Such was the discovery of the mention of my West family members in the Diary of Hannah Pierce (1835-1873) from among the resources on the Lenawee, Michigan, genealogy and historical site.

8th Mo. 1843.
Had a visit from E. Spafford and G. Warner. Spent the day at Wm Hoags. Ira Smith and Elizabeth West were married today…

9th Mo. 1847 on the 12th
Mercy West has been buried to day, the work of death is still going on, its ravinges are deeply felt in many familys as well as our own. Seymor West lost his child about 3 weeks since and now his wife. How fleeting are the things of earth, how uncertain is life, but a few short weeks ago many who were them taking an active part on the stage of life, are now slumbering in Death’s long dreamless sleep.

Much of the diary documents the visits and meals shared with various people in the community outside of Adrian, Michigan, in the community of Raisin, Lenawee County. Weddings, christenings, illness and death is mentioned as a log of the community events.

Flu and other epidemics came through and were faithfully and painfully reported by Hannah Pierce. Disease took its tool on this poor farming community. It’s a lovely and simple look into the lives of the community and their families in the early 1800s.

The following West family members are mentioned, though not all are related to the same West family.

• West, Abram
• West, Abram and Anna
• West, Anna
• West, Elizabeth
• West, Jane
• West, Maria
• West, Mary Ann
• West, Mercy
• West, Seymor
• West, Seymore
• West, Susannah

If you have family in the Lenawee County of Michigan, they may have passed through and gotten a mention by Hannah Pierce. What a treasure this find was, and much thanks to her descendants and the volunteers from the Lenawee History Society for adding this to the web.

WILBUR WEST.

Foremost among the skilled artisans of Lenawee County is the gentleman whose name stands at the head of this sketch. His reputation as a master carpenter and joiner extends far beyond the limits of this township. He also possesses considerable ability as an architect, and being a good draughtsman, and enabled to make plans for any kind of structure that he may be called on to build.

Mr. West was born in Norwich, Oxford County, Ontario, Canada, Feb. 23, 1827, and is the youngest but one of his parents’ large family of children. His father, Benjamin West, was born in Dutchess County, N.Y., Nov. 14, 1782, and married, Aug. 14, 1806, Miss Polly Disbrow, a native of New York. After marriage Mr. West settled in his native county, following the occupation of a farmer, and in the year 1823, he removed with his growing family to Oxford County, Ontario, Canada.

After living under British rule twenty-one years he returned with his family to the United States, traveling by slow stages in an emigrant wagon, and at length arriving at Adrian on the 28th of May, 1844, and soon after settling on section 36 of Raisin Township.

The face of the country presented a very different appearance from what it does today, as a great deal of the land was unbroken, and large tracts of the primitive forest were still standing, though the country was by no means uninhabited.

Here, in the home that they had planted in the wilderness, the father and mother ended their days of toil, her death occurring Jan. 31, 1849, while the husband survived until Oct. 6, 1858.

In religion, Mrs. West was a Baptist and Mr. West was a Quaker, while in politics he was an old-line Whig, and a sturdy advocate of the policy of that party. They were much respected in the community. They had ll children, five of whom are yet living, four sons and one daughter, and are recorded as follows:

Mary married Niles Bowerman; Abraham married Amanda Westgate; Briggs married Polly Farling [Farlin], who died, and he was again married to Mrs. Hannah White; Hulet married Eliza Coffin; and Wilber; all reside in this township.

Our subject passed his boyhood in his native place, receiving the benefits of the educational advantages afforded by the town, and at seventeen years of age he came with his parents to Michigan. He assisted his father in clearing the land, and did other farm work until about 1850, when he and his brother Hulet bought 260 acres of unbroken land, which they farmed together with good results until the year 1870, and then divided it and discontinued the partnership which had continued so long to the advantage of both.

His farm contains ninety acres of well-improved land on section 36 of Raisin Township, and forty acres in Blissfield Township. Notwithstanding the demands of his other business, Mr. West has not neglected the cultivation of this farm, whereon he has erected neat, substantial farm buildings and a pleasant dwelling.

When he was twenty-six years of age, Mr. West made a new departure, turning his attention to carpentering, as at that time there was a great demand for carpenters and other artisans in the county. He possessed a natural aptitude for mechanics, and without serving an apprenticeship, he soon became quite expert in his new calling, becoming in time one of the most skilled mechanics in the county. His services were always in great demand, and he has built about every kind of structure made of timber.

