Rebound the Hound

It’s no secret that I love my neighborhood. I’ve lived many places in my adult life, but Grant Park is the only place where I have known the majority of my neighbors and consider many of them friends. This is the kind of neighborhood where people stop to chat while out walking the dog; where going to the neighborhood farmer’s market is as much about seeing and catching up with friends as it is purchasing wonderful, locally grown organic food; where you can run across the street to snip some rosemary from your neighbor’s garden or borrow a missing ingredient for the night’s dinner. So it is really no surprise that when the warehouse of our local pet supply store, Intown Healthy Hound, was broken into and robbed of approximately $30,000 worth of pet food that our community stepped up to help them out.

Thanks to the incredible efforts of friend and neighbor Phred Huber who organized a fundraising event last night at Hodgepodge Coffeehouse & Gallery and generous food, beer and wine donations from local restaurants, 5 Seasons Westside, Caramba Cafe, Dakota Blue, Home Grown, and Six Feet Under to name a few—there was someone who delivered endless boxes of pizza!—and many hardworking and enthusiastic volunteers, we were able to raise a good amount of money to start them on their way to recovering from such a big loss. 

It was a packed house as people milled around sampling food, listening to awesome live music, and talking to fellow friends and neighbors. And, when Phred announced we needed another $180 to meet our goal, people stepped up, opening their wallets once more to make it happen. It was inspiring! But our work isn’t done, if you live in Grant Park or one of the surrounding neighborhoods, please stop by Intown Health Hound to buy pet supplies and/or bathe your dog. And, please thank Hodgepodge Coffeehouse and the other wonderful restaurants with your patronage, and let them know how much we appreciate them and their efforts. It is truly amazing what a community can do when it pulls together!

The Elusive Ezra Willis

Minnie Frances Palmer

I am a researcher at heart; give me a computer and a few free hours, and I can lose myself and all sense of time.  Over the last decade or so I have been fascinated and many times frustrated by researching my family tree.  In the first few years, I spent quite a bit of time in front of the computer, making connections, checking facts/sources, and sending off for public records.  I was able to establish a foundation of people within each of the major branches of my family from which to build on over the years.  There are times I hit a wall, and after many frustrating hours/days/weeks/months, I walk away for a time.  But, it is never far from my mind, and all I need is one hit, just one good bit of information and I’m back in, hook, line and sinker.  I sound like an addict... well, maybe I am just a bit addicted to genealogy. 

There is one person that I return to time and again, one who frustrates me above all others—Ezra Willis, my maternal grandmother’s father.  He was not a presence in her life, and on top of that, she didn’t like to speak much about the past.  When she did, she recounted stories that have left me baffled.  

My grandmother Rosa was essentially an only child; at least the only child born to Ezra and her mother, Minnie Francis Palmer.  There was another child, but unfortunately he didn’t live long, dying within the first year of life.  My cherubic great-grandmother had two subsequent husbands, but no further children. 

Rosa Willis

Once Rosa told my sister that she had had a brother and that they lived for a time in a boarding house in Chicago.  When it was time to move on, my grandmother’s mother (Minnie) didn’t have the money to pay what they owed, so she left her son behind in servitude.  According to my grandmother, she never saw him again.  Now the only son I can find, in all my years of research, is the son who died within a few months of birth.  See what I mean about baffling?  There is no one to confirm this story, not even my own mother who had never heard this before.  

My grandmother also told me she had a [half] brother named Eugene.  I even have a picture of them from when he visited my grandparents’ farm when my mother was still a girl.  Who was Eugene’s mother and did he have a family?  If so, where were they?  You can see how this might nag at someone like me.  I have been able to continue my research past Erza, finding his father and mother—Billy Willis and Almina Lavanway (I tell you this only to help in following along)—and each of their parents, and even their parents’ parents.  Finding a woman’s maiden name can sometimes be a challenge, as most often they are listed only by their married name.  But, they did sometimes give a son or daughter their family name as a middle name; this tradition has made my research possible. 

