Abner 'n' Phosa

 

As we continue pursuing the ten sons and three daughters of Lyman Jackson, we are now up to his seventh son, Abner. And yet again—yes, adding another Lyman to the list—we find one more Jackson descendant who made sure to name one of his own sons after his father. Only in Abner's case, he went above and beyond in borrowing the names of his siblings to round out the namesakes represented by his own family.

Abner Jackson was born in 1795 in the community of Richfield in the then-newly-formed Otsego County, New York. Along with his parents and siblings, he eventually moved to Erie County, Pennsylvania. Marrying Tryphosa Jane Hendryx, sister of his brother Michael's wife Ruth, the couple went on to have a large family of their own.

Perhaps owing to her less common name, Abner's wife often went by the nickname 'Phosa, or 'Phosa Jane. This nickname, in turn, sometimes showed in transcriptions of handwritten records as "Phora."

Abner and 'Phosa remained mostly in western Pennsylvania, though notes preserved from some relatives in family history books mentioned their temporary residence in Ohio. The 1870 census supports that report, showing Abner and "Thosey" living near his namesake son and his family in Columbiana County that year.

It has been fairly straightforward to follow several of Abner and 'Phosa's children through the next two generations. This task, repeated down to our present time, will hopefully inform the ThruLines tool at Ancestry DNA, which currently pinpoints seventy one of my husband's DNA matches as Jackson descendants. Not that seventy one is too small a number for me, but I suspect that count might grow even larger with a little more work on our family tree. Ten sons and three daughters from the late 1700s can result in a far more remarkable pool of descendants than that. 

Another Grandson Named Lyman

Much as I had suspected, Lyman Jackson would have more than one grandson named after him. While I'm building out the family tree for my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather, I've been noticing how many of his grandsons seemed to have shared this man's story. I've also spotted a few of those descendants sporting this grandfather's given name, so as I moved on through Lyman's ten sons to Obadiah Jackson, I wasn't surprised to find another namesake grandson.

Obadiah, the sixth son and seventh child of Lyman Jackson, was born in 1794, likely after the family had moved to upstate New York. Judging from the census return for 1830, Obadiah had moved once again with his father and older siblings to Erie County, Pennsylvania. But by 1850, he was far from that latest Jackson home in Pennsylvania.

The 1850 census revealed Obadiah's new residence in Knox County, Illinois, where he claimed the value of his real estate to be six hundred dollars. There with him were his wife, Mary, and several children. All but the oldest—Lyman—were born in Illinois.

In 1850, Lyman was listed as a nineteen year old harness maker in his father's household. Though I haven't yet located him in the 1860 census, before the following enumeration, Lyman was married and raising a family of his own.

Looking back to Lyman's father, I searched for a copy of Obadiah's will, to see a listing of all his children, but to no avail. While I did find a will, it was brief—far too short to confirm the names of any of his children. The document basically gave everything of Obadiah's property to his wife, Mary Ann, also appointing her as his executor. If there were any other legal instruments used to transfer property to his children, I'll need to revisit FamilySearch.org's Full Text Search to find any deeds mentioning Obadiah's name.

Lyman, in turn, remained for the rest of his life in Knox County, Illinois, marrying and raising a family of his own. As with all the other grandchildren of the senior Lyman Jackson, I'll revisit the children of Obadiah and continue documenting their lines of descent for guidance as I work through the DNA matches who turn out to be descendants of the Jackson lines. With many of the elder Lyman Jackson's ten sons and three daughters marrying and having large families of their own, there will be plenty to keep me busy for the remainder of this month.

Thankful for the Third Generation

 

As I work my way through the family tree of Revolutionary War Patriot Lyman Jackson, I'm realizing what a challenge it is to confirm anyone's line of descent during the earliest years of this nation. To trace any of the descendants of his ten sons or three daughters, one would have to rely on court records, tax records, land records or other obscure documents in those years predating death certificates or even post-1850 census enumerations.

In the case of this Jackson family, though claiming a fairly common surname, they had one thing going for them: Lyman Jackson's grandchildren were quite willing to keep the family's stories alive. We've already discussed how helpful it was to find the story of grandson Lysander Jackson, in whose published biographical sketch he was sure to credit the accomplishments of his grandfather, the senior Lyman Jackson. I've since run into other Jackson grandsons' stories preserved in biographical sketches in county history books from the late 1800s.

I'm thankful for the willingness of that third generation to keep those Jackson family stories alive for future generations. It puts me in mind of a quote I ran across recently—which itself models the illustration of the importance, yet fragility, of passing along a comment from one person to the next.

The quote, as I most recently heard it, was from fellow genealogy blogger Randy Seaver. He had shared it in a presentation he had made in northern California, not far from my own home. Speaking to the Genealogical Society of Santa Cruz County, Randy reminded us that "it only takes three generations to lose a piece of oral family history."

This thought he had credited to another genealogist, Judy Russell, who had shared that quote in her keynote presentation at the fourth annual RootsTech conference back in 2014. Recapped by Judy Russell in her own blog, The Legal Genealogist, she mentioned finding the quote in an article published at the end of 2013 in Examiner.com by a Texas genealogist, Judy Everett Ramos.

That, however, was not the fountainhead of that provenance trail. Judy Everett Ramos, in turn, had drawn her inspiration from the actual source of that quote, a longstanding archivist at the National Archives in Fort Worth, Texas, named Aaron Holt. The cogent part of that statement, going back to Judy Russell's blog post, was

it only takes three generations to lose a piece of oral family history. ...It must be purposely and accurately repeated over and over again through the generations to be preserved for a genealogist today.

As I work my way through this one Jackson family's story from colonial times through the nineteenth century, I'm realizing how key that third generation was in ensuring that their ancestors' stories were preserved for the future. Whether in oral transmission or preservation in writing, their stories have not been entirely lost because someone chose to pass those details along to yet another set of descendants who were willing to do their part. 

A Grandson Returns Home

 

The search for the ten sons and three daughters of Lyman Jackson continues, but in this case, it is a grandson, not a son, who returns home to Erie County, Pennsylvania, where Lyman himself had finally settled. Once again, we find our clue from a century-old county history book, but this time, rather than a report from far to the west, the book is a publication from Erie County.

Lysander Jackson, Lyman's grandson, was also son of someone named Lyman. His father, born in 1790,  was his grandfather's namesake, but unlike the senior Lyman, Lysander's father ended up traveling to Wisconsin, where he served as a minister of the Methodist Episcopal Church.