From 1872 to 1878 he was in the employ of the Chicago and West Michigan Railroad Co. as bridge builder and constructor of stations, tanks, etc. He finally became a master carpenter, and often had several men in his employ. Many of the fine residences of this county were constructed under his supervision.

Mr. West was married, July 3, 1847, in Raisin Township, to Miss Comfort C., daughter of John S. and Deborah (Grecim) Wells, natives of New York. They came to Michigan in 1888 and located in Raisin Township, where Mr. Wells became actively engaged as a lumber merchant and farmer. They were influential members of the Baptist Church, and are now deceased.

The record of their children (John S. Wells and Deborah Grecim) is as follows: Content married Reuben Hall, and is a widow living in New York; James married Mary Ann Patton and lives in Adrian. Mrs. Wells was born in Warren County, N.Y., Jan. 1, 1830, and was educated under her parent’s supervision, receiving ??? which well fitted her for the duties of a wife and mother.

To Mr. and Mrs. Wilbur West have been born eight child, two of whom died in infancy. Those living are: Deborah, wife of Ileiny Fetterinan, residing in Blissfield; James A., who married Emily Tarbell, and lives in Fremont, Neb.; Angelia, the wife of E. R. Kamup, living in Palmyria Township on a farm; Ida, the wife of David Borinoir, a farmer of Raisin Township. and Adella, and Alonzo, who reside at home with their parents.

Mr. West has served two terms as Justice of Time Peace, one term as Highway Commissioner, and is now serving his second term as Drain Commissioner. In politics, he is a Republican, and a highly respected member of the farming community of Adrian Township, like many of his neighbors.

Howard W. West Jr., was also known as “Bud” or “Howie” to his friends and family. Born April 20, 1937, to Faye Vaughn West and Howard West Sr., he was raised along the Washington and Oregon coast and islands, living in various lighthouses where his father worked as a member of the Coast Guard and Lightships. He loved telling tales of his childhood, one rarely experienced today, of fishing in a small wooden leaking boat in the San Juan Islands as the sea erupted with flashes of the black and white of dozens of killer whales swimming by. Or of the harbor so filled with migrating gray whales, you could walk across their backs to the other side. He remembered playing along the Columbia River before it was dammed, and living in a wild, woolly, and natural world, a tumbled and rough kid barefoot and dirty.

Following his father’s footsteps, he joined the Coast Guard after graduating from Queen Anne High School and Edison Technical Vocational School in downtown Seattle in 1954. Back injuries led to a medical discharge, but he continued his affiliation and pride of being a member of the US Coast Guard his entire life.

Howard was a person who made friends easily and was a good life long friend to so many. He died with one of his best friends, John Ryan, and his family, while camping in Eastern Washington near Leavenworth. The “hunting” trip with Ryan was an annual event. The two no longer hunted but instead, the two long time friends and heart attack suffers would visit and retell stories. And Ryan would walk miles of laps around the campground while Howard would sit at the picnic table, smoking, waving as his friend passed by.

His death was expected, after over thirty years of heart problems and complications, even surviving a couple bouts with cancer. He had been in failing health for a very long time, but that didn’t stop him from doing as much as he could.

For Christmas of 2001, against doctor’s advice, he surprised his daughter, Lorelle, and husband, Brent VanFossen, with a month long visit to Israel where they lived for many years. He ignored US government and friend’s warnings not to visit during the violent Intifada and terrorist threats and got on the plane for the very long flight. His first time overseas, he quickly learned a few words in Hebrew and figured out the money, and had a great time visiting with our Israeli and international friends, shopkeepers, and anyone he met on the street. Even though he couldn’t walk far without resting, he carried a little portable stool and did his best to explore Israel, including the Holocaust Museum, the Old City of Jerusalem, swam in the Dead Sea and Galilee, and throughly enjoyed all of the country and it’s treasures.

Howard and his daughter, Lorelle, traveled a year ago across country in his small motor home so Howard could “winter” in the warmth of Mobile, Alabama, temporary residence of Brent and Lorelle. Along the way through the southern United States, they stopped in on family and friends for a visit, including a wonderful visit with his mother’s sister, Vivian, and her husband, Bill Hinsely in Desert Hot Springs, California.

