I shared some Halloween memories about growing up in East Armuchee a few years ago. Those are still good memories. I thought I would post a couple more photos to accompany them…
The first photo is of my dad in 1955. The photo was taken at the school in Subligna. He and Judy Scoggins (a distant cousin who I don’t know how fits into the tree yet) were crowned Halloween King & Queen!
It’s been a long time since I’ve posted anything here at Jordan’s Journey. Life happens, things change, and I just have not had the time to put into creating new content for this blog. I’m keeping it online for now as I think the posts are a valuable archive. People still visit the site, and I am grateful for that, even though I’m not sure when/if I will have the time to pick it back up and update regularly like I did in the beginning. That’s why I’m so thankful when readers want me to help them share information for the greater genealogical good. One such reader is Rhonda Locke.
Rhonda Locke is a fellow researcher of Armuchee Valley families, particularly those associated with Concord Church (on Concord Road in Villanow, GA). As a fellow descendant of the Keown family, she’s also my distant cousin (as I have always said–we’re all connected)! She sent me this wonderful photo and asked me to share it with you.
I’ve never written that much about my Jordan family branch on this blog. I guess that’s because I have focused chiefly on posts related to the Armuchee Valley area of Walker and Chattooga counties, while my Jordan family roots are over in Whitfield County. But my grandfather Earl Jordan and his brother Bill lived in the Villanow area, so it’s high time to give that side of the family a little attention.
My grand uncle Bill Jordan lived right in the heart of Villanow in what used to be the old Love family home. I barely remember the house from when I was a little kid; it was torn down when I was very young. Before Uncle Bill lived in that house, though, he lived in the far eastern part of Walker County. Just before you get to the Whitfield County line, his house was on Joe Roberson Road. My aunt Charlotte can recall going there for Jordan family gatherings.
One such gathering took place in about 1937, probably a Jordan reunion celebration, as the Jordan reunions were usually held around William Brownlow Jordan‘s (my great grandfather) birthday. Here’s a photo from that reunion:
From left to right are Jack Jordan, Kathryn Sue Jordan, Isabell Anderson Jordan in chair, Frances Turner holding Charlotte Jordan, Ernestine Jordan with hands on unknown baby, Mary E. Jordan, Lynn Turner, and Earl Jordan on roof in background.
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I originally drafted this post for use on Valentine’s Day. But I’ve had my head buried in so many projects this year (beyond Jordan’s Journey) that the writing and research simply didn’t get done in time. Rather than wait until next year, I thought I would finish this and post it now. After all, every day is a day to celebrate love, not just Valentine’s Day, right?
When it comes to genealogy, I’ve often wondered about my ancestors… what were their romances like? How did couples court each other “back in the day?” In our age of speed dating and online matchmaking, things look pretty different for us than they did for our ancestors. Unfortunately, our research often doesn’t shed any light on these questions.
Or does it?
Studying the pages of old local newspapers gives us a few clues here…
News reports of social visits often foreshadowed marriages. An item in the Summerville News from 14 Jun 1893 notes, “T.H. [Thomas Henry] Scoggins spent last Sunday evening at B.F. Dunaways” (Grigsby). It’s such a simple sentence, and it’s funny to think it was newsworthy. But people back then were just as interested in each other’s going-ons as we are today. Why do you think Facebook is so popular?
Thomas Henry Scoggins was the son of Thomas Newton Scoggins and Evaline Clarissa Lawrence and the grandson of William Delaney Scoggins (my 3rd great-grandfather). Less than a year after spending Sunday with the Dunaways–no doubt courting B.F.’s daughter–Thomas Scoggins married Etna Dunaway on 3 Nov 1894. This romance ends in tragedy as Etna’s obituary marks her death on Christmas Day, 1895, leaving Thomas behind with an infant daughter (Grigsby).
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It was around this time–20 years ago–that the lights came back on. That is, things were just starting to get back to normal in northwest Georgia after the blizzard of 1993.
I remember it well. Out on the farm in East Armuchee, we were without power for a week. We were lucky to have a wood-burning stove that helped us keep warm. We used a camping stove to cook food that was stored in the freezer. We didn’t even have running water since there was no electricity to pump the well so we melted snow and did the best we could. It was “roughing it” for sure and made us realize just how much we took for granted in everyday life. I live in New York City today, and during Hurricane Sandy last year, it was a similar situation–no power or water for a week where I live. Of course, there was no snow outside. If there had been things would have been a lot worse.
