an ode to my followers


Thanks for following meFollowers is nice,
and it’s worth saying twice:
followers? They’s NICE. 😉

One writes a blog,
one wants ta have followers.
What can I say? 🙂
To an author of a blog?
Followers is like flowerers.

Flowerers!  Yep. 😉
That spring up in
the vast space of, Online. 😮
They are so dang fine.

Thank you [frog]Like a, Surprise!
Like a gift, unexpected! 🙂
I’m tickled each time I get one.
(I’d be so sad if I had none. 😥 )

So I just wanna say,
you guyses?…

You make my day. 😉



sentimental saturday: 50th wedding anniversary photo, nathan noble & alida pruyn


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Alida (PRUYN) & Nathan NOBLE 50th Wedding Anniversary [1]

Nathan NOBLE (June 17, 1851 New Boston, Mercer County, Illinois – Sept. 15, 1928 Rochester, Olmsted County, Minnesota; buried Eventide Cemetery, Woonsocket, Sanborn County, South Dakota) — a 1st cousin four times removed to me — son of David Johnson NOBLE[2] & Sarah Elizabeth RADER[2], married Alida PRUYN (Nov. 7, 1851 New Boston, Mercer County, Illinois – Sept. 13, 1929 Vayland, Hand County, South Dakota; Eventide Cemetery), daughter of Walter Van Vechten PRUYN[2] & Sarah Nancy KIBBEY[2], on October 17, 1872; 50 years later, in 1922, the above photo was taken in celebration of their 50th wedding anniversary.

About Nathan & Alida:

Nathan NOBLE

“Nathan NOBLE, banker and ranchman, controlling important business interests and a citizen whose interest in all progressive movements finds tangible expression, was born in Mercer county, Illinois, June 17, 1851, a son of D. J. and Sarah (RAEDER) NOBLE, both of whom are now deceased. The father was a native of Indiana but the ancestral line is traced back to Ireland, whence came the great-great-grandfather of Nathan NOBLE, who settled in South Carolina in the latter part of the eighteenth century.

“In the public schools of his native county Nathan Noble acquired his preliminary education and later became a student in Hedding Seminary, a Methodist school at Abingdon, Illinois. In early manhood he took up the profession of teaching, which he followed for a short time, and in 1872, when twenty-one years of age, he came to Dakota, settling on a homestead claim in Lincoln county. On his removal here he was the first to ship goods over what was then known as the Dakota Southern Railroad, now the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul, and paid the first freight to that road and still has the receipt for the same in his possession. The road permitted Mrs. Noble to ride in the cab of the engine, as it was a construction train, no regular train having been put on the road at that time. This was the first railroad built in what is now South Dakota.

“For nine years Mr. Noble followed farming and then removed to Canton, where he established a lumberyard which he conducted successfully for ten years. At that time the Northwestern Railway was built and the town of Centerville was founded. He removed to that place, having there acquired a homestead and other lands that aggregated eight hundred acres. He continued for five years in the lumber business there and then engaged in general merchandising and also did some drainage engineering. In 1913 he removed to Woonsocket and became president of the Citizens National Bank, which had been founded in 1902. In 1914, when the institution became a member of the Federal Reserve, the name was changed to the First National Bank. It is capitalized for thirty-five thousand dollars and a general banking business is conducted along legitimate lines, the policy of the officers being to carefully safeguard the interests of depositors, so that the course of the bank has been such as has won public confidence in an unusual degree. In whatever business Mr. Noble has engaged he has displayed adaptability and enterprise which, combined with close application and keen sagacity, have won for him a most gratifying measure of success. He has a large ranch in Hand county comprising twelve hundred acres, on which he raises Hereford cattle.

“On the 17th of October, 1872, Mr. Noble was united in marriage to Miss Alida PRUYN, a daughter of Walter and Sarah (KIBBIE) PRUYN, of Mercer county, Illinois. They have five children, as follows: William P., who is a ranchman of Hand county and a breeder of blooded cattle; D. Walter, of Chehalis, who is president of the Chehalis National Bank; Harriet, the wife of Fred D. Henderson, who is conneatcd with the Security National Bank of Sioux Falls, South Dakota; Edith, the wife of R. A. Carhart, who acts as agent for the Methodist Book Concern at Mexico City, Mexico; and Ralph C, who is a graduate of the Dakota Wesleyan University and also of Purdue University of Indiana. The last named formerly served as engineer under Samuel H. Lee and is now cashier of the First National Bank of Woonsocket.

“Mr. Noble votes with the republican party nor does he regard lightly the duties of citizenship. He served as a member of the councils of Canton and Centerville and was mayor of the latter place at the time of his removal to Woonsocket.

“He has also been county commissioner of Lincoln county, was county surveyor of Turner county for six years and is now filling the position of deputy state surveyor. He belongs to the Modern Woodmen camp, and both he and his wife are active members of the Methodist church. He is serving on its board of trustees and does much to further and promote its work. He is a contributor to and member of the board of trustees of the Dakota Wesleyan University and stands for all that is progressive and helpful. His wife is very active in the Ladies Aid Society of the church and also in the Woman’s Christian Temperance Union. Mr. Noble possesses scholarly tastes and devotes considerable time to the study of current events which indicate the world’s advancement. He is interested in all progressive movements and keeps in touch with the vital and significant problems of the day that have to do with the upbuilding and development of city, state and nation. He believes that it should be a matter of personal concern to every public-spirited citizen to aid in the work of general improvement and he actively indorses [sic] those projects which are a matter of civic virtue and civic pride.”[3]


1., memorial no. 90716696, “Alida Pruyn Noble,” at , accessed July, 2016. Photo contributed to FindAGrave by Trudy Lindaman.

2. GREENE, Richard Henry; STILES, Henry Reed; DWIGHT, Melatiah Everett; MORRISON, George Austin; MOTT, Hopper Striker; TOTTEN, John Reynolds; PITMAN, H. Minot (Harold Minot); DITMAS, Charles Andrew; De FOREST, Louis Effingham; MANN, Conklin; MAYNARD, Arthur S; New York Genealogical and Biographical Society, The New York Genealogical and Biographical Record (New York, New York Genealogical and Biographical Society, 1886).  Page 272 online at , accessed July, 2016.

3. George Washington KINGSBURY; George Martin SMITH, History of Dakota Territory (Volume 5) (Chicago, IL, S.J. Clarke Publishing Company, 1915); pages 470-473. Online at , accessed July, 2016.

throwback thursday: what’s the model & year of this great old car, hey?


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Great Old Car! 😉 — With, L.-R., Granville S. GREGER, Nell BUCKNER, & Euin SWYERS [1]

Just look at the running board on this old baby…  Luv luv luv. 🙂

Somehow I’m thinking Euin Aaron SWYERS (Sept. 24, 1907 St. James, Reynolds Co., MO – Feb. 27, 1974 Salem, Dent Co., MO[2]; buried Cherryville Baptist Church Cemetery, Crawford, MO)[3], on the right, may be the car’s owner, but that’s only my best guess.

Standing with Euin are my great-grandfather Granville Smith GREGER (Jan. 20, 1864 Vandalia, Owen, IN – Oct. 17, 1961 KS; Anderson Cemetery, McDonald Co., MO[4]) and, my paternal aunt, Nell Alta BUCKNER (Sept. 29, 1915 TX – June 26, 1976 Indianapolis, Marion, IN[5]; Resurrection Cemetery, St. Louis, MO[6]).

One relative reminiscenced of Aunt Nell’s 2nd husband, Euin, “…he turned out to be  mean as hell…  I don’t know how long they were married.  He came out to the farm one time looking for Ed [Aunt Nell’s twin brother] — he had a pitchfork in hand.  I told him Ed had gone to town.  It was a scary incident.”

1. Susan M. Buckner family photo.

2. Monte Kessler emails to me, Sept., 2003.

3., memorial no. 62980824, “Euin A. Swyers,” at , accessed July, 2016.

