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Want
to beat stress this holiday season? Kathy Pyles, my dear
Internet cousin who does so much family research, referred
me to a site that delivers daily health tips.2
Their advice for Friday, November 19:
The
look of a familiar face appears to soothe nerves and dampen
the stress response, according to a new study. And finding
the familiar face in a photograph produces the same effect.
Spend time with friends and family when you’re feeling stressed
and keep photos on hand for times when they can’t be near.
Maybe
this is one reason why my parents unwittingly chose as they
did, when we helped decorate their tree these past few Christmases.
Given the option to use their traditional tree ornaments,
with all those memories and sentiment, they instead were excited
to have me recreate for them the “Christmas Family Tree” that
had become a tradition in our home.
Years
ago, when our children were young, I planned such a tree, hoping
to make our ancestors part of our holidays. I found an Ohio plastics
firm3 that could cut 3 l/2 X 5” two-sided, clear picture
holders, into which I slid ancestral photos on one side and short
bios on the other. After that I laced ribbon through pre-cut holes
placed to display horizontal or vertical images.
My
husband Dan and I planned a holiday family home evening during
which we read these short biographical accounts and shared
other family stories. Then we gently secured (or our children
hung with gusto) each photographed family saint and sinner.
Crocheted
bells and snowflakes crafted by convert natives in Zimbabwe, where
my parents served a mission, doves, pearled strands, tiny lights,
silk roses, and baby’s breath—all in white and secured with deep
red velvet ribbon filled empty spaces on our tree, adding their
nostalgia
Grandma Florence Tracy Hall graces our Christmas Family
Tree
We
held an open house and had a lot of fun with questions from
New Jersey neighbors, who alerted a reporter and got our tree
a local newspaper spread. Our town historian came by and,
learning that we are LDS, asked if Salt Lake could film thousands
of records in a local Presbyterian church basement vault.
This we successfully pursued and, at her invitation, I got
a first look at the carefully indexed cards.
There
I found, to my wonder, that my very own people helped settle
that first then-Congregational church when it was built of
logs. Before I was through, I had copied out three hundred
family records! I had canvassed cemeteries and archives all
over New England, little knowing what was waiting only blocks
from our home in Basking Ridge! You can’t predict what might
happen when you get around to hanging those elusive, furtive
ghosts of Christmases past.
Long
after our children have left for college, missions, and marriage,
decorating that tree each Christmas is sweet solace, helping
our nest seem less empty. As I add new ancestral photos to
the boughs, I search each glance, trying to read between the
lines on their brows and in their stories. What was Christmas
like for them? Curiosity again takes hold, as I search out
new facts and note meaningful dates in their varied lives.
How
could I have forgotten that Grandma Langford’s father, Heber
Otto Chlarson, died on Christmas Day? Born in Sweden to convert
parents, he was carried to Utah as an infant by his mother
Johanna Charlotte Scherlin, who was disinherited for joining
the Church. She then married Hans Nadrian Chlarson, her Swedish-born
missionary, who also took in her convert mother. After Heber’s
birth, “Hannah,” as she was called, crossed the ocean, pushing
and pulling a handcart to Utah, and then waited several years
for Hans to join her. (He stayed behind where he had good
work and could sponsor other family members, in their quest
to reach “Zion”.)
When
Hans finally got to New York, his “grip” and all his hard-earned
savings were stolen, leaving him with no choice but to get
another job—this time, translating for the Union army. Or
so he thought, as he got off the train, only to learn that
he had been tricked into going to war to bleed for some rich
man’s son. Though no citizen, he chose to start life in the
States as a defender, not a deserter. He stayed, fought,
and was severely wounded, but recovered enough to return to
New York and beat up the man who nearly got him killed. For
that, it is told, he went to jail.