As an adult, I often think about how our ancestors lived. It wasn’t that long ago that they didn’t have running water or heat at all. Electricity didn’t come to the Armuchee Valley area of Walker County until the 1930s–less than 100 years ago! My Grannie was already married and beginning her adult life by then. When you imagine having to deal with such a blizzard in those days, it makes you stop and wonder. For our ancestors there might not have been so much difference between a normal winter storm and a blizzard. They were prepared to survive for months with just firewood and faith. But the disparity between riding out a blizzard and dealing with everyday winter is shocking for us.
My most vivid memory of the blizzard of 1993 is of helping my grandparents, Earl and Mary [Pope] Jordan. I grew up on the same farm where they lived. While they did have a fireplace in the house, they didn’t have any wood close by and were not able to go out in the cold to get it for themselves. So off I went, all bundled up to protect myself from the bitter cold. With my sled in tow, I marched across the fields that separated our house from theirs. These fields had been plowed by many generations of my ancestors. There was a stack of old firewood on the hill behind Grannie’s house. I loaded up my sled and pulled it through the snow for my Grannie and Papa. Without me, they could not have stayed warm that week. They would not have had a way to cook food. I was proud that I could play my part in keeping them safe and warm.
Of course–as my sled might imply–there was a lot of fun during the blizzard too. My cousins and I slid down the snow-covered hills over and over until we could do it no more. We built snowmen as big as we could manage. That kind of snow was a sight we had never seen, and we aimed to have as much fun with it as we could. When we could take no more of the cold, we played card games and rationed batteries to take turns playing my Nintendo Game Boy.
But all too soon, the snow faded away, and with it, the carefree days of sledding and snowmen. It felt good to have heat in the house again and to sit up at night with the hum of electric bulbs illuminating the room. And though I probably wouldn’t choose to relive it of my own accord, it was a time I will never forget and look upon fondly both for the hardship and the holiday. After all, winter will come again, and you never know when there will be another blizzard. My grandparents may not be around for me to haul their firewood. But if I am ever in their shoes, I hope someone will haul the firewood for me.
I’m pleased to present the very first guest post here at Jordan’s Journey. Today’s article and photos are by Lynne McGehee Cabe. Lynne is not only a fellow descendant of several of the earliest Armuchee Valley families but a Scoggins descendant too!
Trained as a professional social worker and public administrator, Lynne became interested in her heritage through a maternal family lineage project in graduate school. She developed a keen appreciation for the profound importance of family history to future generations. Lynne’s maternal grandparents were lifetime residents of the West Armuchee Valley. She is currently employed as a Quality Improvement Specialist with Lookout Mountain Community Services, a public behavioral health agency serving Northwest Georgia.
Lynne is particularly interested in the Cherokee, and I am fascinated by her work. I’ve wanted to explore the Cherokee connection to my ancestors more in-depth, but it’s a very difficult topic to research. Lynnne’s history of the Kinsey-Kennemer Cemetery and its Cherokee origins is a valuable step toward documenting Armuchee Valley’s Cherokee history.
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The Kinsey-Kenemer Cemetery is located in the East Armuchee Valley of southeast Walker County, Georgia. East Armuchee Valley is a small, rural, agrarian community nestled between John’s Mountain on the east and Dick’s Ridge on the west. The villages of Villanow and Subligna mark end points on the north and south respectively. The area is a good example of the rolling hills of the Southern Appalachian ridge and valley topography.
The Kinsey-Kenemer Cemetery is situated on a “knoll” (a small, natural hill) which rises up independently of the nearby ridges. Tucked away on private land, the cemetery was unknown to the Walker County Historical Society when members surveyed and documented the cemeteries in the County in the 1970s and 1980s. The cemetery is described similarly by different sources. Dr. Norma Tompkins writes that “Lucinda (Kinsey Brock) was buried on a tree-shaded knoll overlooking the Indian village which had been her first home as a young bride” (Walker, Heritage 103). Mary Kennemer’s records state that “Elender Kinsey married Needham Kennemer (whose [sic] grave and stone markings are on the high ridge in a cemetery at East Armuchee” (Estus). Rosa Peterson Orr wrote that “Kizziah Smith, mother of Union soldier Asa D. Smith, and mother-in-law of Mary Clementine Brock Smith, was buried at the foot of John’s Mountain” (Orr, Personal).
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It has been almost 15 years since I lived in Georgia. That seems like such a long time ago. All that time away from where I grew up is one of the things that enabled me to make Jordan’s Journey. If I had stayed in the same place, I don’t think I would have been able to see it with fresh eyes. Growing up, I never thought much about the place I lived. It was just normal. But now that I have such a wide range of experience to contrast it against, that little valley I call home is a beautiful spot. Diverse experiences in life are good. It helps you appreciate the world more because you see the unique beauty in your surroundings. I’m thankful my parents instilled in me an appreciation for travel and exploration.