4. Larry G. GREGER (1944-2007).  R.I.P. cousin; God bless.

5., “Indiana, Death Certificates, 1899-2011,” “Nell Alta SWYERS,” at,%20USA&cp=12&cpxt=1&msrpn__ftp=Normandy,%20St%20Louis,%20Missouri,%20USA&msrpn1__ftp=Beggs,%20Okmulgee,%20Oklahoma,%20USA&msgdy=1933&msgpn__ftp=St%20Louis,%20St%20Louis%20City,%20Missouri,%20USA&msfng=Jesse%20Grant%20(Grant)&msfns=BUCKNER&msmng=Golda%20Emmeta&msmns=GREGER&msbng0=Perry%20Jesse%20(Buck)&msbns0=BUCKNER&msbng1=Edd%20J.%20(Eddie)%20%5Btwin%5D&msbns1=BUCKNER&mssng0=Raymond%20Eugene&mssns0=FIELD&mssng1=Euin%20Aaron&mssns1=SWYERS&mscng0=Alta%20Rhea&mscns0=FIELD&_83004003-n_xcl=m&MSAV=1&pcat=ROOT_CATEGORY&h=4199458&db=IndianaVitalsDeaths&indiv=1&ml_rpos=1 , accessed July, 2016.

6. Catholic Cemeteries of the Archdiocese of St. Louis; “Burial Search,” at , accessed Aug., 2005.


“a poor, frightened, hungry woman came into camp with her clothes hanging in rags and tatters, with bare and bleeding feet, and a wild look in her eyes”


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A 3rd cousin of mine five times removed, Priscilla Aylette BUCKNER (May 6, 1821 Kentucky- May 13, 1908; buried Mount Holly Cemetery in the Lambert Reardon Lot, Little Rock, Pulaski Co., AR), wrote a wonderful genealogical & personal memoir that provides great glimpse into life in early America, as well as sharing some rather incredible stories.

A daughter of Simeon & Nancy (WATSON) BUCKNER, Priscilla married, Mar. 7, 1839 in Arkansas, Lambert Jeffrey REARDON (1813 Easton, Talbot, Maryland – Oct. 24, 1854; Mount Holly Cemetery), son of Lambert REARDON & Ann JEFFREY.[1]

This blog post is not meant to serve as a biographical sketch of either Priscilla or her husband; rather, as an introduction so to speak, to her 1901 book.[2] 🙂

REARDON, Priscilla Aylette (BUCKNER); Tuley, Katherine Edmondson, Reminiscences of the Buckner family (Chicago, 1901)_COVERREMINISCENCES of the
by Mrs. Priscilla Aylette [Buckner] Reardon

Compiled, Enlarged and Edited
by Katherine Edmondson Tuley (Chicago, 1901).


“Two months ago when these chronicles (the work of several summer vacations) were nearing completion, I was much pleased to learn that Mr. Wm. D. Buckner [i.e., William Dickinson BUCKNER (Aug. 4, 1856 VA – Aug. 27, 1938; buried Graham Cemetery, Orange, Orange Co., VA) of the Virginia stock, of which ours is a branch, had for ten years been collecting data for a history of the family, which, with our assistance he wishers to put into book form as soon as possible. It was a great relief to me, as I had felt that before putting this brief chronicle into your hands, I ought to go further back into the genealogical account of Thos. Buckner’s Virginia ancestors, and this involved more time and labor than I felt able to bestow. About the same time Mr. Buckner, hearing of the work I was doing through Dr. Dibrell of Little Rock, wrote asking for the use of my manuscript for his first book to which I replied that I would feel honored if I might contribute to his work even in the smallest degree. I understand that Mr. Buckner is a Civil Engineer and has taken up this family history for the mere love of it in the interims or business;— that he has employed the services of a reliable genealogist and author. Mr. Stuart C. Wade of 152 W. [unreadable] street, New York,—and that Mr. Buckner has made himself responsible for the printer’s bills for the forthcoming book. The gratitude we owe him for the work he has thus instituted and carried on, (so far, alone), will no doubt be a strong inducement to each of us to lend a hand according to our respective means, helping to bear the expense of the research—on the principle that ‘Many a Mickle Makes a Muckle.’

“Our dear kinswoman’s reminiscenses were [sent?] me some years ago with no thought save of entertaining my husband and myself.  I have tried to arrange them in some sort of chronological order, and have woven through them, in and out, much matter gathered from various letters of hers, and delightful talks with her, together with some matter of my own, and facts and dates from other members of the family. To her also we owe a debt of gratitude for the graphic pictures she has given us of the past, and the light thrown on that portion of the family life coming under her observation. She deserves the first place among our western Buckners as ‘the family historian’ of our branch per se. I hope her delightful reminiscences if I have not spoiled them in the telling— may serve to increase your desire to avail yourselves of the more complete knowledge to be gained in Mr. Buckner’s book of our Virginia and English relatives beginning with the Rev. Wm. Buckner, Chaplain to the Archibishop of Canterbury 1632, and coming down to those of the present day.

“Katherine E. Tuley.


“MY children have often urged me to write what I can remember of my own early days and the stories told me by my grandmother Hannah Burton Buckner, and by my own father and mother. My father, Simeon Buckner was the seventh child of Thomas Buckner, who was born in Virginia, probably about 1765 or ’66 I think, since he married Hannah Burton in 1787, who was also a Virginian by birth. Eight years later,—in 1795 they gathered together their little ones and goods and chattels and emigrated to Kentucky. Other children were born to them, twenty in all. They owned a fine farm in Jefferson county, not far from Louisville. [I remember? grandmother as a beautiful old lady, always dressed in black, wearing spotless white cap, with high crown and ruffles around the face, sitting by the open fire-place, with its tall, brass andirons, and red painted hearth—and I remember the reflection of my face in the shining brass of the andirons and fender. I remember aiso the ‘Love Apples’—or tomatoes, which grew in her garden, and later, it was at her table that I first ate them cooked, and what a dainty and well furnished table she kept. At the time of which I speak grandfather Buckner was dead, and the three youngest children Aunt Louisa, Uncle Eliphalet and Aunt Helena were living with her, and Uncle Eliphalet was studying law.

“I was her oldest grandchild, and I think a favorite one, for I was an absorbed listener to her stories. You can fancy us sitting round the fire, while she told this story which was as nearly as I can remember, about as follows:


” ‘When our family emigrated from Virginia to this country, we traveled in emigrant wagons, those big covered things sometimes called “Schooner” wagons. The country was full of Indians, most of them hostile to the whites, who were taking possession of the hunting.grounds, and some of them had old grudges to settle after their encounters with Simon Kenton and Rogers Clark, and so the men of our party were well armed and constantly on guard. When we camped at night the wagons were arranged in horseshoe form, the wheels chained together, the cattle in the center and the men [unreadable] by night, taking turns, two at a time. The roads were awful, and we crawled along, the feet of horses and oxen sticking in the mud at every step. Sometimes we would hear the whoops and yells of Indians, which terrified the women and children almost to death; for there were several families of us traveling together for mutual protection. We had been wittiin the borders of Kentucky some time, when at one of our camping places, a poor, frightened, hungry woman came into camp with her clothes hanging in rags and tatters, with bare and bleeding feet, and a wild look in her eyes which made us afraid of her.

” ‘We gave her food, and some articles of clothing and allowed her to take a good sleep, before she told her story.

” ‘She said she had been captured by the Indians the year before, who kept such close watch on her, that it was impossible to escape. During that time she had to perform the hardest labor, and was often beaten when her strength failed. A few days previous the Indian braves had gone on a big hunt leaving her guarded by an old Indian, who kept close watch on her. To put him off his guard she pretended to be cheerful and contented. When he finally fell asleep she made her escape noiselessly and in all haste. She had no idea which way she should go to reach the neartst settlement, but ran on in frantic haste to escape pursuit. For several days she subsisted on roocs and berries, and was growing very weak when she came to a swamp, there hearing the whoops of the Indians in pursuit she crawled inside of a big hollow log lying in the swamp and prayed fervently for deliverance. She heard the Indians running, and one of them stood on the log within which she was concealed, whooping and calling. At last she heard them going a way, and after a long time, when all was quiet, she crawled out and walked for hours till she came to a road which she followed till it parted in two directions. Fearing that one of them might lead her to the Indian camp, she hid in the bushes and prayed to be directed. Soon a little bird came chirping and fluttering about her, then flew off up one of the roads. Believing the Lord had sent the bird to guide her, she followed that road till it brought her to our camp. We were the first white people she had seen for a year and she cried for joy—poor thing.  For awhile she journeyed with us, theft with our assistance, she finally reached her home and kindred.’

