In a message dated 96-11-15 20:35:56 EST, Mereki writes:
<< Harison, Richard, (1747-1829),....m. Frances, dau. Chief Justice George
Duncan Ludlow, of N.B. (g.son of Gabriel Ludlow, first in New York, 1694)).
>>
Hi folks -- My very good friend Cathy gave me the above info while fishing
around for information about John Carter's fourth wife, Sarah Ludlow - and
Nathaniel Brewster's (of New Haven) wife, Sarah Ludlow - not the same, but
related? Lived in same time frame.
Harrison is not (not yet, anyhow) in my direct line, but Gabriel appears to
be, at least SOME Gabriel, as father of my VA Sarah Ludlow.
Does anyone know any more about these folks?
I also heard from Joyce about some of the sentiments expressed lately about
being on ancestral soil. It's a treat:
<< appreciated very much enjoyed reading about Kay's visit to Kansas and
thought you might enjoy the following extract which speaks of the same kind
of experience. This was run in TALIAFERRO TIMES last week.
The following essay is excerpted from "Reflections: Windows on the Past;"
Louise Eubank Gray; 1995; published by the Brunswick Publishing Corporation,
1386 Lawrenceville Plank Road, Lawrenceville, VA 23868
- - - - -
To Love a Place
I once thought that a sense of place was a universal characteristic - like
the nose on your face, but I know better now. . . A few years ago a young man
came to me seeking some information on an ancestor, the first of the family
to leave England for the New World. He had settled in Middlesex County,
Virginia, in the late 1600s and built Wortham Hill. The family had
flourished and his progeny had spread westward as had many others, but some
had remained. Wonder of wonders for him, a descendant still lived in the
house built by the immigrant. . . . He told me: "I have never felt loyalty
to any particular place. When I was growing up we moved frequently. . . When
I went to college and was asked where I was from, I honestly didn't know what
to say. Now at last I know where I'm from."
This young man has an acquired sense of place.
Virginians have been credited with a kind of snobbishness. One quote goes:
"To be a Virginian either by birth, marriage, adoption, or even on one's
mother's side is an introduction to any state in the union, a passport to any
foreign country, and a benediction from above."
There are three categories of residents in the [Rappahannock River Valley] an
informant told me. First, of course, are the "born-heres;" they may trace
their ancestry to settlers of the 17th or 18th centuries. Next, are the
"brought-heres." They were fortunate enough to marry a native and become
permanent residents of the hallowed region. Then there are the "come-heres"
-- people who visited, found the area beautiful, the climate pleasant, the
people charming, and the rural atmosphere just what they wanted.
The "born-heres" who return seek out some familiar creek or they buy a few
acres near some post office on the verge of closing because the associations
of name and place have an attraction, subconscious or conscious.
What are the things which contribute to this sense of place? What are the
memories, often buried in the subconscious, which exert this powerful claim?
A friend who had spent many years away from his place in Virginia said that
the strongest memory which came to him in a wave of nostalgia was that of
odors. "Honeysuckle," he said, "and the smell of new-mown hay." These
brought mental pictures that evoked real homesickness.
This same sense of place brings to my ears, like an echo, speech patterns,
long forgotten, but surging from the subconscious to recreate persons and a
place.
"That dog ain't worth killin --couldn't trail a fox if it ran in
front of him."
"Them cresses will sure make you smack yo mouth."
"I'm mighty tired of yo long-winded tales, Josh."
Virginia is a green state -- beautiful in any season. Ride along a country
road even in the dead of winter and the bordering pines stand erect and
proud, the rich green branches softening the landscape, the tangy pine odor
freshening the air and the whispering of the slender needles caressing the
ear. Watch for an occasional cedar or holly, not interrupting the greenness,
but adding accent to the scene. In spring the greenness has a new intensity
with white dogwoods, purple-pink Judas trees, feathery shad bushes, and the
magenta of blossoming maples providing color to the landscape. Or pass along
a swampy area and the odor of laurel (Virginia magnolia) fills the air with
over-powering sweetness. >>
My last little tidbit for the day is a quote from a teacher-friend of mine,
quoting her grandfather.
"Gettin' old is NOT for sissies!"
TTYS
Sandi