According to his biographical sketch in the 1884 History of Erie County, Pennsylvania, Lysander was born in Erie County in 1823, and remained there—at least for all but two census enumerations—for most of his life. In his early adult years, Lysander apparently moved to Ashtabula County, Ohio, seeking work, but returned home soon afterwards. Married to Elizabeth McKee of his home county in Pennsylvania, he and his wife had only one child, Sarah. Years later, the couple could be found living with his brother-in-law back in Ohio for the 1900 census, but returned again to Pennsylvania before Lysander's death there in 1907.

Thanks once again to the published story of a grandson, we are able to trace the line of another of the senior Lyman Jackson's sons. Despite seeing those sons move far from their home in Pennsylvania, at least two of Lyman's grandsons made sure to keep the family story alive for another generation.

Another Son Stays Home

 

Researching ancestral lines stretching back to colonial times in America can prove challenging. In questioning which of Lyman Jackson's ten sons remained with him in his last residence in Erie County, Pennsylvania, I've found indications that some lines of descent moved westward. So far, I had only found one son who remained with his father in Erie County. But I may have just located another son who chose to stay—or return—home in Erie County.

My quest for this week has been to trace the remaining children of my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather Lyman and his wife Deidama—particularly those who moved westward. My assumption was that all but his son Michael had left Pennsylvania to obtain land elsewhere, especially considering that many of the men in that large family were of an age to have either served in the Revolutionary War, or in the War of 1812 which followed so soon afterwards.

Third child on the list of Lyman's descendants was Ebenezer. Lacking records, it seemed reports had him living—or traveling—both to places westward and residences back where Lyman himself had once lived in upstate New York. While Ebenezer may seem to be a rare choice for a given name in our day, I still needed to ensure that the few places where I spotted that name—Ebenezer Jackson—would not lure me into following a name twin.

However, thanks to a biographical sketch of one of his grandsons, published in 1893, far from the Jackson family's Pennsylvania home in the Biographical Review of Dane County, Wisconsin, Edson B. Jackson chose to include the story of both his father, John Lyman Jackson, and his grandfather, Ebenezer Jackson. Whether these accounts are complete and factually accurate, hopefully documentation will reveal. The task now will be to use this publication as a pathfinder, and see whether records can support this account.

According to this account, apparently after serving in the War of 1812, Ebenezer originally settled in Wyoming County, New York, in a place called Sheldon. Sometime before this, Ebenezer had married a woman from Otsego County named either Betsey Prindle or Pringle. The location of that marriage is not surprising, considering that Ebenezer's father Lyman had been reported in the 1800 census in that same county.

The biographical sketch went on to note that Ebenezer eventually moved to Albion in Erie County, Pennsylvania, "where he lived until he died." Though that comment may seem unhelpful, the sketch did include a date of death—August 7, 1857—providing us a way pointer to help locate a will to confirm the names of the seven children listed in the book.

Admittedly, family history books can often include embellishments, but this sketch has provided enough information to help us trace Ebenezer's family through documentation in those early years and confirm—or correct—what information has already been published.

Time to Check Progress — Once Again

 

New projects can reinvigorate the quest to find ancestors. Thanks to a recent message from a collaborator on my mother-in-law's side of the family, efforts have been supercharged for that branch of the family tree—not to mention this month's search for collateral lines for her Jackson roots. Since it's time to check the numbers once again, it's easy to see how those projects can impact progress.

Since this month is the first time this year in which I've moved my focus to my mother-in-law's line, the baseline count—which held steady for most of the past year, give or take a few birth announcements or funeral announcements—had remained at 41,793. Now, after just shy of two weeks' work, that same tree has now rocketed past that number by 413 new entries. That tree now has 42,206 thoroughly documented individuals.

Of course, there are many more additions to come, judging by the Jackson readout on the ThruLines results at Ancestry.com.  As I continue to work on this month's planned Jackson project—and add in those efforts prompted by contacts from collaborators—I expect the numbers will continue to climb in the next two weeks, as well.

Meanwhile, on my own side of the family tree, progress will lie dormant by plan. I'll return to researching that family later this fall, after two more months of work on my mother-in-law's line, followed by three months seeking news of the Irish side, courtesy of my father-in-law. Right now, my own tree remains at 41,908 documented individuals.

One aspect of working through this Twelve Most Wanted plan is revisiting the DNA results in each of the five companies where my husband and I have tested, to check new matches which have appeared since last year. In the case of the Jackson line, my focus for April, there are several new additions. My hope is that, adding more information to the lines of descent from Lyman Jackson will help point out the connections to those many currently-undiscovered matches. There are thousands of connections yet to be reconnected to family lines, including that Jackson line, I'm sure.  

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.

Thirds

 

I once was acquainted with a woman who had married her third cousin. While it may be unusual for the general public to even understand what third cousins actually are, this couple knew how their families connected.

With the advent of DNA testing, many more of us have had to learn exactly what it is that makes some of us third cousins—or even some more convoluted connections, such as third cousins once removed, or half grand-nephews. I've had more than my fair share of such relationships—just on Ancestry.com's DNA test alone, I've got almost forty five thousand DNA matches who are beyond fourth cousins to me. But a question just the other day about relationships like these third cousins and beyond stopped me short and made me consider something.

In emailing one of the DNA matches with whom I've had a running dialog, she asked whether I had ever before actually met a third cousin. In considering that thought, I had to admit, well, no (though I am about to do so this year). Though our minds can comprehend the concept—we merely claim a set of second great-grandparents in common—this is seldom a part of most people's lived experience. We are a culture in which family members move away to new locations, then lose touch with relatives left behind as we become part of our new neighborhoods and jobs.

DNA testing may have fostered a new desire to connect with long-lost relatives. I know one member of our local genealogical society who has purposefully reached out to connect with distant cousins, eventually having the chance to travel and meet some of them in person. While "Relatives at RootsTech" or "Relatives Around Me" on the FamilySearch app may be fun ways to discover connections online, it is merely a cerebral experience. Rather than simply poking a few buttons on our phone, it takes effort—not to mention trust—to reach out to an unknown someone for the goal of actually meeting distant family, face to face.

While some of the distant cousins with whom I've already connected online come from family lines I do know and understand—my in-laws' cousin connections, for instance—this latest discovery flows from the opposite side of possibilities. I sent a message to someone from my father's side of the family—that Polish lineage which I had been seeking out of a dearth of information. I knew nothing and desperately was hoping to learn from someone who surely knew more about those roots.

