52 Ancestors 2026: A Life Compared to Mine – Or Contrasted with Mine

 

It has been really hard to find anyone whose life parallels mine. I grew up in the city, received a university and postgraduate education, and have spent my career as a scientist. Almost all my ancestors were farmers living, of course, in rural areas, and they did not have the benefit of a college education. I do a passable job of growing vegetables in a modest backyard garden, but that’s the extent of my farming experience. Kentucky loomed large in my ancestry, but I was a graduate student in the heart of the Bluegrass, not a settler subject to Indigenous attacks.

So there are few parallels, but what about opposites? It’s difficult to choose someone because my life and times are so different from those of my ancestors that I could pick someone almost at random. However, while digging around for one piece of information, I found someone who may—or may not—be a relative: George Washington Rutledge Larkin, Gentleman. Is he a relative? According to FamilySearch, he is my seventh cousin five times removed, but the common ancestor supposedly lived in England in the seventeenth century, and that connection has not been verified. Nor does George appear to descend from the Puritan Larkins of New England.

Caveats aside, there are some connections to family members I know about. Larkin lived from 1833 to 1901, spanning the period when my ancestors had a variety of involvements in the Civil War and were moving west to Barton County, Missouri. I came across him while following up on leads concerning Martha Jane Weatherford and her husband Joseph White’s first family.

Joseph’s first wife was said to have been Native American. FamilySearch identifies her as Natichia Na-Ta-Ka Hiya, but no sources are listed. They had two children, Nancy Elizabeth and William. I looked for information about Nancy, hoping to find something that might add to the story of Martha Jane. Nancy had married Jesse Duncan and moved to Jackson County, in northeastern Alabama. But that’s when I started to go down the rabbit hole.

It was the next entry in the 1860 census, the last census taken before the Civil War, that caught my eye. The entry read: G.W.R. Larkin, age 25, male, occupation: Gentleman. I was accustomed to looking more closely at real estate and personal estate values, but I had never seen figures like these associated with anyone in my family: $25,000 in real estate and $30,000 in personal estate. In 1860!

In Alabama, even in Jackson County in the northeastern Appalachian region, those figures suggested that Larkin might own a plantation and enslaved people whose value was included in his personal estate. A quick look at the slave schedule confirmed his name. He was listed as owning 26 enslaved people: 19 males and seven females.

It is possible that he inherited most of them from his father, David Larkin Jr., who died in 1856. Other Larkins appear on nearby pages of the schedule, including George’s brother, William Rutledge Larkin, with 24 enslaved people, and his 18-year-old sister, Mary Elizabeth Larkin, with four. Mary was living in the household of another sister, (Sarah) Ann Larkin Dillard, who was listed with nine enslaved people herself.

Who were these Larkins? The patriarch, David Larkin, had emigrated from Tennessee and established a 32,000-acre plantation that became the center of the town of Larkinsville. David died in 1856. In 1850, he was listed as a farmer with real estate valued at $23,000 and a household that included 45 enslaved people.

Further research into probate records may yield the names of people whom the census and other records treated as property. In the slave schedules, they were identified only by age, sex, and whether they were classified as Black or Mulatto. It is clear, however, that the enslaved people were divided among David’s children after his death.

The family was among the leading citizens of the county. The eldest son, William Larkin, was singled out as “one of the most progressive, energetic and outstanding citizens in the county.” Located near the Tennessee River and the railroad, the area became a Civil War battlefield. George Larkin served as a first lieutenant in the Confederate Army.

Interestingly, the county history notes that “Ned and Frank Larkin were killed near Larkinsville by a lawless party, New Year’s night 1871.” Testimony given by Charles Waldron Buckley before the congressional Joint Select Committee investigating conditions in the former Confederate states provides additional evidence identifying the perpetrators as the Ku Klux Klan. Since there are no records of children or grandchildren of David Larkin that fit these names and dates, we can imagine that these two men were among the enslaved men or boys who were only indicated by age and sex. 

