Bored or Board

 My inventory transcription is all about a board today. Are you bored with my transcription stories? Take heart at the warm hearth, for they are almost done. Just a few more tough words to (hopefully) figure out.

I was stuck on a board - nayled down, you might say. I'd read about the board in several places and it was stuck in my head. The table that our colonial ancestors sat at to dine was often called a board, for that's what it was, a long narrowish board. Unattached were two trestles, on which you placed the board, the board cloath, the napkins, perhaps some spoons, the meal trough or the trenchers and the common cup. When the board was not needed, you removed it from the trestles and placed it against the wall. You sat on the form (a long bench), or stools.

I had a phrase for which I couldn't figure out the middle word, or explain what it had to do with the first word. In context, it went like this:

2 yds serge at 5 sh stockings 3sh 108 ti steele at 16d  lether and ? boards 50sh.

Translated: 2 yards of serge (fabric) at 5 shillings; stockings, 3 shillings, 108 pounds of steele at 16 denarii (pence), and leather and ? boards 50 shillings. The total value of those items was ten pounds and seven shillings.

I tried every combination of letters I could think of for that middle word, which looked to me like balland or colland. This is a short post, but it was not a short search. I just finished reading a book written in the 1800s about furnishings in colonial homes. It was an excellent read for my purpose, and I have a better idea of what chests and tables and chairs looked like. They were much more ornate than I thought. But there was no word that could help me with my mystery word. The other thing was, most of the objects belonged in the home of a wealthier family, like the governor.

I  wondered. I pondered. I even thunk. In so doing, I remembered that in my ancestor's will, he had a great table. Why would he need a board if he had a great table? What is a great table? I checked, and in the inventory there was a table and a form. So, I am not quite sure if the table had legs attached to it or if it was a board; I will check into that. But, I wondered, why would he need a board if he had a table and a bench?

I had written "bellows?" under the word earlier, but dismissed it. I returned to bellows, and googled the word for more detail than the dictionary gave me. I looked at several sites. 

(Reminder here: look for the lock button or http: in the URL. My googling keeps my anti-virus hopping.)

Think, Peggy, think. Was it really "leather and"? Yes, I was sure of it. "Leather and bellows boards." It couldn't be anything else. 

The phrase follows lots of fabric, 5 pewter spoons, steele; it precedes more fabric, chissols, gouge, and drawing knives. I know that Francis was a blacksmith; I assume Ann used the fabric. 

What do you need to make bellows? Wood and leather and the necessary tools. Leather and bellows' wood. An apostrophe after the "s" in "bellows," a plural noun, tells me that in one of his chests full of fabric, perhaps he had the makings of a pair of bellows. Bellows for his hearth or his forge, I do not know. Perhaps enough for both - and maybe enough to sell a few; 50 shillings is a lot of wampum. 

Why it wasn't written 2 pounds and 10 shillings I don't know, but it works out in the equation. 

I do hope you weren't bored with this bellows' board story. 

Feelings for Francis

Today, I am thinking out loud, actually, virtually. I wonder if other genealogists think this way. We all have our projects and our own way of working. Do you get mentally involved with the people you focus on?

I am a genealogist. In my online family tree, I have thousands of names. Only a few are direct ancestors; the rest are collateral lines - aunts and uncles and cousins to some degree; greats and grands . I can't possibly develop feelings for all of them. 

Do I judge them? I try very hard not to; and even harder not to write about any judgemental feelings that crop into my head. Sometimes it's impossible, but mostly, I try, in my writing, to stick to the facts. After all, I wasn't there. 

Do I get emotionally involved? You betcha! It's not like my relationship with my four grandparents who all lived to a ripe old age. After all, I sat on their laps, ate at their tables, played with my cousins in their yards. I went to their funerals. I visit their burial grounds and remember. I chat about them with my Mum, my siblings, and my cousins. Those feelings are real, and generally happy, thankfully.

So, how do I describe my relationship with my ancestor who died in 1674 or 1675? Do I love him? Like him? I think it is different with each ancestor. I know absolutely nothing about Francis Holmes's wife, and I call her Mother Holmes just so she has a name, albeit generic. I don't feel for her like I do him. I am sad that I know nothing about her, but it's a fleeting sadness. It comes only when I'm studying Francis and his four children and she,whoever she was, crops us as wife and mother. Francis is real to me. I think I love him. 

Why?

I do not have the answer to that question. I seek the answer. I write this because the answer may come to me as a result of my pondering.

