed in contact.  You have gathered us and kept us together, as a shepherd does his sheep!  (But with some of us, it is rather like herding cats, I suspect.) – Jeanni

 

Hi Peg, an excellent Chronicle as always. Very sad news regarding Eleanor; I very much enjoyed meeting her at the 2014 reunion. She was full of joy and kindness. I am sure her immediate family and friends are heartbroken. Thank you for sharing some of her family history and pictures. Our family circle from the 2014 reunion has lost 9 people in 12 years; that seems like quite a few. We never know when it will be our turn. I hope that your library holds on to the old maps. My observation is that libraries are continually having to remove "old items" to make room for the new; maybe historical sites are different.  James Hoyt III's probate was quite eloquent, perhaps that was just standard jargon of the time.  Thank you for all your time, Julia

 

Note re the probate: there was likely what we might call a default copy of probate and land records, as they seem to be similar – just names and boundary changes and the like. Sometimes, when I can’t figure out a word or a phrase, I just look at nearby copies and it is more legible. Peg.

 

1926 to 1928

 

1924 to 1928 are the years that our Holmes ancestors spent renewing relationships that had somehow fallen by the wayside but with organization, letter writing, and challenging travel – by hook or by crook – they managed to come together again. They reacquainted and rediscovered their family ties. And then, one by one, they died, and many of those ties died with them.

2026 to 2028

 

I had a visit with Kirk and Susan Stephens on the 19^th of September. See the cover photo.

 

Kirk and Susan were rather surprised to see so many tourists here in September. This is the time of year that brings out the leaf peepers, most of us whose hair is turning a blander colour, and whose grandchildren are back in school. All too soon those leaves will fall off the trees, and we never know when we will be covered in a white blanket. So, off we retirees go, to the beautiful back roads winding from New England to Atlantic Canada, where generally the nights are cool and the days are warm.

 

Susan Stephens, of the Louisa Holmes Ballantyne line, contacted me early in the summer and asked if we could get together. It turned out that the day they were to be in Moncton was the day that I would attend our genealogy meeting, so I invited them to join me. Susan did, and she said it was her first genealogy meeting ever. She doesn’t know if there are groups like that where she lives. Afterwards, I joined Kirk and Stephen for dinner at a locally owned restaurant, and we visited for well over an hour.

 

Between the meeting and the conversation at dinner, we all learned some history and some current events. The speaker at the meeting gave a presentation about the Loyalists, and Susan got some of “the other side of the story” of the American revolution and the aftermath. At the dinner, I got an update on their opinions about the current political situation. I know it is a cliché, but it sent shivers down my spine.

Where in the World?

 

Where were first cousins Peg, Pat, and Cindy? We were in Mahone Bay, Nova Scotia. We didn’t get a photo of the three of us together, but here are a couple of photos. The village was celebrating their annual scarecrow days.

 

Peter Ketchum and Sarah Ketchum’s Stones in Portage Vale.

 

Terry Bannister of Portage Vale is restoring them. Apparently, he is still going to regrout Peter’s.

  

Peter and Sarah are two of the children of Captain Isaac Ketchum and Mary Elizabeth (Ketchum) Ketchum. Charlotte (Hoyt) Holmes, wife of Daniel Holmes, was the granddaughter of Isaac and Mary.

 

This is a photo that I took further back from the cemetery. I think I am standing close to where the Anglican church sat in Portage Vale.

FAMILY HISTORY LESSON

 

I thought I would share a bit of my newest version of Billy and Maggie’s story with you – what I call “My Story.” It is almost ready to go to “Generations,” the journal of the New Brunswick Genealogy Society. My copy for the family might be a bit different.

 

This part of it is near the beginning.

 

My Story

I first learned about Billy and Maggie when I discovered an old violin in a rustic case in a scary upstairs closet of the Hill Grove farmhouse, where Billy and Maggie died. I was eight or nine years old. In my fuzzy memory, I see myself lay the case on the feather bed, open it gingerly, and gaze upon the violin. I had already explored most nooks and crannies in the house. How had I missed this closet? I pondered the instrument for the rest of that afternoon. With some trepidation, or anticipation, or both, I asked about the violin. Where, and who, did it come from? My childish whisper: can I learn to play it?                                                                                                       

Although Mum remembered her grandfather describing Billy as a tinker, in the censuses his occupation was given as farmer. Probably he was both. Billy was creative, and made all manner of wooden things. In addition to the blocks in bottles, he made a miniature threshing machine that he hooked up to his dogs. The dogs ran up a ramp, back down and around, like a treadle, and thrashed the grain. He was a musician; my mother inherited his melodeon and I, his violin. Mum told me that he played the fiddle at the Saturday evening barn dances and the melodeon at church services.                                                                                                                                                                      The violin sat in the closet after Billy died in 1916, in the chamber next to the stovepipe. I regret not playing it after I grew up, and now I have lost my touch.                                                                           Cecil T Holmes visited Floyd Holmes in 1851. Cecil wrote, “. . . in 1951 . . . when we called on my cousin Floyd . . . and his wife Minnie at their farm in Petitcodiac . . . that they showed us Uncle Billy Snyder’s violin.”^[1]                                                                                                                     