Collaboration online can be a helpful, even fascinating, process, but I imagine meeting in person will introduce a different dimension to the research process. While I'm sure there will be awkward instances which people walk away from, thinking, "I can't believe we are related," I'm sure there will be meetings filled with observations about unexpected connections, too. Whichever way it goes, I'm looking forward to being part of such an experience soon.

A Path to the Past

 

You know the drill in genealogy: you start with what you know, then move incrementally backwards into the past, seeking documentation to confirm the validity of each step. In this month's case, though, I'll be following that path to the past more slowly than if we'd been on a chase to merely name the ancestors of this month's selection of my Twelve Most Wanted. I already know Lyman Jackson was the father of my mother-in-law's third great-grandfather, John Jay Jackson. And I've already discovered that Michael Jackson, in turn, was Lyman's father.

This month, we'll take the details already found on Lyman Jackson's life and zoom in to see what additional information we can glean on this family. For one thing, Lyman Jackson and his wife, Deidama Dunham, were said to be parents of thirteen children. I don't yet know how many of those Jackson children left descendants of their own, but I'm thinking our DNA account should contain far more than the seventy DNA cousins who have been spotted by Ancestry.com's ThruLines tool up to this point. I'll be busy adding lines of descent—times thirteen—to this couple's family tree.

From what I've already found, Lyman Jackson was buried in 1835 in Albion, a township in Erie County, Pennsylvania. Checking the 1830 census for that same location, there is a listing for the household of one Lyman Jackson, along with entries for the families of his sons, Michael, David, and Royal.

Leaping over ten years to reach the next census, we find Lyman Jackson was still in Erie County, according to the 1820 census. In addition, three of his sons were listed in their own separate households: "J. D." (probably Jesse Dunham Jackson), Michael, and Abner. However, for this decade, the Jackson households were located in Conneaut Township.

Even in the 1810 census, we find Lyman Jackson and his household still located in Erie County, where the population at that time was less than four thousand people.

Rewinding history yet another decade, Lyman and his family were no longer in Pennsylvania for the 1800 census. They had moved the distance of 350 miles to Exeter in Otsego County, New York. At this earlier date, the corresponding entry for one Michael Jackson was likely not Lyman's son, but his father.

Another significant move occurred during the previous decade, for in the 1790 census, Lyman Jackson was showing in the records of the town of Pownal in Vermont. Among the names of heads of households there can be spotted the name of Obadiah Dunham, father of Lyman's wife Deidama.

For a time period in which travel would have been considered difficult at best, this large family managed to navigate at least two significant moves—to say nothing of what brought Lyman from his birthplace in Simsbury, Connecticut, up north to Vermont.

Looking at an itinerary like that just begs me to dig a bit deeper into the story behind each of those moves for the Jackson family.

Some Answers Come Quickly

 

Most months, I begin my search for the designated ancestor from among my Twelve Most Wanted for the year by saying I want to discover that brick wall ancestor's parents. However, I no sooner started work on this month's ancestor than I learned the answer to that question.

The focus for this month, my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather Lyman Jackson, was noted by his entry at the D.A.R. website to have been born in 1756 in Simsbury, Connecticut. In a digitized version at Ancestry.com of the Lucius Barnes Barbour Collection, a multi-volume set of transcriptions of Connecticut vital records, two Jackson entries confirm that location. One is the line item for the February 29 birth of Lyman, son of Michael Jackson; an entry above that is for his brother Jesse, born at the end of 1759.

The last time I had worked on Lyman Jackson as one of my Twelve Most Wanted was almost three years ago in May of 2023. Granted, I had started that month's research by focusing on Lyman's son John Jay Jackson, my mother-in-law's third great-grandfather, who had spent most of his adult years in Ohio after having served in the War of 1812. By the end of that month, I had found John in his father's home and began the effort to push back the generations yet one more time.

This month, I'd like to pick up that chase, but not merely to pursue another generation's names and pertinent dates. For Lyman, this will involve a chase through the newly-formed states in a new country, following this Revolutionary War Patriot and his wife and thirteen children as they moved from New England to upstate New York, and eventually to the western side of Pennsylvania. More importantly, I'd like to zero in on life during that time period, especially in the earlier years of the history of the places the Jacksons once called home, over two hundred years ago.

Painting a Broader Portrait

 

A new month, at least here at A Family Tapestry, signals a time to delve into the details on yet another ancestor in my family's history. Based on plans laid out at the close of the preceding year, I schedule the search for what I call my Twelve Most Wanted in the upcoming year. I spend the first three months of the year focused on three selections from my mother's line. Once that first quarter of the year is completed—hint: that would be today—I move on to the first of three selections from my mother-in-law's ancestors.

For April's selection, I want to focus on Lyman Jackson, my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather. Since we've researched this man in previous years, I don't intend to merely rehearse the bare basics of this ancestor's life story. This year, I want to dig deeper, painting a broader portrait of this colonial American who came of age right as his fellow colonists chose to declare war on Great Britain.

Rather than collecting dates as mere numbers, I want to place Lyman Jackson's vital statistics on a timeline of both national and local history. Rather than pinpointing locations on a map, I hope to explore details of the places where he and his family lived in their westward migration from the Connecticut town where he supposedly was born in 1756.

Lyman and his wife were an unusual couple, not in the fact that they had at least thirteen children, but that each one of those Jackson descendants lived to adulthood. With a family of that size, this Jackson couple bestowed a considerable legacy to future generations through this heritage, if nothing else. Indeed, there are at current count seventy of those descendants who are DNA matches on that Jackson line, at least according to Ancestry.com's ThruLines tool.

Through not only DNA tools, but court records (thanks to FamilySearch.org's Full Text Search) and local history records, we'll hopefully find a rich source of tools to help us paint that broader portrait of my mother-in-law's fourth great-grandfather during this month. 

Good Things Coming in Threes

 

What is that saying about good things coming in threes? This third month of 2026 may have been filled with lots of family history discoveries for the Firth and Rainey lines—as well as groan-worthy never-ending court case files—but that is not to say it's been the only genealogy work I've done this month. Behind the scenes, I've made some enjoyable connections with other researchers—oddly enough, in threes—collaborating on catching up with those elusive ancestors who've kept us chasing them, sometimes for decades.