All
this time, Johanna wove cloth and blankets to feed her son
and sang with her guitar, while a love-struck postman hid
Hans Nadrian’s letters. She resisted his advances, knowing
that her Hans would surely come. What a day it was, when
Hans arrived! Apparently Hannah believed in sharing a good
thing. She introduced her husband, over time, to some half
dozen other plural wives.
That’s
only part of their amazing story, but I must save the rest for later.
My
grandfather’s mother, Rose Ellen Jackson, was born the first
of December, 1865, the same day her son, my Grandpa Langford,
died over a century later. Her parents moved from Lehi to
Toquerville, Utah, after Brigham called them to settle there,
in what came to be known as “the wine mission.” Some legends
suggest that our practical prophet thought profit made from
wine should not go to the Gentiles!
I
wonder—did Rose Ellen’s mother, Annis Bedford, who crossed
the plains as a young, single convert from England, enjoy
a Yule log that year? A family tale says her British mate
kept a schedule he would not break, even to fetch a doctor.
He told his panting wife to hold the birthing while he finished
his work—and with spunk and control, she complied! Rose Ellen
was that baby, one of only four infants out of eight to survive
in following decades.
Rose Ellen Jackson (1865-1935)
White
blossoms wreath Rose Ellen’s hair, framing the resolute expression
of a suddenly polygamous bride whose father asked, as part
of his consent, that her older sister Mary Lydia also marry
James H. Langford that same day.
Some
years later, soon after the birth of her third child and just
after Mary Lydia had her second, federal officers came to
fetch Rose Ellen as witness to the charge that her husband
was a man of “the Principle.” Her midwife mother-in-law,
Mary C. Turnbaugh Langford, aimed a gun and dared the men
to take Rose Ellen at that crucial time. They knew when to
back off, bur returned three weeks later.
James
Jr. went to jail for six months, though Rose Ellen never told
about his “principals.” I place his photo, with Apostle Lyman
and six others in their prison garb, on a top branch. There
James Harvey, with his hand tucked into stripes and a conquering,
Napoleonic stance, nods in proud review over his progeny.
%20%200005.jpg)
James Harvey Langford, Jr. (1861-1922), second from
left
Did
James Jr., my mother’s grandfather, meet one of my father’s
fathers, Helon Henry Tracy, there in federal confinement?
Helon wrote, after languishing ten months, also for “co-habitation”:
Decem
25—Christmas in the Pen. After breakfast most of the brethren
received baskets of delicacies from their families and friends
in the shape of mince pies, apple pies, roast chicken and
turkey, candy, nuts &c. Was called to the gate by the
warden and informed that my time here would expire on the
29 and that I could bring out my box in the evening of the
28 and pack it as he examined it, also that my letters Rece’d
from home and my journal would be permitted to pass.
Elder Helon Henry Tracy (1849-1893) served a mission
to England
So
it was on Christmas Day that Henry learned he could keep the
journal that is now a family treasure.
It
is tradition, now, to search out such brightly-wrapped gifts
from Christmases past, tucked as they are, by our kin, in
the evergreen boughs of our family tree.
Stressed
out as I sometimes feel during holidays, it’s hard not to
notice, while doing this tree, how my life sparkles with magic,
as compared with what my ancestors faced.
Our
children, too, recall with some nostalgia, early days of revelry
at home, when the prophet Elijah’s contagious elation brought out
Christmas spirits of a different sort. Strength to endure with
faith beams sweetly from the countenance of these strong souls,
who manifest mirth from behind stoic faces.
This
is one of the more profoundly sobering Christmas seasons that
our family will celebrate. My mother has out-distanced her
doctor’s prognosis. We are greatly blessed to still have
her with us this Christmas, as she battles cancer with typical
Langford spunk and determination:
“What?
Me go first and let your father get himself another wife?”
Ida-Rose L. and H. Tracy Hall on their 60th
m. anniversary, 2001
My
dear eighty-five year old father copes with her decline from
an often distant, but in his case, congenial world, misted
by Alzheimers.