While in Alabama, he explored the ruins of Mississippi and New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, seeing destruction beyond what he imagined and saw on television. He explored local museums and gardens, including getting a wheel chair push through the famous Bellingrath Gardens and their popular Christmas light show and exhibition. During his fourth month stay, he thoroughly enjoyed the Mardi Gras events, going to over a dozen parades and collecting up pounds and pounds of beads and stuffed animals which he distributed to friends and family back in Seattle.

Driving north back across the United States, Lorelle and Howard fulfilled life long dreams of exploring their family history and genealogy and were united with the descendants of the Farlin family, which married into the West family in the 1700s in Michigan. Together they explored old cemeteries, records, and museums to find traces of their family’s lineage, which goes back to the 1600s in the United States. He was proud to find out he was a Son of the American Revolution and that his ancestors fought in every war the United States and pre-state experienced.

A friend to all, few were closer to him in his last years than his Flapjack Restaurant family. A small historical breakfast and lunch restaurant in Marysville, Washington, every morning found Howie there for his meal of the day served by owner and friend, Christine. He was a shoulder to lean on and tell stories to, and his friends loved all his crazy stories and tall tales, especially his bad jokes. He was a master of the groaner joke. He his honored and remembered there with many photographs and a coffee mug bearing his photograph, dressed up like Arafat.

Howard worked for Todd’s Shipyard and other shipyards and dry docks since 1961, leaving Todd’s in 1989 to work for a few years at Boeing. He worked for a short time as a real estate agent in Snohomish County, and house builder, and built a large home in Lake Stevens for his family. While he held an Associates Degree from Everett Community College, he decided to go back to get another degree at age 57, graduating in 1995 with another Associated Arts and Sciences Degree and a Degree in Real Estate from North Seattle Community College.

Howard West is survived by his daughter, Lorelle (and husband Brent VanFossen); son Loren West and grandchildren, Aaron Raymond and Lindsey Rae West; step-children David Chamberlain and wife, Charlotte, Cheryl Lanum and husband, Robert, and Janet Gaswint and husband, John, along with numerous step-grandchildren. He also leaves his sister, Rita June DesRochers and her children, Darrell DesRochers, Bruce DesRochers, Lorinda Mills, Rochelle DesRochers, Duke DesRochers, and Mike DesRochers, along with many grand-nieces and nephews. All live within Washington and Oregon, close to their family roots.

He is also survived by his first wife, Ramona Fletcher of Everett, Washington, and her husband, Robert, who continued to care and support him long after their divorce as father of their children, Lorelle and Loren. He is also survived by the mother of his step-children, Charlene Kluge, and her husband.

Howard was well known for his passion for animals. He is also survived by his cat, Squirt, a tiny ball of fuzzy energy that was his unconditional loving friend for the last few years, traveling and sleeping together constantly. She rarely left him out of her sight.

Please, send no flowers or cards. Instead, remember him well with a donations to your local PAWS or animal shelter in his name so the care of rescued and wild animals will continue.

Howard will be interned at Evergreen Cemetery in Everett, Washington, side-by-side with his grandfather, Walter West, and his great grandfather, Perry Saville West.

For those attending his memorial service Wednesday, October 25, 2006, from 6-8PM at Solie Funeral Home, 3301 Colby Avenue, Everett, Washington, we ask that you bring a favorite story about Howard to share with his friends and family. Let’s keep alive his love of corny jokes and unique sense of humor.

It was during school vacation, somewhere in the middle of July about 1925. I was probably twelve years old at the time. About that time of the year, Wisconsin’s wild strawberries are ripening. My young brother Wayne and I were out horse hunting. It was time to cultivate the patch of corn we had. At that time we owned a horse cultivator and we needed a horse to pull it. Our horses were all running loose during the summer. When the old plow horse Jim was needed, it was the young kids job to hunt him up.

The day was very hot. We had looked through most of the familiar stomping grounds, but the horses were not to be found. On our way home we took a short cut which led through a big patch of wild strawberries. As we neared the place we heard voices. We soon came upon a family of Kentuckians picking berries. They were new folks to us. They had moved into a small shack down the road from where we lived.

We recognized that they were the Clemens family. They had just come from Kentucky a short time before. We had heard a lot about them, but little was actually known for sure. What we heard was nice enough, for Kentuckians.

From among the berries, I was really shocked to see the old lady spit a large quantity of brown slimy tobacco juice out before she spoke, “Wol naw looky here boys, we’uns has got compny!” Then she grinned showing tobacco stained teeth.

Curious, I said, “Hello, are you chewing tobacco?”