For several months now, I had been noticing one researcher's name pop up, every time I pulled up another ancestor in my father's paternal line. It didn't take long to realize this woman is a thorough researcher who believes in locating records for even the hardest to find among our Polish ancestors. I decided to reach out to her, both on account of what I had noticed, and because I saw that she happened to be a DNA match of mine. We've struck up an ongoing conversation by email over the past half year, and I recently discovered our family's travel plans will soon take us to the very city where this DNA cousin lives. We are looking forward to actually meeting, face to face.

Another researcher I had been in touch with years ago has recently retired from a demanding career and is returning to family history puzzles with a vengeance. A few months ago, he reached out to let me know he is now back in the game and looking forward to collaborating on some challenging ancestors. He's got some fresh ideas about how to share the stories of our ancestors, which I think are spot on, and hope to collaborate with him as well.

Those two connections have been rewarding enough, but the third connection takes the cake. Once again, the credit starts with a DNA match, but this time it involves a close connection to an adoptee. While I want to respect this person's privacy by not sharing identifying information, our first contact was facilitated when this adoptee tentatively reached out to me. This message could not have been more circumspect for such an email. From that first contact to further email correspondence, and then phone calls, I was able to help this person connect with immediate family, as well as learn more about extended family. The conversations seemed eerily as if we had known each other for our entire lives, a most rewarding process to have become a part of.

These are apparently among some of the surprising turns of events that can happen when we learn more about our family history. Time consuming yet heart-warming, they remind me that genealogy is not only about dull, dry dates, places, and names, but about the real, live people whom those ancestors connected us to in the first place.

The Mess We're Left With

 

It's been a month filled with large court files regarding the intestate estates of Rainey men and their related families—not to mention name twins who couldn't possibly be father and son. In other words: following the line of Thomas Firth Rainey and his extended family has left me with more of a mess than when we started.

My goal for the third of my Twelve Most Wanted for this year was to find the identity of Thomas Firth Rainey's parents. That I did, and then some. The only problem was that this search has led me to more questions than answers.

I again reviewed those lengthy court cases, seeing if now, in retrospect, those many names mentioned in the files would make more sense. I've saved the links to specific letters in the estate files, entering them in the profile pages of each named ancestor or collateral relative. Yet only a few more details popped up.

For instance, I noticed that Isham Rainey's grandchildren from his daughter Sarah and her husband George Mealer were listed in two separate letters to the court where he died in Monroe County, Mississippi. Isham R. Mealer and his sister Martha together sent their letter regarding their grandfather's estate, identifying their residence as Murray County, Georgia. In that letter, tantalizingly, was a third grandchild mentioned: John Hammock. Do I have any idea which Rainey parent that third grandchild claims? Of course not. I can find absolutely no sign to connect him to his supposed grandfather, Isham Rainey.

Another letter to Monroe County, Mississippi, with the same purpose was signed by the remaining Mealer grandchildren of Isham Rainey. Why in a separate letter? Other than the fact that that letter was sent from the court in Oglethorpe County, I have no idea why the family was represented from two different Georgia counties.

As for the children of Isham Rainey's daughter Sarah, I can trace some of her descendants, but not all. This will need to wait for another year's examination. Full Text Search at FamilySearch.org has helped immensely to locate these big, messy court cases, but it hasn't found everything that I might need to answer the remaining questions. Nor have I been able to trace Sarah's sister Elizabeth, who in the same intestate case had represented herself as Elizabeth Arnold.

Repeating this same process next time for the children descended from Isham Rainey may reveal more court records—hopefully not of the intestate estate variety—but that effort will need far more time to complete than the brief day we have left to us in this month. It's time to pack away this month full of discoveries on both the Rainey and Firth families, be grateful for what can now be found much easier than in past years, and move on to April's focus from my Twelve Most Wanted for 2026.

The Slow Trip Down the Path to the Past

 

The verdict is in: spending weeks reading legal documents can slow down one's research progress. At least in the case of my family history goal for this month, the numbers have not sported their usual robust appearance. The path to Thomas Firth Rainey's parents may have finally yielded some of its previously-hidden answers, but that path has also led through some messy probate files. I am far from gathering all the details needed to take the next step.

All told, I did add 104 names to my mother's side of the family tree, mostly by working my way through the lines of descent from the collateral lines associated with these Rainey and Firth ancestors, and by examining DNA matches who tie into those same ancestral families. Granted, that was not bad for two weeks' research efforts—but I have seen better results. Right now, that family tree has a total of 41,908 documented individuals gleaned after well over a decade's work.

On the other side of the family, my in-laws' tree has stayed frozen in position for most of the past six months, now at 41,793 individuals. However, in less than a week, we will shift our focus to my mother-in-law's side of the family and begin work on that tree for April's research goal—though again, we will be working on ancestors removed from our current times by well over a century.

In the last few days of this month, we'll need to wrap up what can be finished of the court records regarding Isham Rainey and George Mealer and see whether any further details will add to this tally. Then, it will be time to draw up a summary report of what's been accomplished and use that to create a to-do list for the next time I tackle the Rainey and Firth family lines back in the Virginia colony where they first were found before the close of the eighteenth century. 

Good Bedtime Reading for the Insomniac

 

One last time this month—at least for this puzzle regarding my fourth great-grandfather Isham Rainey—I've headed back to those DNA matches that Ancestry.com's ThruLines tool has hypothesized are my cousins from that same line. This means, too, that I'll need to revisit the probate records concerning the estate Isham left behind for his family to resolve.

Did I mention messy? As in perfect bedtime reading for the insomniac? 

As if sorting through the intestate Isham Rainey's belongings weren't sleep-inducing enough, there is the question of George Mealer. George, it appears from some records, was Isham's son-in-law, through marriage to his daughter Sarah Rainey. And yet, when I read through the 1845 court records in Monroe County, Mississippi, about the administration of Isham's estate there, the mention of someone named George Mealer pops up.

But wait! The George Mealer married to Isham's daughter was back in Georgia, where Isham himself once lived. In fact, it appeared that George Mealer died there, perhaps late in 1831—intestate, what else?—in Oglethorpe County, himself. So who was this other George Mealer? And were court listings of Mealer relatives reliable indicators of our Rainey kin? Or not?

