52 Ancestors 2025: Disappeared—The Children

 

It is not uncommon in family research to find relatives who seem to have dropped out of the records under mysterious circumstances. Yet, what struck this genealogist (and father) with a professional interest in public health is the recurring pattern of infant and childhood mortality throughout my family history. The evidence is everywhere: large families in the 17th and 18th centuries, the reuse of names for children who died young, and mothers who themselves died in childbirth.

For this post, I chose to focus on the 1900 and 1910 censuses and the listings of my ancestors in Barton County, Missouri. Why these censuses? Because in these years, mothers were asked not only how many children they had, but also how many were still living.

The inclusion of these questions reflects a growing national interest in public health at the turn of the century. The United States was expanding, and cities were swelling with people. Coastal and river regions, particularly in warmer climates, were plagued by yellow fever and malaria. In Kentucky—a major pathway for many of my ancestors—the rise of Lexington as a trans-Appalachian “Athens of the West” was abruptly halted by a cholera epidemic in 1833. As cities grew, the problems of waste disposal and sanitation became impossible to ignore.

By the mid-1800s, public health reforms were gaining momentum. In Massachusetts, Lemuel Shattuck (my 5th cousin, five times removed) championed sanitation measures. In London, John Snow famously linked cholera to contaminated water at the Broad Street pump. Advances in germ theory by Louis Pasteur, Robert Koch, and others, along with improvements in medical education, underscored the importance of separating water supplies from human and animal waste. Cities—especially overcrowded and impoverished neighborhoods like New York’s Lower East Side—saw the highest levels of childhood mortality, but rapid improvements followed.

What about rural Barton County, Missouri? Farms allowed for cleaner separation of wells, outhouses, and animal pens. Milk from cows on the farm was commonly boiled. Crowding was not an issue, but access to medical care was limited. Vaccines for childhood illnesses did not exist, nor were antibiotics available to treat bacterial infections.

Even so, mortality among children was a reality. Many of the older mothers among my ancestors lost between one and three children. We don’t always know how old the children were when they died, but we can imagine the grief. The mothers who had babies at the turn of the century and later may have seen some improvement, though I’d need to dig into statistics before drawing conclusions—that would be the subject of a scientific study, not a blog post.

The family photo at the top of this post, taken around 1909, shows my grandparents, Virgil and Marietta (Yount) Cassatt, with my Aunt Alta Mae. According to the 1900 census, Virgil's mother Susan lost 3 of her 6 children, and Marietta's Mary mother lost 2 of her 7 children. Together, Virgil and marietta had six children who survived infancy, but they also lost a 9-day-old baby boy, Frank, in 1907, and another newborn son in 1925. Their daughter Alta grew up, married, but died in 1942 at age 34 after a two-week illness. On my maternal side, a young uncle, Stephen Claire, died of appendicitis at age 6.

Today, we benefit from sanitation systems, vaccines, antibiotics, and hospitals equipped to care for the youngest and most vulnerable. Looking back, we can see how much progress has been made through public health, science, and medicine. Large families were the norm in those days, yet even with strong faith, supportive families, and close-knit communities, our ancestors deeply felt the pain of losing their children. Though some of these children may have lived only briefly, their memories endured.

52 Ancestors 2025: Animals

 

This week’s prompt was “Animals,” and for so many of my farming ancestors, that meant livestock. But where to begin? With so many ancestors to choose from, I decided to focus on one: my namesake, David Cassatt. We’ve already learned about his unusual birth, his Civil War service, and his farming in Barton County. Although I cannot find him in the 1870 census, I know his family moved to Carroll County, Missouri, where he married Susan Corilla Houseworth on August 22, 1872. In 1878, he moved to Barton County, first renting a farm.

Much of what I know about his farm comes from the 1880 Census, both the Population and Agricultural Schedules. From those, and with some extra digging (with the help of ChatGPT), we get a vivid picture of his farm life.

Population Schedule:

• David Cassatt, 35, head, farmer

• Susan Cassatt, 27, wife

• Orville Cassatt, 4, son

• Virgil Cassatt, 2, son

Virgil was my grandfather. At this stage, David was a fairly young farmer, just establishing himself and his family. His boys were still too young to help with chores, but they probably had free run of the house and yard while David and Susan took care of the farm—working the land, tending livestock, and turning the harvest and animal products (meat, eggs, milk) into food.

Agricultural Schedule:

• Land: 95 improved acres (under cultivation)
• Value of farm: $1,200 (land, fences, buildings), $50 (implements and machinery), $1,000 (livestock)
• Wages paid: $10
• Value of farm products: $300

Livestock:

• 5 horses
• 4 milk cows
• 31 other cattle
• 6 calves dropped
• 35 cows purchased
• 3 cows died
• 23 swine
• 50 poultry

Crops and Yield:

• Butter: 40 lbs
• Eggs: 100 dozen
• Corn: 1,000 bushels from 55 acres
• Oats: 50 bushels from 4 acres
• Wheat: 122 bushels from 8 acres
• Dried beans: 25 bushels
• Castor beans: 132 bushels from 12 acres
• Molasses: 40 gallons from ¼ acre sorghum
• Potatoes: 175 bushels from 2 acres

Although some of the grains and produce were consumed or sold, much of it would have supported the livestock.