Her answer came quickly, surprising me. “Lord-a-mercy youngun, ain’t you ever seed a womern chawin’ baccer afar?”

“No ma’am! I thought just old men and bad kids chewed tobacco!”

“I been chawin’ baccer since I was a three year ole. Hit ain’t never bothered me none. Here! You can try a thaw off uh my plug.”

She reached into a dirty old apron pocket and pulled out a thing that looked more like something a dog had done in the dirt than anything I’d want to put in my mouth. As much as I was curious about it, this was just disgusting.

“Oh, my, no. Our Mother would whale the devil out of us if we were to chew tobacco. Ain’t that the truth, Wayne?”

Wayne agreed saying, “Ma caught us smoking corn silks a few weeks back and my back end still quivers when I think about it. I don’t know what she’d do about us chewing tobacco!”

One of the other kids who had been picking berries came over and joined his Mother. She said, “Here, Willie. Show these younguns how you kin chaw baccer.”

Then she bit off a hunk of that awful looking stuff and gave it to Willie. The little fellow couldn’t have been more than six years of age. He just took the chunk, looking so small standing there in his dirty and torn pants held up by a worn set of suspenders over his dirt stained bare shoulders. He wallered it around in his mouth for a while, then squirt much like his Mother had done a while back.

Wayne and I watched closely, expecting to see the little guy pitch his cookies and whatever else he had in his stomach. To our amazement the little fellow never as much as batted an eye. “Hits a mite stronger than the last chaw you give me Maw, but that din’t mean I din’t like it!” Shrugging, Willie went back to his berry picking.

We live far from civilization, so I asked her where she got the tobacco, and she said, “Lord-a mercy youngun, back thar in Kintucky we grow the stuff. I twisted this baccer myself!” She gave us another serious look over and said, “Wall, if you fellers are sceered to try my baccer, I gotta be gittin’ back to my berry pickin’!”

I didn’t like being called a coward, so I couldn’t help myself. As she turned away I spoke to Wayne, “Will you try it if I do?”

After much thought, Wayne replied very slowly, “I’ll try it if you do, but you gotta go first!”

“Okay, ma’am, we’ll try a small chew of your tobacco, but you gotta promise you won’t tell our Mother!”

The old lady turned back to us with a wicked grin showing more teeth missing than in. “I ain’t no tattle-tale, boy. Besides I ain’t never seed yer Maw. Well, put this in yer mouth and see how long you kin go without spittin’!”

I looked the awful stuff over pretty well before I stuck it in my mouth. It was quite sweet, and tasted better than it looked, I’m certain of that. Wayne also took a small chew, but I think he spit his out right away. I just kept chewing as the old lady left to go back to her work, and then spit it out, making a bit of mess, as Wayne and I started toward home.

I didn’t get very far till I began to get terribly dizzy. The hot sun didn’t help any either. Then I got sick. I’d spit the rotten stuff out, but I must have gotten some down my throat. I fell down on the ground, the whole world was rolling around me. I grabbed huge handfuls of grass to keep from falling off the world!!

I was unable to stand and actually pulled the grass out by the roots trying to keep from rolling around. I’d never felt anything like it in my life. I had been made sick once before from eating too much corn on the cob, but it was nothing like this. I wished were dead! I finally vomited, getting rid the tobacco and everything else I’d eaten for the past several hours. That helped.

The dizziness seemed to let up a little, and I managed to stagger to my feet. I was in terrible shape. It was a feeling that I would never want to repeat. We finally made it home, where I stopped at the creek and washed out my mouth as good as I could. It was a long time before I tried chewing tobacco again!

Oh, pity the soul without warmth of friends,
With no one to care if his life might end,
And without the clothing to keep him warm,
And no place of shelter from the awful storm.

Now a policeman’s work is hard, indeed,
For he deals first hand with those in need;
The outcasts, the bewildered, with no home or friends,
With little to eat, and no money to spend!

From his prowler car, that wintry night,
A policeman spied a form so slight,
Huddled against a building there,
Seeking protection from the cold night air.

Probably a drunk, who is full of wine,
Or a beggarly bum, without a dime -
But wait: There was something about that form,
That caught his eye in the relentless storm.

For he saw a face, so thin and white,
Like a ghost, he thought, in the dim street light,
So pinched, and drawn, with a look forlorn,
And he noticed her clothing, ragged and torn.