Eugene Willis and Rosa

So, why do I keep coming back to Erza?  Because I want to know what became of him—he was born in 1880; that really wasn’t that long ago.  Even if he only lived until he was sixty, it would have been 1940; you would think I would be able to find something about him.  And, I want to find my grandmother’s brother Eugene, whom she named a son after.  After his marriage ended to Minnie Francis, Erza seems to disappear.  The only grandfather my mother ever new was George Watson, Minnie’s third husband.  Even then she only knew him as “Grandpa Watson” (it took a bit searching to find his given name).  Thank G*d for the Federal Census, truly a genealogist’s best friend.

Recently, I have made what may be a breakthrough; although I hesitate to get excited—and definitely won’t add any information to my tree until I can do more work to connect some dots.  I have found an Ezra B. Willis who was born in Michigan (where my Ezra was born) around the same time as my Ezra.  This Ezra excites me (I know, I know) only because he had a son, you guessed it... Eugene!  

Ezra B. moved around a lot, which could explain why he’s been so elusive: from Michigan to Colorado where he married Edith (surname unknown) in 1909 and had a son named Clarence; then to Kansas where he married Rosemary Woodward in 1920 with whom he had Eugene (born in Missouri in 1922), Rosella, Joseph and Jesse; and then to Oklahoma where he married Catheline (surname unknown) and had two further children: a son, Billy (remember, Ezra's father’s name was Billy) and a daughter, Joaquita.  Eugene and Rosella are listed as living with them in Oklahoma in the 1940 Federal Census.  This was before birth control and men tended to have children well into their older years; Ezra is close to sixty at the time of the census and his wife is 23, just five years older than Eugene.  

So far there is more argument against this being my Ezra than for, like the fact that Rosa would have been 20 years older than him, but until I’ve exhausted all available resources, I at least have a possibility.

Dedicated to my grandmother: Rosa Mae (Willis) Otto, 1902-2001.

What is a Father?

According to Wikipedia a “father (or dad) is defined as a male parent or individual progenitor of human offspring…[t]he verb "to father" means to procreate or to sire a child from which also derives the gerund "fathering".”  Is providing DNA truly what makes one a father…a “dad”?  Or is fathering more about nurturing a child, providing for them, encouraging and guiding them? 

On Father’s Day every year, I think about this relationship.  For me, a “dad” is not the progenitor of human offspring; he is the person who loves and cares for a child.  This stems, of course, from my personal experience; from my relationship with the man I called dad and the relationship my daughter has with my husband, whom she calls dad.  Most people who know me understand that when I talk about my dad, I’m referring to my step-father, Bill Paden; the man who loved me as his own, took me with him on gigs, helped me get my first job, taught me to drive, and walked me down the aisle. 

He had a ready smile, a love of music, and a great sense of humor.  I remember many a night accompanying my mother when he played the piano and saxophone with, first, Joe Penny and the Penny Pinchers at the Elks Club or local watering hole—somehow I always managed to be admitted—and later, with the Wind Jammers.  He would get lost in the music, pounding on the keys with abandon, eyes closed, foot taping, head swaying to the time of the music; always with a huge grin on his face…always.  People loved him; he was gregarious, outgoing, and friendly—he never met a stranger.  He also had a joke for every occasion and loved a good practical joke. 

He was not my father, but he was my dad.  I miss him.

Mission Accomplished! A Bathroom Renovation Story

The bathroom renovation is complete! 

Well, 99% complete.  The only thing left to do is to install the shower enclosure (the ring that the shower curtain hangs from, which attaches to the ceiling and shower).

Unfortunately, when I ordered it, I ordered a 60” enclosure—because the tub is 5’, I thought this was the right size.  I was wrong.  Signature Hardware was great in helping me exchange it for the 54”, which should be arriving in the next week or two.

  

I love how the french country table I found at Scott’s turned out as the base for the sink.  Mr. Man cut a U in the drawer to fit around the plumbing underneath (I still need to stain the wood).  It looks great! 

 

And the faucet?  Totally worth the splurge.  

I love the vintage look with the bead board and custom-made shelf. 