As beautiful as the Armuchee Valley area is, it’s not exactly where tourists will likely visit. Most of the land is privately owned, much of it going back generations into the area families such as my Pope family. Most people enjoy the area simply by driving along the (officially designated) scenic byways. Just look at the photo I took along Pocket Road earlier this year. Sunset was approaching, and the mountains were bathed in a beautiful curtain of light. You can see how driving along the roads is an attraction in and of itself. In fact, a huge swath of the area around Armuchee Valley is part of the Chattahooche National Forest. While there isn’t much infrastructure to accommodate mainstream tourism, the National Forest does offer some publicly accessible hiking and camping, perfect for those of us with a bit of an adventurous spirit.
Two of the primary areas you can visit are located on Pocket Road. Pocket Road begins just east of the main Villanow crossroads where the old brick country store stands. About 4 miles down this road is the John’s Mountain overlook entrance. A road takes you to the top of the mountain where you can enjoy the view of East Armuchee and West Armuchee beyond that. Beware, though, as it’s an unpaved road–so be prepared for that.
The overlook platform was constructed in 1964 by the Accelerated Public Works Program. The spot where the overlook sits is the former location of the Johns Mountain fire tower. The original tower was built in 1940 by the CCC (see below). A new tower was built in 1961. Grady Richardson (of the Armuchee Valley Richardson family) was the foreman on this construction project (Fearrington 37). It was dismantled in 1979 and donated to the Walker County Correctional Institute. In 1980, the area officially became a recreation area. It was developed by the Youth Conservation Corps (Fearrington 52).
Read More‘Tis the season when ghosts and goblins start to make appearances. Halloween has always been one of my favorite times of the year. You’d never know that to be around me on the holiday, though. I haven’t dressed up in years. I don’t go to parties. And due to the infamous Greenwich Village Halloween Parade that passes steps from my front door, I typically bunker down for the evening and don’t step foot outside until November comes. Yes, I’m a cynical New Yorker, I admit it!
But, still, Halloween is a fun time of year. It brings out creativity and imagination in people, which I appreciate.
Halloween was a big part of growing up, too. At East Armuchee Baptist Church, we used to hold fall festivals. The community would gather for an old-fashioned weenie roast decked out in our Halloween costumes. We even had a pumpkin carving contest one year. I remember one lady from the church–I can’t recall who–taught me how to carve the wickedest-looking eyes. Every year I carved a pumpkin at home after that, and I always did it the way she taught me. The photo below was taken in 1987 and was one of those later Halloweens. See those pumpkin eyes? That’s how I learned to carve them. I always thought it was the coolest way to make the eyes. Oh, and that’s me… dressed up as a dog. If you can’t tell which one is me, I’m on the left. The one on the right is Rounder, my best friend growing up!
Today’s post is the above photo (be sure to click to see the full image). I don’t know much about the image other than who the people are. I estimate it was taken in the late 1930’s. I’m not sure where it was taken (possibly somewhere in East Armuchee, as that’s where the people are from, though I suspect it could have been taken somewhere along Pocket Road) or why everyone posed for this particular shot. But it’s a fantastic image, so I wanted to show it to you. I don’t have a story to tell or a history to recount. Sometimes, a photograph speaks entirely for itself, and this is one of those images.
Moving left to right, the people above are as follows:
A special thanks goes out to Martha Dell Grigsby Richardson (sister of David Grigsby, pictured here). This photo is from her collection.
Learning about family history teaches you a lot about history in general. The obvious areas are things like the Civil War and even World War II. When you connect your family to the collective stories of history, suddenly those grand narratives seem a bit more personal.
As a New Yorker, I can’t help but wonder how the next generation will look back and remember 9/11. As it is, I already know people who were not alive in 2001. But I lived through it. I watched those towers fall with my own eyes. I photographed them as they burned and fell (this is one of my photos here). I lived in the no-entry zone and had to show a photo ID just to get into my neighborhood. I walked over to the West Side Highway and stood with other New Yorkers cheering on firefighters who sped up and down the highway for weeks on end after those towers fell. How does my personal experience translate to the pages of history we see presented in books and documentaries? It doesn’t. The pages of history record the grand narratives and the dramatic events. But the quiet recollections of those of us who lived through it are just as important.
Often when people look at events around us–the events we know will one day be studied in history books everywhere–we talk about how much history has changed. In the case of 9/11, we use terms like “terrorism” to try and define what happened. Language, though, is limiting. The very moment we put words to tongue we somehow fail ourselves. Yet also those words are something we can’t do without. It’s important to be aware of the limitations we create through language, how our own words confine us, and how–hopefully–we can transcend them.