At the station house, she was warmed and fed,
And she looked like one who’d returned from the dead.
Then with raspy voice, she began to tell,
Of the life she’d had in that living hell.

Terrible things began to unfold,
From the lips of this lady, now tired and old;
Of the filth and neglect she had suffered there,
With no one to help, and no one to care.

She had begged many times, to once more see the home,
Where she and her husband had lived all alone,
For they’d been so happy, in those years now gone by,
Before a dread sickness had caused him to die!

No relative had visited her, no one ever came,
She had felt like a pawn, unloved, and unclaimed!
If just once again she could see the old place –
And visit again with a warm, friendly face.

That night, she’d escaped, and struck out on her own,
But that’s not so easy, when you’re old and alone!
Then the rain storm had struck: And she’d lost her way,
She was sick, and confused, just an old castaway!

Her old voice grew weak, a doctor was called;
She’d forgotten her name — she couldn’t recall!
Death came to her rescue, that cold winter night,
And she joined her old sweetheart, in that City, so bright!

Being a cook on a tug boat, is not quite as simple a job as most people might think. It was my job for close to three years. The only modern thing on the boat was the small toilet at the stern of the craft. It had to be flushed by dumping a bucket of water, drawn from the river. There was always an empty bucket standing near for that purpose. The lights were small six volt bulbs, lit from the power of the generators on the engines that ran the boat. A kerosene lamp was used most of the time as the only source of light at night.

The cook stove was small, but large enough for our purpose. It had a railing around the top to keep things from sliding off during rough navigation, a frequent event crossing the Puget Sound. The boat would roll from side to side far enough to spill things off the stove, making a mess.

We tended to travel up river a lot during the night. At the small town of Lymen, about four miles up river from Mount Vernon, there was a place where the town dumped sewage into the river. We were not allowed to take on water anywhere near there until we passed that place.

To dip water from the river for cooking, I had a twelve quart bucket with a rope on it. I’ll never forget the first time I dipped water. We were going up river, I dropped the bucket over the side of the boat, and before you could wink your eye, that rope was jerked out of my hand. The bucket went out of sight down river faster than I had ever saw anything go before! I simply didn’t realise how powerful the pull of the water would be. It’s a darn good thing for me that I didn’t have that rope wrapped around my arm, I think it would have jerked my arm right out of the socket!

I told the captain, Charles Elwell, “I just lost the only water bucket we have. I dropped it over the side and the current took it down stream.”

The captain just laughed. “I meant to tell you about that. You have to dip very quick. It’s best to get a little at a time and dip more often.” Then he told me where to find another bucket.

It was my job to see that groceries were kept on hand at all times. I did all the buying. I had to cut the firewood for the cook stove, and see that plenty of wood was on deck at all times. Groceries were bought at Chinns Grocery in Mount Vernon. There was no limit to what I could buy at that store.

There was no refrigeration on the boat, so fresh meats had to be purchased a small amount at a time. We did have a small ice box, I used to keep some meats longer when we had the ice, but we didn’t have ice very often.

Hot cakes, bacon, and eggs were generally served for the morning meal. I bought prepared hot cake flour, so I seldom stirred them from scratch. There was always coffee. For the noon meal, I’d have boiled potatoes, with a flour gravy. Quite often fried pork steak. Some times I would make the gravy out of the juices from the fried steaks. Meat gravy was good for a change. I served baked beans now and then. Scalloped potatoes with canned corn and hot biscuits made up a fine meal.

Quite often the millionaire owner of the ship towing company would come aboard to have a meal with the crew. He generally had a compliment for me, he said, “The crew on this tug feeds better than I do at home!”

I told him, “Mr. Parker, you have a good crew here, this is hard work, if you want a hard job done well, the crew must eat well!”

“Well said my boy, you are doing just fine, keep up the good work!”

There is a place in the Skagit River, just below what is known as “The Dells” where a great boil raised about two feet above the rest of the river. This spot always puzzeled me. But I do know that when the fifty foot tug boat went through this abrupt raise, it seemed to viberate all over, slowing down to a very near stop. This boil is probably thirty feet across and the current has great power at this point. The old captain claimed that an underground river entered into the channel at that place.

Some of the long trips across the Puget Sound were very interesting. On one trip, a terrific storm had came upon us. The waves were six feet high. They splashed over the bow, running down the gunnels like small rivers. Pots and pans toppeled from their perches. The tug bounced around like a large cork on the sea. The captain tried to steer the boat according to his compass. There was no way possible to tell anything by looking. I was scared speachless.

