By: Denise M. Colby
Since my post is set for the day we celebrate Veteran’s Day and I love history, I thought it would be fun to celebrate my family in the military and do a bit of research. I don’t have a long list of family members in the military, nor do I have a lot of stories passed down from generation to generation. What I do have are snippets and a few photos.
I will start with my great-great-great-grandfather James Clyman, who I wrote about a few months ago. He wrote down information in his journal and it is here that I learned he enlisted as a private in a company of Mounted Volunteers on June 16, 1832. He was in the same company with Abraham Lincoln for a month (and together they fought in the Black Hawk War). He is quoted in James Clyman, Frontiersman (quoting a quote from another book by R.T. Montgomery, “Biographical Sketch of James Clyman”) of saying “We didn’t think much then about his ever being President.”
He was then commissioned as a second lieutenant of Mounted Rangers, and later appointed as assistant commissary of subsistence for the company. It’s here that several of the receipts and inventory papers he signed are in the Huntington Library. I was able to go through these papers and take photos a couple of years ago, which was an amazing experience. And finally, I get to use them in something I’ve written.
Clyman transferred to the First Dragoons and nine months later sent in his resignation, which was accepted on May 31, 1834. He wanted to get back to his farm and business and, according to the Frontiersman, after he returned home, “he was besieged with accounts from the Commissary General of Subsistence at Washington, requesting the return of vouchers and abstracts of ration issues made during campaigns in the field, some of which were dated back to the time of his predecessor in 1832. Clyman stood charged on the books with over $400.” I’m interpreting this as basically the government sent bills to pay for the vouchers and ration issues made while he was in the field.
I believe that my grandfather, Carroll W. Marsh, Sr. was in the military, but I don’t have any specifics on him. As I’m writing this, I realize I need to ask and find out something. We have lots of details on my grandmothers side of the family, but not my grandfathers.
Next on my list is my father, Carroll W. Marsh, Jr., who left the National Guard long before I was born, so I didn’t know him in that capacity. Nor, was his service really talked about. He didn’t fight in any wars that I’m aware of, nor did he have any big stories that were shared to me as a child. My dad passed away over twenty-one years ago and the information I have on my dad and his stint in the Army National Guard is actually very small. But, I decided to find out more.
It’s amazing to be able to research via Google. This large company photo has a title above it that says “Local Boys In Sonoma County’s National Guard Company”. One of the men holds a banner with 579HQ on it. I was able to search up the number. The 579th was an Engineering Battalion, based in Petaluma and still exists today. My dad turned 18 in 1950. I don’t know how many years he served, although I do know he was still in when my parents were married, which would’ve been beyond 1952.
My nephew, Jason Burrows, just retired from the Navy earlier this year after twenty-four years of service. We are close in age, raised more like brother and sister. I’m quite proud of him. He’s been all over. Italy, Japan, Florida. On the Atlantic and the Pacific. The few times our families have gotten together, I have loved hearing his stories. The little things, that as nation we have no visibility to. The inside scoop. I remember staying on the U.S.S. Midway with my family for a scout event and finding how tiny the bunks were for even myself. I couldn’t imagine how they were for him for six months at a time given he’s 6’4”. He said when on ship he’d jog for exercise but would have to duck to clear the doorways. I loved every minute of my twenty hours on board, feeling closer and gaining an understanding of where he was and what he did.
I remember when my dad was sick and close to passing, email was new. Hard to believe now, but given my corporate job at the time, I was the only one in the family that could communicate with Jason and keep him updated so that he could be flown off the ship when the time came to come home.
As I’ve written this, I realize I have much more information than I thought I did about my family and their military history. I’m very thankful I have the ability write about it and an audience to share it with. Thank you for joining me in learning more about my family and its military roots.
Any personal communication from loved ones can be a blessing, but I consider a handwritten note a gift that keeps on giving long after it was written.
And even though a lot of us don’t like our handwriting, have you ever thought what our handwriting means to our loved ones?
It’s not something I ever thought about till I lost my dad over twenty years ago. Whenever I come across something he wrote down, I stop and pause. I remember him. And remembering him touches my heart. So in some ways having something in my dad’s handwriting makes me feel a connection to him, even after all these years.
Things have changed much over the years with email and texting. I feel like handwritten notes is a lost art with some people. My mother-in-law always writes a personal message in every card she sends. She also includes a trademark of sorts with an abbreviation LYMTYK in every card. My husband says she always did that even when he was a child. Love you more than you know. I’ve come to cherish her messages because her words come from her heart in her own writing.
I was recently looking for a blank journal for my next prayer journal and came across several different journal books in a drawer. One of them was a book created for me at my first baby shower nineteen years ago—“Advice to the new mom”. I skimmed through and came upon the page my mom wrote and I was blown away.
First, to see her handwriting. Personal, from her and something she physically touched.
Second to read her advice. Personal, from her and something she wanted to pass on to me.
My mom passed away this summer and so finding that was a little gift and a wonderful reminder for me to hold on to and cherish. My heart overflowed with gratitude to be holding on to this note from my mom. Kinda neat to see that I took my mom’s advice too.
Every once in a while I remember to write my boys a note. They may not appreciate it enough to keep it. But I believe the words sink in and by receiving a personal note from me, I’m sending them a little bit of love that I hope they will remember at times. In fact, I think I might go handwrite a note to each of them now.
I’d love to know if I’m the only one who loves handwritten notes. Mention in the comments section whether you keep any handwritten notes you receive or when a handwritten note has touched you in a special way.