And, last but certainly not least, the pocket door!  Before the door opened out into the hallway, taking up the entire space.  We had to reduce the width of the door frame, which meant redoing the drywall in the central hallway; you can see that we still have to get the chair rail put in, but I’ve been unable to find a piece that matches the chair railing we currently have.  

So, to review...

 Before: Old scary shower...

After: refinished claw-foot tub/shower; the bathroom feels so much bigger without the wall and awful brass framed shower door.

Before: old ugly console sink with brass hardware and awful lighting fixture... 

After: new vintage table sink, custom-made mirror, and beautiful vintage lighting.

Before: who could forget the old, gaudy wallpaper?!?...
  

After: new bead board and paint, as well as new dual flush toilet.  

What’s next?  Mr. Man wants to build the built-in bookcases we’ve always wanted in the study.  Stay tuned...

“Your baby is in the road!”

Driving up a narrow, two-lane, residential, mountain road on my way to the farm on Monday, I rounded a curve and glimpsed a toddler in the road.  Yes, I said a toddler; between 18-24 months of age, he was standing in the middle of the oncoming lane, holding a bottle between his teeth by the nipple.  Slowing down as I completed the curve, I scanned for the adults who must surely accompany him.  Imagine my shock as I realized he was alone!  I rolled to a stop beside him, sounding the horn of my car while frantically searching the surrounding area, keeping an eye on the child, the oncoming lane, and the road behind me all at the same time. 

I spotted movement beside a house set approximately 50 yards back from the road; a man was using electric clippers to trim some overgrown shrubs.   I resumed honking the horn without letting up, while still keeping an eye on the child and watching for any approaching cars (of which, thankfully, there were none).  The man shut of the clippers and I screamed “Your baby is in the road!”  Instantly, he dropped the clippers and sprinted to the boy, and ashen faced, scooped him up into his arms.   Young, somewhere in his late-twenties, and totally freaked out, he stuttered “Oh my G*d, he snuck out of the house,” followed by a grateful, “Thank you so much.” 

What is most shocking thing about this story, surprisingly, isn’t the baby in the road, it is the SUV a few yards in front of me who drove right passed the child without stopping.  When did we become a society that cares so little for others that you could drive passed a baby, standing alone, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD?!  I was unspeakably angry.  I wanted to hunt this person down and shake him or her.  To read them the riot act.  To do... something; I don’t know what.  But something, anything, to make them understand the sheer despicableness of what they had done.  

I thought of this child all day, and coming home that evening, I drove that road with increased caution and reduced speed, with the thought of that baby at the forefront of my mind, while trying hard NOT to imagine what could have happened.  

I know this will forever haunt that young father, the “what if”.

Looking for Salvaged Door Casings

We are a couple weeks behind schedule on the bathroom renovation; mostly due to trying to find casings to match the existing ones in the house, and Floor & Décor messing up our tile order.  Mr. Man and I picked out this tile before we started the project—1” white, tan & brown tumbled marble mosaic in 1’ x 1’ sheets—but didn’t purchase it.  We wanted to keep our options open in case we found something either cheaper or that we liked more.  When we did go to purchase it, they no longer had enough.  I’ll spare you the details, but take a tip from me, when you find what you want, buy it.  Don’t wait.  The tile is down and looks amazing (shown without grout below).   

The bathroom has been primed and painted, and Mr. Man has built the mirror frame I drew out; purchasing a custom-sized mirror from Modern Glass & Mirror Co.  Today, he and Troy are busy putting up the bead board. 

Custom mirror frame

Mr. Man and his new toy

I’ve been unable to find the casings that match what’s in the rest of the house.  I’ve gone to three different stores and everyone’s initial response has been, “hmmm, that’s old.”  Yep, early 1900’s to be exact.  At Atlanta Millwork they can make it for us, but we’d have to pay for a custom knife to be made at a cost of $300+ and then the cost of the casings at $1.57 a foot.  Not going to happen.  I visited Atlanta Salvage, thinking this would be my best bet.  No luck.  We are going to reuse the casings we have on the exterior of the bathroom door, where it will be noticeable if they don’t match the rest of the house, and are settling for something similar for the interior.

