I have been listening to Uncle Tom's Cabin on the way to and from Flagstaff and to and from work. Finished it yesterday. Interesting story, albeit the constant blathering about Jesus and the ludicrous passivity of Uncle Tom made the story irritating at times. Of course, there are plenty of people willing to kill themselves (and others) in the retarded belief that this will grant them entrance into some make-believe heaven. However, I doubt that many slaves would willingly submit to being whipped to death.

Anyways, so I have always felt somewhat superior because my family was from the north and was not involved in slavery. Seven of my direct ancestors fought on the Union side during the Civil War (one died).

Imagine my surprise as I was researching the likely father of one of my brick wall ancestors, Amasa Ransom of Colchester, New London County, Connecticut. So far I have found a few census records, his birth record, announcements of his death, and a photograph of his tombstone. And then I found this advertisement:

And there on the 1800 census, is the tickmark for poor Rose in the household of Amasa as a slave in the household. Colchester was in New London County, Connecticut and that county had the most slaves in the state in the late 1700s. By 1810 there was a free non-white person in the household, so perhaps Rose was re-captured and freed, or perhaps this is someone else.

The history of slavery in the northern states (legal in Connecticut until the late 1840s), is not well known. Today it is inconceivable to me that someone could even think that they could own another person, so fucking bizarre. But I guess people have always been able to find valid reasons for truly heinous things. Much like fundamentalist Christians picking shit out of the bible to defend their bigotry towards gays and lesbians.

I had decided I needed to take Mummy some place that she hadn't been, so we drove north to Flagstaff. I parked her in the Motel 8, and Evan met us and we went and had pizza for supper (the pizza place made a gluten free one for Mummy).

By the next morning my eyes were burning from the pollen. Evan was nice enough to drive us as we excursioned east to Petrified Forest National Park.

A bazillion years ago this corner of Arizona was a swamp and a bunch of tree fell down and became petrified. There were some crocodiles, some dinosaurs, and some pretend dinosaurs too. I learned this while blinking away the stuff coming out of my eyes, at the visitor center. I then made Mummy walk the trail to see some of the aforesaid namesake trees.

Mummy and tree.

There were many enormous fallen down petrified trees.

This one is about four feet tall and 40 feet long.

Also many signs telling visitors not to steal pieces. Apparently this is a big problem. I really don't want some old stones cluttering up my house, so I obeyed as one should.

Some of the pieces lying about were pretty.

In other places there was impressive geology.

Lavender rock!

Evan forgot his sunglasses.

At the Puerco Pueblo ruin we got to see some impressive petroglyphs.

Ibis catching a frog.

Click on this picture to see the designs, often seen on pottery.

We had a lovely day together.

To the north of the Petrified Forest is the aptly named Painted Desert, which was in many different hues of lavender, blue, gray, white, cream, black, and so on.

Painted Desert.

At the overlook I asked three European or South American ladies if they wanted their picture taken together. They were delighted I asked. Then they returned the favor. One had a cute dog that had a sign stating is was for "emotional assistance." It sat on my lap and posed better than the rest of us. I guess this is why it is for emotional assistance.

Mummy was more interested in the dog than in posing for a group photo.

At home I am weary and I attempted to nap, but a coughing spell and the hijinks of several naughty kitties prevented said nap. It was a lovely weekend.

My last English ancestors came to the United States in 1829. The Pierces lived in the little town of South Lopham in Norfolk, England. They had worked as linen weavers and in the 1820s the linen industry crashed, as cheaper sources of fabric became available. The Pierces had to figure out what to do- become farmers in an area where farming was marginal, move to a big city, or strike out to America. They chose the latter.

The father, James, was born in 1790 and was married to Elizabeth, born in 1798. They married in the St Andrew's church in South Lopham on New Year's Day in 1818, a year after the picture below was drawn of the slightly dilapidated church.

South Lopham church.

The couple had seven children- William, James, Robert, Henry, Richard, John, and Ellen. As they prepared to leave the community, they doubtlessly went to the church one last time to pray they would survive the sailing voyage across the broad ocean (it took 10 weeks).

1825 baptismal record for Robert and Henry.

They settled in Jefferson County, New York and took up farming. At least three more children were born- Melvin, George, and Elizabeth. In 1848, James decided to move the family to Sheboygan County, Wisconsin, where he and Elizabeth lived out the rest of their lives.

