52 Ancestors 2026: At the Cemetery – Road Trip Destinations

 

Cemeteries can serve many purposes: parks for leisure and reflection, repositories of historical records, or places to honor those who came before us. Cemeteries such as Forest Lawn Cemetery in Buffalo, New York can also reflect the history of a city, displaying the wealth and prominence of its leading citizens. Others, especially older rural cemeteries, can feel like snapshots frozen in time after their communities faded away.

The Low Dutch Cemetery in Pennsylvania is one example. The Dutch-Huguenot colony either moved away or assimilated, the church connected to the cemetery dissolved and was eventually torn down, and the burial ground was simply left behind—a preserved glimpse of a late eighteenth- and early nineteenth-century community.

This week’s prompt asked, “Whose grave would you like to visit?” If there were a “one-stop” location for my family lines, it would probably be Barton City Cemetery, in Barton County, Missouri. Many generations of Cassatts, Younts, Reeds, Fasts, Gilmartins, and McWilliamses are buried there. Most were farmers and respected members of their communities. Thanks to sites like Find-a-Grave, I can at least visit virtually, though one day I may try to make the thousand-mile trip in person.

I could also travel one county north to search for members of the Curry and Maddox families, although some of those cemeteries appear to be poorly maintained. That might become a challenge for another time.

One place I would especially like to visit, however, is not actually a cemetery. As far as I know, none of my ancestors are buried there. Instead, it is a memorial to Kentucky pioneers whose graves may never have been properly marked. The memorial is located at Fort Boonesborough State Park, which also contains a reconstruction of the original fort and settlement.

The fort, established by Daniel Boone and other settlers, became a center of late eighteenth-century Kentucky settlement, including migrants from the Conewago Colony. One of those pioneers was my 4th-great-grandfather, Peter Cossart. His journey began in New Jersey, continued through the Conewago Colony in Pennsylvania, and eventually led him and his family to Kentucky along the Wilderness Road.

Peter lived near White Oak Spring, about a mile south of the fort. According to family tradition, he was killed by Native Americans around July 1781 while out picking blackberries. His body was never recovered, so he apparently never received a formal burial. This memorial therefore serves as a place of remembrance.

Although Peter lived only a short time in Kentucky, his family somehow endured the hardships of frontier life before later moving to Ohio and establishing themselves in Warren County for several generations. We know relatively little about the family during the remainder of the eighteenth century. Peter’s wife, Maria, still had relatives in Kentucky, though many pioneer families suffered losses during the violent frontier conflicts that accompanied the closing years of the American Revolution.

Perhaps by visiting Fort Boonesborough, I could better understand the landscape and hardships faced by those early Kentucky pioneers.

52 Ancestors 2026: A Question the Records Can’t Answer – If the Records Could Talk

 

Although so much information is now available at our fingertips, we still get only limited glimpses into the lives of our ancestors. The occasional memoir or contemporary account of a community can be invaluable, but we are often left guessing about the details of their lives. My maternal grandfather’s wandering ways and difficult household, the struggles faced by a widowed ancestor whose family supported the Confederacy during the Civil War, and the establishment of the Cossairt line in Kentucky and later Ohio all come to mind. Sometimes, though, we encounter a record that raises more questions than it answers.

One such record came from Fold3 and, as often happens, I found it while searching for something else. I was researching the military service of David Cossairt/Cassatt when I came across records for twelve Cossairts, including one for William Cossairt of the 26th Missouri Infantry Regiment. When Company G mustered out in January 1865 after participating in Sherman’s March to the Sea, the record noted that William had died on January 30, 1862, from an “accidental shot” in Medora, Missouri. Medora (now St. Aubert, in Osage County) was the location of a recruitment center for the 26th Missouri.

The remaining details are sparse: William enrolled on November 1, 1861, in California, Missouri, mustered in on January 9, 1862, and died only weeks later. No age was listed.

What happened? Was he accidentally shot during target practice? Did poor firearm safety in camp play a role? Was there an altercation with another soldier? The records remain silent.

And where had he come from? “Cossairt” is a variation of “Cossart,” so he was clearly part of the larger family line. Although his Civil War service record appeared in FamilySearch, it was not attached to any individual. I began tracing him through the Kentucky Cossairts but quickly hit roadblocks. His story may seem like a small curiosity, but it could hold clues to the larger family migration story. After the war, David Cassatt settled in Carroll County, Missouri, but it now appears he was not the first Missouri Cossairt. William and another soldier, Jacob Cossairt, also served in the Union Army. Was Jacob William’s brother? Would Jacob’s pension file reveal more?