We’ve decided to increase the size of the baseboards to what would be traditional for a Victorian bungalow; 10”-12” (we will then slowly change out all the baseboards throughout the house, which are currently only 4”).  We will be putting in 12”-14” plinths, which also would be traditional to the age and style of the house, but weren’t put in when the house was renovated.  Instead, the past owners settled or piecing in cuts of casing, as seen in the picture above—I’ve always hated how it looks.

The electrician will install the light fixtures next week and I’ll spend time painting the bead board.  Then next weekend, hopefully, we’ll be putting things into place and hooking up the plumbing.  Cross your fingers for us.

Chrishi Beach

The wind has finally died down on this, our last day in Nevis.  We all opt to spend the day lazing in the sun, swimming, and drinking rum punch.  We pack up and make our way to Chrishi Beach.  Hand’s down this is the best beach on Nevis.  There is a bar/restaurant and comfortable lounge chairs under thatched-roofed umbrellas, as well as a few raised-platform, open-sided cabanas.  The sand is soft, and the water is, of course, gorgeous.  Oh, how I wish we had discovered this spot earlier in the week!  The water right in front of us has a few big rocks just below the surface and some good-sized waves are rolling in, in fairly rapid succession, but wandering down the beach a bit you can wade out passed the rocks to a sandy-bottomed, calm swimming area. The water is cool—although warmer than it has been—and is refreshing after spending a while in the sun.

 

We have the place almost to ourselves and are enjoying the quiet when a group of 20-somethings show up.  With a vast area to choose from, they decide to set up camp right beside us and proceed to disrupt our solitude.  This seems like a good time to get out of the sun anyway and head for the shade of the cabanas.  We reposition ourselves, and, again, settle in for a tranquil day at the beach.

It has been a wonderful week, and we hate for it to end, soaking up every last minute of sun before heading to the house to prepare for dinner at Coconut Grove. 

My TripAdvisor review of Coconut Grove:

“We feel fortunate to have decided on Coconut Grove for our final dinner on Nevis.  First, the open-air building with its high, thatched roof is a beautiful and fitting setting for a tropical island meal.  Gary, the owner, is a sommelier and maintains a sizable wine cellar.  Even though we didn't have a reservation we were shown to a table overlooking the beach and water.  The service is also the best we experienced on the island; better even than the Four Seasons. But, by far the best thing about this restaurant is the food.  We started our meal with the onion soup, lobster bisque and 2 way yellow fin tuna.  The onion soup was rich in flavor although low on onions and a little too much toast for my taste, but the flavor was excellent and I was tempted to eat every mouthful and risk being too full to do my entree justice.  The lobster bisque was equally flavorful and rich.  I wish we had another night so that I could go again and have a bowl of this all to myself.  Gary seemed to thoroughly enjoy the tuna, eating every bite with a look of pleasure on his face.  For entrees we had grilled spiny lobster, mahi mahi, and the Creole style seafood stew.  The lobster was huge and grilled perfectly, firm but not dry (my only complaint would be that the butter served alongside was not salted; why bother).  The mahi mahi was reportedly delicious and presented with a lovely fan of vegetables.  The seafood stew also got two thumbs up.  For dessert, we shared the chocolate soufflé which was to die for! I think I ate most of it myself, even though I was unable to finish all my lobster.”

The Heritage Trail, Nevis

Sitting in the Mt. Nevis Hotel’s open-air dining room, you are treated to a beautiful view of Nevis, the ocean, and St. Kitts.  The air fresh and a light breeze carries the sweet scent of the ocean.  It is divine.  We are the only ones in the restaurant; others having breakfasted earlier.  Today we are following the Heritage Trail around the island, fitting in as much as we can, without rushing through anything.

Mt. Nevis Hotel and Restaurant

On our way back down the mountain we stop at Cottle Church or what remains of it.  Built in 1824 by Thomas Cottle, who worshipped here with his family alongside his slaves.  It was illegal for slaves to worship at the time so the church was never consecrated.  Thomas Cottle died 4 years following its opening.