Through the wearying catalog of legal documents contained in the two various cases, it was possible to glean a listing of the children of George Mealer, son-in-law of Isham Rainey—enough to launch me into a more recent time period where it might be possible to trace those Mealer children and their descendants through to a time period known for more well-documented records. That, in turn, may help determine how some mystery DNA cousins are related to me. All that stands between me and at least the discovery of one set of Isham Rainey's grandchildren is a huge stack of reading material in the form of mind-numbing legalese.

I'll let you know how it goes, tomorrow morning.

Overextending

 

Having hopes of discovering whatever became of the siblings of a fourth great-grandfather, even if his name was as unusual as Isham, may have been a bit overextending. There is, after all, only so much that can be found about an average resident of late 1700s Virginia.

There is, however, a number of loose ends to tie up regarding this Rainey family before the month comes to a close. Grateful to have achieved my goal of discovering not only my third great-grandfather Thomas Firth Rainey's parents, but grandparents as well, I'd like to see which of his siblings may have left a genealogical paper trail. After all, though Thomas' sisters had likely married in the early 1800s, they had at least made their appearance in court documentation owing to the fact that their father had died intestate. This is a record source that could be useful to revisit.

At the time of Isham Rainey's 1843 death in Mississippi, both his daughters had spoken up to make sure they were included in the distributions of their father's estate, should there have been a residue. One daughter, Sarah, had married someone in Oglethorpe County, Georgia, by the name of George Mealer. The other daughter, Elizabeth, had identified herself in letters to the probate court in Mississippi as Elizabeth Arnold.

Returning to FamilySearch.org's Full Text Search, it may be possible to discover more about the family of George and Sarah Mealer. From that point, if any other indicators surface, we may also be able to wrap up this month's research project with information on the identity of Sarah's sister Elizabeth Arnold and her unnamed husband.

The end game here will be to identify whether either sister had children for one purpose: to locate any DNA matches for these lines that might have been descendants of this Rainey line.

Vanishing Into the Gap

 

As exciting as it was yesterday to find mention of the paternal grandfather of my brick wall third great grandfather Thomas Firth Rainey, it barely took one more day for me to realize that finding anything more on this Rainey family may take far longer than just another evening's research. Wills may be the go-to resource for discovering more about our distant ancestors from the 1700s, but it takes a couple more generations before widespread documentation can carry us through the ages. What's happened with that Rainey family line—poof! In just a moment—is that it has vanished into the document gap between the earliest years of our nation and the 1850 census.

So far this month, we've discovered that Thomas Firth Rainey, my third great-grandfather, was son of Isham Rainey. Isham, in turn, was son of William Rainey of Brunswick County, Virginia. Finding William Rainey's 1812 will yesterday opened up new research possibilities for me by revealing the names of Isham's siblings: Mary, Martha, Elizabeth, William, Jesse, Herbert, and Zebulon.

Now that I've found those names, you know I've begun the search for those collateral lines of descent. After all, I have potential DNA cousins to place in the right family group. But do you think I've found any actual documentation for these siblings? Sadly, no—with the exception of some marriage records from the 1790s. Other than that, it seems like the entire family, other than Isham, has disappeared.

The problem that has presented itself at this point in the research is two-fold. On the one hand, there are researchers out there who have been puzzling over this family for decades. They have not been shy about sharing their speculations. And others have been more than willing to help themselves to those theories by pasting them into their public family trees, despite lack of documentation.

On the other hand, there is that gap I mentioned. Unless I can find where the (possibly) wandering Rainey descendants moved, I can't with certainty say I've found a will for any of the brothers. If any of those siblings died before the advent of the 1850 census with its listing of every resident in a household, I'll have no way to know that those are the right descendants for my Rainey line. It's that gap between the early 1800s and the 1850 census which has suddenly brought me to a standstill.

There is, however, one encouraging sign. In William Rainey's 1812 will, he mentioned several grandchildren, providing us a token sign that there were indeed marriages and families continuing the Rainey legacy. But other than one specific grandson, there is no mention of names for any of the others among his grandchildren. 

One, however, is better than none, so it will be worth our while to learn a bit about Benjamin L. Rainey to see if information gleaned there can lead us to any others in the extended Rainey family.   

Back to the Beginning

 

Sometimes, genealogy research seems to gain lightning speed, even after having been stymied for months, even years. That's what happened this month, with the discovery not only of Thomas Firth Rainey's parents, but then the revelation of his maternal grandparents and their children. Then, progress can just as quickly turn in the other direction, and that is where I'm stuck right now, unable to push back through that maternal Firth generation any farther.

Since I'm stuck on that detour to what was once the research path of least resistance, it may be a good time to turn back to the beginning of this month's research goal. After all, the goal for my Twelve Most Wanted for March was to find the parents of my third great-grandfather Thomas Firth Rainey. What about pushing further back on his paternal side?

We've already discovered that Thomas' father gifted us with an unusual given name, Isham. Also knowing that the Rainey and Firth families originated in Brunswick County, Virginia, I decided to see whether Isham himself might have been mentioned in the will of any other Raineys in Brunswick County.

Once again, FamilySearch.org's Full Text Search came to the rescue. There in Brunswick County, the will book contained a document signed by one William Rainey on September 30, 1812. In his testament, which was presented in court on April 24, 1815, William Rainey named his wife Mary, along with his daughter, also named Mary; another daughter, Martha; a married daughter, Elizabeth Edmunds; his sons William, Jesse, Herbert, Zebulon, and, of course, Isham. In addition, the will acknowledged several grandchildren.

If we've gone back to the point at which we started this month, we now have plenty to work with in also pushing Thomas Firth Rainey's paternal line back two more generations. Not bad for one month's exploration.

Hinting About Marriage

 

There will always be complications encountered by those pushing back through the generations in search of their family's history. That, at least, has become the case with Polly Firth, sister of my fourth great-grandmother Sally Firth. If she wasn't married twice, as one record I just found seems to indicate, then she has a name twin. I need to determine which one is the case for my ancestral line.

No sooner had I located a marriage record for Polly in her home county of Brunswick in Virginia than up popped an alternate proposal. On its face, it seemed likely that Polly Firth might have been married twice. A closer look, however, steers me clear of such an assumption. Here's what showed up as I searched for details on Polly's life.

First was a hint at Ancestry.com, indicating that Polly was married to someone named John Burch. To top that off, the record supposedly also contained the clincher that Polly was daughter of someone named Thomas Firth. Yes, I agreed, both my fourth great-grandmother Sally and her sister Polly were daughters of someone named Thomas Firth.