The life and times of George Washington Rutledge Larkin could hardly be more different from mine. His experience may not even have been representative of many—or most—of my Southern ancestors, and it was nothing like their neighbor and my closer relative Nancy Elizabeth White Duncan’s life. My ancestors, north and south, appear to have been the Jeffersonian “yeoman farmers” who worked the land themselves rather than being plantation owners. Many came from the Appalachian regions of the Southern colonies and, later, states, rather than the Tidewater regions of Virginia and North Carolina.

I have checked the slave schedules for evidence that my ancestors* owned enslaved people, but so far I have come up empty. I have not yet finished researching all my family lines, however. Perhaps, as I dig deeper, I will find more direct ancestors whose lives resembled that of George Washington Rutledge Larkin.

* Besides the landowners in New Netherland, but that’s another story.

Photo

Larkinville Map: https://digital.archives.alabama.gov/digital/collection/maps/id/536/

52 Ancestors 2026: A Moment of Courage (And Perseverance) – Joining the Union Army

 

One could say that my family tree is full of courageous people—refugees who took a chance on a months-long sail to the New World; men, women, and their children who set out for the frontier; young men who went off to battle; and women who raised large families on their own after their husbands died. But one of my ancestors stands out for the two times he decided to serve the Union cause by signing up for the Army.

That would, of course, be Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams, my 2nd-great-grandfather on my maternal side. His Civil War journey began in the spring of 1862, when he was 19 years old and a company was being raised in Milton, Pennsylvania, in Northumberland County. But it was not to be. He took some time for his last day as a civilian, only to find out that the company had left without him. He and his friends and cousins, including Folders and Billmeyers, tried again later that summer, going all the way to Harrisburg, but once again Ben was unlucky.

He ended up becoming a sutler’s clerk, doing trade near Yorktown, Virginia. Maybe it was being in the presence of the monument where Cornwallis had surrendered, or maybe it was hearing about the Union victory at Gettysburg, but in July 1863 he decided to give it another shot and signed up to serve in the 16th Pennsylvania Cavalry, Company F.

It took some courage to sign up when the quota for the county had already been filled and he was unlikely to be drafted, but simply surviving the war would require another level of courage. Just three months after entering the service, Ben was captured while on retreat. The next 15 months would see him confined to five prison camps. At first, he was in relative comfort, indoors at Libby Prison in Richmond, but he was soon transferred a few miles away to Belle Island, where he lived outdoors and was subject to the vagaries of the weather.

As the cold winter weather set in at Belle Island, the prisoners were denied blankets, although blankets were available in plain sight. Ben decided to risk being shot by dashing across a ditch to get blankets and clothing:

I recollect when the guards first got their blankets they would throw them up on the bank between them and us. While I stood one day and looked within 8 feet of the blankets and realized how they came by them and how they was treating us, I made up my mind I might as well die with the bullet as starvation. Our camp was full of old tents which came close to the ditch where we was allowed to go and the banks of it was worn down by the trading done by the men and guards after night as most all guards traded every night. I saw that when two guards came together and then turned around to walk back 60 feet, the length of the beat in daytime, I had plenty of time to move the 8 feet, pull the blanket off the bank, get in among the crowd and old tents, and be safe. Well, I succeeded so well the first time, that I tried it again and by working the 3 reliefs that day, I got 13 blankets, a rubber poncho and 2 overcoats. The last time I was shot at. I got so bold by my success that I could not see a put-up job by one of the guards who threw his blankets further over than any of the others and then by looking over the crowd could easy tell who who was watching. When he turned by the blanket to walk back I went out as usual and when I put my hand on the blanket he turned suddenly around and say, "now, you Yankee (__), I have got you now" and fetched his gun to his shoulder and fired within 30 feet of me. If he would have kept still he would have had me, only for him saying what he did. When I heard him, I let go of the blanket which I had not pulled over yet only put my hands on. I rolled down in the ditch and his shot passed over my head. Then I said, "now you haven't got me", took the blanket and ran among the crowd and tents before the other guards could comprehend what had took place.

