Ancestry

“I do love a good mystery!” Finn said as we were tromping through the snow earlier this week on a midday walk. We were tracking something. We guessed it was a raccoon. The tracks were very clear in the otherwise undisturbed snow.

“You like a good mystery, huh?” I responded.

“Yeah, you know,” he said, “like trying to figure things out, hunting and digging up skeletons and things.”

“Skeletons?!” I asked.

“You know. Mysteeerious things!” he said in his deepest and scariest voice.

The tracks seemed to be heading back up the hill toward our house.

“We are definitely on it’s trail now.” he said quickening his pace.

Erin and I have gotten sucked into the Ancestry world for the last couple of months. We decided to do the DNA tests at Christmas time as a gift to each other and just recently got the results back.

They show you a map of the world with splotches of color on the countries that your DNA likely came from.

England, Wales, and Northwestern Europe dominated mine. With some Ireland and Scotland, a smattering of Norway and one percent of Benin/Togo in Africa.

It was all I needed to head down the Ancestry rabbit hole. There are so many paths to follow there.

The first few generations aren’t as difficult, thanks to work other family members have done.

There is one photo of my great-grandfather and mother with eight kids in front of a cabin that looked vaguely familiar. I think my Mom has a copy. A cabin they “built with their own hands” according to the caption on one posting.

Further back there seems to be a direct relation to a noted burgomaster in Holland.

Was he like the Burgermeister Meisterburger in Santa Claus is Coming to Town? So many questions.

More “hints” led me to ancestors in various generations who seemed to have respectively fought in the nearly every war that has been in the US. This was ironic considering that most of them descended directly from the burgomaster whose most historical distinction was that he was arrested for trying to reduce the size of the military.

On Ancestry, most of the real stories are hard to find. But finding simple connections seems to be getting easier with the digital images of so many records now available. Looking through the old census records it’s easy to see how important good penmanship was in those days. Often names are misspelled or written poorly, then transcribed incorrectly.

There are a lot of tracks leading to the wrong place. Some leading to nowhere.

But the ones that lead to a relative you never knew you had are fascinating to follow.

The DeWitt name is more popular around this area than almost any other place I have lived. But so far I haven’t found a local familial connection.

On our walk this week, Finn and I followed the raccoon tracks all the way back to our house right up to the back door.

I’m wondering if any of my ancestry tracks will do the same.

I do love a good mystery.

Bread

We make bread fairly often in our household.

“Cooking class” has become part of our homeschool curriculum, but making bread has been a part of our routine for some time.

Finn’s preschool and kindergarten years at Acorn Waldorf School reinforced that with a weekly routine of “bread day,” where the children mill the grain and form their own tiny loaves of bread. Finn often brought home little bread animals he had formed, most often snakes.

A couple of years ago I got inspired to make a sourdough starter from scratch after watching Michael Pollan’s series Cooked. In one of the segments he describes the origins of bread making in ancient Egypt, how yeast is in the air and anyone can make a sourdough starter.

I decided to give it a try. I made a mix of flour and water in a bowl, let it sit for a few days and soon it started to bubble. I was so excited! Then it started to smell a little sour and it didn’t turn colors so that meant it worked!

I have to admit the first time I made bread with it, I was a bit nervous wondering if it was going to make us sick. But I have since heard from others who have made their own starters, that if it goes bad, you’ll know it.

Over two years later the starter is still going strong.

I don’t know how many loaves of bread I’ve made with it but I’ve learned to make two loaves at a time. Because when it comes out of the oven, everyone wants a slice (or two) of warm bread.

You can’t rush bread making. It slows you down and makes you wait.

There’s a lot for a little one to learn in the process.

The measuring. The science. The delayed gratification.

Finn especially enjoys the punching down phase after the dough has risen.

This week we made bread and Finn decided he wanted to do it by himself. There were a few brief moments that required my assistance but for the most part he did it.

I was caught up in the moment watching him turn out the slightly sticky dough onto the floured counter and figuring out how to get into the rhythm of kneading. In a short time he was turning and folding, turning and folding.

