Why did they stay and why did the others go?

I've long pondered this one point: why did my direct ancestors stay in a very narrow geographic vicinity while other of their relatives moved away? Sometimes they went way out west and far away, likely never to be seen again. I've had the great pleasure of making contact with some of my more distant genealogy cousins and invariably their branch of the tree moved away a long time ago. Why? Why did we stay put?

I guess I should take a moment out of pondering and explain. Going back along each of both Mom and Dad's ancestral lines to the first person who came to America, when you map their progress out there is an obvious conclusion. They plunked down in Maryland, Virginia, and Pennsylvania and moved only about a couple of hundred miles through five or more generations. Now this is a big country but up until my generation, Mom and Dad's direct line pretty much stayed put in and around the vicinity of Western Maryland. Cousins drifted but our people stayed. Why? Was there something the matter with our folks? Were they less adventurous? Less ambitious? Heaven knows, they were not the blessed few who inherited family lands and home places, so they easily could have picked up and moved on. But they didn't. Even Dad and Mom, when they moved away to Cleveland, moved back after 11 years.

For a long time I speculated that maybe we were less adventurous than the others who moved on. Not a bunch of risk-takers. Maybe after the big trip over the ocean our people came to the conclusion that this land was pretty good and the trip had been a lot of bother so why not stay put? (Even today I really dislike moving!) But I don't think the answer lies in lack of motivation or a dearth of adventure. I think maybe it lies elsewhere.

When I examine the generations that I personally knew and with which I'm most familiar I can see that they held in high esteem the virtues of security and comfort. Mom thinks so too. If you had enough work that paid the bills, could grow vegetables in the garden and a few flowers to brighten a table and perk up the outside of the house, a pen with chickens and a good season hunting and fishing, well what more could you yearn for?

I'm wondering about the composition of character in individuals who stay versus those who move on. Those who moved on, at least from what I know of them, were the ambitious who accumulated wealth or tried to. The ones who stayed preferred comfort and security to all else. My Zeller ancestors who were written about here recently fall into the ambitious group which can be seen in their shared love of setting up businesses and buying property, first in Frostburg, Maryland and then in Chicago. By contrast, Dad's direct Irish ancestors immigrated and then stayed put in Frostburg and Eckhart through five generations.

But there's another aspect of why our direct ancestors might have liked to stay put, and for me it's the truer answer. They loved their connection to family above all else. Both Mom's family and Dad's family were the focus of much day to day activity. A day never went by that Dad didn't stop to visit with his mother. He wouldn't think of living a day without a visit to his Ma. And Mom and her sister were the best of friends who were often seen about town at their weekly lunch.

And then there's the community of faith that connected each family to others in town. Some of Mom's family, Aunt Betty in particular, still goes to the Welsh Congregational Church that was attended by all of her family back three generations. And the Kelly and Zeller bunch all went to the Catholic Church, St. Michaels, right there on Main Street.

Now I'm not being judgmental here or putting one value system above all others or painting my relatives in some superior light. Not at all. I'm just trying to figure out why they stayed put. I dunno, maybe I've got it all wrong. All I know is that they thought the very best thing was being with family.

The Ladies Aid Society picnic about 1930. This group was attached to the Welsh Congregational Church where my Williams grandparents attended. Mom even sang in the choir.

 

A Kelly family picnic, mid 1950s.

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Treasure Chest Thursday: Shiloh Welsh Congregational Church, 140th Anniversary Keepsake Book

When I was a kid and after the family moved from the little mountain town of Frostburg in Western Maryland to Ohio, we often returned there for a visit to family. Like many others, after the Second World War, Dad took advantage of the booming economy and lost no time bettering our opportunities and fortunes by moving to a more industrial area where the new technology of plastics promised a better tomorrow, for us personally and the world in general.

Mom and Dad's entire family on both sides resided in and around Frostburg and there were plenty of relatives to see and visit. Come here for lunch, go there for dinner, drop in over there too. One of the ways we covered all the bases was for Mom and I to go to church with Grandmother Williams, Mom's mother, Emma.

So here's the situation: by weekday I was a student at the very Roman Catholic St. Wenceslaus school in Maple Heights, Ohio, (a gigantic monstrous brick building attached to the elementary school) but by occasional weekend Sundays I went with Mom and Grandmother Williams to the little white clapboard church with clean lines and just down the street from Grandmother's house. It's the Shiloh Welsh Congregational Church of Frostburg, Maryland.

Let me contrast these two churches for you. The big brick Catholic church was full of large stained glass, plenty of statues of saints, incense enough to choke a tiny first grader, crowded mass full of kids from the first wave of the Baby Boomer generation packing every pew. On the other hand, the Congregational Church was small, quiet, simple, and a place where every one knew everyone else. Everyone. Grandmother liked to show me off, I could tell, and was outfitted by Mom in my best dresses. Oh, did I mention I was the only girl grandchild?

I have warm memories of that little white wooden church on Bowery Street. But it's not there anymore. As I understand, and Aunt Betty would be the one to give you the whole story, it came to the point where it was all but falling apart. The big question was should it be repaired or should a new one be built that would better suit? They built a new one, a nice brick building.

By the time I put two and two together - hey, where did the church go? - the new brick building had been there quite a while. That ever happen to you? A whole entire building goes missing on you?

Last time I went back east to see family I stopped by to visit Aunt Betty as I always do. We have such fun talking about stuff! She gave me this excellent keepsake from the Shiloh Welsh Congregational Church's 140th Anniversary! So on this Treasure Chest Thursday I want to share this book with you. There are a lot of old photos in it, along with photos of the new families who carry on the traditions.

In these pages I find many of the people on our family tree: the Williamses, the Prichards, the Prices, the Harrises, the McCollouhs are all there. Aunt Betty's family back four generation to the very start of the church, and my grandparents, Mom in the choir and her brother my Uncle Camey too who served well as a Trustee.

Cover of the commemorative book.

Historical document with the original cost of the first church building in 1873.

My Grandfather and Grandmother Williams.

The history of the Prichard family in the church from Enoch Prichard who hosted the first meeting of the church in 1869 in his home on Bowery Street, down to Aunt Betty on the right.

The Ladies Aid Society, a big factor in the church and community.

Mom as a young girl in the choir, front row, third from left.

Treasure Chest Thursday is a blogging prompt from GeneaBloggers.

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