But the “good times” at Belle Island wouldn’t last. In February 1864, many of the prisoners were shipped out of Richmond and were given the opportunity to become charter members of Camp Sumter in Andersonville, Georgia. Andersonville. Yes, that camp notorious for squalor, disease, and death. It was still being built when the first prisoners, including Ben, arrived. There may not have been any specific acts of bravery, but the day-by-day need to survive the seven months he was imprisoned there, especially after getting the attention of the camp ruffians known as the Rangers, took a great deal of cunning and fortitude.

In October 1864, he was moved to a prison camp in Savannah, where he stayed for a month before being moved to Camp Lawton in Millen and then back to Savannah to be paroled on November 19, 1864.

After a period of furlough, and with no weapons and no horse, Ben ended up participating in the siege of Petersburg and then followed Grant’s army to Burkeville Junction and Lynchburg. With the war over, he eventually found his way to Richmond and camped across from Belle Island. And fished.

In a way, his captivity had come full circle. He was discharged and, like so many of his comrades, began to make his way back into civilian life. He made his way west, first to Iowa and then to Missouri, where he bought a farm and broke the prairie sod in what became the crossroads of Verdella, Missouri.

In most times and for most people, his adventures heading westward toward an uncertain future would have been an act of courage. But after all he had been through, his new adventure must have seemed tame by comparison. 

52 Ancestors 2026: A Name with Meaning – “My Name Is Spelled ‘Artimesia.’”

 

“My name is spelled ‘Artimesia’” was the opening sentence in a Civil War pension deposition given by my 1st cousin 4-times removed, Artimesia Curry Gabhart Bennett Cunningham. Artimesia could neither read nor write, yet she recalled decades of family history with remarkable clarity. Her testimony not only offered a fascinating glimpse into life in turn-of-the-20th-century Kentucky, but also became an important piece in solving my Curry family puzzle.

I had written earlier about my efforts to trace the ancestry of my 2nd-great-grandfather, Robert M. Curry, and reconstruct the Curry family. To continue researching the interconnected families of Monroe County, Missouri, I searched records on Ancestry at the local public library and followed up with full-text searches on FamilySearch. Among the discoveries were several marriages linking the Curry, Maddox, and Cunningham families. Brothers Robert and John Curry married Maddox sisters, while three Curry sisters married men with the surname Cunningham. Amanda married George Washington Cunningham, Elizabeth married Andy Cunningham, and a third marriage particularly caught my attention: Susan Curry and Hiram Cunningham in 1853.

Although the marriage took place in Monroe County, Missouri, Hiram appeared as a resident of Kentucky in both the 1850 and 1860 censuses. That discrepancy raised questions, but land sale records in Monroe County linked Hiram and Susan Cunningham to George and Andy Cunningham. When I checked FamilySearch, however, I found Hiram’s wife listed as Susan Sanders. Find-a-Grave added more confusion by identifying Hiram’s wife as Susan Bennett.

The next step was to examine supporting documents. Death certificates for the children showed mixed information: one listed the mother as Susan Sanders, while three others gave the maiden name as Curry—or at least handwriting that could reasonably be interpreted that way. I also learned that Hiram later married a woman named Artemisia Curry and that he had served in the Civil War and filed an invalid pension application, followed later by a widow’s pension application from his surviving wife. I hoped those records would identify Hiram’s first wife, so a trip to the National Archives in Washington, D.C., was in order—one advantage of living nearby.

That is where I met Cousin Artimesia—or perhaps “Artemisia.” In any case, I learned a great deal about her life. Like many of my ancestors, she was born in Kentucky, in 1824. At age seventeen, she married John Gabhart (also spelled Gabbert or Gabbard) and had four children with him before his death in 1859. She later married George Bennett, and then Hiram Cunningham. Her marriage to George Bennett ended in divorce, and records from the Mercer County Clerk’s office show that the divorce was finalized on May 10, 1871. Artimesia wasted little time beginning the next chapter of her life, marrying Hiram just four days later, on May 14, 1871. She and Hiram spent more than twenty years together before his death in 1892.