It felt like a sort of life passage. “Here he is,” I thought, “becoming comfortable with one of the most ancient forms of cooking. A skill he can use for life.”

Then my thought was interrupted by an even more ancient form of human behavior: playacting.

“Oh hello!” Finn said talking to the dough “Who are you? Who me? Oh, well actually I’m just… AAAHHHH!” he yelled as he raised the dough above his head then smashed it on the counter.

Whoever it was met their demise as he pounded them to smithereens. Then he started the routine over again.

I wonder if the kids in ancient Egypt made bread this way.

Father, Teacher, Farmer, Jokester

My Dad passed suddenly and peacefully four days after Christmas at the age of 91. Though his health had been declining over the last few years, I agree with the numerous people who have said “One is never prepared for the passing of a parent.”

My early childhood memories came rushing back first, many of them bold and clear as if they happened yesterday. It could be because he was the most patient teacher with me when I was around Finn’s age. He showed the same patience with his many grandchildren. I try to be that patient with Finn now.

He was a man who loved humor. He consistently called our friends by anything other than their given names, leaving them a little confused until they eventually “got him”. And he often shared jokes he had written at meal times. We always laughed, not because they were always funny, but he had a way with the delivery.

Animals loved my Dad and, at home, he almost always had a dog at his side for which he would provide a speaking voice. Many mornings I woke to the ongoing “dialogue” between my Dad and our pet.

And my Dad loved the weather. He had a rain gauge, barometer, and a few other things which he checked regularly, recording daily totals on his calendar. When conversations with him turned to talking about the weather, that’s when he had plenty to say. In one of my early memories of our farm, I remember my Dad standing at the edge of a field as rain began to pour. Relieved that a long dry period was ending he said, “Ahh. Finally getting some rain. I’m the happiest man alive!”

My oldest brother Wyatt wrote my Dad’s obituary and with his permission I’m sharing it here:

Mr. James Wyatt DeWitt, 91 of Dadeville, passed away Saturday, December 29, 2018 at Russell Medical Center in Alexander City, AL.

James DeWitt was born May 23, 1927 in Greensboro, AL. He joined the Navy out of high school and after discharge returned to attend Auburn University earning a Masters Degree in Vocational Agriculture. Over the next 39 years he taught high school Vocational Agriculture and Construction inspiring students, some who have continued to visit him. He was a member of the United Methodist Church, teaching Sunday School Class and participating in activities including mission trips, some internationally. Through the years he also owned and operated a farm and nursery. His love for construction, farming and growing plants continued into retirement. He contracted the building of a house on Lake Martin that included a wood shop, conservatory for plants and vegetable garden.

His greatest love was for his surviving wife of 64 years Roselyn DeWitt and six children Wyatt DeWitt, Carol Txipama, Tim DeWitt, David DeWitt, Andy DeWitt and Lyn Allen, 12 grandchildren and 6 great grandchildren.

He is also survived by siblings Oscar DeWitt, Tom DeWitt, Robbie Jones and Bill DeWitt.

He is predeceased by his brother Sam DeWitt.

Memorial Service will be held, Friday, January 11, 2019, 2:00 PM at Auburn United Methodist Church Founders Chapel. Visitation will follow the service.

In lieu of flowers the family requests memorial donations be made to the AUMC Mission Fund P.O. Box 31356 Auburn, AL 36831.

Field Trip

Finn and I are roadies right now. Erin is performing with the Omaha Symphony in their annual Christmas show and we’ve come along for the ride.

It’s kind of surreal sharing this experience with Finn. The last time Erin and I spent more than a few weeks in a hotel we were touring together. Long before Finn was a thought.

As we were packing for the trip it felt somewhat routine figuring out what to take so we could maintain a semblance of home on the road.

Finn filled his small suitcase with a careful selection of toys, Legos and art supplies.

Homeschooling has made things a little less complicated to some degree.

And there are plenty of “field trip” opportunities.

I just have to keep reminding myself that we are not on vacation.

Or are we?

Before we left, Erin and I scoped out the museums.