Following that hint was another. This time, the resource was a page gleaned from a book called Related Royal Families. This two-volume genealogy was compiled by Marilu Burch Smallwood and published in 1966. The book can be found at the FamilySearch Library. As a copy of the book was also scanned by the University of Virginia and can be digitally searched through Hathi Trust, it is fairly easy to access.

The Ancestry hint dropped me squarely at the top of page 154, where the first sentence asserts: "John Burch Jr. born 1758 died 1796 married Polly Firth." The entry goes on to explain that a transcription of Brunswick County marriage records had indicated that Polly Firth, daughter of Thomas, had been married to John Burch on May 30, 1782.

Indeed, there were other Ancestry hints providing transcriptions of this same assertion. Fortunately, some of those hints included the "FHL Film Number" which could lead me directly to a digitized copy of that same Brunswick County record from 1782. Naturally, I wanted to check that out.

Copying the film number, I logged on to my account at FamilySearch.org, clicked the "Search" tab to select "Records" from the drop-down menu, scrolled down the page to select "More Options." That opened up a new dialog box, where I zoomed straight to the option near the bottom, "Add Record Options." I selected the wordiest choice, "film/fiche/image group number (DGS)," and pasted the FHL Film Number I had gleaned from the Ancestry hint.

Up came an option, into which I entered the names I was seeking. Sure enough, it led me to a May 30, 1782, marriage record for John Burch and Polly Firth. And Polly's father was entered as Thomas Firth, just as the Ancestry hint had noted.

But could this be right? Could this actually be our Polly Firth, daughter of Thomas? How many father-daughter pairs of the same name could there be in a county of, at the time, twelve thousand people?

I couldn't say why, but something seemed off about this record. I decided to retrace my steps and review all the information I had gleaned about Polly and the Firth family. After all, despite lack of all the usual documentation we rely on for finding family later in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, what little I had already found included a few pertinent details.

The first record was the 1794 will of Polly's father, Thomas Firth. In that will, as I've already noted, all the Firth daughters were listed by their maiden names with the exception of one: Betsey Rawlings. If Polly had married John Burch in 1782, her father would have listed her by her married name, since he drew up his will subsequent to that wedding—even if her husband had died before her father's wishes were set to writing. She was, however, entered simply as Polly B. Firth.

There was, however, a second issue which surfaced as I reviewed the documents I had found. In the later marriage record for Polly, in which she was married to Howell Duggar in December of 1795, a note inserted in the record stated that on that date, Polly was twenty one years of age. If so, that would fix her year of birth at about 1774. Someone born during that year would only have been eight years of age in 1782, when our Polly supposedly married this John Burch. If, jumping back to the Smallwood genealogy, John Burch's wife had a son named Bazell in 1786, our Polly as his mother would have been twelve years of age—an unlikely scenario.

What seemed like an easy-to-accept suggestion from Ancestry turns out to be, at best, the case of name twins. Yes, finding two daughters in the same locale named Polly claiming a dad named Thomas Firth may seem to be a stretch, but apparently in Brunswick County, Virginia, it is far more likely that that was so, than that an eight year old child was given in marriage, even if it was to a descendant of royalty.

Digging Into the Duggars

 

After finding a document regarding an exchange of property which named several children of Thomas Firth, my fifth great-grandfather, I was curious about one couple who didn't seem to fit into that profile. That couple was Howell Duggar and his wife Mary. Based on the pattern which seemed to be emerging from the connections in that document, I wondered about the possibility that Howell Duggar's wife might be another one of Thomas Firth's daughters.

Admittedly, contained among the signatures at the bottom of the indenture was one woman who signed her name as Polly Duggar, not Mary, as was named in the text of the legal record. Since Polly has traditionally been used as a nickname for Mary, regardless of the variance, I thought that was still a promising sign. 

Thanks to FamilySearch.org's Full Text Search, it didn't take long to uncover a marriage record from the Firth family's home location, Brunswick County, Virginia. The date on that record was December 21, 1795—about a year and a half after Thomas Firth had signed his own last will naming Polly Firth as one of his daughters.

The marriage register indicated specifically—and in quotes—that by the point of her marriage, Polly was "21 years of age."  On that December day in 1795, Polly was to become the wife of Howell Duggar, revealing the connection that had later included his name in the property exchange we had seen yesterday.

In 1799, as Thomas Firth's executor, Aaron Brown, wrapped up distributions from the Firth estate, Howell Duggar's name was once again mentioned, along with the husbands of Thomas' other daughters. And yet, as clear as those records may seem to be, there was one problem caused by these discoveries: there are other indicators showing that Polly Firth, daughter of Thomas, had been married before this point to someone by a different name.

Guess that means it's time to take a closer look at those other documents.

Clustering Together

 

In looking up documents regarding brick wall ancestors, eventually we get to a point where we start to notice we've been seeing the same names appearing together, time after time. That realization is worth paying attention to, for it is quite typical for people—friends, associates, neighbors, for instance—to cluster together when facing big decisions in life. This, as one might say, could be a clue.

I was ecstatic when I finally broke through the records impasse to discover the parents of my third great-grandfather Thomas Rainey. Following rapidly on that long-awaited discovery was another: Thomas Rainey's mother's name, Sally Firth, appeared in her father's will. Almost instantly, I had a new set of names of collateral lines to research for DNA purposes.

And then I got stuck. Again.

Sally Firth's sister Elizabeth apparently married Randolph Rawlings. The many permutations of her husband's given name prompted me to see what I could find on Elizabeth's husband, regardless of what his name might have been.

That's when I discovered some documents of interest. Maddening in that the main court record actually left blanks where key dates should have been inserted in the first document I discovered, I hung on to it based simply on a hunch. That hunch was that the names listed in the record might signify more of a connection than just any names in a random list.

The record began, "This indenture made the ___ day of ____ Eighteen hundred + one between...."

Then followed a listing of names, somewhat confusing due to lack of commas. Included in the list were:

• Thomas Firth and Nancy his wife
• Randolph Rawlings and Eliza B his wife
• Howell Duggar and Mary his wife
• Isham Rainey and Sally his wife
• Henry Abernathy and Rebeckah his wife

Those listed in that group represented one party in a legal exchange, with someone named William Firth being the second party. For exchange of ninety pounds "lawfull money" the above party released to William Firth a certain tract of land in Brunswick County, Virginia, containing about 125 acres.

This past week, when I had first discovered Rebecca Firth's marriage to Henry Abernethy—the family's  surname was often misspelled in records as Abernathy—I tried tracing the couple's descendants, mainly to help with placing DNA matches.