Artimesia’s deposition was taken in 1901 as part of her widow’s pension application. In it, she clearly identified Hiram’s first wife as Susan Curry. At that point, it was time to evaluate all the evidence, using both my ChatGPT assistant and guidance from a FamilySearch volunteer. Three independent sets of records identified Susan Curry as Hiram’s first wife: the original marriage record, three of the four children’s death certificates, and Artimesia’s deposition.

The deposition carried particular weight because Artimesia recalled not only Susan’s name, but also attending her funeral, which had occurred just a year before her own marriage to Hiram. She also accurately remembered the witnesses at her first wedding, which had taken place more than sixty years earlier. Her testimony demonstrated firsthand knowledge of the family and strongly suggested that she, likely Susan’s first cousin, would not have confused such an important relationship. As a result, her deposition became a high-quality source.

And what about the “Sanders” claim? That rested entirely on a single death certificate in which the informant was the county coroner rather than a family member. The overall weight of evidence strongly supported Susan Curry as Hiram’s first wife. As for Find-a-Grave, the confusion may have arisen because Artimesia herself had once carried the surname Bennett. Since Artimesia stated that Hiram had only been married once before, I concluded that the grave beside Hiram’s belonged to Susan Curry Cunningham.

With that conclusion, I could finally piece together Susan’s story. Susan Curry, the sister of Robert Curry, was born in Kentucky on September 7, 1833, and married Hiram Cunningham in Monroe County, Missouri, on November 6, 1853. The couple lived in Missouri and had three children before returning to Mercer County, Kentucky, sometime before the 1860 census. By 1867, they had seven children, but tragedy struck during the birth of their eighth. An infant son was born on June 18, 1870, and died the following day. Susan herself died on June 29, 1870, only thirty-six years old. Infant and maternal deaths were heartbreakingly common in that era, when medical care for mothers and newborns was extremely limited.

Armed with all of this evidence, I reconnected Hiram Cunningham and Susan Curry in FamilySearch and attached the supporting documentation. Artimesia gave us the gift of restoring Susan Curry Cunningham’s identity and recognizing her as a daughter, wife, and mother rather than a forgotten name lost in conflicting records.

After Hiram’s death, Artimesia continued to manage the farm, renting it out in exchange for a share of the crops. That was remarkable for a woman who was seventy-seven years old at the time of her deposition and who would live another fourteen years. For someone who claimed, “My mind has gone to pieces,” she managed quite well.

Pictures: 

Find a Grave, database and images (https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/72814019/susan-cunningham: accessed May 27, 2026), memorial page for Susan Bennett Cunningham (7 Sep 1833–29 Jun 1870), Find a Grave Memorial ID 72814019, citing Grapevine Christian Church Cemetery, Mercer County, Kentucky, USA; Maintained by Michael & Pam (Carey) Ison (contributor 47315156).

Find a Grave, database and images (https://www.findagrave.com/memorial/72814015/infant_son-cunningham: accessed May 27, 2026), memorial page for Infant Son Cunningham (18 Jun 1870–19 Jun 1870), Find a Grave Memorial ID 72814015, citing Grapevine Christian Church Cemetery, Mercer County, Kentucky, USA; Maintained by Michael & Pam (Carey) Ison (contributor 47315156).

Memorial Day 2026: A Tribute to Nathaniel Cloud

 

On Memorial Day, we remember the service members who gave their lives defending our country. Many of us who research family history naturally focus on our direct ancestors, especially when trying to confirm lines and break through brick walls. Yet many of those who died in war were too young to leave descendants of their own. It is fitting, then, to also remember the brothers, sons, and uncles whose sacrifices shaped their families’ stories.

The Cloud family were part of the Quaker settlement in Pennsylvania, but over time they set aside their pacifist traditions and supported the patriot cause during the American Revolution. Nathaniel Cloud, the oldest son of Samuel Cloud and brother of Mary Ann Cloud, was born in 1843 and carried on a proud family name that appeared repeatedly throughout the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries.

