England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales...

So, the story goes that a young David Henderson immigrated from Ireland to New York City where he got separated from his sisters...he was about 9 years old. 
I don't know how much of that is true--I cannot document that the David Henderson found on the ship rosters is the same David Henderson who ended up in Bugger Hollow (pronounced "booger holler").  I have other information that says he was born in Virginia.  Either way, there aren't many in the Henderson family that don't claim some kind of Irish/Scottish heritage.  The prevalence of red heads in the family is overwhelming, even to this day.  Both my niece and my nephew are sweet little gingers...my Henderson born grandmother was called "Red"...and almost all of them sunburn and freckle at the drop of a hat. I did a little reading--another blog, actually, (not really all that scientific, but a little more input)and it seems that a study was done to determine the prevalence of red hair in Ireland/Scotland...and it was determined that the gene for that specific trait was more prevalent in those areas...along with fair skin and tall athletic builds.  There seemed to be a bunch of comments arguing the points, but it all boiled down to having some Celtic/Scandanavian origin. My brother Daniel actually looks more like he should be swinging a hammer with Thor than a hardworking Dad of those two sweet gingers...and my own body betrays me according to other research.  I read something one of my friends posted that had the phrase "Celtic toe" and wondered what on earth that was...so I looked it up.  All these years knowing I had the ugliest feet on the planet could not stifle the joy I felt when I realized that I was the proud owner of Celtic toes.  I didn't even care that my friend probably would be repulsed by my feet...it proved that *maybe* all those years of having my feet hidden and not wearing open toed shoes were over...I could proudly flaunt my longer second toe and know that it meant I actually came from somewhere!
So I'm thinking, David probably did have those roots...the picture of him on his headstone shows a somewhat mean looking white haired ghostly dude. As a matter of fact, if you look at some of the other Henderson's in pictures, you'll find that same ghostly looking white hair...including that of my own father...so, I'm not discounting that red hair and fair skin...or my toes...they are part of who we are!
So, little David...9 years old...in New York city....can you imagine? Another part of the family story maintains that he traveled with a family by the last name of Lee, which proves to be more than interesting as he gets older...considering that he married Elizabeth Lee, which does happen to be a documented fact. She's still there, in Bugger Hollow...buried in Stewart Creek cemetery.  Some say she is kin to Robert E Lee, but there is no evidence that I have found, after extensive research, to support that.   So I'll just take it for what it is-just a girl he loved.
So until I get a chance to write a little more, think about that little 9 year old ornery Irish/Scottish/Virginia kid...no parents...no family...traveling with strangers.  Old enough to fend for himself, but too small to have to...back then they didn't have food stamps...DHS...all that stuff.  You just lived, or you died.  And that's just the way it was...

The Family Circle

"Will the circle...be unbroken...by and by, Lord, by and by...
There's a better...home awaiting...in the sky Lord in the sky..."

You think about your family---some people don't care one generation to the next about where they came from...they only care about where they are going.   That's okay--I can understand that, I guess.  I have a little harder time "getting it", I guess, because I don't think you can understand the magnitude of where you are unless you see where you've been...

My family wasn't rich.  We weren't even middle class, but we did have a home, heat, and food.  We didn't wear name brand clothes, and a lot of my clothes were hand-me-downs from a cousin out West.  I don't even know where my brothers' clothes came from, really, I just know they had them.   My parents loved us--my brothers and me.  That's what mattered.  I never quite understood what made them tick, though, until I became an adult and started researching our family tree.  I don't know what made me do it---maybe having my own child, or maybe even searching my own self for something familiar that I didn't see reflected in the faces of those surrounding me--my family, my blood.

My mother's family was from Georgia, my father's from Tennessee.  That's what I knew.  My mom and my aunt had done some research--back when everything was still in ledger books and on microfilm.  I had it much easier...a little money a month, and I had access to everything under the sun--all at the touch of a button.  Census records, marriage records, birth and death...the circles were of life...history began to take on new meaning to me, and with every era, a new face presented itself to me.

I saw that my gumline and teeth were inherited from my maternal grandmother's side, while my blue eyes came from my paternal grandfather.  But what I really wanted to know was if you could inherit spirit.

I looked at all the different parts of each of the families that were combined--I saw a short fuse on one branch of the family--irrational anger that struck out at anything in it's path.  I saw children forced to compete with each other for the approval of their parents, when nothing they did would ever be good enough.  I saw a pride so strong from another side that it prevented any chance of ever being successful for fear of owing another man a dollar.  I saw music drip out of fingertips and off the tips of tongues--scenes being painted at the touch of a simple pencil to paper... I saw a love for one's children and family so strong that hearts were broken when that love wasn't taken nearly as seriously by the ones being loved...all of these things were very real, but not necessarily coded into my DNA...at least, I don't think so. I'm not a scientist, don't remotely know what could be in those microscopic cells...but would those things actually become a part of who I am?

I think they are.  I get irritated quickly--especially when I feel people are being arrogant.  I don't, however, get jealous when my brothers or other relatives do well or receive rewards for being successful people.  I panic when I make a mistake in my home accounting--because I am so scared of being without money---but I do have loans and buy things when we need them.  I can read music and sing, and my love of art goes far beyond the normal realm of just having pictures to hang on a wall.  I have a love for my family that cannot be touched---even as heartbroken as some of them have made me, I understand that not everyone can love like I love, without surrender. 

It's all part of who we are...where we came from.  You just can't forget those things. You know, someone once told me that there is nothing irrelevant or unimportant in the Bible, whether you believe it or not. I agree with that, and, as a Christian, I do happen to believe it.  There are an awful lot of "begats" and "begots" in there--and  you know why? Because they are important.

So, here's to your roots--your heritage--who you are...

This is the story of one side of my family...and how they came to be down in tha Holler...and how I got back to that same Holler, two hundred years later.