Cottle Church

 

Our next stop is Herbert’s Beach just south of Nisbet Plantation.  Driving down the dirt road there is a huge fire burning as well as a backhoe digging up trees; looks like the area is to be developed, and it is no wonder.  The water and view here are gorgeous.  If it wasn’t for the dilapidated bar and surrounding garbage it would be a wonderful destination for a day of swimming/snorkeling and sunning. 


Herbert's Beach

Continuing south on the main road, we briefly stop at St. James Anglican Church which houses the only black crucifix in the Caribbean…

St. James Anglican Church

… and then go in search of the Eden Brown Estate.  We almost miss it, it is so overgrown.  The estate, said to be haunted, is in terrible disrepair.  If something is not done soon, this historical landmark will crumble and be forgotten.  The buildings are covered in vines, and wandering around the grounds you are hard pressed to see that there are actually buildings behind all the shrubbery and overgrowth.

Eden Brown Estate

 

We crawl through an old window of the main house to get a better lookinside.  The estate was home to Julia Huggins, whose brother died in a duel with her fiancé the night before her wedding.  While her  fiancé lived, he went on to propose to another woman—perhaps this was the reason behind the duel—and Julia lived out her life here as a recluse and is said to still wander the ruins.  I do hope someone will adopt this project soon and clear the grounds for future generations to enjoy.

The highlight of the day is the New River and Coconut Walk Estates on the east side of the island.  New River, an old sugar plantation, is full of beautiful, rusty mechanisms from the steam-powered mill.  We are inside the mill taking photos, when I look up and realize just how precarious the tin roof is.  Right above my head dangles a large, sharp piece of wood; the wind is blowing making the wood creek and the tin screech.  Perhaps it is best to move on. 

New River Estate

We are walking down the trail toward the sea when a large group of goats round the corner.  Seeing us, they turn tail and head back the other way.  I do not even have time to think about grabbing my camera.  We pass a cotton field on our left and then we are at Coconut Walk (once upon a time coconut trees lined the drive).  There is a large lime kiln, still in use today, where coral is fired into lime to be added to concrete for construction.

Further down the road we see the dwellings at the edge of the ocean that are part of the Arawak Indian site.  The road we have traveled down is obviously not made for cars, so Mr. Man and I take the road on the other side of the cotton field to see if it will accommodate a car, as the ruins are too far to walk to, but we are eager to continue exploring.  Luckily, this road leads back to the dirt road where we have parked the car and we thankfully climb aboard and turn on the AC before heading toward the sea.  When we get close we see wild donkeys who are watching us closely and keeping their distance.  The two small buildings are right at the water’s edge.

A little weary from our morning of exploring, we stop for lunch in the open-air restaurant at The Hermitage.  What a charming and quaint plantation inn.  The main house, of which the restaurant is a part, consists of several rooms: a lovely bar with pictures of the owner’s racing horse, dining room, a lovely sitting room, and a library.  All the rooms are decorated with British antiques and are cozy and inviting.  I envision having cocktails with fellow guests in the evenings before retiring to one of the colorful cottages dotting the property.  The only thing lacking is the beach.

The Hermitage Plantation Inn



After our delicious lunch we follow in the footsteps of some other tourists and sneak a peek inside the “Blue Cottage,” and then wander around the grounds.  There is a inviting swimming pool behind tall hedges affording bathers privacy from the main house, and several raised beds of vegetables, and a green house.  It really is lovely.

In the late afternoon we head back to the house to snorkel.  Unfortunately, there is nothing to see in the shallows which extend out a ways from the shore.  To really snorkel one must walk out to the reef, which is currently being battered by waves and isn’t inviting at all.  We settle for swimming instead.  The water is cool and refreshing, and we find ourselves carried southward.  Trying to swim back toward the tiny bit of sand in front of our house, we find that we can make no headway against the pull of the tide.  We are forced to swim to shore and then walk back in the shallows.

Time for a nap before dinner.