“The farm which Thomas Buckner selected was in a beautiful and fertile region twenty miles from what is now the city of Louisville, but which must have been a small town then as it was founded in 1778, only seventeen years before grandfather emigrated to Kentucky. On that farm his children were raised, and later I myself was born there. I have heard some of the aunts and uncles say it was a busy community, where besides the farm work, in which grandfather and the bigger boys took part, as well as the negroes, there was the weaving, spinning, dyeing, knitting and sew-‘ng to be done for that large family of whites and [blacks?]. The shoemaker in those days traveled from farm to farm making and repairing shoes for the family, for his board and wages, and he must have found the Buckner farm the most profitable one in that region. Uncle Ben one of the youngest sons used to tell of how the mischievous ones, of whom he was the leader, would beg the shoemaker to put ‘squeaks’ in father’s mother’s and [unreadable]other’s shoes, that the children might have warning of their approach, when they were in mischief. For all that they grew up a fine looking, energetic and capable set of men and women much respected in the communities in which they lived. After my father and mother had settled in Louisville, a distant cousin of the family called Col. Nick or Nicholas Buckner used to come to our house and he told us many stories about the Indians. He was a great Indian fighter, and hated ‘the red devils’ as he called them, and we children were spell-bound listeners to his tales. He had a dramatic way of acting them out, taking aim with his gun at an imaginary foe in a way which thrilled us to the marrow. One of these was about the…


“Not far from the Buckner farm was a beautiful spring of water called the ‘Chineworth Spring’ from the family who owned the place. One day a report reached Col. Nick that a party of Indians had been seen near Chineworth place. In great haste he started with his company of Indian fighters, armed with shot guns and rifles for the Chineworth farm. No Indians were found at the Spring, but when they reached the cabin, seeing no signs of life about they pushed open the door and there to their horror saw Mr. Chineworth on the floor dead, and his murdered children around him—all had been scalped. One child only had escaped death. Pursuing their search they found in another room this child, a little girl, trying to kindle a flame by blowing on a few coals left in the fireplace. With sobs she told of hearing the dreadful cries and blows, and knew that the Indians were killing them all and had slipped out ot bed on the side next the wall and hid behind the bed curtain, by which means she escaped the tomahawk and scalping knife of the Indians who passed through the room without seeing her. Being asked about her mother she said ‘They are all dead but me!’ Pursuing their search they found in the yard traces of blood, following [unreadable] they reached the spring house, a rude cabin built over the outlet to the spring in which milk and butter were kept. Here they found Mrs. Chineworth covered with blood from a wound in the body, and her head scalped. She said the Indians drove a spear through her body as she ran, which pinned her to the earth, and taking her scalp left her for dead. Bye and bye she returned to consciousness and managed to pull the spear from her body, then swooned again; but finally crawled on hands and knees to the spring, bathed her wounds and with a piece of her skirt managed to bind them up and waited for help.”[2]


😮 OMGosh. am I going to just leave you hanging here?! Well, yes, actually, that’s the plan… 😉  For the rest of the book, go to via the link in my Endnotes below… 🙂  (You can resume the story at page 10 of either the full-book-view top of the url-page below, or, the pdf version.)


1., memorials no.  90324204, “Priscilla Aylett Buckner Reardon,” at , created by P. V. Hays; and, no.  6689587, “Lambert Jeffrey Reardon,” at , created by “K.”

2. REARDON, Priscilla Aylette (BUCKNER); Tuley, Katherine Edmondson, Reminiscences of the Buckner family (Chicago, 1901); online at at , accessed July, 2016.  Downloadable in several formats.  Not in copyright per


tell me again about our great-grandpapa whose skull was made into a silver drinking cup, grandmama


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I like to imagine an eagerly interested great-grandchild one day finally sharing my interest in family history, perhaps asking with most genuine enthusiasm, Tell me again about our great-grandpapa whose skull was made into a silver drinking cup, grandma??

At which I will launch into the tale of my 31st great-grandfather Prince Svyatoslav I Suitislaus of Kiev[1], so appreciative of this wee grandboy or girl who shares my interest in the family tree.

Prince Svyatoslav I Suitaslav of Kiev [2]

Well, I will say beaming, According to Nestor the monk in the Russian Primary Chronicle, Prince Svyatoslav I, son of Grand Prince of Kiev Great-Grandpapa Igor the Wise, “was a skilled warrior who overthrew the Khazars (Turks of the North Caucasus).  While on an expedition along the river Dneiper he and his men were set upon by Patzinaks, a tribe of hostile Slavs.  After fierce fighting Syvantoslav was killed, his skull then used to make a silver mounted drinking cup.”[3]

Ohhh! my rapt audience will exclaim wide-eyed.  Poor great-grandpapa!

No kidding! my rolling eyes would most certainly respond.

Reads the 14th-century Russian Primary Chronicle,

“Beginning of the reign of Svyatoslav, Igor’s son.  In the year 6454 (946). Olga and her son Sviatoslav attracted many brave warriors and went on Derevskoy ground.  …  And when the clash between the two armies to battle, Svyatoslav threw a spear in Drevlyane and the spear flew between the horse’s ears and struck the horse’s legs, for he was still a child Svyatoslav.  And they said Sveneld and Asmud:  ‘The prince has already begun, follow, the squad, for the prince.’  And won Drevlyane.  Drevlyans also ran and shut in their cities.”[4]

Here I will pause to share sadly with my young audience the fact that, Svyatoslav’s mother, Olga, Regent of Kiev, was a very wicked woman who murdered — I lower my voice — hundreds, hundreds of men, because she was mad at them for her husband’s murder.  Dramatic pause.  But of course, I add, Two wrongs don’t make a right, correct? as my imaginary, open-mouthed-at-this-point great-grandchild shakes his/her head.

But an amazing thing happened, I relate.  Olga later turned very very good and, became a saint!

And then,

“Olga lived as with [her] son Svyatoslav, and taught him to be baptized, but he did not think to listen to this; …only sneered…”  “And Olga used to say:  ‘I know God, my son, and rejoice; and you will …too…’ ”  But Svyatoslav would not listen, “saying, ‘How can I accept another faith alone And my squad will scoff?’ ”  His mother Olga kept hopefully encouraging him to be baptized but, “He did not listen to his mother, continuing to live by the customs of the heathen,…”[4]

As if unaware that the child who fails to listen to their mother “falls into trouble, as it is written:  ‘If the [child does not listen to the] father or mother does not listen, then death will,’ ” Svyatoslav continued to ignore his mum…[4]

Olga “prayed for his son and for the people every day and night, bringing up his son to manhood and to his age.”[4]

“In the year…964…when Svyatoslav grew and matured, he began to collect a lot of brave warriors,…and [do] a lot of fighting.  In campaigns [there] drove behind him no carts, no boilers, not boiled meat, but thinly sliced horse meat, or animals, or beef and roasted on coals, [to] eat; He did not have a tent,” and he slept in crude conditions, “as [did] the rest of his men,…”[4]

Our way-back great-grandpapa Svyatoslav is said to have fought “incessant campaigns” [<- fancy words for fighting lots & lots of wars, just one after the other, after the other].

Until, at only age 28 years of age,

“in the year…972…when spring came, Svyatoslav went to the rapids…Prince Pecheneg…killed Svyatoslav, and took his head, and took the cup from the skull,…and drank from it.”[4]

Eyes ever-astonished at this, my imaginary great-grandchild concurs, So young…  Tsk tsk…  He should have listened to his mother…

He rEally should have, I murmur in agreement. 😉

The Death of Prince Svyatoslav I Suitaslav of Kiev [2]


An illustrated audio called, “The Life And Death Of Sviatoslav I of Kiev,” now at YouTube, may appeal to interested adults. 😉  (Exactly who uploaded it is not clear to this blogger, but, it’s quite good.)[5]



1. Norwegian genealogist and historian Signe Elisabeth Zijdemans, “Ahnentafel of Sally Marie Eilertsen Fjelse,” prepared 23 Oct., 2001; in possession of Susan M. Buckner.

2. Public domain photo; artist unknown.  [Educate me.]

3. Merlindale Diorama Company website [apparently no longer in existence]:  text accompanying [THE most WONDERFUL!] diorama poses of Prince Svyatoslav I Suitislaus.