Eventually, the puzzle pieces started to fit together. Through Jacob, I was able to identify William, and I attached his Civil War record in FamilySearch. William Fletcher Cossairt was twenty-two years old when he enlisted and was the younger brother of Captain Jacob Cossairt, who served in the 8th Missouri Infantry and survived the war. Their father, Francis Marion Cossairt, served in the 4th Iowa Infantry. Another brother, Henry, also joined the 4th Iowa Infantry and died of disease in 1863, while younger brother George Washington enlisted in the 9th Iowa Cavalry.

A father and four sons accounted for five of the twelve known Cossairts who served the Union during the Civil War, with three of them dying during the conflict, although apparently not from battle wounds.

The records provide names, dates, and units, but the deeper story remains hidden. What motivated this family to move west into Missouri? What sacrifices did they make, both before and during the war? Their experiences surely reflected the turmoil of a nation struggling to preserve the Union and end slavery. David and his father, William Peter, arrived later, settling farther up the Missouri River in Carroll County. But Francis Marion Cossairt’s family appears to have been among the earliest Cossairt settlers in Missouri.

These migrations—and the decisions behind them—remain largely mysterious. If only the records could tell us more.

52 Ancestors 2026: Tradition – Or Maybe Not

 

Growing up in Buffalo, I was surrounded by traditions, many of them rooted in the city’s immigrant neighborhoods. There were Italian festivals and foods celebrated each year, diners run by Greek immigrants, and the major Christmas Eve and Easter traditions centered around shopping at the Broadway Market. I learned to greet the various grandmothers—Babushka or Yia-Yia—who served as the respected matriarchs of multigenerational households. Since I got married, my own family now has absorbed and adapted many Polish customs, and we still enjoy celebrating those links to the Poland of around 1900.

At the same time, my family gradually let go of many of the Old World customs of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries and became an amalgamation of cultures—fully American. Although some ancestors originally lived in émigré communities in the colonies, it did not take long for cultures to blend. A few family lines especially stand out, both before and after the American Revolution.

My paternal line began as various groups of Huguenots from France and Belgium who migrated to New Amsterdam, where they became part of a blended French-Dutch community. The Scots-Irish McWilliams family settled in a heavily German area of Pennsylvania, and over time the Highlanders blended with the Rhinelanders. Other German families, such as the Fasts, were more recent immigrants and probably retained more of their German heritage for a generation or two, something that even proved useful during the Revolution. The New England Puritan families were perhaps the group that remained the most English, at least while they stayed in New England.

After the American Revolution and the opening of lands west of the Appalachians, everything began to change. Being “American” increasingly meant becoming something distinct from European identities. The Huguenot-Dutch branch migrated together into Kentucky, but eventually settled in Ohio, where they intermarried with English families. The Scots-Irish-German lines married into families with Quaker roots, descendants who had left the Society of Friends. Even the New Englanders broadened their horizons as they moved westward and married into German families. Farming and rural life became the defining tradition for many generations afterward. Even the one nineteenth-century Irish immigrant branch assimilated within a generation.

The move to Buffalo, however, transformed a rural family into an urban one. Open fields were replaced by parks and parkways, and one-room schoolhouses gave way to large brick schools with wood shops, auditoriums, and swimming pools. Yet perhaps some vestiges of those older traditions remain. Although gardening and mechanical work are far less necessary for me than they were for my prairie-dwelling ancestors, I still find myself carrying on some of those habits today.

52 Ancestors 2026: Working for a Living – A Doctor in the House

 

For most of my family’s history, this prompt would have been an easy one to answer, as I have written often about farm life. But while researching the Curry family, I came across some interesting finds regarding Nicholas Ray, another brother-in-law of Robert Curry.

I have yet to find a marriage record for Nicholas Ray and Mary A. Curry, but the Ray family appears in the 1850 census in the household of George and Amanda Cunningham, Amanda being Robert’s sister. George was a blacksmith, but Nicholas gave his occupation as “Physician.”

He may have been only an in-law, but having a doctor in the family could not have hurt. Was he educated in Europe or trained at one of the growing number of American medical schools? So far, there is no evidence of either. I did locate him again in the 1860 census, still listed as a physician, but this time in a different household and without any family members.

What happened to the family afterward is less clear. Mary and two of the sons—Atella and Annibal (or perhaps Atilla and Hannibal, or maybe one was actually a daughter named Anabel?)—seem to disappear from the record. Another daughter, Louisa, shows up in Illinois, where she married Mathew Thompson, and later appears in Iowa. From Louisa’s death record, we learn that Nicholas was born in Kentucky and that Louisa's mother’s maiden surname was Curry, also born in Kentucky. The informant, Louisa’s daughter Anabel, did not know her grandmother Curry’s first name, suggesting that Mary may have died young and that Louisa had been separated from much of the Curry family.

