One family member who found herself in a sticky situation was Amelia Mary Earhart. As one of the leading pioneers for women aviators, she disappeared on a global flight on July 2, 1937. Although many searched for her, she was never found.
Amelia Mary Earhart was born on July 24, 1897 in Atchison, Kansas to Samuel “Edwin” Staton Earhart and Amelia “Amy” Otis Earhart. Amelia and her younger sister, Grace, were tomboys who liked to play and explore the neighborhood. They would catch bugs, climb trees, and they enjoyed racing on sleds in the winter. Continue reading “Amelia Mary Earhart: Flying Solo”
The distant ringing of the phone brought her out of her slumber. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and slowly sat up in her bed. Yawning, she looked at the bedside clock. It was almost time to get up anyway. She reached over, picked up the alarm clock and switched it to off. It was probably someone calling for the donut shop again. The two phone numbers were so annoyingly similar, and she received calls from the shop more times than she could count. She made her way to the kitchen to start her coffee. Just as the coffee began to perk, the phone rang again. She grabbed her notepad and pen. She said hello, and the guy on the other end asked, “Is this the donut shop?” Continue reading “Number, Please”
I have a strange fascination for cemeteries and tombstones. I know. I know. It’s sounds morbid, but as a history buff and an amateur genealogist, it’s not as bizarre as it sounds. If you look closely, each stone tells a story. Recently, I’ve been checking out some funny, strange, and unusual headstones, and I wanted to take a peek at some of my ancestors’ grave sites to see what I could “dig up.” Continue reading “Family Tombstones”
Hotchkiss, Colorado tugs at my heart as one of my favorite places. To put it simply, Hotchkss feels like home even though I only lived there for a short time when I was younger. Whenever I find my way back to this little town, I feel like I am right where I belong, and I often feel this is where my story begins. This place holds precious memories and stories of family. This mountain view is near the cabin where my grandparents, my mom, and my aunts once lived. Continue reading “The Ranch”
As a child, I was blessed to have my maternal grandparents live on the same little island in California. Their sweet presence made a positive impact on my life, and I enjoyed spending time with them, especially when I could spend the night. Continue reading “Cowgirls and Freckles”
After the death of her parents, my 9x great-grandmother left her French homeland behind and traveled across rough waters to make a new life in Canada. While researching this adventurous grandmother, I often wondered if she had any inkling about her new life. Although this woman knew that she was to marry once she reached her destination, did she worry about her future mate? Did she wonder about the life they would share? Did she fear the unknown frontier? Continue reading “Jeanne Fressel: A King’s Daughter in New France”
Photographs open doors to the past, but they also allow a look into the future.
Continue reading “Strangely Familiar”
One of my favorite old-time photos shows my great, great grandfather, William Strassburg, crossing a river on a wagon with a pair of horses. No name or date appears on the back. However, I know my grandfather lived in Gunnison, Colorado for many years, and the scenery does resemble the Western Slope of Colorado. The boys in the wagon are a mystery, and no one in the family knew who the children were. Continue reading “Crossing the River”
Earlier this week, I read a blog from a cherished fellow blogger, Jeanne Bryan Insalaco. On her site, Everyone Has a Story, she included a year end review of her writing experiences for 2017. She included the information from another genealogist that invited readers to write about their discoveries. Once I read the two blogs, I wanted to share my adventures too. I have provided the original link from Jill Ball.
Continue reading “Looking Back: A Review of 2017”
Today, while sorting family photos, I came across this picture. All I know about it is that my grandfather, Wilson Reeder, gave it my father, Harold Reeder. On the back of the photo, all that was written was my dad’s name. I know the picture was taken in Michigan, and I do know my family lived in Plymouth, but I am not sure where the photo was taken. Continue reading “Reeder Family Home”