The Abernethy family was said to have moved from Virginia to Tennessee. Though I had little luck locating the family in other pre-1850 records, one detail I did notice while chasing these Abernethys was the recurrence of the surname Duggar. This was a surname which I couldn't connect with the family, but the frequency of the pairing told me there might be something to the connection that I needed to know.

Since then, I worked on another Firth daughter's line, that of Elizabeth, who we've since discovered became wife of Randolph Rawlings. That couple, too, appeared in this list. Of course, Isham Rainey, father of my third great-grandfather Thomas Rainey, had married another Firth sibling, Sarah, known as Sally Firth. And Thomas Firth, junior, as we discover from this legal document, must have married someone named Nancy.

With all the couples but one containing relatives connected to this same Firth family, could that mean the Duggars were also family members? Could Mary Duggar (in her signature at the bottom of the document showing as Polly) have been a sister of Rebecca, Elizabeth, Sally, and the younger Thomas Firth? If the principle of cluster genealogy holds true, it's worth checking out that possibility. It's time to examine a few more documents.

Given Under our Hands This Day

 

FamilySearch.org's Full Text Search is becoming my new best friend. When it comes to researching those hard-to-find ancestors from centuries past, the best place—sometimes the only place—to find mention of those near-invisible relatives is in court records. Yes, those tedious-to-read, overly wordy, illegible handwritten documents buried in back rooms of courthouses can bring us exactly the details we're seeking on our kin—if we can find the right records. And Full Text Search can zero in on the most reasonable possibilities.

As we wade through flowery phrases like "In the name of God, Amen," that open pages-long documents, or search for concluding statements such as "given under our hands this day," just to uncover the date confirming we've found the right person's record, our exhausted eyes are rewarded by the goldmine we are chasing. Sure, the handwriting may frustrate us, and the length of documents may weary us, but the good news is that we have it so much better than those family historians who went before us. The computerized digitizing process and transcribing AI systems have now made this process possible in a snap.

For this month, that is excellent news for me. Ever since discovering that I could break through my brick wall and find my third great-grandfather Thomas Rainey's parents' names, it's been far easier to continue down this path beyond that brick wall. I've started working on Thomas Rainey's maternal grandparents back in Brunswick County, Virginia, then branched out to their children, Thomas' aunts and uncles on the Firth side of the family.

We've already started work following the descendants of one Firth sister, Rebecca, who married Henry Abernethy. Then, the next attempt was to decipher the name of another sister's husband, supposedly listing Elizabeth Firth's spouse in one document as "Randle" Rawlings.

I took that question about "Randle" to Full Text Search at FamilySearch.org and played with the possibilities. Searching first for "Randle," some spelling alternatives popped up, beginning with "Randal." Pretty soon, another alternative was offered up at Full Text Search: the more reasonable Randolph.

I didn't want to presume that that was the actual name at first, as I didn't want to mislead the search process by jumping to that conclusion. Doing so might have caused me to miss some other possibilities. But with patience, I noticed that Randle and even Randal seemed to lead nowhere, no matter which keywords I combined with those options.

It was easy to eliminate those other options, even though they popped up in actual documents. The more reasonable option, Randolph Rawlings, soon took the lead with a preponderance of search results. And despite missing some key documents I'd like to see—a will, for instance—the documents Full Text Search offered up turned out to paint a useful picture, indeed.

In particular, one document started me on a new research path with its concluding statement, "Given under our hands this 9th day of January 1828." Following Elizabeth Firth Rawlings from that document's date uncovered an entire cluster of possible family members and business associates of her by-then deceased husband Randolph Rawlings—a project to piece together over the next few remaining days of this month's research project.

Clawing Through Another Brick Wall

 

As often happens in genealogy research, one long-awaited breakthrough precipitates others. Whereas before, that brick wall seemed impenetrable, now it becomes a matter of simply clawing our way through the next brick wall. The research is still tedious, but it's no longer at a standstill.

After having discovered the will for my brick wall third great-grandfather Thomas Rainey's maternal grandfather, of course I was elated—until I realized all the work that awaited at this next iteration. For a man whose last testament was signed in 1794—leaving all but one of his daughters still unmarried—slow progress was understandable. Yes, women back then could be nearly invisible, but documentation on anyone was hard to come by.

I did follow the lines of descent for one sibling of my fourth great-grandmother Sally Firth: her sister Rebecca, wife of Henry Abernethy (and conveniently the mother of a widely known Methodist preacher in Alabama). Even so, trying to identify the lesser-known siblings in that family's next generation has been, so far, beyond my reach.

Today, I explored another Firth daughter, at least far enough to discover some documentation on her own marriage. This daughter, "Betsey" in her father's will, was the only one listed there by her married name, Rawlings. Fortunately, a line item in a ledger of Brunswick County, Virginia, marriages showed an "Eliza" Firth marrying someone entered in the record as "Randle" Rawlings. An additional note in the 1784 ledger identified the bride's father as Thomas Firth, to assure us we had found the right one.

Granted, my question at this point is: was that husband's name actually Randle? Or are we once again witnessing some creative record keeping? I'll follow this line as long as I can to see what else might be uncovered from those early American records. In the process, perhaps that, too, will explain some distant cousin DNA matches.

Things You'd Otherwise Never Have Known

 

Walking through airport terminals brings with it a haunting sense that I am passing by family members whom I never knew. Perhaps most people would never give such a thought any consideration, but when you are immersed in genealogy—and even more so, genetic genealogy—you see as likely what others would dismiss as unlikely.

Even so, the nagging suspicion that I'm crossing paths with, say, a sixth cousin did not quite prepare me for the discovery that I might have just missed an encounter with a double sixth cousin. Such possibilities enter the realm of things you'd otherwise never have known, but today, I almost discovered the bearer of such an unlikely relationship.

Since I've been working this month on the line of my (formerly brick wall) third great-grandfather Thomas Rainey, discovering his parents' identities, and then his maternal grandfather's identity, I took that information to the ThruLines tool at AncestryDNA. Sure enough, there were several matches already assembled for my consideration regarding my fifth great-grandfather Thomas Firth. 

I selected one possible sixth cousin, and pulled up the readout proposing how we were connected. What was strange about that diagram was that the ancestors at the top of the list—Thomas Firth, followed by his daughter Rebecca—were not the only boxes entered in solid-white appearance. Skipping three dotted-line boxes for the subsequent generations not listed in my family tree, the last two boxes itemizing the generations preceding my DNA match were also solid white boxes, meaning I already had those people in my tree.