This is where it gets interesting.

In A History of Northeast Missouri, we learn that Nicholas was among the Kentuckians who helped found the town of Madison in Monroe County and that he served as its first physician. Records show that he was also appointed postmaster in 1846.

Yet Nicholas seems to have encountered some trouble despite his apparent standing in the community. In September 1848, he was indicted by a grand jury for practicing medicine without a license and posted bond the following day. At his circuit court trial in April 1849, he requested a jury trial, but the state dropped the charges and assessed no court costs.

Exoneration.

The fact that he was still practicing medicine at least eleven years later suggests the episode did little damage to his reputation. Whether formally trained or largely self-taught, he provided medical care on the Missouri frontier when few others were available. Perhaps competitors hoped to push him aside, but he clearly had enough community support to prevail.

Aside from some land sales in the 1850s and his appearance in the 1860 census, Nicholas then seems to fade from the historical record. The last mention of his wife Mary is in an 1854 land transaction. With surviving records so incomplete, much remains unknown, but his work was important to that young settlement, and his part in the Kentucky-to-Missouri migration remains part of its history.

Book:

Williams, Walter, ed. A History of Northeast Missouri, The Lewis Publishing Company, Chicago, 1913

52 Ancestors 2026: Another Break in the Wall

 

I recently made major discoveries about the family of my 2nd-great-grandfather, Robert M. Curry. It was the story of a family from Mercer County, Kentucky, making the all-too-familiar westward move to Monroe County, Missouri. Piecing that family together using both old and new research tools was a satisfying project, and I was ready to dust off my hands, call it a day, and mark the week’s work complete.

As it turns out, though, there may be even more surprises waiting for this researcher.

I recently visited the local public library to check records available through Ancestry Library Edition. While reviewing Robert’s siblings, I found a marriage record for Susan Curry and Hiram Cunningham in Monroe County, Missouri, dated 6 November 1853. Susan had appeared in the 1850 census but then seemed to vanish from the record.

While searching for additional Cunningham information, I found another Curry-Cunningham connection: Elizabeth Curry and Andy Cunningham, married 16 December 1841. Elizabeth? That was not a name I had previously encountered. Could she have been the young girl marked only by a tick mark in the 1830 census and then missing from later records?

Unfortunately, Elizabeth and Andrew appear not to have had a long marriage, as Andrew remarried in 1847 after Elizabeth presumably died. However, they did have a son: George Washington Cunningham.

As a researcher, I wondered whether there was enough evidence to place Elizabeth within the Curry family. I believe there is. George’s 1886 marriage record names his mother as Elizabeth Curry. In the 1900 census, George reported that his mother was born in Kentucky. Various Cunningham families also appear within the Curry FAN network (more on that another time). Most importantly, the 1841 marriage record names Samuel Curry as the father of the bride. The fact that Elizabeth does not appear in Samuel’s later estate records could simply mean that she had already died. Taken together, these clues make her inclusion in the family quite plausible.

I was fortunate to find many more records for Hiram and Susan Cunningham, though they introduced a possible misidentification. I located Hiram in FamilySearch, but his wife was listed as Susan Sanders, and the couple was living in Mercer County, Kentucky. Dead end? Perhaps not.

The marriage record attached in the sources was the Monroe County, Missouri, marriage of Hiram Cunningham and Susan Curry—not Susan Sanders. In addition, the sources included death certificates for four of their children. Three listed the mother’s maiden name as Curry, while only one gave the name Sanders. It is entirely possible that the informant for that one certificate simply provided incorrect information. Secondary records often contain such errors.

We now have records for Hiram Cunningham in two counties—Mercer County, Kentucky, and Monroe County, Missouri—that were already connected by migration and family ties. Are there additional records linking Kentucky’s Hiram to Missouri? Yes. Several Monroe County land transactions in the late 1850s name Hiram and his wife Susan. There are also no competing records for another Hiram Cunningham in Missouri during that period.

It seems very possible that Hiram moved west to an area where his cousins had settled, married a woman whose family was connected to both Kentucky and Missouri, and later returned to the Bluegrass State. Susan died before her husband, but the widower later remarried—Artimesia Curry Gabhart Bennett, a cousin of the Missouri Currys.

With so many ties between the Curry and Cunningham families, it is very tempting to identify this Susan as Robert Curry’s sister. But one more promising source remains.

Hiram J. Cunningham served in the 9th Kentucky Cavalry in the Union Army during the Civil War, and both invalid and widow pension files exist for Hiram and Artimesia.

