Walters Website - Maggie

Margaret Naomi Lytle
25 June 1859 to 4 October 1930

My Great Grandmother "Maggie", crossed the frozen Mississippi River from Illinois to Missouri in the winter of 1868. She was just 9 years old at the time and waited with the rest of her family, for a long long time, until the river froze over. They lived in a covered wagon for many weeks waiting for the river to freeze. They nearly froze to death themselves waiting, but eventually the river froze and they were able to get the wagons, horses and their belongings to the other side. Like most pioneers of the time, they were determined to get to their new home in "the promised land".

Margaret knew grief and hardship from an early age. She lost her father in 1863, a victim of the Civil War. He was in the battle of Missionary Ridge and lay wounded and dying for over a month. He died alone, on Christmas Eve, in a Chattanooga Tennesse Hospital. He is buried there in the National Cemetery. He never came home to his young wife and family. Margaret often spoke of the Civil War although she was very young when it happened.

Her mother remarried in July 1867 and her new stepfather moved his new wife and stepchildren to Cape Girardeau Missouri where they finished growing up. Margaret of course soon married and she set out to make her own life. They moved to Oklahoma for awhile, live out there for many years and during that time she managed to raise her own children and a couple of sets of grandchildren. Grandpa died while they were living out there and she came back to Missouri where she finished out her life.

Margaret always preferred being called "Naomi", which was her middle name, but Grandpa had his own preference and it was "Maggie"! This song has always reminded me of the grand lady that I never met. She died 10 years before I was born. The family loved her dearly and thought so much of her. I'm glad that the stories found there way to me.


I wandered today to the hill Maggie,
To watch the scene below:
The creek and the creaking old mill
Maggie, as we used to long ago.

The green grove is gone from the hill,
Maggie, where first the daisies sprung;
The creaking old mill is still Maggie,
Since you and I were young

They say I am feeble with age Maggie,
My steps are less sprightly than then,
My face is a well-written page,
Maggie, but time alone was the pen.

They say we are aged and gray, Maggie,
As sprays by the white breakers flung
But to me you're as fair as you were, Maggie,
When you and I were young

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