All my firewood was washed overboard during the storm. All I had left was a small bundle by the stove. And that was scattered all over the galley. I’ll never know how we managed to get to the mouth of the river and out of the storm into the calmer river waters. What a wonderful relief. While the galley was a mess, our decks got a good washing if nothing else.

Another time we were coming back from a port across the Sound. It was late at night. The Sound was as smooth as a woman’s breast. I opened the galley door to view the weather outside past the gunnels, filled with herring.

As the boat made way, water splashed over the the bow. Thinking they were herring, I called to the deck hand, “Herby, come look at the herring!”

Herby was asleep on his bunk. When he saw the splashing water before us, he said, “Hell man, those are not herring! They are salt water smelt! Get me a pan and I’ll get you a mess of these in no time. They are the best eating fish you ever tasted!”

Since I didn’t know much about salt water fish, he gave me instructions while he caught the fish. “They are so easy to clean, just roll ‘em in flour and fry ‘em in a hot skillet, along with hot cakes. You never tasted any-thing better!”

“But what about the fish guts? Don’t you have to clean ‘em?”

“Hell no! You take the guts out after you get ‘em on your plate. They don’t have but very little guts anyway!”

He caught a large pan full, much more than we could eat. Thousands of them slithered past the galley door. We could have had several hundred pounds of them had we wanted.

That morning we had hot cakes and fried smelt. They were delicious, but the old captain refused to eat even one.

“You couldn’t pay me to eat any of those little things that were cooked with their guts inside!” He had bacon and eggs with his hot cakes. I tried to show the captain how small the insides of the fish were, but the old boy nearly threw up, so I gave up trying. Herby and I ate what we could the rest of them went over-board.

Quite often we would have to weigh anchor and wait for the tide to change. Sometimes it would take several hours. During these waiting periods, Herby and I would take the skiff and head for the clam beds. This always tickled the captain. I think he could eat clams three times a day if he could. It didn’t take long to gather all the clams we could handle. In those days clams were plentiful. I made clam patties, fried clams, and clam chowder. Clam patties went well with hot cakes in the morning. For patties, I ground about fourteen large clams, then added three eggs, mixed with cracker crumbs, and fried in an iron skillet, none of these were ever thrown out, they were all consumed.

I didn’t have to bake bread, pies, or cookies. However, I did bake meat loaves, salmon loaves, and potatoes. No one seemed to care much for sweet stuff. The old captain always said, “Meat and potatoes, the fat of the land. If you can’t eat it, you can starve and be damned!”

I think he lived by that rule. I never argued with the captain.

In Marinette County, Wisconsin, there are hundred of acres of sand plains. The only trees that grow there are Stunted Oaks, Jack-pines, with a scattering Norway pines here and there. The rolling hills all look very much alike. Sweet ferns grow, and prosper well, on the dry uncultivated soil. Pony grass, that seldom got over a few inches high covered much of the plains. Cranberry and blueberry marches were scattered here and there. Some small timber grew in those marshes. Scrubby cedars, and tamarack seemed to be the only trees of any size. A great country for bear, deer, and wolves. Bear enjoyed the blueberries in the fall. Deer got fat on the pony grass, and were able to hide in the cedar swamps.

Our school teacher, who was a great hunter, had killed a deer close to one of these swamps. It was too heavy for him to drag out by himself, so he got my younger brother and I to go with him. We were to help pull the deer out to his car. We had left the car about two miles from where the deer had been killed. There was no road way in to where the animal had been shot.

It was late afternoon when we left home to go after the deer. Neither my brother Wayne nor I had very much love for the teacher. He was very over-bearing, and difficult to get along with, but as he was married to our sister, so we just about had to do as he said. We had quite a hard time to find where the deer was. The teacher himself wasn’t sure.

After the two mile trip across the hills, and the time we spent trying to locate the animal, it got very late. We must have spent a good hour before we finally found what we were looking for. It was a big buck, weighing over two hundred pounds.

It was just about dark when we started for the car with the deer. Every hill looked alike, and after dark we were really in trouble.

Wolves had found where he had bled the animal. They were raising quite a racket. We didn’t know what time they may take our scent and follow to where we had dragged our find. Wayne was usually much better than I at keeping track of where we were. I told him I was lost, then he admitted that he also wasn’t too sure of where we were. The teacher yelled, “What’s the matter with you fellows, don’t you know which way to go?”