What do I know about Francis Holmes?

He was born circa 1600 in England, probably in Yorkshire. No firm sources, but likely true.

First mention I have found of him is in the Stamford, CT, town records, 1648. He was the night watchman on duty, and a drunken neighbour, Robert Penoyer, beat him in the face. Bloodied him. This was witnessed by Francis Bell.

He had four children: I've researched them but haven't written too much about them yet. They are in queue.

He was the village blacksmith; perhaps the only one for some time.

He served as a watchman and a fence viewer. Town responsibilities changed; I think, annually.

He was charged and fined once for intoxication. Puritans drank alcoholic beverages; the crime was drinking to excess and public intoxication.

He had a servant named Cornelius Hunt; he left him some shillings in his will.

I have transcribed his will and probate and I'm working on his inventory. By comparing his inventory to those of others in the town, I believe he'd be what we'd call middle class. Some had a lesser value than his; some, higher. I know all the items in his house except his wife's clothing.

I know from his will that he considered what belonged to his wife - her clothing and her inheritance from her late husband - as his own.

The Holmes name was respected in the town.

That's it. So why do I love him? Was he pleasant? funny? warm and fuzzy? unpleasant? grumpy? 

I don't know. Perhaps, had I known him, I wouldn't have liked him. Since I don't know, I believe I choose to love him. If I knew he was nasty or grumpy, I'd still have an emotional tie, perhaps of dislike, to him.

Here's some thoughts that come to mind.

I believe in the science of DNA. I believe I am knit together with strands of the DNA of my ancestors. Each cell contains more or less of each of them. Francis is a part of my being - likeable or not.

I have spent many hours, especially this past year, researching his life and that of his children. Although what I know isn't personal like sitting on his lap as a child or watching him at the forge, I still know facts about him. 

I have been to a blacksmith's shop at Kings Landing and watched a blacksmith at work.

It's in my nature to like people until and unless they rub me the wrong way.

Is that it? Is that enough? I want to know.

The list above - what I know about Francis Holmes, will form the basis for my writing about him during Lynn Palermo's February Family History Writing workshop. I've received my orders. This is part of my preparation to sit down and write for 28 days. My intent is to finish my rough draft, using the above list. I need to refer to and write down each mention of Francis in the town records and to finish his inventory by the end of January, and have it beside me so I don't spend time in research. What I don't know, I'll look for in March. The finished story will be part of my family history project.

I took the photo at Kings Landing in 2011.

Dove

Sometimes "grateful" must  function as a verb, with help from "be." Be grateful. Even if you are not. Even if you can't seem to muster up any gratitude whatsoever.

Did you sing this song in Sunday School?

"God sees the little sparrow fall, it meets his tender view; if God so loves the little birds, I know he loves me too." Did I make you sing? [Maria Straub, 1874].

Yesterday, feathers rained down from above. We never saw the hawk strike but we've seen enough of them that we know Sharp-Shin found his meal. We recognized the feathers.

You see, we feed the birds. Religiously. Actually, my husband does the feeding; I do more watching and occasionally, photographing. He's very precise, and they know when and where dinner is served. The doves are ground feeders, they don't come to the hanging bird feeders. They are rather clumsy and slow as compared to, say, the blue jays. And they have more meat on them - which is good for Sharpie.

Poor Dovie - he didn't even get to fall. He was swept up in one fowl swoop and probably, if we'd had our windows open, we would have heard his heartbreaking squeaks. 

Did he know we loved him? I don't know; probably not, as he'd fly away if we opened our door. But he did know where to find sesame seeds.

We also love Sharpie, but we love him better when we see him in the field and away from our birds. 

That's not the way it works, though.

The birds bring us much happiness. For that, I am grateful. And I am grateful that Sharpie's belly is full as well, but that is grateful used as a verb.

I don't have a photo of a dove at my fingertips, but here's a blue jay in my tree. He gives fair warning when a hawk is present, but it's usually too late.

Tow Cloath

 Today, I bid fond farewell to faithful friends: two of them, left and right. This is hardly a frivolous post, although if you have recently lost a loved one, it pales in significance. Inanimate objects are important in our lives; think of a favourite childhood toy or a lovely earring you have lost.

My slippers have warmed my toes for more years than I remember. My husband replaced them at least five years ago; the new ones shared my toes with the old ones. Generally, but not always, these slippers served my feet in summer and the newer ones in winter. However, the ease with which they slipped onto my feet gave them priority. No offence, nice black slippers.