4. Russian Primary Chronicle [author historically presumed to be Nestor, a monk], at, , accessed July, 2016.

5. “The Life And Death Of Sviatoslav I of Kiev,” YouTube [contributor not known to me], accessed July, 2016.

avery buckner, son of rev. benjamin buckner & sarah avery



A 1st cousin six times removed from me, Avery BUCKNER (1775 Virginia Colony, America[1] – Abt. 1856 Georgia[2]), is the 5th child of Baptist minister Rev. Solomon Benjamin[6] or Benjamin[3] BUCKNER &, Sarah AVERY.[3][6]

Professional genealogist Jeannette Holland Austin writes in her book The Georgians: Genealogies of Pioneer Settlers, “Avery BUCKNER,…m. ca 1801 Mary DANIEL, dau. of Thomas DANIEL and Mary BARROW (dau. of John BARROW),… ISSUE:
⦁ “Sarah m. Wiley J. HARRIS 11/1823 Putnam Co.;
⦁ “Amanda m. Henry STRICKLAND 7/9/1823 Putnam Co.;
⦁ “Eliza [Elizabeth] m. Seaborn ELLIS 11/1/1832 Putnam Co.;
⦁ “Parham, b. 1817 m. Eliza Ann MIDDLEBROOKS, dau. of Alfred MIDDLEBROOKS and his w., Sarah ELLIS;
⦁ “Leroy m. Prudence CHAPMAN, dau. of Isaiah CHAPMAN and Prudence P. SLAUGHTER 7/6/1839 Monroe Co., Ga., [who] m. 2d, Richmond DAVIS, 12/24/1835, Putnam Co., Ga.”[3]

Omitted from Austin’s book are the ADDITIONAL ISSUE of:
⦁ Firstborn son Freeland BUCKNER[4][5][6] (May 8, 1802 North Carolina – Apr. 15, 1896 McCaysville, Fannin County, Georgia)[4][5], who married, Mar. 21, 1833, Nancy HARVEY[4][5] (Sept. 5, 1811 Georgia – Nov. 19, 1895 Fannin County, Georgia)[7], daughter of Evan HARVEY & Ursula JACKSON.[8]
Urania (Laurany)[4] or Lourana (Lourainy) BUCKNER[5] (Abt. 1814 – Jan. 3, 1887 Monroe County, Georgia)[4][5]; married Richard[4] or Richmond[5] DAVIS (1816 Georgia – ) on Christmas Eve 1835, in Georgia.[4][5]
Candis BUCKNER (Abt. 1824 Georgia – ); married Albert N. MIDDLEBROOKS May 18, 1837 in Georgia.[5]

PROPERTY–  Avery Buckner “owned 45 acres of land in January 1807 on the west side of Peeler’s Creek adjacent to the Solomon Benjamin Buckner and Jessee Buckner properties. Avery purchased this land from Hailey/Haley Tatum for $90.

“On September 8, 1807, Avery sold 78 3/4 acres of land on the west side of the Yadkin River to Hailey/Haley Tatum. The land was adjacent to the Jesse Tatum (Hailey’s father), Edward Yarbrough, and John Poyer properties.”[6]

An 1851 Georgia Property Tax Digest includes “Freeland,” “Leroy” & “Avery BUCKNER” listed one after the other, leading me to speculate that the record is for “this Avery.”  Avery shows to own six slaves; 262 acres “Oak and Hickory Upland,” “3rd Quality;” “Number of Lot of Fraction, District and Section,” “6,” “District;” “County Lands Lie In,” Monroe.[9]  (It’s extremely faint, or, I would include it here.)

RELIGIOUS AFFILIATION– “Avery joined by letter dated 12 July 1839, pg 61 a Buckner Baptist Church of Christ at Smyrna GA, was a Mason, data from Tift Baptist College at Forsyth GA. Records from 1823-1889.”[5]

PROBATE of Avery BUCKNER’s Will occurred on Mar. 26, 1856 in Monroe County, Georgia, and for your viewing/reading/research pleasure are included here, jpegs of pages from the source indicated.[10]  (I’m happy to oblige if readers would like me to email them jpegs of the Will & probate pages below:  just make a request in this post’s comment section and I will respond pretty much forthwith. 🙂 )

Avery BUCKNER Will Probate (1of2) [10]

Avery BUCKNER Will Probate (2of2) [10]

Avery had siblings…
⦁ Freeland BUCKNER (Abt. 1767 – ).[4]
⦁ Tillman BUCKNER (Circa 1770 – 1810 Putnam County, Georgia); married, in 1803 Putnam County, Elizabeth FREENEY (1783 Maryland – ).[3]
⦁ Charles BUCKNER (Circa 1772 – 1817 Putnam County, Georgia).[3] Married (1.) Mary Clairborne BANKS; married (2.) on Apr. 12, 1863, Martha Jane GRIFFIN.[5]
⦁ Parham BUCKNER (Circa 1776 – 1843 Monroe County, Georgia); married Sarah DEVEREAUX.[3]
⦁ John BUCKNER (Circa 1785 – 1820 Putnam County, Georgia); married, on June 24, 1807, in Rowan County, North Carolina, Lucretia DANIEL.[3]
⦁ Henry BUCKNER.[3]
⦁ Daniel BUCKNER (Jan. 22, 1788 Rowan County, North Carolina – ); married Charlotte UNKNOWN.[3] Died Jan. 5, 1854 Baldwin County, Georgia.[5]

1., “Avery BUCKNER,” “Family Data Collection – Births,” at , accessed July, 2016.

2., “Avery BUCKNER,” “Georgia, Wills and Probate Records, 1742-1992 [“Wills, Vol A-B, 1824-1866”], at , accessed July, 2016.

3. The Georgians: Genealogies of Pioneer Settlers, by Jeannette Holland Austin [professional genealogist]; Genealogical Publishing Co., 1984, pages 45-46, online at , accessed July, 2016.

4. RootsWeb, World Connect Project Family Tree: “Judy Buckner’s Genealogy Homepage,” contact, Judy Buckner <> — E. LaMar Buckner’s genealogy research — accessed July, 2006.

5. Buckners From England to America, Naomi Ellis Buckner, 1998 (self-published).

6. Avery BUCKNER descendant Joel Barry BUCKNER email to me dated June, 2007.

7. “Cemetery Surveys Inc.,” Copyright © 1999, Rose M. Birdwell, Nikki Leigh Neblett & Nema Hunter Mobley, at [“Nancy Buckner”], accessed Jan., 2005.

8., genealogy compilation of Bernice (Brooks) Casey & her son Robert Brooks Casey, “Olliff Family History 9-277,” at , accessed July, 2016.

9., “Avery Buckner,” “Georgia, Property Tax Digests, 1793-1892,” at , accessed July, 2016.

10., “Avery Buckner,” “Georgia, Wills and Probate Records, 1742-1992,” “Wills, Vol A-B, 1824-1866,” at , accessed July, 2016.

of mules and other people: remembrances of life on a georgia farm, by thomas (tom) ernest buckner

Of Mules And Other People: Remembrances Of Life On A Georgia Farm
“By Thomas (Tom) Ernest BUCKNER

“These events/remembrances took place on the Ernest Calhoun Buckner (1880-1958) & Lois Newton Buckner (1904-1991) Douglas County [Georgia, U.S.A.] family farm.

Ernest Calhoun BUCKNER & wife Lois (NEWTON) [1]

“You will likely find a variety, or should I say an abundance, of animals on farms.  At least that was true when I grew up on a farm.  Many were the domesticated versions of cats, dogs, cows, mules, horses, and perhaps chickens.  I say ‘“perhaps chickens’ because I could never decide whether they should be called ‘domesticated’ when they were so hard to catch.  And that reminds me of the tale of a farmer who developed a three legged chicken so he, his wife, and son could all enjoy a drumstick with their dinner by killing only one chicken.  As the story goes the chicken was so fast on its feet it could outrun a speeding car.  When asked ‘How good are the drumsticks?’ the farmer quipped, ‘Don’t know, never caught one.’

“Then there are the mostly undomesticated animals such as rabbits, squirrels, mice, rats, snakes lizards, toads and such, and I must not forget mosquitoes and flies.  And that reminds me of the time the farmer, his wife, and son, not having succeeded in catching a chicken, went to town and ordered chicken at the local eatery.  Upon finishing their drumsticks the farmer when asked if they would like dessert and having noticed a pie sitting on the counter answered, ‘Yes, a slice of that raisin pie would be nice.’  The waitress as she waved her hand over the pie remarked, ‘not raisin, apple.’