Nathaniel, my 2nd-great-granduncle, was only nineteen years old when he enlisted in the 8th Iowa Volunteer Infantry Regiment in 1861. His unit became part of the 2nd Division of the Army of the Tennessee under Ulysses S. Grant, fresh from victories at Forts Henry and Donelson. The army advanced into Tennessee and camped near Pittsburg Landing on the Tennessee River, preparing for operations aimed at Memphis, Vicksburg, and the heart of the Confederacy.

On April 6, 1862, Confederate forces launched a surprise attack near a small Methodist church called Shiloh, meaning “place of peace.” As the battle intensified, Union soldiers made a determined stand along a sunken road that later became known as the “Hornet’s Nest” because of the relentless artillery and musket fire. The 8th Iowa Infantry was among the regiments defending that position.

It was there that Nathaniel was shot and carried to the rear for treatment. The Union defenders held their ground as long as possible before many were forced to surrender and later paroled. Nathaniel, however, died of his wounds at the field hospital on April 14, 1862.

The Cloud family must have been devastated by the news. Like so many American families, their lives were permanently shaped by the Civil War. Nathaniel’s sister, Mary Ann Cloud, later married Civil War veteran Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams, whose own wartime experiences as a prisoner of war left lasting scars. I have written about their story before, and I am certain that the memory of her brother’s sacrifice stayed with her throughout her life.

Pictures:

Grave from Find-a-Grave

Battle map by United States Military Academy, Department of Military Art and Engineering, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=120563753

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: 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 Family Pattern – The Great Convergence!

 

History may not repeat, but it often rhymes. In my genealogy research, I’ve noticed recurring themes—shared Reformed Protestant faith, the abundance of Davids in my Cossart/Cossairt/Cassatt line—but the most prominent pattern is migration.

Since the early 1600s, my ancestors from various European countries crossed the Atlantic to the New World for many reasons, from escaping persecution to seeking opportunity. I continue to be amazed that my family lines were present at the founding of Plymouth Colony, Massachusetts Bay Colony, and New Netherland, as well as in the early years of William Penn’s Province of Pennsylvania. From these footholds, and from other colonial settlements, they began to look beyond the eastern seaboard toward lands that were opening up—at least from the settlers’ perspective—while already inhabited by Indigenous peoples.

Thus began the westward migrations of my ancestral families. New England lines moved into New York and then on to Ohio or Indiana. Mid-Atlantic families migrated into the Appalachian regions of Pennsylvania and beyond into Ohio, Kentucky, and Illinois. Southern branches traveled through Kentucky and Tennessee. One line even set out along the Oregon Trail—though my ancestor, interestingly, was left behind.

By the time of the Civil War, certain patterns had begun to emerge. Several families—such as the Younts, Mayfields, Maddoxes, and Currys (more on them next week—stay tuned!)—had settled in Missouri, from the southeastern region to the north-central part of the state. The Maddox and Curry families eventually established themselves in Vernon County and were among the earliest settlers in southwest Missouri, an area that would soon be torn apart by the guerrilla wars. Meanwhile, other branches of the family were still living in Pennsylvania, Ohio, Indiana, and Illinois.

The war, however, reshaped these patterns. Afterward, the prairies of southwestern Missouri opened further for settlement, and many of these eastern and midwestern families continued their westward movement, ultimately converging in Barton County by around 1870. There, they put down roots—farming the land and building communities that would endure for generations.

Regardless of their sympathies during the war—Union, Confederate, or simply a desire to avoid the conflict altogether—these families eventually came together. The descendants of English, Scottish, Irish, French, German, Dutch, Belgian, and Swiss immigrants blended into a uniquely American lineage, rich with shared history.

In a nation that continues to grow more diverse and multicultural, we are all part of this ongoing story—from Indigenous peoples to colonial settlers to modern immigrants, and everyone in between. What unites us is not just our origins, but the ideals that continue to bind us together.