Knowing that their days were limited, I purchased a new pair at Marshalls in the fall. Average, dull gray slippers would take their rightful place on my toes come the new year, I knew, but they will never replace them.

My old faithfuls sit in my clear bag, awaiting their disposal on Friday morning. No stone will mark their place. There will be only this blog post in tribute and memorial to their faithful service. I shed no tears; but I do raise a piece of tow cloath in their honour. Their value? Priceless. Other slippers will warm my tootsies, but they will not replace them.

Oh, how I've wondered about that word, tow, in the inventory of old Francis Holmes. It is one word of several that still elude me, but more and more, I'm replacing the ???s with an actual word written by quill in 1675. I've been transcribing the document for several months and it has become almost as familiar to me as the worn imprints on the soles of my dear red slippers.

Line 15: To 5 yds TOW Cloath at 2sh, hat 6sh, popper 18d, Cushings 4sh, fether bed bolster & two pillows 6ti. Value 7 - 1 - 6.

 What does that mean in modern English? Perhaps you wonder, perhaps you don't care. I will tell.

The "To" introduces the next line in the inventory. Also used were per and item, and a symbol I can't reproduce but it looks like a fancy, cursive L. 

Yds means yards. In Canada, we now purchase fabric in metres; but I have purchased fabric by the yard in years past. 

Hat is a thing that you wear on your head. Could be made of buckskin, beaver, wool . . .

A popper is a snap fastener. I think, since poppers were given a mention, they were not attached permanently like they are on babies jodhpurs.

Cushings are cushions.

A fether bed is what I have slept on at the farm, under the old tin roof. 

A bolster is a sturdy roll-like thing that props up your pillow.

Pillows are pillows are pillows - what I sleep on, dream on, lie awake pondering what to blog about tomorrow on. 

Tow cloth will not fix up the hole in the toe of my slipper - it is too far gone. 

Lexico dictionary definition: the coarse and broken part of flax or hemp prepared for spinning; a bundle of untwisted natural or man-made fibres.

The manufacture of linen was also a complicated process. When the flax had been rotted, washed, and dried in the flax kiln, the stalks were opened, thus exposing the fibres. The latter were combed in order to remove the pith, then pulled through finer combs to separate the tow, and finally sorted as to fineness. Course tow was used to make bags, suiting, towels, and fine linen goods. After the fibers had been spun into thread the skeins were washed and bleached in a solution of ashes and hot water. Since the cloth - which was woven on a semi-homemade frame - had a light brown color, it was washed and bleached in the sun. Pure white fabrics could be obtained by soaking bleached linen in buttermilk.

The Roots of American Civilization: A History of American Colonial Life, by Curtiss P Nettles. Page 240.

Grateful - My Word of the Year

I see trees of green, red roses too

I see them bloom for me and you

and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

I see skies of blue and clouds of white

the bright blessed day, the dark sacred night

and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

the colors of the rainbow so pretty in the sky

are also on the faces of people going by

I see friends shaking hands saying how do you do

but they're really saying I love you.

I hear babies cry, and I watch them grow

They'll learn much more than I'll ever know

and I think to myself, what a wonderful world.

Songwriters George David Weiss and Robert Thiell; sung by Louis Armstrong

What is behind my think today? I've contemplated what word to use for the year. Last year I used the word "finish," and it was a good word. I finished Yorkshire, the first chapter of my family history project. I finished several doilies, and thanks to my word, in all but one instance, I finished one before I began another. That was because I needed to make a wedding gift, which took precedence over my current project. 

I thought about declutter, and decided that is better left as a goal. I started decluttering on New Years Day. I sat on the floor of E's bedroom and reviewed the contents of the closet floor. I threw away a few things, reorganized others, and looked at some things, such as a newspaper clipping, that I had no recollection of. It's neater, if nothing else. 

I thought about thrive. I saw someone else use that, but I thought, how would I measure that?

And then, I thought of the negativity I read in my Facebook scroll yesterday morning. The new year is still in it's infant stage, but the baggage of the past year is slipping in already. 

I am determined to be grateful. My head is not totally in the sand; that would be absurd. But I thought about how the negativity affects my mood and I don't need a steady diet of it. I will be grateful. I am thankful for those who spread gratitude on Facebook. I acknowledge that our government is not perfect; that our health care is in jeopardy; that our freedoms are curtailed. At the moment, I cannot visit my mother. That concerns me. But to go on and on about it - well, if that's what others want to do, okay for them. I'll only tolerate so much of it, and will definitely utilize the 30-day vacations that Facebook provides. If  people can't shake virtual hands and say a friendly how do you do once in a while, and post some nurturing memes rather than a steady diet of critical ones, so be it. 