Our halfway point to Omaha was Cincinnati, where Erin is from. The timing worked out so we were there for Thanksgiving with her family and Finn could have some quality time with his cousins.

Erin had always been fond of the Cincinnati Art museum and had mentioned one of her favorite paintings was Van Gogh’s Undergrowth with Two Figures, on display there.

There never seems to be enough time to fully appreciate everything in a museum.

This is especially true when you’re with a seven year-old who wants to zip from one room to the next.

Eventually we found the painting and Finn ran right up to it.

Really close to it.

“Look Daddoo!” he said. “To make it look like that he had to paint it real fast like this!”

Then he pretended to paint furiously, with his hand about an inch from the canvas.

“Stop!” I said in a mini panic. “You can’t get that close to the painting!”

“Why?” He asked, surprised.

“You might touch it accidentally and damage it,” I said.

“No I won’t, the paint’s very thick. Look,” he pointed again with his finger perilously close to the canvas.

“Step back!” I whispered intensely, moving him back with my hand and expecting to hear an alarm go off any second.

It’s not that he hasn’t been to museums. But it has been a while. And we’ve most recently been to children’s museums where you can touch everything.

Still, there was a small part of me that expected him to react with a little more reverence and awe.

I always kind of get butterflies when I see a famous painting. Thinking of the energy it took to create it and the number of people who had to believe in it enough for it to be hanging here on this wall 120 years later.

For a moment I was able to get him to step back and just look at it from a comfortable distance.

“The trees are purple. Why are they purple?” he said.

Years from now, after a dozen or more museum visits, I’m sure he will feel the awe. But this time it was pure curiosity and enthusiasm.

And for now I’ll take that as marks of a successful field trip.

Making Magic

I have watched kids of friends and relatives go through the Harry Potter phase and wondered if Finn would do the same.  I needn’t wonder anymore.

Finn has close friends who have seen the movies and had the books read to them, so he has embraced the Harry Potter world wholeheartedly in their play together and now on his own.

His Obi Wan Kinobi robe that he received as a gift last year has been re-purposed as Harry’s robe.

I suppose Harry and Obi Wan are not dissimilar archetypes.

So we went to the library and checked out the first book in the Harry Potter series.  And it has quickly become a bedtime staple.

“Expecto!” has become a prefix for almost anything he wants to manifest.

A small dowel he found in the tool shed has become his wand most of the time. Sometimes he uses a knitting needle. Sometimes a random stick.

We have decided to homeschool this year, which Finn is very excited about.  He says our school should be called “Homewarts” and I should be professor Dumbledaddoo.  I suppose then Erin would be Mommy McGonagall.

Homeschooling can be a little intimidating.

Random conversations with parents who have done it and some friends who were homeschooled have helped to put my mind at ease.  I’m not reinventing the wheel, and from what I’ve read so far, there are enormous resources available.

After we made the decision, it kind of felt like we were always heading in this direction.

It’s almost impossible not to do a certain amount of homeschooling.

I mean, there are a million questions a day no matter how you slice it.  You can either answer them intelligently, find the answers if you don’t have them, or just say, “I don’t know leave me alone.”

But if you choose the last option, the same questions circle back around endlessly.

Erin and I have chosen to answer as many questions as we can intelligently so I am imagining our Homeschool to be a more structured version of that with a little more leading and slight nudging, interspersed with comforting daily routines.

But what do I know?

Well, I do know Homeschool will begin September 1st , the same as Hogwarts.

There is a temptation to go all out and create our own little Hogwarts atmosphere but Finn is such a little actor he might get lost in the play acting.  But there could be ways to use his fascination in creative ways.

When I mentioned we might have to make a proper wand in our woodworking class, he lit up.

“Will it make real magic?” he asked.

“YOU make the magic”  I said.

“I do?” he said, not convinced.

Well maybe we will do it together.

To view as printed in Livelihood Magazine, click here:

http://livelihoodmagazine.org/?p=4436

Art Hike

It was the night before Erin was going to be teaching a number of voice lessons back to back at home and Finn and I needed to make ourselves scarce for most of the day.

