Collaboration is Key

 

When it comes to researching our family's history, each of us knows a little something about our ancestors that another cousin might not know. On the other hand, someone among all those cousins—or even siblings!—might have a photo of an ancestor that we don't have. To piece the story together, collaboration is key.

When it comes to my own immediate family, it might seem reasonable to assume I'd be one who has amassed the most information on those ancestral lines. Imagine my surprise, then, when in a phone conversation about family history the other day, my sister calmly mentioned, "Oh, I have some photographs about that." And she did!

A few days ago, a distant cousin on my mother-in-law's side of our family sent me an email. We have intermittently been exchanging research notes over years—I've lost track of how long—but a new discovery through DNA seemed to reveal a lead to a brick wall ancestor's roots, and this researcher wanted to bounce the idea off me. We'll surely follow that conversation to see where it leads. Whether it becomes a productive pursuit or not, at least we've explored the possibility. You never know until you test out the theory whether it will yield a viable answer. Partnering to explore ideas and brainstorm solutions makes a difference.

Collaboration can enable us to combine details which neither researcher would have seen on his or her own, and examine possible outcomes for genealogical theories. Collaboration can make the work go faster by focusing a group on one given research question at a time. It can provide encouragement when the effort is flagging, and a cheering team when a discovery is finally achieved. And working together can help guard us from unrealistic or unsupported assumptions.

Over the decades in which I've been struggling to find my family's stories, I've met some fellow genealogists who have been wonderful collaborators, for which I've been grateful. Some are no longer with us and are sorely missed, and some, whether for a season of demanding work duties or a season of life, are not currently in the game. Others are new acquaintances, met online and messaged over time through digital means—and maybe, in some cases, will someday be a connection over phone calls or even face-to-face meetings. 

No matter how we connect, though, the important part is that we do connect—a way that enriches the research and makes the wins worth celebrating together.

Seeking Lyman's Other Sons

 

The project to find replacements for a will for Lyman Jackson had its first encouragement when I located a deed transferring property in Erie County, Pennsylvania, his final home. There, I located the record for a property exchange with Michael Jackson, one of Lyman Jackson's ten sons. The search to find any similar documents for Lyman's other sons, however, produced nothing useful.

The search then moved from using FamilySearch.org's AI-assisted Full Text Search to the decidedly low-tech approach of using my own eyeballs to go down the list of Lyman's sons, one by one, to see who else might have stayed in Erie County. 

The answer, arriving just in time with son number nine, was Royal Gilbert Jackson. Born in 1799 and living only until 1842, Royal Jackson may have remained in the last place his father called home, but otherwise, he left a scant record.

Much like the Jackson descendants of that certain ongoing pioneering spirit which we've already found, the rest of Lyman's ten sons and three daughters—those who could be found documented in records—were featured in states other than Pennsylvania. Next week, we'll move on to follow their trails westward.  

No, Not That Michael Jackson

 

There are some names which just catch the eye and make one wonder: is it that one? But in this case, the answer would be no, not that Michael Jackson—though he was his grandfather's namesake.

Then, again, that Jackson family had a habit of reusing favorite names. That, of course, made researching my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather Lyman Jackson's family more challenging. With Lyman himself being son of someone named Michael Jackson, it was predictable that he would name one of his ten sons after his own father. Nor did it keep those ten sons from wanting to echo that same pattern for the next generation.

Suddenly, the need to become wary of name twins escalates, which makes me doubly regret that Lyman Jackson apparently chose an alternate route to the traditional last will and testament. Rather than having one handy document which listed each child by name (hopefully), in Lyman's case, we'll need to scour the deed books of Erie County, Pennsylvania, for mention of any indentures of land prior to his 1835 passing.

That's where Michael Jackson comes in. Apparently in Erie County on May 2, 1825, Lyman and his wife, Deidamia Jackson, for the payment of several hundred dollars from one Michael Jackson, transferred ownership of one specifically identified tract of land. The whole document was witnessed by two additional Jackson sons, David and Royal, and entered into the Erie County deed books on July 27, 1824.

With that one legal transfer, Lyman and his wife cemented the likelihood that at least this one son wouldn't be wandering westward like some of the other Jackson descendants. If that were the case for this one son, perhaps the process might be repeated for other Jackson children, a possibility which I need to research several more times, judging from the robust size of this Jackson family.

Seeking the Ones Who Stayed Behind

 

After discovering that some Jackson descendants followed in their parents' footsteps and continued their pattern of westward migration, I wondered whether anyone stayed behind where Lyman and Deidama Jackson had settled.

My brilliant thought was to pull up the records left behind by Lyman Jackson, my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather, in Erie County, Pennsylvania, where they last lived. The best way to do that, I figured, was to look at FamilySearch.org's Full Text Search.

When I saw the seventy possibilities listed in reply to my inquiry, I assumed some would be more generic results—perhaps something with the name "Jackson" showing alongside "Erie" in the same document.

Not so. It appears that all seventy of those search results merit a closer examination. The only downside: no sign of the will I was hoping to find. Instead, judging by all the deeds listed in the search results, Lyman may have chosen to dispose of his property through other legal means rather than by drawing up a will.

In those seventy results were three or four mentions of Lyman Jackson's name in old history books, themselves becoming possible sources to guide us further in this month's research project. In addition, I found several depositions recorded on behalf of what was likely Deidama's application for pension after her husband's death, as Lyman served in the Revolutionary War. Some apparently contained pertinent information regarding his earlier life, also meriting a closer look as we pursue a fuller story of this ancestor's life.

However, as I sift through those seventy documents this week, I can't lose sight of my original reason for calling up all these legal records from Erie County, Pennsylvania: I want to find Lyman Jackson's will—or at least some pointers to help me locate the subsequent whereabouts of the rest of his thirteen children. Did any of those children stay behind in Pennsylvania? If not, where did they move next? I'm on the lookout for some way pointers.