When we hear about violent events–say, for example, another shooting has made the news–many of us react with a “What’s happening to the world?” kind of attitude. The truth is that nothing is happening… at least nothing that unusual. We have a tendency to romanticize the past as if it represents some sort of ideal. This type of nostalgia for the past is something we all do, and it’s another way in which language fails us. Matt Novak, writing about the public’s perception of the history of the space program, warns that “romanticization of the past has real-world consequences because it breeds a certain kind of futility, a belief that we’re simply not able to accomplish things without every American behind the idea.”
For most of us, history is learned in language that glorifies the good parts, polishes them over for more than they’re worth, and skims over the bad parts. But those “bad” parts hold a lot of value and can, potentially, teach us just as much if not more than the “good” parts. History is not good. History is not bad. History just… is (or maybe “was”).
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Recently I wrote a series of posts on Delila Brown Ward (see here, here, and here). Today is a sort of follow-up to those posts, focusing on Delila’s husband, Alfred C. Ward.
Alfred (or Alford) C. Ward, my 4th great-grandfather, was a son of Absalom Ward and Nancy Ann Coleman and the grandson of Nathaniel Ward and Susannah Trail. Nathaniel had been a veteran of the Revolutionary War. The Absalom Ward family lived in Union County, South Carolina. Absalom and Nancy were members of the Gilead Baptist Church in Jonesville (Marby 293; Hair 64).
It was in Union County where Alfred would have met and married Delila Brown. Alfred and Delila are first counted together on a census in 1850, still in Union, already with their first two children (Ancestry.com 1850). Sometime during the following decade, they migrated to the Armuchee Valley area of northwest Georgia, where they were counted in East Armuchee on the 1860 census (Ancestry.com 1860). Alfred is the only one of his family who left Union County (Walker 406).
More details of this story are told in the Jordan’s Journey book and are not repeated here–as the focus of this article is not to duplicate the book but to expand upon what is already there.
As with many other men in Armuchee Valley (and throughout the South in general), Alfred soon picked up the call to arms and joined the Confederate army. He enlisted as a 1st Lieutenant in the 39th Regiment, Georgia Infantry in LaFayette on 4 Mar 1862.
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Whenever I get the time, I love poring through old newspapers from Chattooga and Walker Counties, searching the bits of news for names of people in my family tree. The Summerville News and Walker County Messenger are littered with my ancestors far and wide. Most of the time when an ancestor is mentioned it seems inconsequential. The more I read through these things, the more I feel like I’m looking at a Twitter feed from over 100 years ago! Indeed, social media isn’t the phenomenon of the new millennium we think it to be. Sure, the bits and bytes shuffling back and forth between our smartphones and computer screens weren’t around in our ancestor’s time. But our ancestors were just as interested in everybody else’s “status updates” as we are today… only the medium for sharing those updates has changed.
This week I started combing my records for some of these “status updates” to assemble a selection for you here. Looking for a unifying theme, I noticed a lot of talk about rabid dogs and dangerous snakes. Yep, that’s what I said: dogs and snakes. Now I don’t mean dogs and snakes at the same time. But there seemed to be an awful lot of newspaper mentions about these two animals. I suppose for a rural country area you’re going to have a lot of dogs and, well, a lot of snakes. And I suppose it also makes a good news story to talk about the latest mad dog or venomous snake. Still, it gives me a chuckle to think that over a century later this is what I’m reading about. Like I said… inconsequential.
But apparently, to our ancestors, it was enough to make the newspaper.
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Fresh fruits and vegetables were a part of everyday life growing up on the farm. The best meals were always those prepared straight from the garden. While my parents were not farmers by trade–they were school teachers–they always had a garden of some sort. My grandparents, however, farmed on a larger scale. One of the crops I remember most clearly and associate very closely with my grandfather Earl Jordan is watermelon. Earl would load up the back of his truck (which I proudly drove in my teenage years after he had died), sit by the road, tailgate down, and sell the delicious fruit to passersby. Of course, there was plenty to go around for the family, too. We would all gather around the table at Grannie’s house, ready for a messy feast of some good ol’ watermelon. Careful not to swallow any seeds!
Watermelon wasn’t only a summer tradition for me growing up but for my parents, too. Dad recalls eating a lot of watermelon at his Grandpa Holcomb’s house. “He grew them, and I think he may have also bought some,” Dad reminisced about the old days. “Grandmother would keep some in the refrigerator and slice it off and eat it cold, but we also ate them fresh from the field.”
Read MoreThese posts are archived from the Jordan's Journey project by Jordan M. Scoggins. They have been made available here for continued reference and research purposes.
The original book is available to order from the bd Shop or your favorite bookseller.
For more about the project, visit the Jordan's Journey archive home page.