It looks like another trip to Washington, D.C., may be in order.

One last thing: Why spend so much time digging for records about a couple of 3rd-great-aunts when there are so many other avenues to pursue? First, all of these clues can help create a more complete picture of the Curry family and the close ties they shared with neighbors who may have migrated alongside them. Second, we often encounter brick walls when researching maternal lines, and perhaps someone else will make a breakthrough by building on these records.

52 Ancestors 2026: A Quiet Life – Getting Away

 

As a city kid, I was always surrounded by noise—people talking (even when they were indoors and the windows were open), cars passing by, and sirens of every kind. That was not the case out on the farms, especially in the days before steam- and diesel-powered equipment. Out there, the sounds were more likely the lowing of cows or the crowing of roosters. I imagine that when my ancestors first made their way to the prairies of southwestern Missouri, they heard mostly the wind and the songs of birds.

I am hard-pressed to identify which of my ancestors truly lived a “quiet” life. There were daily farm chores, large families, and children constantly underfoot. Perhaps some of them stepped outside at the end of a long day and looked up at the stars, but they also viewed those wide-open prairies as land to be claimed and cultivated. Earlier pioneers saw the great eastern forests as sources of lumber and wilderness to be tamed, clearing trees so they could establish farms. Relations with Indigenous peoples, at times cooperative through trade, could also turn hostile, and dangers from wildlife such as bears and cougars were never far away.

For me, respite from the noise of daily life came from parks and campgrounds in landscapes long since settled. I have written before about camping, but there were other opportunities as well. As the City of Buffalo grew into an industrial powerhouse, Frederick Law Olmsted and Calvert Vaux were commissioned to design a park system. It included parkways linking the Niagara River to various parks, with the crown jewel being Delaware Park, complete with a lake, wooded paths, and open meadows. It was along those parkways and in the parks that we played football, and where I spent time “in nature,” watching birds and learning to identify wild plants and trees.

Later trips to places as distant and remote as Algonquin Provincial Park offered moments of real solitude. More recently, parks and trails have been as close as my own backyard, where I would head into the woods on a brisk winter day, often with a young child strapped into a backpack.

I do not know how my ancestors felt about “getting away,” but my descendants have certainly continued the tradition.

52 Ancestors 2026: Unexpected – An Appreciation of Amy’s Prodding and Prompts

 

Genealogical research is full of twists and turns. Sometimes it’s a shady character, a surprising connection to deep history, or an unexpected migration. There have been plenty of such examples in this blog, but what surprised me most this year was how much my blogging and writing led to new discoveries.

I originally thought the weekly prompts from Amy Johnson Crow would be useful for quick summaries, while I spent most of my time breaking through brick walls and adding more and more names to my tree. Instead, the prompts pushed me to explore new territory and dig deeper into ancestors and families I thought I already understood. They also encouraged me to examine the broader context—the times and places in which my ancestors lived. Three areas I explored in particular were early settlements, migration patterns, and a deeper look at farming life in Barton County.

When it came to early settlements, I knew I had ancestors in New England and New Netherland, but writing these posts led me to dig further into the details. “New England” turned out to encompass a variety of Puritan families. I learned more about the Salem Witch Trials, naming conventions, and discovered that I descend from some of the earliest immigrants to Plymouth Colony (the Mayflower) and Massachusetts Bay (Winthrop’s fleet). I also explored my Huguenot line through family histories and narratives about the early days of New Amsterdam, as well as my early Quaker ancestors in Pennsylvania.

Of course, my ancestors were all immigrants, but their migrations didn’t stop at the coast. Early generations moved into the interior of the Thirteen Colonies, and later generations pushed even farther west. I had learned about routes like the Wilderness Road and the Oregon Trail in school, but they became far more meaningful when I realized that my own ancestors had traveled them. One unexpected discovery was the central role that Kentucky—first as a territory and later as a commonwealth—played in so many of my family lines. Perhaps that connection explains why I was drawn to the Bluegrass State for my education, even before I knew of my Kentucky roots.

With all these migrations, many of these once-distant family lines eventually converged in Barton County, Missouri. While I had long collected census data for these families, the depth of information found in those records—especially the agricultural schedules, along with land, probate, and death records—revealed far more than I had expected. These sources provided not just names and dates, but insight into daily life and the interconnected nature of these families.

In the end, it is hard to point to just one unexpected discovery—there were many. What surprised me most was how much progress I made simply by writing. The process kept me engaged, encouraged deeper research, and led me to explore topics in ways I might not have otherwise.

Not a bad year at all.