Granted, for most of human history, women were usually invisible. They might have made an appearance in public documents when marriages were noted—possibly, even, at the birth of their children, especially sons. If, in the course of public life in countries driven by documentation, they merited further recognition, it was a rare appearance.
What, then, happens when the woman's family moves to the fringes of civilization and, following her marriage and subsequent birth of her child, she dies? What does the American frontier have to show for women like that? In Lidia Miller's case, other than a brief motherhood which signaled her existence, not much.
I've shied away from researching this second great-grandmother on my mother-in-law's line mainly because of the sparse details I've already been able to glean. Though I have no idea when Lidia was born—let alone what her parents' names might have been—I do know she was married to William Gordon in Perry County, Ohio, by 1838. By 1839, her son Adam was born. And a year after that, she was gone, dead at the beginning of the new year, 1840.
With a record like that, I had always thought it would be fruitless to even try to find more—until now. So many more records are coming online, and those which have already been available online are far more accessible now due to improved search capabilities. If there was any mention of this woman at all, this year will be my time to test the research waters. For this second of three ancestors to find from my mother-in-law's heritage, with trepidation—yet optimism—I'll mark Lidia Miller's name in for the fifth goal in my Twelve Most Wanted for 2025.
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