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Imagine you’re reading a fiction historical romance book set in the back country of Montana and one of the characters asks another character if he’s always been a freighter.
He responds with no. He was a trapper.
Aww. Cool. Immediately my mind went to my Great-Great-Great-Grandfather who was a trapper. I continued to read.
He was a part of the great mountain men.
Wait! My Great-Great-Great-Grandfather was called that too. Now my heart was thumping faster as I continued to read. Somehow I just knew what I would see next.
Mountain men like Jedidiah Smith and Jim Clyman.
Stop the presses! That’s my Great-Great-Great-Grandfather’s name! Here in the fiction book I’m reading!!
How cool is that?
I ran around the house showing everyone my Kindle I was so excited!
A lover of all things history, I’ve wanted to write a blog post on James Clyman and our family history for a while, but I’ve been so busy with other topics, I hadn’t gotten to it, but I just had to share this exciting news and tell you a little about him now.
He called himself a mountain man. A trapper with Jedidiah Smith, he was the one who sewed Jedidiah’s ear back on after a bear almost swiped it off. He also came over the pass in the sierras and encountered the Donner Party, advising them not to go that way since winter was settling in. And unfortunately they opted not to listen.
Just how do we know all this? He wrote journals. Daily. Details describing who he met and what he did. Those journals have been printed into books. One titled Frontiersman, was printed in 1960 in a limited number mostly for libraries.
He apparently wrote it all on slates and his daughter composed it into a book. I haven’t read it through completely but there’s a chapter on the Black Hawk War and being in the same unit as future President Lincoln and another on his later years when he settled in Napa, Ca.
Another smaller version came out in the 1980s. My dad signed that one for me. Writing on the inside cover that I’m the 6th generation born in Napa to James Clyman. Pretty cool.
And even more cooler…I’ve actually seen the original journals. They are in the Huntington Library in Pasadena.
He’s in the 4th grade history books as well, which was a real treat for my boys whenever they got to that particular unit.
He’s buried in the same cemetery as my parents and his grave is part of a historical tour they host every once in a while.
Another historical nugget – the original ranch house is still standing. My dad used to spend his summers there and when the land was sold off for housing developments my parents purchased in the neighborhood. You could see the top of the ranch house if you stood in my parents backyard.
There’s more but I’ll save that for another post. I have plans for him to make an appearance in a book or two someday. With all the books out there to read, how fascinating I found someone who beat me to it.
2 0 Read moreI had planned to have completed the third post in my “How to Maximize the SEO Potential of your Website Images” this month, but things got a bit derailed for me when my mom’s health took a turn.
Instead, I found myself sitting in her nursing home room with lots of family and nurses coming and going at all hours. Even though I lugged my backpack back and forth, I never pulled out my laptop. I couldn’t write. No quiet, no time, and my mind was just mush.
How did I come up with this post, then?
I rented a car to drive home and had over 6 hours by myself. So I made good use of the time with my handy voice recorder in my Notes APP where I preceded to share my thoughts about all that happened.
I’d talk until I had nothing, then turn up the radio and sing a song. Then more would pop in my head and I’d talk some more. There was a lot. I hope to edit it and share it some day, but right now it’s pretty raw.
And once I got all my thoughts about my ailing parent and all that comes with this chapter of my life expended, my mind started to open up on my work in progress, and blog posts, and ideas for social media, and….I think you get the idea.
Remember, I had six hours.
And I probably could’ve used more.
It was green. And small. And quite cute. It made me smile, which was good because I needed to balance out the tears that kept flowing every time I thought about my mom and all that transpired.
The rental car guy even joked that no one should hit me because they couldn’t see me.
I found myself wanting to have good driving behavior because I was the only green car on the road.
I stood out.
When I stopped for a snack, I smiled. Whenever I changed lanes, I smiled. When I stopped for gas….yep, I smiled.
I find a smile leads to a grateful heart. And I am immensely grateful to have had my mom in my life for as long as I did. Yes, my mom is no longer with us, her body no longer mangled and in pain. And she is finally reunited with Jesus and my dad. And that makes me grateful, which makes me smile. Or maybe it’s the other way around. It makes me smile and then I feel grateful. Both ways work for me.
I wanted to share a poem I wrote last year in her honor. It’s all written in one syllable words, which was quite fun to put together.
To be a mom is hard work. More than I thought it would be.
It was not till I was in the role, did I know by how much.
The trials. The hurt I take on for my child. The times I have to stay strong.
Now that I know, I want to say thank you to my mom.
For all she did. For all she gave. For the love she gave me.
Her words were kind, she backed me up when I had tough days.
She taught me how to read my bible and pray.
Her love meant more than just words to me.
She poured her heart and life into all I did.
She had pluck, pep and punch. She shared in my joys and woes.
She was there for me through it all.
She told me I made her proud to be my mom.
She held my hand. She hugged me and told me she loved me. I didn’t doubt it one bit. I knew.
My mom did cool things. She was fun. She showed up to all my acts and cheered me on.
I was in awe of her and looked to be like her when I grew up.
I hope I am.
She told me she loved me, hugged me, prayed with me.
She is my mom and I love her. And I hope she knows how much I thank her each day.
Thank you, Mom
Love you Mom.
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More info →A Slice of Orange is an affiliate with some of the booksellers listed on this website, including Barnes & Nobel, Books A Million, iBooks, Kobo, and Smashwords. This means A Slice of Orange may earn a small advertising fee from sales made through the links used on this website. There are reminders of these affiliate links on the pages for individual books.
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