Karrie’s Confession

It’s my day, so I’m writing about myself. Buckle up as we go back to 2014 for one of my favorite, genealogy-trip stories.

Adair County, Kentucky

My family has lived in Adair County, Kentucky since the early 1800s. Naturally, I wanted to visit their final resting places. Doesn’t everyone like to spend their Birthday Week searching for ancestors in cemeteries?

What happens when you do not how to find one of the cemeteries? You ask questions. Sometimes you wind up with less confirmation and more confession.

The Adair (KY) Genealogy & History Research Center located inside the Columbia KY public library held the answer key for my questions. Not only did the library have copies of Cemeteries of Adair County for sale, they had drawers full of Family Files. Plus, they had driving directions:

“Go on down the road to the Hardscratch Store.”
“You can’t miss it.”
“There’ll be three men sitting out front; ask them.”

I’m a city-girl. These directions seemed a quite vague, but I gave it a try.

Sure enough, there were three men sitting on the porch of the “Store” (it’s more of a restaurant, less of a store). These men knew that I was a foreigner before I ever opened up my car door. I asked them for directions to the Bowmar cemetery.

They talked among themselves. Finally, they gave me this advice:

“Go back up and take the Glensfork Road.”
“Go up the hill. And there’s your cemetery.”
“If that’s not the cemetery you’re looking for, come back this way. Stop at the big white house on the right and ask him.”

So, I drove back up the road, turned left, went up the hill and found the cemetery. Quickly, I determined that it was the Woolridge Cemetery, not the Bowmar Cemetery I wanted. Continuing on with the instructions from my Hardscratch Helpers, I got in my car, drove back and stopped at the big white house on the right.

This was a newer home, complete with a manicured lawn, stables and a race track. I recognized the family name at the entrance: a neighboring family going back as far as my ancestors in Adair County. When I explained to the homeowner that I was looking for a cemetery, he told me that he knew where it was. He asked me to wait a minute and he would show me the cemetery.

When he came out of the house, he told me to get into his pickup truck and he would take me there.

What?
Well, okay.

Bouncing along, we drove across his field and stopped at an old wood and barbed wire fence. This was his neighbor’s property, but he assured me that it was alright to venture beyond.

Over the fence we went. Through the overgrowth we walked until there was a small clearing. There were a couple of marked stones. Like the last one: this was not my cemetery; this was the Matthew Taylor Cemetery.

Disappointed and tired, I returned to my campground. Did I forget to mention that I was tenting?

Whenever we are separated, my husband and I call before going to bed each night – just to check in and talk about our ups and downs of the day.

I had a confession: Today I got into a pickup truck with a man whom I had never met. We drove to the woods and got out for a walk. Nothing happened.

In the morning, I thought, “I’ll try and find one more cemetery.”  An ancestry.com user posted a photo of grave markers in a “Willis” cemetery in Adair County. Purportedly, my 4th great grandfather is buried there. This cemetery was not included in the library’s cemetery transcription series.

However, one of the librarians gave me this advice:

“Ask the man who farms on Jones Road near Pelham Branch.
His family has lived in that area for many years.
He probably knows.”

Luckily for me, he was out working near the road when I arrived. Just like my Hardscratch Helpers, he immediately knew that I was a foreigner, and patiently  listened to my request.

He nodded. Yes, there is a cemetery in the wooded section at the edge his property; he pointed to the area which was way back from the Jones Road. He told me that the graves were his ancestors and added that his enslaved ancestors were also buried there in unmarked graves.

But, he had another piece of advice for me:

“Go over to the corner.
Talk to the folks that live there.
They might know where your people are buried.”

I knocked on the door and met one of the owners. She told me that back across Pelham Branch Road there were two more cemeteries!! A right-of-way easement existed to allow visitors to access the gravesites.  So, with permission, I passed through the field and up a small rise to an overgrown area.

A dry-laid wall encircled the final resting place of Smith family ancestors. Holding my camera over my head, I snapped a photo of this jumbled mess.

Continuing across the field and into another overgrown area, I came upon the graves of other Smiths. Two graves had engraved stones.

Up the hill I trudged through thick brush, thorny brambles and poison ivy. In the shade of this overgrown area, swarms of mosquitos eagerly greeted me. I continued bushwhacking upward until I came upon three stone box graves just like the ones in this photo from the 1980s (purportedly the grave of Edmund T. Willis).¹Photograph from ancestry.com user SMitchell7368, originally posted 2 Feb 2013 at https://www.ancestry.com/mediaui-viewer/tree/21835326/person/1140366384/media/dde63175-6d43-4416-9db4-8da8078177b6. accessed 27 Jul 2014.

These raised graves had thick, horizontal slabs covering a stone box. Swatting mosquitos and sweating, I attempted to take photos. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the graves. Unfortunately, the carving had long since worn away. Photographs seemed hopeless. With sweat dripping into my eyes, I didn’t realize how blurry my photos actually were. (Click to enlarge and to advance the photos.)

“Hello!” A man’s voice called out.
“Are you still in there?”

“Yes,” I replied, as I emerged from the thicket. Here was Mike Jones, sent by his wife, to make sure that I got out of the woods before dark. Before I knew it, I accepted a ride in his pickup. We bounced across the field and back to his house.

Standing in Mike and Kathy’s house, we talked for several minutes about what I hoped to find, what I did find and where I would search next. It’s too bad that the stone box slabs were unreadable.

Back to the campground. From the solitude of my REI tent, which was pitched on a tiny, unshaded, sloped site at Green River Lake State Park, I called my dear husband.

I had a confession: Today I got into a pickup truck with a man whom I had never met. He took me out of the woods and back to his house. Nothing happened.

A birthday-week selfie, Cumberland River, 2014.
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