I will look for your smiles, even though they might be behind masks. I will try to empathize with your hurts and concerns.

I will continue to look for beauty, for it's still there. I see it in the many positive posts I see. I see it on my walks and drives to the country. 

I located an event in my historical googling of an outbreak of malignant dysentery on one street in Stamford in 1745, and did a study of it. Some seventy people died that summer and fall, and as the population at the time was about fifteen-hundred, and as everyone pretty well knew each other and most were related to some of the deceased, it must have been horrific. I did not lose an ancestor in my direct line to this outbreak, but I did lose people of collateral lines. I have a book about diseases of children written in 1881, and in it the author/doctor talked about the need for cleanliness, sterility, and quarantine. [A Treatise on Diseases peculiar to Infants and Children, by W. A. Edmonds, MD, published in 1881.]We now know that people had to mask during the flu epidemic after WWI. My daughter and all Taiwanese citizens all carried a mask in their purse or pockets way before Covid, and put it on at the first sniffle. I will not defy health laws, even if I'm unhappy about them. I will not growl about them. I am committed to this.

I am grateful that I am vaccinated from polio, smallpox, tetanus, etc. I am grateful that, although it is not wiped out, malignant dysentery is not common. I studied it. It is awful. I am grateful for my Covid -19 shots, even though they have proven to be more of a lessening of symptoms and seriousness than a deterrent. I have made hundreds of masks - some of you own one or thirteen. I wish I could see my Mum but I understand that she is in a place and a category of vulnerability, and nursing and special care homes must take precautions. I saw, in August, how easily my grandson picked up a head cold in an airport, and as he is too young for the vaccine, I understand his parents' concerns.

If, on my Facebook, I post something growly, I'll likely soon remove it, but if I don't, send me a nudge. I am determined to be grateful, and to make my personal Facebook a pleasant place to visit and set a spell. You might even learn a historical thing or two.

I love watching WTS grow and accomplish and learn. I love love love his big, wide grin that he inherited from his granddaddy V. Sorry, I cannot show you. He is not to appear on social media. 

Photo of the rose taken at the cottage in October, 2021.

Cookies

Grandma made cookies in December after a long hiatus, and even though it had been a long time, I still remembered how to make them, and they were good. Some are gone, and some are sitting in my freezer waiting for my family to arrive in a couple of weeks for a belated Christmas. The bedroom still contains a bunch of clutter as well, new to WTS clothes from the thrift stores and Christmas gifts for all of them. But, I am sorely tempted when I open the freezer door. 

I am working on the inventory of the probate of my immigrant ancestor, Francis Holmes. I've been at it for at least six months. As I learn this new language, I learn much about life 350 years ago or so. Part of the probate is the inventory, and that's the part I am at now. I don't think I will get all the words, but if I get one a day, I'm elated. I'm also trying to balance the mathematics of LSD. That L is actually a pound sign but I don't know how to insert it here. Some equations come easily; some still elude me. My wonder is - is it me, or was it them, who made the errors?

L is pound; S is shilling, and D is pence. Figure that one out. A clue - a NT Bible scholar will recognize the "d."

I'm also working on a glossary. I find Lexico Dictionary quite helpful and I have a list of websites to refer to after I exhaust the dictionaries. Wikipedia is a help. But first of all, I have to figure out what word the combination of letters refer to, as a,e,o and sometimes even u can look remarkably alike. The i is generally dotted, although a t before i is often not crossed.

Two things I've run into just this week, as I google hearth tools and farm implements. One is that there are bad guys inside my computer, just ready to pounce with a virus. Many thanks to Panda; I know I am stretching your power; I'm just keeping you on your toes. But watch for that little lock icon and http:. 

The other makes me laugh. It's the cookies that my googling is generating. All these tool companies are placing cookies in my Facebook feed. I hope they aren't too disappointed that I am not ordering their beetles and anchors and such like.

To Richard Law, clerk of Stamford for many years, including 1675, thank you for your dedication to your work. I've seen recipes for the ink you must make, and I know the paper was not easy to come by, and the quills didn't last long. As I type I don't know how many words a minute, and cut or copy and paste, I realize my work is much simpler than yours.