“Some of our animals had names. Dogs had names like Spot and Red (my favorite) and others long forgotten.  Unfortunately, Red and Spot were destroyed by the county sheriff due to a rabies scare in the community.  The sheriff would have quarantined them but they became suspicious and would not allow me or any other person to approach them.  That left no choice but for the sheriff to destroy them.  An act, for which my sister, Mary, never forgave him.

“We had cats which appeared from nowhere and proliferated at rates at which rabbit families would have been proud.  If our cats had names I am not aware.  That was my sisters’ domain.  The cats were not allowed in the house.  Keeping them out was no easy task for they would back up against the kitchen door like water behind a dam and spill in if the door was left ajar or not closed fast enough.  Our dogs never had such expectations except Spot, who disappeared for several weeks one year and upon returning home would not take ‘no’ for an answer regarding house entry when it heard a loud noise like thunder or a gunshot.  On such occasions it was hazardous to be between the dog and a door.  If it succeeded in achieving entry it could usually be found hiding under a bed somewhere in the house.  We surmised that spot had been shot because upon his return, his friendly wagging tail had drooped to the floor and never wagged again.  Evidence of scarring near his spine attested to that theory.

“Our Mules were named but not just any names. They were named for family members such as myself and my siblings.  I suppose their naming in such a way was because they were so much a part of the family, an honor reserved for hard working contributors to the welfare of the farm.  Tom, Mary, and Joe got us through a number of years.  I don’t know why we never named a mule Elizabeth or David, the youngest and oldest of my siblings, maybe because they already held special places of honor as the alpha and omega or maybe we just ran out of more easily articulated names before we ran out of mules or before we discovered we could have abbreviated them Liz or Dave; something that never occurred to country folk like us so isolated from such worldly nickname practices.

“All that about names brings to mind our last mule, Mary, who was replaced by a Ford tractor in 1949.  Mary was an exceptionally large mule who was bought at a quite reasonable price because she was very skittish, and too, she had a slow-healing injury to a forefoot which required several months of treatment requiring three strong men to control her for daily treatments.  Whether it was that experience or some other experience or inbred quality that caused her to be so nervous and skittish I’ll never know.  Whatever it was contributed to a character that, to refer to her as ‘nervous’ and ‘skittish,” is an insult to an animal of such intelligence and spirit.  Therefore; I will no longer refer to her in those terms which should become obvious in the upcoming discussion as well as why I keep calling her a ‘who’ rather than a ‘what’ or ‘it.’

“Hoof Beats in The Night

“Late many a night it was not unusual to be awakened by thundering hoof beats.  They were barely audible as Mary galloped through the woods behind our farmhouse and then increased in volume as Mary came up the side yard finally reaching a crescendo as she pounded across the front yard, a sound which must have been reminiscent of Paul Revere’s midnight ride through the streets of Concord.  It can only be imagined that Mary, like Paul Revere, was trying to warn us of some impending attack.  Most likely; however, she, like many of us, would rather risk insults than be ignored.

“We soon learned that her efforts to warn us or, I suspect, merely gain some attention, need not require us to get out of bed and try to round her up.  That response would prove to be an exercise in futility.  When we would awake mornings she would be grazing contentedly in the yard or in a nearby farm field but never far away.  One memorable occasion is illustrious of Mary’s personality.

“But first, a short tale I thought was a joke until I knew Mary.

“It seems a farmer had a mule which would not stay inside the fence.  It would always jump the fence and no solution was found until the farmer learned that he merely had to release the mule outside the fence and it would jump in.

“A Memorable Occasion

“One morning after one of Mary’s typical ‘midnight rides’ I found her grazing in a field about a hundred yards from our house.  Gathering up her bridle I approached her whereupon she stopped grazing and stood eyeing me sideways as I slowly approached.  When I got within an arms reach of her she bolted, stopping a few hundred feet away.  That behavior was repeated until we reached a neighbor’s barn whereupon she jumped over a six-foot fence into that barn lot leaving a few belly hairs on the top fence strand.  Upon cornering her she jumped out and disappeared across the fields in the direction of the next farm about three quarters of a mile further away.  When we reached that farm she had jumped the fence into that lot and at that time the chase had taken us about a mile from our barn.  When cornered there, however, she easily cleared the fence and disappeared in the direction of our farm.  Upon returning home we found her waiting in her stable with an ‘AHA! GOTCHA! WHAT KEPT YA!?’ attitude.

“Skittish” Mary BUCKNER The Mule, Circa 1944 On The Douglas Co., GA, Farm [1]

“If possible, I would apologize to Mary for suggesting that she was skittish.  She, like many of us, simply had a very sensitive nature.  When hitched to a plow, wagon or other tool you might damage the appliance or destroy some crops if you spoke other than softly to her.  A barely audible suggestion (not command) like a soft cluck to start or softly spoken whoa to stop was all that was necessary.  Anything louder and her head would jerk back and you had better have a good grip on the reins and the plow or other tool to which she was hitched.

“Other Mules

“All our mule stories weren’t about Mary although the most memorable were about her.  I remember one event surrounding one of our mules when I was about nine years old.  It involved a mule but it wasn’t about a mule.  Me, my older brother, and two friends from a neighboring farm were playing in our pasture one fine Sunday afternoon.  Momma and Daddy were away for the afternoon.  In that pasture there was a gully about ten feet deep and fifteen feet across and hanging from a tall tree on the edge of that gully was a wonderful vine swing on which we swung across the gully pretending we were Tarzan.  That afternoon we had tired of being ‘Ape Man’ and began to explore other avenues of excitement.  It occurred to someone in the group we ought to be cowboys.  Having no horse, the best thing available was one of our mules.  My older brother and the older of our two friends bridled the mule and were taking turns pretending to be Gene Autry or some other notable cowboy.  My brother, when it came his turn felt he ought to prod the mule into a gallop (a trot at best) because what kind of cowboy wouldn’t gallop.  He, with some difficulty, prodded the mule to a trot and the area being wooded and rough it wasn’t long before he fell to the ground landing on a tree root.  Upon hearing his cries we converged on him lying on the ground moaning and holding his arm.  From the obvious distortion of his arm we guessed that his arm was broken or dislocated.

“The mule was hastily returned to the barn lot and because of an unspoken but perceived prohibition of riding our mules we concocted the story that the injury was caused by a fall from the vine swing and that is what we told our parents when they returned.  The culmination of that lie led to the demise of our fine vine swing which daddy mercilessly chopped from the tree.  If we had told the truth I don’t think daddy would have destroyed the mule and we would have still have had our swing.  To my memory we never told him about riding the mule.  I will never know what punishment would have been exacted had he known.  Probably little, except a severe reminder, ‘stay off the mules, you might get hurt.’  In those days of little or no money any injury was serious if it cost anything. If a doctor was involved, it was very serious.

“Mules and Watermelons

“The major crop on our farm was home grown tomatoes, the next being large watermelons of a variety developed by my grandfather (William Ernest Buckner 1842-1923 a civil war veteran) and referred to as Buckner melons, the seeds to which have long been lost.  They were developed for the local market and had a thin rind no thicker than about one half inch.  The red, sweet meat extended from the heart to the rind and it was fabled at least by family that many grew as large as 100 pounds.  We never thought to use our steelyard to weigh them, never occurring to us that scales used for weighing cotton could have been used to weigh watermelons.  The largest and best of our melons were enjoyed by ourselves, relatives and neighbors because they provided seeds for next year’s crop.  Needless to say because of their size and fragility they could not stand the rigors of bulk handling and long distance hauling in large truck loads.  Daddy, in his old melon-laden beat up pickup truck, was pulled over by the Atlanta Police to buy a melon on at least one occasion.

“Depending on the variety and quantity of our crops we would make up to five trips per week to the Atlanta Farmer’s market but three was most common.