The violin went through a rough period after Billy died. Wood needs humidity, but all it received was dry wood smoke from the chimney behind the closet in the upper chamber, causing it to come unglued and crack. Dad and Mum had it repaired and maintained before I began taking lessons, even in later years when it wasn’t being played. I’ve been told that musical instruments need to be played, as if they were animate. I regret not playing it after I grew up, and now I have lost my touch.                                                                                                                         

     Uncle Billy and Aunt Maggie’s life story grew over the years, as I gained more experience in genealogy and family history. My mother was a story-teller, as was her grandfather, and for as long as I can remember, I knew there was an Uncle Billy and Aunt Maggie. When I started putting their information into my family tree, I was surprised to learn that Mum had never met them. She made them seem so real to me. They died in the same house where she was born, six years later.                                                                                                                                      

  I wish I could tell Mum what I have learned about them. Oh, likely Billy did tinker, but he was so much more. “Uncle Billy made your violin,” she told me, and insisted that this family lore was true. I doubt that many tinkers make violins. I believe he was a luthier – a maker of stringed instruments. A local luthier explained to me that my violin could not have been the first violin the luthier made. “The quality was too great to be a first effort,” he told me. The luthier who made your violin really knew what he was doing concerning the weight, type of old seasoned woods, thicknesses in many crucial areas of top and back, voicing the wood, etc., giving the instrument depth . . .  I’m sure your violin will be enjoyed by you and yours and probably by many others when we are all dead and gone, as is the way with greatly toned fine violins. They carry on beyond us.^[1]                                                                                                                               

Uncle Billy was a farmer and a tinker. He was a musician and a luthier. He and Maggie were innkeepers.                                                                                                                             

Their home in Portage Vale sat across the road from the Kennebecasis River, where you could open the windows and listen to the water music. He fished in that river. The old Ketchum house is the setting for this family history.                                                                                                 

   It took me some time, but I finally determined the provenance of the Portage Vale property. Who built the house? To whom did it pass down to over the years?                                     

   

Mum’s notes about Uncle William Snider.                

 

Near the end of the story:

 

My Story, continued.

In the summer of 2024, I took a walk in Portage Vale, from the Episcopal cemetery, past the path to the creek, and by the house that sits where the old house sat. I met the home owner, explained who I was, and told him that I stopped once a year in Portage Vale to commune with my ancestors.                                                                                                                                          

   “We are just about to put the sign on the new bridge across the river to the woods,” he told me. “Please join us.” I accepted his gracious offer. The sign was a tribute to his father, Howard.  He mentioned that he was preparing the trails for the clients of Balsam Ridge Forest Domes, and I was welcome to walk them. In the summer of 2025, I took him up on his offer. I walked up, up and up; then down, down and down.                                                                                               

  The woods are much like any other woods. There was a refreshing forest scent, a breeze to rustle the leaves, a variety of hardwoods and softwoods, soft pine forest beds, a trickle of river that pooled in one location, and birdsong.                                                                                             

  Did this experience help me write my story? How could it not? I know the characters well enough with book knowledge. I know where they lived and some of what they did day to day and over a lifetime. I know that Maggie provided her guests with pancakes and cooked their trout. I assume there was maple syrup; that was pretty much a given in our rural areas of the past.                   

I imagined the ghosts of Captain Isaac and his Mary, Peter and his siblings, and Billy and Maggie - walking, working, swimming, fishing, and foraging. I found, by the paths, wild strawberries and blueberries – forerunners of those that surely Maggie whipped up into shortcakes, pies, bangbellies, and grunts. I pictured a pie cooling in the kitchen window.                               

  Yes, my walk was inspiring. My mind is full of questions. Who originally made trails through the forest? Was it Captain Isaac, who built several miles of road in front of his house, about two and a quarter centuries ago? Did Peter, Samuel, and Isaac’s other sons do that? Was it the efforts of Uncle Billy and his brother Doug? Did Harvey Doull, or his step-sons, the Matthews boys, carve them out of the forest?  Was it Howard and his son? I like to think Captain Isaac and his sons built some trails, so that I trod up and down the hills where my fourth great-grandfather walked. There are still lots of trees there, but likely many came down to provide heat for the stove, new barn boards, and maybe even part of a fiddle or a bow. Were there trout in the fishing hole that must be the swimming hole I saw? I didn’t see any.                                                                        

I thanked him for letting me wander his woods. He replied. “My trails are your trails.”           

My story is your story, too.

 

                (The home owner is David Matthews, son of Howard Matthews. His name will not be mentioned in the “Generations” article, for privacy reasons.)

This ends week forty of our centennial virtual celebration of 1926 – 2026.