We told him if he knew so much about directions, why didn’t he take the lead. He stumbled behind us, trying to hurry us along. We had all we could do to pull that heavy animal. Finally we topped a small hill, and found a car in the distance with its parking lights on.

Sadly, while it was good, it was also bad! We figured it was a game warden waiting for us to show up! Oh, boy, we would be in serious trouble. We had no idea of who it was. We didn’t know what to do, or which way to turn. The deer was getting heavier at every step. We were just about played out. We were desperate and the teacher kept telling us that his car was in another direction, away from the parking lights, glowing in the dark woods. This really had us mixed up.

“You kids have lived here all your lives. You ought to know this country better than to get lost!”

Little Wayne spoke right up to him, “You are the one that is lost! If you’d let us alone we’d get out of this mess, but you keep telling us were going the wrong way!”

At that he cussed at us, saying that what we both needed was a good paddling!

Finally in desperation and afraid of the wolves in the dark, we headed straight toward the car lights. The teacher wanted to yell at us, but he was afraid the folks at the car would hear. As we were going downhill we could make pretty good time. By now it was about ten o’clock in the evening. Darkness had fallen some time back. We didn’t want to get stuck out there in those wolf infested sand plains any longer than was absolutely necessary. No matter who was at that car, we intended to go there regardless. We were scared.

When we got to the car, we were happy to find that it was the teacher’s car and the old boy had left his parking lights on. He didn’t even remember doing that! We were two very tired and happy kids. No game warden in sight. What a bunch of worrying for nuthing. We loaded up the deer into the car and returned home about midnight, glad to be out of the woods, away from the wolves, and back home, safe and sound.

It was five years ago in April that the new genealogy branch of the Washington County Public Library opened its research facility in a restored, single-story brick building at 418 Washington St. Since that time, hundreds of people visit each month from all over the United States — and beyond— all seeking historical information of their own family lineage or information on local history.

When history pertains to a person’s own ancestor (whom you now know by name after research), history suddenly comes alive, relevant and more important, said Ernest Thode, manager of the local history and genealogy branch.

“There are more statistics showing that a large percentage of people are somewhat interested in their family history,” Thode said Monday. “Sometimes a change, when the last parent dies or a person retires, will trigger a serious pursuit. Growth of the Internet at home has increased interest.”

Experts agree that the Internet can provide “some” information, but not all. What makes the big difference is a place, a destination like Marinette’s genealogy library — to either begin or pursue the passion.

In our family, the Knapp family lived in Taylor Rapids in Marinette County in Wisconsin, as part of the logging communities around Goodman. We visited the Washington County Public Library in Marinette and found a small but excellent resource and information there, along with very helpful and qualified staff. They are working on building a new library, and I’m sure that the genealogy and local history areas will expand.

The term “lenawee” or “lenawai” (Shawnee) cames from the Native American word meaning “man” from the Delaware “leno or lenno”. Lenawee County’s first white settlers were thirty New Yorkers who founded Tecumseh on the River Raisin in May 1824. The Farlin family arrived in the 1820-30s and the West family arrived in the 1840-50s. A railroad between Toledo and Adrian was finished in 1836, opening up the area’s farm land and population to the rest of the world, becoming a leader in agriculture in Michigan. It continues to be agricultural land today, though times for farmers are tough.

Much of the area remains as it was in the middle to late 1800s, with a few spots where farm land has been converted into subdivisions of homes. It remains far outside of metropolitan and populated areas, so growth and change is slow.

I was surprised to find dirt roads leading to my the homesteads of our ancestors, Farlin and West, still there in wide open fields surrounding old farm houses. At times I could tell when the original farm house and barns remained or where replaced by newer buildings, other times, I couldn’t tell if they’d restored the original farm house or not. I wish I’d had time to knock on doors to find out if anyone still remains and knows of any history from that time. I’ll have to plan that for my next visit.

As you drive around Lenawee County, you will see occasional signs marking the homestead as being continuously owned by the same family for over 100 years, paying tribute to the areas history.

The Lenawee County Family Researchers Genealogy Society provides local help and research as well as many events and activities around Lenawee County for historians, genealogists, and residents.

Here are some other helpful online resources I’ve found to help with my family history research in the area.

