A Family History Adventure

Whenever we are in Nashville, I always like to take a day for a trip to the area where my grandparents lived.  I am ever on a quest to learn about my family history and not just the names of ancestors, but to see the places where they lived and hear the stories about their lives.  I have really waited too late for some things and those who could have shared their knowledge have gone on to a better life.  Still, I enjoy visiting those old home places and recalling some of the grand times I had as a child.

My grandmother as a teenagers

So, last Friday, I gathered up my uncles and we headed to the country.  The country on this particular day was Hickman County--the area where my mother’s parents lived.  I was especially in search of my great-grandparents’ homesteads.  I didn’t have much information to go on.  I only knew that my grandfather was raised on Taylor’s Creek and that my grandmother grew up on a farm located at the head of Wolf Creek.

My grandmother's parents

Armed with my computer and air card, the Tennessee Atlas & Gazetteer, and the knowledge of my two uncles we set out.  Right away I found that I had relied too heavily on the childhood memories of my two uncles.  They neither one could recall ever having been to either Taylor’s Creek or to a home on Wolf Creek belonging to their grandfather.  It is true that all but one of their grandparents had died before either of them were born.

With the map, however, we were able to find Taylor’s Creek.  Taylor’s Creek Road (a dirt road in relatively good condition) runs parallel to the creek for about 3 miles, but there is no sign of any homestead anywhere along the length of the road.  I was able to get some great information out of these boys.  On the way to Taylor’s Creek we drove past Lowe’s Bend where my grandfather went to school.  I had been by the school many times since it is on the way to the cemetery where many of my ancestors are buried.  As we passed the falling down building, one of my uncles mentioned that after it was a school it had been a church (that I didn’t know) and that he had at one time preached there.  Now that is good family history information.

My grandfather's parents

At the end of Taylor’s Creek Road we found ourselves in the tiny community of Vernon.  In the early days of the county, Vernon was the county seat.  We are fortunate enough to have a stack of “love letters” exchanged by my grandparents when they were courting.  Many of those letters were post marked in Vernon. It is amazing today to think of my grandfather living on Taylor’s Creek and my grandmother living on Wolf Creek, a total distance of about 10 miles apart, having to communicate via the postal service.

Hickman County Courthouse on the square in Centerville

Having searched the length of Taylor’s Creek Road for any sign of an old homestead, we went in search of lunch.  We made our way back to Centerville, now the county seat having been moved from Vernon in the 1820s.  A favorite of my entire family is Breese’s Cafe, a meat and three on the square.  The food’s not the best, but we’ve been going there (since it was the only place) for so long it has become habit.  Still being full from our over indulgence on Thanksgiving, we all just ordered sandwiches instead of meals.

With a little nourishment, we were ready to continue our search.  We all knew where Wolf Creek was located.  You can almost see it from where my grandparents lived on Briar Pond.  Carl and Edd could dredge up a little more memory here and we found a place that seemed to look familiar.  There were also two falling down houses that looked as though they could have been from the late 1800s.

Although we cannot be sure exactly where my grandparents’ lived as children, we at least feel we past the places where they would have played as children, saw the fields where my grandfather drove the plow mules and where my grandmother picked vegetables for dinner.

We also passed by the farm they owned as adults and where my mother, my uncles, and my aunts grew up.  I spent a lot of time there myself as a child and young adult.  That place is sad to me now because it is nothing like it used to be.  The farm house was sold, taken down and moved to Georgia somewhere several years ago.  The barn, where my cousins and I played so many hours, has been torn down.  The chicken houses, smoke house, and out house no longer exist.  There is a new house on the property now and it is oriented perpendicular to the way my grandparents’ home sat.  I almost don’t recognize it any more.

Since we were driving along roads all around the area of my grandparents’ farm, every bend in the road and every farm house brought back a memory.  We were regaled by childhood stories, most of which I have heard over and over, some of which I lived through.  It is these stories I cherish so much and am grateful for this oral history.  Every time I make this trip a new piece of information emerges.  I love it.  I’ll continue to seek the story of my heritage.