United, They're Traceable

 

Trying to find ancestors in America prior to the 1850 census can be challenging. Without a listing of all household members by name, individual relatives seem to disappear into the nameless data. When their names reappear in that expanded 1850 record, far from the home where they were born decades prior, we can't always be sure such common names signify the specific ancestor we're seeking.

There is one exception to that predicament, however. While we couldn't necessarily be sure of the right identity, assuming the ancestor had traveled alone, the fact that those who migrated westward in those early years of the 1800s often did so in the company of many others may turn a fruitless search into a more favorable outcome for us researchers. United, those traveling ancestors were often more traceable.

It was a fortunate discovery, while researching the descendants of my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather Lyman Jackson, to find his grandson Royal along with two of his siblings in a census record, long after they had all left their home in Erie County, Pennsylvania. Granted, I wouldn't have spotted that coincidence, had I not taken the time to actually look at the document in question. That little now-habitual exercise has paid off well in research dividends.

Researching those ancestors whose American life story unfolded prior to the 1850 census enumeration can be challenging. As children of pioneers took up their parents' pioneering spirit and continued that westward movement, it could sometimes be challenging to trace each family member. And yet, given the time period, people often moved in clusters—for mutual support, sure, but primarily for safety.

Apparently, when Lyman's grandson Royal began his move westward, he, too, heeded that admonition to travel in numbers. Those numbers—judging from his landing place in Wisconsin in time for the 1850 census—gained names and faces, at least if we can rely on the similarity of his neighbors' names to those of the siblings in his family.

One entry below Royal Jackson's household was that of Charles M. King, whom I already had learned was husband of Royal's oldest sister Rosanna. By the time of the 1850 census, the King household included four sons as well as Royal's sister Rosanna, giving me more names to research as I complete the picture of Lyman Jackson's many descendant lines.

In addition to that discovery was the appearance of another brother on that same census page. Apparently, on his way to Wisconsin, Ebenezer Dunham Jackson had stopped in Summit County, Ohio, to obtain a marriage license to wed Angeline Hine in 1845. By the time this Jackson family was recorded in the 1850 census in the town of Adams in Green County, Wisconsin, the household included three young sons.

While not making much progress in tracing each of these Jackson lines individually, taking time to study the entire page of the census enumeration for just one of them yielded the discovery of two additional siblings. Once again supporting the concept of cluster genealogy, we discover that those pre-1850 American families, when traveling united, are more easily traceable. 

When the Pioneers Keep Pioneering

 

When working on an American ancestor from the mid-1700s, such as my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather Lyman Jackson, it is not surprising to see such a man described as a "pioneer." But when I begin tracing that pioneer's descendants, and run across a mention of his great-granddaughter listed in a news report as a pioneer, I'm surprised. Apparently, some pioneers keep on pioneering. Perhaps it is in their DNA.

For that very purpose of tracing the descendants of Lyman Jackson to confirm DNA matches to that line, I've been building a line of descent for each of his thirteen children. This, as you can imagine, may take some time. (Hopefully, I'll have this task completed by the end of the month, though this itself will be a challenge.)

Starting with the oldest of the Jackson children, I've been methodically sliding down each line of descent to our current time—and, hopefully, to some DNA matches. This past week, my focus has been on their eldest son, Jesse Dunham Jackson. Said to have been born in 1784, Jesse—perhaps besides using the initials "J. D." may have also gone by his middle name, Dunham—was a challenge to trace. 

However, I was able to pick up on one line of his descendants, Jesse's son Royal Montgomery Jackson, thanks to his 1912 death certificate. Clearly far from his grandfather's final resting place back in Erie County, Pennsylvania, Royal Jackson had died in Missouri. And yet, it took one more generation before I ran into that label of "pioneer" for one of the Jackson descendants.

Royal Montgomery Jackson's third daughter, Candace, was born in Illinois around 1845, but before she was five years of age, her family, along with Royal's brother and brother-in-law and their families, had moved to the town of Adams in Green County, Wisconsin. By the time Candace was married in 1866, she was even farther west, in Daviess County, Missouri.

That, however, was not the end of this Jackson descendant's journey. Along with her husband, Thomas J. Sweany, this next generation was into gold mining in Ketchikan, Alaska, by the time of the 1900 census. Perhaps needing a little less excitement in their own golden years, the Sweany family moved back to the States by the time of the 1910 census, where they had stayed at a hotel on Summit Avenue in Seattle.

It wasn't until twelve years later when an obituary appeared in the October 24, 1922, Seattle Star regarding  a "Pioneer's Funeral Set for Wednesday." The pioneer? Mrs. Thomas Sweany, a.k.a. Candace Jackson, great-granddaughter of Lyman Jackson, called by the newspaper a "pioneer resident of Washington." Perhaps the farther west one moves, the easier it is to be considered a pioneer. 

New Life

 

There is a woman in our city—some call her an angel—who has dedicated herself to rescuing and rejuvenating the homeless. Unlike officials of some governmental programs, she personally understands how people can slip to that condition, and what it takes for them to regain their wellbeing. Her work—and stories of new life—are truly inspirational.

There may be a time when many of us slip to the point where we need a new grasp on life. Perhaps it is in such stories of new life that the message of Resurrection Day resonates—that unexplained yet profound change that makes all things different. Every story of such change becomes a point to meditate in gratitude, whether during a faith-based holiday like Easter, or on what would otherwise have been considered just an ordinary day.

I hope for you that today becomes far from the ordinary.

Above: "Vita Liljor," watercolor by Swedish artist Anders Zorn (1860-1920); courtesy Wikipedia; in the public domain.