“On one occasion daddy had taken a load of produce to the Georgia Farmer’s market located in Atlanta leaving me and my older brother to haul a load of watermelons from the field in our two horse (mule) wagon.  As we were loading the melons, our two friends of the mule-riding fiasco showed wanting us to go to the movies with them.  We explained that we couldn’t because of the need of hauling the melons to the house whereupon they insisted on helping us get done in time to accompany them to town (a three-mile walk).  Upon loading the wagon we chose to ascend a rather steep and rutted field road to save time.  But the mule team consisting of Mary and Tom didn’t cooperate.  Mary was high spirited and energetic but Tom was just the opposite.  No sooner had we started up the hill when Tom decided he wanted to stop but with the load being too heavy for Mary alone progress halted.  It was necessary for both of them to start together but that became impossible since Tom had to be lashed with the reins and yelled at to get him to move and as you may recall Mary insisted on a quiet cluck to start.  I leave it to your imagination to describe the scene.  The two mules alternately started and stopped in fits and jerks until finally the two lunged together in a mighty heave.  The tail gate splintered with a crunch and an avalanche of melons spilled onto the ground.  Rivulets of melon juice trickled down the ruts.  I remember virtually nothing about the rest of the day except there was no movie that day.  I don’t even remember daddy’s reaction when he returned that evening.  Perhaps there was little since sometimes parents must just shake their heads and move on.”[2]


Residing In 2016 In Thomas Ernest BUCKNER’s East TN backyard: A Wheel From The Douglas County Farm Melon Wagon [1]


Thomas (Tom) Ernest BUCKNER is a 5th cousin twice removed from me, the 2nd son of Ernest Calhoun BUCKNER (May 27, 1880 Cobb County, Georgia, USA – May, 1958 Douglas County, Georgia; buried Mount Harmony Baptist Church Cemetery, Mableton, Cobb County, Georgia) & Ernest’s 2nd wife, Lois NEWTON (Feb. 28, 1904 Georgia – June 6, 1991 Johnson City, Washington County, Tennessee; Mount Harmony Baptist Church Cemetery), daughter of Thomas Norman NEWTON & Emma Harriett (Hattie) ALLEN.

Ernest married 1st, Minnie Beatrice EASON (Jan. 24, 1883 Georgia – July 22, 1924 Cobb County, Georgia; Mount Harmony Baptist Church Cemetery), daughter of Nathaniel Manuel EASON & Sarah Ann SMITH.

A biGGG Thank you!, shout-out to Tom Ernest BUCKNER… 🙂 😉


1. Joel Barry Buckner family photo; used here with permission.

2. Thomas (Tom) Ernest BUCKNER; June, 2016.

free access to military records at findmypast june 27-july 4, 2016

HAALLLOOO genealogy enthusiasts everywhere, this one bears broadcast 🙂 :

Find your military heroes in our free records” —  “In commemoration of the 100th anniversary of the Battle of the Somme, we’ve made our 65 million world military records and over 265 million British and Irish censuses FREE for a week. Find your family making history in the most comprehensive collection of British Army records from World War 1 available online.“[1]

Notice of this freebie offer was emailed me in the form of “Genea-Musings” blogger Randy Seaver’s post, “Free Access to Findmypast Military Records from 27 June to 4 July”[2], which I could not for the lifeof me figure out a way to simply re-blog, so, I am blogging a post on a post, how’s that?! 🙂 .



1. Both graphic, and, accompanying “caption”-text from FindMyPast at , accessed June 25, 2016.

2. “Genea-Musings” blog, Randall J. Seaver’s, at , accessed June 25, 2016.

can anyone help me make lemonade out of this lemmon?

Genealogy research brings all of us eventually to

….a brick wall.

Eleanor (Ellen) (LEMMON) NOBLE’s Grave Marker [1]

One of my most frustrating brick walls is, who the hey were the parents of my 3rd-great-grandmum, Eleanor (Ellen) LEMMON (Feb. 21, 1811 Kentucky, USA – Mar. 31, 1895 Iowa; buried at Winslow Cemetery, Jefferson Twp., Poweshiek County, Iowa).

Joseph NOBLE’s Grave Marker [2]

By the 1850 U.S. Federal Census, that Oh Happy Day one where not only heads of households are named but, all household members, Eleanor was already married to my 3rd-great-grandfather Joseph NOBLE (Mar. 21, 1806 either Indiana, or, Ohio – Nov. 27, 1883 Poweshiek County, Iowa; Winslow Cemetery).  Joseph & “Eleanor LEMMONS” were married Jan. 21, 1830, in, Union County, Indiana, when Eleanor was 19 years old.

I’ve only been trying to crack the mystery of Eleanor’s parents’ identities on & off for the past decade & a half, maybe?  Numerous fellow researchers have been at it for much longer…  (This is some comfort. 😉 )

All it takes, though, is for one person to happen on one old box of attic-relegated documents; or, for a birth certificate thought unrecorded to manifest itself; or, for a pertinent newspaper article to be discovered; and, like a row of dominoes falling, numbers of facts could fall in place.  (Perhaps this very blog post may tease out a lead!  I am hopeful.)

So here goes:  together, Joseph NOBLE & “Eleanor LEMMONS“[3] / “Eleanor LEMMON“[4] / “Elenor LEMON“[5] / and even, “Eleanor LERMON“[6], had the following children (gleaned from the 1850 through 1880 U.S. Censuses):

  1. Mary Margaret (NOBLE) FALLS’ Grave Marker [7]

    My 2nd great-grandmother Mary Margaret NOBLE (Feb. 21, 1831 Indiana – Feb. 20, 1899 Polk County, Missouri; Greenwood Cemetery (Section 5, Lot 23), Bolivar, Polk County, Missouri), who married, Sept. 14, 1851, in Mercer County, Illinois, John Jeremiah or Jeremiah John (Jerry) FALLS (Jan. 2, 1815 Botetourt County, Virginia – Jan. 24, 1877 Benton County, Iowa; Chambers Cemetery, Chelsea, Tama County, Iowa).  Jerry, son of John FALLS, Jr., & Elizabeth [JENKINS?], married 1st, Nov. 5, 1835, in Chetopa Twp., Wilson County, Kansas, Elizabeth MARLATT (Nov. 15, 1818 West Virginia – 1849), daughter of Abraham Thomas MARLATT & Elizabeth BELAR.
  2. Mariah Elizabeth (Maria) NOBLE (Dec. 15, 1835 Mercer County, Illinois – June 14, 1910 Belle Plaine, Benton County, Iowa; Oak Hill Cemetery, Belle Plaine, Benton Counry, Iowa).  On Sept. 24, 1856, Mariah married James Ross CUNNINGHAM (July 25, 1830 Fayette County, Indiana – May 2, 1898 Poweshiek County, Iowa; Oak Hill Cemetery), son of John Hays CUNNINGHAM & Margaret (Martha) JACK.

    Mariah E. (Maria) (NOBLE) & James R. CUNNINGHAM Grave Marker [8]

  3. Sarah Elizabeth NOBLE (Feb. 17, 1838 New Boston, Mercer County, Illinois – Oct. 12, 1913; Oaklawn Cemetery, Oakland, Pottawattamie County, Iowa), married Uriah CLARK (May 16, 1835 Beaver County, Pennsylvania – Dec. 6, 1914 Iowa; Oaklawn Cemetery), son of Charles CLARK & Sarah McCREARY, on June 25, 1857, in New Boston, Mercer County, Illinois.

    Sarah Elizabeth (NOBLE) & Uriah CLARK Grave Marker [9]

  4. William B. NOBLE (Oct. 24, 1841 Illinois – June 15, 1920 Poweshiek County, Iowa; Hartwick (aka Union) Cemetery, Hartwick, Poweshiek County, Iowa).  Married Mary Francis REED (Mar. 11, 1848 Eliza, Mercer County, Illinois – July 11, 1902 Jefferson Twp., Poweshiek County, Iowa; Hartwick Cemetery), daughter of Harper REED & Sarah (DELABARRE) CANADA, on Aug. 16, 1866 in Mercer County, Illinois.

    William B. NOBLE & Mary F. (REED) Grave Marker [10]

  5. Nancy Malinda NOBLE (Abt. 1844 Illinois – AFTER July 9, 1860).
  6. Jane Cynthia NOBLE — “Syntha Jane” in the 1850 Census 😉 — (Jan. 10, 1847 New Boston, Mercer County, Illinois – Apr. 9, 1921 Belle Plaine Twp., Benton County, Iowa; Hartwick Cemetery (aka Union), Hartwick, Poweshiek County, Iowa); married, Jan. 7, 1869 in Iowa County, Iowa, Jay WILSON (June 27, 1840 Mercer County, Illinois – Oct. 14, 1896 Belle Plaine, Benton County, Iowa; Hartwick Cemetery), son of Allen WILSON & Henrietta DRYDEN.