“Where are you going tomorrow?” Erin asked, probably knowing I hadn’t thought of anything yet.

Finn looked at me.

“We are going…on a…hike. On an art hike,” I said trying to come up with something original for him.

“What’s an art hike?” Finn asked.

“We’re going to hike and paint.” I said.

“Where?” Finn asked.

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow” I said, having no idea.

To Read More Click Here:

http://livelihoodmagazine.org/?p=4384
 

Carousel Ride

There was a noticeable silence in the backseat of the car while I was running a recent errand with Finn.

At a stop light I glanced in the rearview mirror to see if he was napping.

Instead he was staring out the window lost in thought.

After another long period of silence he sighed.

“I can’t believe I’m a kid,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I just can’t believe I’m alive!” he said.

“Well, where were you before?” I asked.

To Read More Click Here:

http://livelihoodmagazine.org/?p=4211

Crag Day

"Happy Crag Day!" Finn said, descending from the bedroom upon awakening.

The day before, he’d expressed wanting to hike to the rock formation in a nearby preserve.

The forecast had promised perfect weather.

There were doubts about making it all the way to the top. It was a long hike for Finn and he likes to take his time.

So when he began to document the wildlife on a piece of construction paper he had folded several times to create a section for each entry, I was pretty certain we might be turning back before reaching the peak.

“When you see or hear something, you have to write it down,” he instructed each of us, like a mini forest ranger.

“Oh, look at the bird’s nest,” Erin said, noticing an unusually large one.

“Yep! Have to write it down!” he said bossily.

He eagerly dug for the pencil and paper in his pocket.

He stood there appearing to scribble for several long moments then said, “How do you spell bird’s nest?”

“Yep, it’s gonna be a long hike,” I thought to myself.

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Making Christmas

During dinner, following an unusually long moment of silence, Finn sighed heavily and, as if suddenly having a huge realization, said:

“Daddoo, I REALLY need to get a new sewing kit. With LOTS of cloth and needles and everything.”

“Really, why is that?”  I asked.

“Because I want to be an elf. And I don’t have a costume. And to make a costume, I’m REALLY going to need a lot of stuff,” he said.

“You mean a Christmas elf?” I inquired.

“Yeah,” he said shortly as if, “What else?”

Over the last several weeks Finn’s questions about Santa Claus and everything relating to Christmas have increased in number and complexity. He has only visited Santa once, when he was two, but he still talks about it.

“So that Santa, the one that I sat on his lap, that was the real Santa right?” he asked one day randomly when we were all in the car.

“What do you think?” we responded.

“I think he was,” he continued, “But if HE was the real Santa who are all the other Santas?”

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Dance Party

 If there is one characteristic that stands out in Finn’s behavior lately, it’s that he wants to get his groove on.

 Fall appears to have ushered in a time to dance.

And of course, that means we have to follow suit. (Who can refuse a five-year-old saying, “Come on let’s dance!”) 

It certainly pulls you out of the doldrums.

What started it? Lady Gaga came up on shuffle on Erin’s phone one day. Finn wanted to see what she looked like and Erin showed him the Super Bowl halftime show. And the dance craze began.

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Detours

It was a family outing that was not going well.

Everyone was grumgry, the term we use for deteriorating emotional states in absence of sustenance.

We had packed a picnic but 30 minutes into our journey we noticed the gas light was blinking. We probably would not make it unless we back-tracked to a gas station.

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Off Duty

The other day I was trying to get Finn’s attention.  He was sitting in a chair staring off into space. I can’t remember why it was important for me to interrupt him but nevertheless I did.

“Finn,” I said for the third or fourth time.

“I’m off duty,” he replied.

“Really?” I said. “What exactly does that mean?”

“I’m just not doing anything,” he said matter-of-factly.

I kind of wondered what being “on duty” meant for him but I didn’t inquire further.

I’m sure he was repeating what one of us might have said when we were in the middle of something and attempted to “pass the baton” so to speak.  

“Talk to Mommy. I’m off duty.”

Would I say that?

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