• Lenawee County Cemetery Information
• American Local History Network - Lenawee County, Michigan
• Lenawee Historical Society Museum
• Michigan Tombstone Transcription and Photography Project
• US National Register of Historic Places - Michigan Lenawee County
• Lenawee County Family Researchers Genealogy Society
• Rootsweb - Lenawee County, Michigan, Links to Area Resources and History
• Linkpendium - Genealogy Resources for Lenawee County, Michigan
• Memoirs of Lenawee County Michigan Vol. 1 and 2 - Online Book by Ancestry.com - Paid Access Only
• Michigan County Histories - Books, Maps, and Resources for Lenawee County
• Lenawee County, Michigan, Gedcom Family Files for Downloading
• Podunk - Cemeteries List for Lenawee County, Michigan
• Rootsweb MIGenWeb Archives for Lenawee County Michigan Cemetery Records and Photos
• Historical Society of Lenawee County
• Index to Lenawee County Naturalization Files
• Requests to the Archives of Michigan - Vital, Naturalization, and Other Document Research and Requests
• The McLain Cemetery, Raisin Township, Lenawee County Michigan
• Lenawee, Michigan, MIGenWeb
• Lenawee MIGenWeb Cemetery by Township List
• Lenawee MIGenWeb Cemetery by Alphabetical List
• Michigan USGenWeb Tombstone Project
• Lenawee County Family Researchers
• Library of Michigan Online Search through Michigan Cemeteries
• Lenawee County Vital Records
• Lenawee County Offices
• Lenawee County MIGenWebLenawee County Library
• 1895 Atlas for Lenawee County
• Lenawee County Platt Maps

In an ongoing project to cover the 80-year history of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, San Diego, the Chevron will be covering a decade in the history of the Depot in weekly installments. The archivist at the Command Museum has verified all facts.

In 1915 Col. Joseph H. Pendleton envisioned a Marine Corps Base in San Diego and approached Congressman William Kettner with the idea. Kettner had his own visions as well and decided on an area known as Dutch Flats, which was a low-lying tidal marsh that was covered with water at high tide.

Pendleton’s continued lobbying and regular speaking appearances at luncheons held throughout the city enlightened San Diegans to the idea of building a Marine advance base in San Diego. After a visit from Maj. Gen. George Barnett, the twelfth Commandant of the Marine Corps, Pendleton persuaded Barnett to write in his report to Congress on 26 August, 1915, that “Climatic conditions in San Diego are particularly suitable for an advance base or expeditionary regiment or brigade to work outdoors the year round.” “San Diego, being the southern most harbor in the United States of the Pacific Coast, is particularly well suited for such a post.”

In the fall of 1915, San Diegans voted, 40,288 to 305, to transfer 500 acres of tidelands to the Navy. On 5 January 1916, Kettner authored a bill to provide $250,000 for the purchase of 232 acres of land as a site for a U.S. Marine Corps Post in San Diego, Calif.

The series takes you step-by-step through the process of government cooperation and negotiation to make the base happen in a time of World War I, then through its construction and growth as major influential base into World War II.

Grandfather Howard W. West Sr. was stationed in San Diego in the 1920s and the series includes information describing what his day-to-day life might have been.

By Aug. 15, [1923] there were five platoons of 65 men each in training. Recruits were called “applicants” during the first two days. They watched training procedures and, after that, they could join if they still wanted to. Training lasted eight to 10 weeks and included daily parades at 4 p.m. on the sand covered parade deck.

Reveille was at 5 a.m., followed by physical training, area cleanup, and breakfast. After morning colors, the days were filled with close order drill and extended order drill, with a break for the noon meal.

The rifle range at that time was in La Jolla, now the site of University of California at San Diego. The recruits would hike to the range for the week long session.

Qualifying brought monetary rewards with an expert receiving an extra five dollars a month, a sharpshooter three dollars and a marksman two dollars. Messmen were paid five extra dollars for their services.

Howard W. West’s photograph album of his Marine service includes photographs of China and Asian ports, so it was exciting to discover references to China in the article.

During the fall of 1924, the Commandant issued an alert for the Marines at San Diego to prepare for expeditionary service in China. The base expanded as several new areas were developed for training in bayonet, entrenchment practice and weapons drill.

The buildup for China resulted in a flurry of construction activity in 1925. That same year President Franklin D. Roosevelt declared a limited national emergency following the outbreak of war in Europe and the base remained almost unchanged physically from 1925 until 1939.

Exploring the history of a place helps fill in the blanks of an ancestor’s life, so if you had an ancestor in the Marines during this time period, check out this series.