This DNA match had apparently already been confirmed in my tree, connected through another relationship in my family. Could this have been a case of some sort of double cousin link, only far more distant than the usual cousin of this sort? I had to look closer.

Yes, it is possible that, far back in our family's past, yet another person married someone from another branch in our tree. That's the same dynamic which brings us endogamy and pedigree collapse. No surprise here. I just didn't expect it on that side of my own family tree.

Of course, I had to look further into that assertion. After all, ThruLines suggestions are based on support from family trees. And family trees on genealogy websites are notorious for being copied from other family trees. Some of those trees contain errors. Where does that leave us?

While my DNA match's paternal grandmother's line did indeed line up with my own mother's line, this supposed second relationship would have come from the match's paternal grandfather's line. I started building that line up in my own tree, using documentation. At first, it seemed difficult to find any trace of documentation for that grandfather's line, partially because of a move from a different state, and partly in following someone with a series of misfortunes, such as remarriages and step-children.

In the end, I realized what had happened. It was the spouse of my related line who had married twice, with the child in question actually being a step-child for my family's direct line. Some family trees had mis-attributed the parents for this child, who then showed up as a direct relative instead of a step-relative. Ancestry.com went with the subscribers' trees; I chose to follow the paper trail.

I suppose at some point, with all these DNA tests showing us how we are all related, I might stumble upon someone who is doubly related to me, maybe in ways I would never suspect. Results from DNA tests can be surprising. But so can the people who build those trees.

Where There's a Will . . .

 

Succeeding with this month's research project to find the names of my third great-grandfather Thomas Rainey's parents—Isham Rainey and Sally Firth—I've since gone beyond that and found mention of Sally's name in her father's will. With wills being what they are—and since I also am using DNA to connect the dots between distant cousins—I couldn't pass up the chance to take a closer look at that earlier generation. After all, where there's a will, there's a chance I can find a mention of the entire family.

Sally Firth, wife of Isham Rainey, was apparently daughter of Thomas Firth and his wife, also named Sally. It was not hard, once the original document pointed me back to Brunswick County, Virginia, to locate Thomas Firth's 1794 will. From there, a reading of the simple will provided the names of Sally Firth Rainey's surviving siblings, something I'd like to review today.

The elder Thomas Firth first named his sons in his will, beginning with son William, then mentioning his namesake son, Thomas Firth junior. Then the document moved to the daughters, beginning with Polly B. Firth, then Betsey B. Rawlings, Sally Firth, and last, the youngest daughter, Rebekah Firth.

Since the senior Thomas Firth would have been my fifth great-grandfather, his relationship was still within range to yield some possible DNA matches—slim connections, but there, nonetheless.

Now that I have those names of the elder Thomas Firth's children, I'll be working on the lines of each of these descendants to see whether I have any DNA matches among those collateral lines. You never know when a detail discovered while exploring a sibling's line might reveal the answer to a fact about our own direct line that may have had us stumped up to this point.

Sally Firth

 

Ever since the 1980s, there has been a comic strip featuring a title I love: "Sally Forth." The title itself is a play on words, calling to mind the phrase which essentially means to launch out on an adventure. How apropos it has been to discover, in this month's research adventure, that the ancestor whose parents I've been chasing through centuries-old documents turns out to have a mother who claimed a slightly-morphed version of that same "Sally Forth" name. Only, in this case, her name was Sally Firth.

It was earlier this month, in slogging through mind-numbingly tedious court documents, that we discovered Thomas Firth Rainey's mother was named Sarah Firth. Yet, since one nickname often used for the given name Sarah has been Sally, that is exactly how I found her name documented in yet another court document. 

This time, her name appeared in an even older record, that of the will of her father, drawn up in Brunswick County, Virginia, in June of 1794. His name? Thomas Firth, providing a fuller explanation of just how my third great-grandfather received his own name. Not only did his middle name reflect his mother's maiden name, but his full name clearly linked him to his maternal grandfather, who likely died the very month that my third great-grandparent's parents were married.

So far for this month's research goal, we've discovered the names of Thomas Firth Rainey's parents—and now, the identity of his maternal grandfather, Thomas Firth. In addition, the will revealed that the elder Thomas was married to a woman also identified as Sally.

Whether the senior Sally was mother of the younger Sally, I can't tell, but the pull of the identical names lends credibility to that possibility. Since we've got quite a bit more time to pursue this research project for this month, perhaps that will become clearer before we need to move on to April's challenge. 

Advancements to the Heirs

 

In the Monroe County, Mississippi, court records assembled in the administration of the estate of Isham Rainey was one page inserted with the label, "A Bill of advancements to the heirs of the Estate of Isham Rainey, decd."

That, precisely, was what I was looking for. In the jumble, however, I couldn't be sure that the preceding scanned entry was the reverse side of that label. However, there were enough names ending in "Rainey" entered in that list to make me decide to save it for future reference.

What was recorded on that previous scanned entry was a mostly legible note reading,

The undersigned agree that they have received from Isham Rainy dec'd in his lifetime [?] the sums respectively charged to them in the above acct. 7th Jan'y 1845.

Whether that was the settlement to heirs or an exchange for a different financial transaction, I can't tell. The court records seemed to be filed in disarray, so there was no guarantee that the sequence of appearance held any significance. But the list introduces several more Rainey family members than I had previously been aware of—a good list to hold close for this month's project.

The list was headed by the signature of Thomas F. Rainey, Isham's son and one of the administrators of his estate. That known name was followed by some other Rainey family members I still need to identify, beginning with William Rainey. George W. Mealer we first encountered last Friday as the representative of some of Isham's grandchildren of the same Mealer surname. Uriah Duncan we likewise saw last Friday as a representative of one of Isham's daughters. Then came H. C. Rainey, unknown to me so far, and another Isham Rainey, possibly the deceased man's grandson, son of Thomas. An illegible signature appears to be W. R. Broo---, followed by H. W. Allen, and yet another Rainey family member whose signature appears to be W. P. Rainey.

How these names fit into the family constellation—if at all, in some cases—may help build that branch of the family tree in answer to my research question for this half-over month.

Image above from the 1845 Monroe County, Mississippi, probate file of Isham Rainey, deceased, courtesy of Ancestry.com.