    Jane Cynthia (NOBLE) & Jay WILSON Grave Marker [11]

  7. Joseph Edward NOBLE & 1st wife Helen LeVinia (BLAKE) [12]

    Joseph Edward NOBLE (Aug. 24, 1849 Illinois – Oct. 24, 1917 Stilwell, Johnson County, Kansas; Aubry Cemetery, Aubry, Johnson County, Kansas).  Joseph married 1st, Sept. 27, 1871 in Poweshiek County, Iowa, Helen LeVinia BLAKE (Mar. 21, 1855 Iowa – Oct. 28, 1880; Dover Pioneer Cemetery, Koszta, Iowa County, Iowa), daughter of George W. BLAKE & Susan CRITTENDEN.  After Helen’s death at only 25 years of age from consumption, Joseph married Rosella E. (Rose) SHIELDS (Nov. 1, 1856 New Boston, Mercer County, Illinois – Mar. 9, 1937 Stilwell, Johnson County, Kansas; Aubry Cemetery), daughter of Richard SHIELDS & Sarah B. (Sally) WILSON.
  8. Irena Alice NOBLE (Mar. 23, 1851 Illinois – Aug. 1, 1941; Oakdale Cemetery, Wilton, Muscatine County, Iowa).  Irena married 1st, Nov. 30, 1871 in Toledo, Tama County, Iowa, Millard Fillmore BLAKE (Abt. 1851 Illinois – ), son of George W. BLAKE & Susan CRITTENDEN.  Irena married 2nd, in 1899, Alexander C. WEATHERLY (Mar. 19, 1848 Franklin, Johnson County, Indiana – July 31, 1921 Wilton, Muscatine County, Iowa; Oakdale Cemetery), son of Jesse WEATHERLY & Harriet BOWEN.  Alexander married 1st, on Mar. 8, 1866, Evaline LOWE.

    Irena Alice (NOBLE) & Alexander C. WEATHERLY Grave Marker [13]

  9. Charles H. (Charlie) NOBLE (Aug. 28, 1856 Mercer County, Illinois – Aug. 26, 1871 Iowa; Winslow Cemetery, Poweshiek County, Iowa).  Died at only 14 years…

    Charles H. (Charlie) NOBLE’s Grave Marker [14]


So…  There it is:  among my most frustrating brick walls.  From exactly whom — from where in Kentucky?? — did my 3rd-great-grandmum, Eleanor (Ellen) LEMMON come?

Meanwhile:  I went & spit to the black line, screwed on the top thingie with the blue fluid, and mailed my DNA kit a couple of weeks back.  I now eagerly await my results, and, who knows?  Maybe my matches will show distant LEMMON LEMMONS LEMON kin…

Hope never dies in genealogy research. 🙂



1. memorial no. 61418799, “Eleanor ‘Ellen’ Lemmons Noble,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by The Locator.

2. memorial no. 61418096, “Joseph Noble,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by The Locator.

3. Indiana State Library, “Online Resources,” “Indiana Marriages Through 1850,” at , accessed June 24, 2016.

4., “Iowa, Deaths and Burials, 1850-1990,” at , accessed June 24, 2016.

5., “Iowa, Deaths and Burials, 1850-1990,” at , accessed June 24, 2016.

6., “Iowa, Deaths and Burials, 1850-1990,” at , accessed June 24, 2016.

7. memorial no. 45374884, “Mary Margaret Noble Falls,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by Pat Faulkner.

8. memorial no. 50254686, “Mariah Elizabeth ‘Maria’ Noble Cunningham,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by C Vokoun.

9. memorial no. 24201404, “Sarah E. Noble Clark,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by Elizabeth Meriwether.

10. memorial no. 62356761, “William B. Noble,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by Colette Harrison.

11. memorial no. 79321227, “Jane C. Noble Wilson,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by Colette Harrison.

12. memorial no. 93420330, “Helen LaVinia Blake Noble,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by The Locator.

13. memorial no. 19394642, “Alice Irene Weatherly,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by Ken Wright.

14. memorial no. 61419162, “Charlie H Noble,” at , accessed June 24, 2016; photo contributed by C Vokoun.


the rescue & death of air mail pioneer harold elwin buckner



Harold Elwin BUCKNER [1]

“Pilot Harold Buckner couldn’t have been happier; flight training in the army had paid off. He’d been accepted to fly the mail for Walter T. Varney’s new airline, Varney Airlines. The 435-mile route would be between Elko, Nevada and Pasco, Washington with a stop in Boise, Idaho.

“Some called Contract Airmail Route 5 (CAM 5), the least promising of the U.S. Air Mail Service’s new contract lines, said it was a ‘nowhere route’ over a bunch of ‘cow towns.’ But Harold considered the new route, launched on April 6, 1926, far from shoddy; besides he liked Varney, a flier himself and owner of a flying school and an air taxi service. No one in Harold’s family could convince the young pilot to choose another profession, avoid what he considered the promising new field of aviation, even though the chosen route included a dangerous succession of mountains, high desert landscape, deep canyons and sparsely-settled terrain.

“All went well at first. Harold took pleasure being recognized at flight stops as the Varney pilot. People in town called him by his first name. ‘Harold’s arrived’ they’d shout when the whirl of his Swallow biplane sounded overhead. His wife Anna enjoyed status as wife of the valiant Varney air mail pilot.

“Flying the route in winter, however, was daunting even for a veteran pilot. In January 1927 Varney pilot George Buck flew through sleet and ice so thick he unbuttoned his safety belt to see over the ice-clogged windshield. Harold understood the dangers of winter flying; but he prided himself on coming through, delivering the mail no matter what the conditions. Thanks to Harold and fellow pilots, revenues were up and climbing. In 1927 Varney replaced his Swallow biplanes with the more reliable Stearmans.

Harold Elwin BUCKNER With His Plane [1]

“It was a Stearman Harold was flying Friday January 18, 1929, when he left leaving Pasco for Boise. The weather was terrible, snow, fog, ice, much the same conditions Buck had encountered and survived two years before. At 4:10 p.m. the manager of the La Grande, Oregon airport heard Harold’s plane pass over. Two hours later Boise reported he had not arrived. Calls immediately went out along the line. A plane had been heard over horse ranches in the Minam, Oregon area 20 miles east of Cove. Harold was far off course and possibly lost.

“Varney officials from Boise immediately headed to La Grande, arriving late that night. The next morning, just as they were formulating plans for an extensive search of the Minam area, a telephone call came through from the forest ranger at Cove. The plane had crashed; the pilot was safe and injured. He had passed over the ranger station at 5:20 and ten minutes later dived into a tree about a mile from a cabin occupied by two trappers. A rescue party from La Grande, a few on horseback, set right out.”[1]

The Rescue Party [1]


“My best efforts will be given in relating the facts of the very sad accident which seemed to be preceded by an omen of death:

Harold’s Rescuer, W. L. BROCKHAM, Trapper [2]

“On the night of January 17, 1927, at approximately 5:05, my partner reached for his rifle, and at the same instant I heard an approaching sound which through the canyon walls and storm seemed strange indeed. Upon rushing to the door a second later, I discovered it was a plane. While Jack was replacing his rifle, I rushed outside. The snow was falling heavily, so heavily that it would have been impossible to tell just how high the plane was. Looking intently that I might get a glimpse, for I was well able to follow the sound, I imagined that I caught a feint (sic) glimpse of light, which has been related to me as the exhaust. The plane promptly changed course almost directly above our cabin. Jack came to the door and listened a couple of seconds and the plane at this time seemed to be traveling under a burden–spluttering and missing at intervals. Then, changing its course at this moment, I said to Jack that the poor fellow was lost and could not possibly get out of the mountains in that terrible storm with some eight or nine hundred feet of elevation. I walked to the other corner of the cabin that I might hear the last vibrations of the plane. Upon approaching the other side of the canyon, the plane set up the most hideous cry imaginable, which vibrated back to the apparent base of Last Chance Creek, the course being followed now. I stood in awe, wondering how it was possible that he, Harold, was ascending the height. The shrill cry continued to remain behind, though the plane bore diligently on, on.