We,
as a family seek, as we can, to support the security they
feel in living at home. Of course we hope to make this as
good a holiday as possible. Faced more than ever with their
and our own mortality, this seems like a good year to feature
my parents’ living, rather than deceased. legacy. Today I
sent a letter to our large, extended family, inviting their
help. Perhaps those of you who wish to try the same, may
adapt my letter to your own situation:
Dear
Halls (all 5 branches of you):
For the past few years I have, at my parents' request,
decorated their Christmas tree with ancestral photos
that have little bios slid in the back (see attached
sample). This has been a lot of fun and evoked family memories worth
recording. This year, however, I want to decorate their Christmas
Family Tree with a little different twist.
It will be meaningful, at this sometimes wrenching time, as we watch
life on this earth ebb, to cover their tree with images of continuing
LIFE.
If
you could please scan (or mail) me a photo of your
family that is approximately 3 l/2 X 5" (either way,
vertical or horizontal), I will print them off, slide them
into plastic photo-holders, and cover their tree with these, this
season. My goal is to publish these, as part of our Hall family
history, of which you would get a copy, so "cast your pics
. . . .”
If you wish to participate, please include a label that includes
1) L-R, back front designation; 2) full names; 3) birth years; 4)
when the photo was taken; and 5) the location.
You
can send one of the whole family or, if you really feel ambitious,
it would be fun to also place one of each of their nieces,
nephews, siblings, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren
separately on the tree.
Who knows, we may get enough photos to set up an extra tree
downstairs, of all their sixty-seven descendants, including
seven children, thirty-five grandchildren, and twenty-five
great-grandchildren, with four we know of on the way.
If you have time to weave that photo label into a bio (see
attached sample) that I could fit into the back of the photo,
that would be great to include in our history, though I will
be grateful to just have all in the photo clearly identified.
You may wish to include a little thought/greeting to cheer
my parents this important year—I will slide that in the back
of each photo, on top of the photo description or biographical
sketch.
[At this point I gave them my e-address and snail mail contact
information.]
I hope to decorate the tree(s), starting on Thanksgiving afternoon,
so the sooner the better. If that is not convenient, though,
we will gladly add photos all through the season.
Mom
and Dad so enjoy visits, but sometimes they forget who has
come before the same day is over. These photos of our living
family will be a constant reminder to them, throughout the
season, that they are loved and remembered.
From
past experience, I know that my parents will lovingly look
at each photo, over and over. Last year, while we were
taking down the tree, Mom “remembered” that the ancestral
ornaments all belonged to her, in the first place. For his
part, Dad hoarded them in a little pile and didn't want to
turn them over.
Love,
Sherlene
I
can hardly wait to see the photos and greetings I know our
family will be sending. Among the first to arrive was this
family photo, sent by my niece Emily:
L-R, top then bottom: Emily (Neil) and Peter Schaumann
and their sons Andrew and “Jack” Schaumann, Summer 2004
My
brother-in-law Doug Mecham says he’ll find just the right
tree, set it up in my parents’ living room, and fill it with
tiny, white lights, ready for our “decking of the halls.”
This is, after all, a year when we want to be reminded early
about all that Christmas means, through an extended season.
Our 1996 Christmas Family Tree was this Austrian Pine
my father grew on his Payson, Utah tree farm. The dove ornament
on top of the tree was crafted by our White Plains, NY neighbor,
Joan Mohr.
Though
sidetracked for this year, familiar ghosts of Christmases
past still rise to scare off the stressed-out Scrooge in me.
They bid me share our Christmas Family Tree tradition with
the likes of you, with hope that it might light our paths
to peace this season. Who am I to resist such persuasion?
--
Photo holders are available from Eldridge Acrylics,
246 E 4th Street, Mansfield, Ohio 44902(800-458-7987, or eldridgeacrylics.com).
Submitted
to Meridianmagazine.com by Sherlene Hall Bartholomew, copyright
2004
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