My great-great-great grandfather Robert remained behind in Jefferson County. He had married Julia Ann Sprague sometime in 1849 or early 1850. In September 1850, the couple was living with Julia's brother Daniel and his family in the town of Theresa. Julia's widowed mother lived next door.

1850 census.

By 1860, the couple had four daughters- Sarah DeEtte, Bertha, Florence, and Frances. They moved to Wisconsin sometime between 1862 and 1864 and Robert enlisted in the Union Army during the Civil War, serving for 10 months in 1864 and 1865.

After the war, the family moved to Grand Traverse County, Michigan, where Robert worked as a farmer. A son Charles had been added to the family, and a fifth daughter, Fannie. However, she died when she was four years old in 1869.

1870 census.

Wife Julia died in 1878, and Robert never remarried. In the 1880s, he was badly injured in a logging accident, when a large log rolled over him on the side of a hill. He received a disability pension for his Civil War service, one of the contributing factors being chronic diarrhea. He died in 1904.

Robert Pierce.

A few years ago I happened to be in a small history museum in Fife Lake, near where the family had lived. There was a photo album in the front window and I opened it, unexpectedly finding many pictures of the Pierce family, none of which I had ever seen. Among these were photos of Robert and two of his daughters.

Florence.

Mary.

I have a handful of photographs that were passed down in my own family.

DeEtte and her husband David, circa 1875.

Among the other family heirlooms I have is DeEtte's bible. She died unexpectedly from a stroke in 1898, at age 46 (younger than I am now).

Let me tell you, I am tired of pollen. My eyes itch and burn and I catch myself rubbing them.

Red and puffy.

It makes everything less wonderful.

Two days of yardwork and I have hands covered in scratches and filled with little thorns. But at least the yard looks nice. Snowball comforted me afterward. He is awful snuggly.

Snuggles!

Mummy and I traveled to Sweetwater Wetlands to examine assorted wildfowl and turtles.

Ruddy duck and Moorhen.

Turtles (I don't know what kinds).

American coot.

Cinnamon teals.

It was a fine time.

Difficult to concentrate with such wretched news ongoing- tsunami, nuclear meltdowns, that fuckwit Quaddafi and his plagiarizing fuckwit son. Etc.

I come home from work every day and I've been doing yardwork. I cut off the dead parts of the fig tree and I've been pulling weeds and cutting back all of the dead stuff. Unlike last year, there aren't any wild flowers. It is crazy how everything froze and died back. The yard is just ugly. Sad face.

It is spring time and I just want to be outside and play.

Saturday was a day of adventure. In the morning, Evan made me TOAST. It has recently come to my attention...

We then went out to examine an archaeological site. It was a small, walled pueblo.

Evan.

In one area, where someone had been pot-hunting (nasty, loathsome people), the rib from a small child lay on the ground. I put some soil over it.

Nearby was a skeletonized elk.

Cervus elaphus.

I insisted we climb to the top of Winona Hill. We passed by a coyote or dog skeleton, a scattering of prehistoric ceramics, and some lava tubes. At the top were a couple of small rock-lined rooms.

I am bigger than most prehistoric folks.

I sat on the ground and picked up all of the sherds that lay within reach.

Sherds.

After photographing them, I returned them to their original place. I am not a loathsome pothunter.

An unfortunate event was taking place- the junipers were making pollen and their sex act inflamed my eyes terribly. That's disgusting.

Notice the puffiness.

We drove north to see the Vermillion Cliffs.

They are indeed reddish in tone.

We had lunch and I enjoyed the beer-battered onion rings a lot. Later, at one spot the Navajo Bridge has been replaced by a new bridge, and you can go out onto the old one and look 486 feet down into the Little Colorado River.

The new bridge.

I am a wretch about heights, and after walking down the center of the old bridge, I literally had to scoot on my butt to the edge to take pictures and admire the view. I begged Evan not to go to close to the edge, because I have an over-active imagination.

I am scared.

Down below, the water ran green.

If I worked in a skyscraper, I would have a parachute in my office.

This morning Evan made me blueberry pancakes. We went on a bumpy ride and then looked at some more sites. On the drive back to Tucson I listed to Uncle Tom's Cabin and cursed at the evils of slavery, which many Southern ministers said was justified by the Bible, just as modern ministers use the Bible for nefarious purposes.