“I gathered that the plane was equipped with some kind of siren rocket in case of such a storm, and that the boy was going to land in a big open burn. I called to Jack to come and hear the noise, but when I did get him outside, the sound had silenced with the faintness (sic) of sound from the plane. Still I remained and at last, turning in close attention for any sound, all was lost in the distance. In a couple of moments I entered the cabin. I told Jack that the poor fellow would never get out of the mountains in this storm, which was indeed falling fast, and on the high mountains could be heard strong wind gathering. We talked of landing possibilities, of the La Grande Landing Field, and agreed on the point that that must have been his destination, and under the circumstances that it must have been a mail plane. Twelve minutes possibly had elapsed when the plane again was heard. Rushing outside that I might again follow the course of the plane, for I had already imagined the siren bomb, which I had related to Jack to guide the plane down. We had spoken of the possible lighting in the burn, and now we thought that he had glimpsed it on going over. I called that he was just above the river and coming straight down its course. Jack came to the outside, and just at that instant, before the final crash, we both caught the imaginative sound of a tree crash. I said, ‘My God, the poor fellow is down, Jack. We must get after him at once.’ As I started to speak the second crash came, but we knew he was down, so all that remained was finding him, but my talking had interrupted the last crashing sound, so there was much discussion in regard to the plane’s exact location. However, two minutes later, we were snow shod and bundled and on our way.

“I took my rifle to signal. We each had lights. We walked nearly a mile, but still I thought we were going directly to the plane–so why shoot? All of a sudden Jack hollered and I silenced him with the long suspense of listening. He asked me what I thought I heard. I told him the fellow was right down in the edge of the burn, but he was hurt. We went on, side tracked, circled, crisscrossed, looked and discussed and finally turned our attention along the river. At this point, the search seemed at an end, with the rugged, rolling, heavily timbered wilderness at the base of the mountain on either side, and on the right hand side, especially where Jack had calculated, high up on the mountainside. I still persisted. I shot. We went back toward the cabin. Finally we came to edge of the burn again, and again the search seemed at an end.

“There was an opening down to the river. Jack mentioned it. It was our last hope. He had been through before, so I had him lead the way. We looked all up and down the river. Surely I couldn’t not be mistaken in the location of the plane. He started for the trail, relating that we had a big search tomorrow in an awful jungle, and that we would be up early in the morning… My decision that I would give up the search then led to a compromise. The course was to vary two routes along the river and to the apex in the trail half a mile away. We turned and started. Ten steps and there the plane loomed up before us, our light showing on the underneath side of the wings. We stopped in amazement. Ten steps from the trail where Jack had first called, I had heard a faint sound which I had, for some reason, disposed of. There near us was the wreck, where the streamer wires had made the hideous sound. Jack wondered if he had jumped. We related that there had been no sound to our signal. We rushed forward, Jack on one side and me on the other. There was a saddening sight. The boy was fully conscious. His first words were, ‘My poor legs. Get me out of here.’ The plane was upside down. He had been driven directly onto the head of the engine. His head and shoulders were lying well out of the up-turned car with his arms being free. He was trying to raise himself up. Again he said, ‘My poor legs.’ Jack said he knew his condition. I had to take it very jovial for I had an idea at this time that my partner was sickening. I shot in around the motor to discover, if possible, how much he had bled. We then began to look for a way to get him from the wreck over the cumpled and upturned wings, with nearly four feet of snow–twenty inches just fallen and soft. We could not twist, break or move a thing to make it easy to get him out. We took his body, and the first touch he spoke of unbearable pain. My partner turned away. He told me he couldn’t stand it. I almost laughed aloud. Perhaps I did. I began to inform him the the man was insane and we must disregard all feelings–that it must be done. Again we got hold, lifting him into our arms. We clambered out down through the plane, over the wing and had the lad rolled snugly in the parachute in seconds. Harold broke the silence. He asked me for some snow to eat, and I thought he wanted the snow brushed out of his face, so I fixed him as comfortable as I could and covered his face with the parachute. But he informed me that I was making a serious mistake. He wanted some snow to eat and did not want the parachute over his face.

“We fastened one side of the parachute to a limb and then began to figure how to get him out. He informed us where he lived and for whom he was working and wanted to get in touch there, but we related that we were doing all possible and at this point he became aware of where he was, or rather that he did not know. He asked of the Whitman National Forest and Minnam River, and begged us not to leave him. He related that he would have died had we not found him. The circumstance was getting altogether too conversational. I broke it abruptly by relating our whole plan to him of going and making a stretcher and taking him to our cabin, getting a doctor and aid. He blessed us with the fact that we were his saviors and that he knew we were doing all possible, but that he had people in Boise that he must get word to. I again informed him at this point that they would be reached from the outside, so I shall always feel that I deprived the boy from saying something at this time, but he seemed so hopeful of life that I thought it was only a matter of action. We thought on the way to the cabin that we had a comparatively small man to handle. Upon this point we congratulated ourselves. We hastened back, and he complained of his hands being cold. We took the liners from his mittens and gave him more snow. When we were ready to put him on the stretcher, he insisted on helping us by putting his arms around our necks and lifting. We trudged little distances at first, and finally could only go steps at a time without resting. We got to within a hundred and fifty yards of the cabin and my partner began to pray for strength as only a man of the world can pray in great need, for it was indeed a hard trip in the snow.

“We took him into the cabin, and he promptly called for a glass of water. I noticed then that he looked very pale. Jack was going to make some coffee so I asked Harold if he wouldn’t join Jack in a cup of coffee–that I was on my way. He said that he would appreciate a cup of coffee; that ‘he did not want to act like a baby’ with his injuries, I presume, and at that time was relating that he should have jumped. Some little discussion came up regarding what could be done. There was nothing. We did not have any aid. We dared not remove his clothes. All we could do was keep him warm and give him a little care. They were busy talking as I departed, and I had Jack ask his name. He had talked, drunk a cup of coffee, eaten a couple of cookies, related that he did not know anything of the country he was in, had Jack rub his hands and chest several times, explained that he should have jumped, and that he did not want Jack to think ‘that he was acting like a baby’ and that the little comfort Jack could afford him was soothing to him.

“He asked of my trip, how soon aid would come, and again that we were doing all possible. He was going to have the second cup of coffee. This was the occurrence of perhaps an hour and a half. Then he asked Jack to rub his chest again. Upon doing so his words were, ‘No, no I can’t stand that! Rub my hands.’ At that, he said, ‘That feels wonderful.’ A pause, then, ‘I am going to die’ came as heroic and bravely as the brave part he was to play in an awful tragedy, for after the first complaint he never mentioned it again until the cabin was reached. He knew we also were under a heavy burden. He seemed to be amused when my partner was in his most trying moment.

“The eulogy of Mr. Harold Buckner is as strong and brave as a man can live, and he died as bravely.”[2] 

Harold Elwin BUCKNER’s Grave Marker [3]

A 3rd cousin twice removed to myself, Harold Elwin BUCKNER (June 13, 1896 Dorris, Siskiyou County, California-Jan. 17, 1929 Cove, Union County, Oregon; buried San Francisco National Cemetery (Plot: Section B Site 346), San Francisco, San Francisco County, California) was the:

  • grandson of Methodist circuit-riding preacher & American Civil War veteran, Union allegiance, Rev. Nixon S. BUCKNER;
  • eldest child & only son of Methodist circuit-riding preacher Rev. Harold Huse BUCKNER &, Mable May BOUTELLE;
  • husband of Anne EPPERSON (Apr. 1, 1896 California-Nov. 5, 1990 Alameda County, California; San Francisco National Cemetery (Plot: B, 346)), daughter of Esic Anthony EPPERSON & Ola Margaret (RIGGINS);
  • father of two sons.



1. Air Mail Pioneers, “Dedicated To The Former Employees Of The U.S. Air Mail Service,” at , accessed June 22, 2016.

2. Air Mail Pioneers, “Dedicated To The Former Employees Of The U.S. Air Mail Service,” at’s%20crash.htm , accessed June 22, 2016.

3., memorial no. 64778497, “Pvt Harold E Buckner,” at , photo contributed by “Carol;” accessed June 22, 2016.