The five horses were the true workhorses of the farm, pulling plows and wagons in the age before tractors. The milk cows provided fresh milk—consumed at home (often heated briefly for safety) or churned into butter. David’s household produced 40 pounds of butter, most likely used in the kitchen but possibly sold if there was excess. Starting out, he also expanded his herd by purchasing 35 cows. Some of these, along with the calves, would have become milk cows, while others were fattened as steers for sale or kept as breeding bulls.

The swine and poultry were equally important. Pigs could be fed corn, kitchen scraps, and skim milk, and they were fattened through summer before being butchered in cool weather—likely with neighbors lending a hand. Without refrigeration, only the best cuts would be eaten fresh, sometimes at neighborhood feasts. The rest of the pork was cured with salt and sugar, sometimes smoked, and stored for the year. Lard, rendered from fat, was kept cool and used for cooking. Steers, too large for family consumption, would be taken to the nearest railhead—perhaps in Liberal, Golden City, or Lamar—for sale and slaughter.

The 50 chickens (and perhaps some turkeys, ducks, or geese) provided the 100 dozen eggs listed in the census. These eggs, along with surplus butter, could be sold for “butter and egg money.” Chickens themselves would occasionally become Sunday dinner.

Like most family farms of the time, David’s was highly diversified—producing food for the family and some cash income to sustain the household. Over time, he was very successful, eventually providing farms for his sons Orville, Virgil, and Bascom.

And then there’s the famous family picture. What about those rabbits on leashes? While farmers were known to eat almost anything edible, I suspect these rabbits were pets—one for each boy. By the time of that photo, the boys were old enough to be helping with chores, especially during the busy summer and harvest seasons. It was a demanding life, but one full of abundance on the newly broken prairie land.

52 Ancestors 2025: Off to Work – A Furrow in Time

 

For most of my family’s history, this prompt points to a single occupation—farming. “Off to work” usually meant getting out of bed and heading to the barn or the kitchen. With so many generations to choose from, where to begin? Farming shows up in colonial times—in places like Massachusetts Bay Colony or the tip of Manhattan—in the early years of our country on the frontier, and later as families spread westward. For this post, I chose to focus on the late 1800s, when my ancestors settled in Barton County (and surrounding areas) in Missouri. This period allows me to use U.S. Census records, especially the Agricultural Schedules, which list crops grown and their value.

I was fortunate to find the Missouri Agricultural Schedules readily available online. All I had to do was download the PDFs and scroll through by township. Using the 1870 and 1880 census records, I located many of my ancestors and entered their information into an Excel spreadsheet. I then uploaded this data, along with household information, to ChatGPT to help analyze what was happening on these farms. With so much detail, there’s almost too much for a single post—so this is just an overview.

On my maternal side, the family tree includes the Fasts (3rd- and 2nd-great-grandfathers), Benjamin McWilliams (2nd-great-grandfather), S. D. Reed (2nd-great-grandfather), and Anthony Gilmartin (2nd-great-grandfather). One good example is John Jay Fast, born in Ohio in 1814. Before the Civil War, he moved first to Fulton County, Illinois, and then to Barton County, Missouri. The census snapshots catch him in his mid-fifties and mid-sixties, showing a productive and diverse farm with a mix of grains, hay, and livestock. By 1880, with two of his sons striking out on their own, he hired extra help and still managed to increase both output and value. His farming skill was passed down to his son William Marion. By that same year, B. C. McWilliams also had a productive farm, while the earlier census shows him just starting out, breaking sod.

On my paternal side (Cassatt, Houseworth, Yount), I wasn’t able to compare 1870 and 1880 as completely because not all Agricultural Schedules were available. Still, the combination of Population and Agricultural records shows that these families, too, maintained respectable farms with grains, hay, potatoes, wood lots, and livestock.

The household data also helps paint a fuller picture. With AI’s help, I could see who was available for chores. It also highlights how often families were blended—widowed heads of household remarrying, sometimes to other widows who brought children into the family, or adult children returning after the death or separation of a spouse, often with children of their own.

These records help bring farming families to life, moving them beyond just names and dates. They also reveal the larger forces that shaped their lives: the extension of railroads, the Panic of 1873, swarms of locusts, and falling commodity prices brought on by the abundance produced as farms began to mechanize. There is so much more history—and so many more records—to explore. By organizing these details of marriages, births, deaths, and residences into timelines, and then using generative AI to connect the dots, I can keep building the narratives of these families. More blog posts to come—stay tuned.

52 Ancestors 2025: Favorite Photo

This is the second week of the “52 Ancestors in 52 Weeks” challenge. When those of us in the Cassatt family think of a favorite photo, this one probably comes to mind first. It’s a picture of my great-grandfather, David Cassatt, with his wife, Susan Corilla Houseworth, and their children: Orville, Virgil, and Bascom. Virgil, the middle child, is my grandfather.

David was born on January 23, 1844, in Warren County, Ohio. He was the son of William Peter Cossairt and Nancy Tharp, who married just two months before his birth. During the Civil War, David served as a private in the Union Army, initially with the 146th Ohio National Guard, which was later reorganized as the 183rd Ohio Infantry Regiment. After the war, he moved to Missouri, where he became a successful farmer. David is also Mary Cassatt’s 3rd cousin.

But—back to that picture. When I first received a copy, I was thrilled to see this family portrait. However, the more I looked at it, the more questions I had. Do I see rabbits on leashes? Is that a dog? And what’s with all those brooms and that machinery? After some research, I discovered that David made brooms as a side business. The collection of unfinished brooms surrounding the device in the photo suggests it’s a broom-making machine, with a broom actively being assembled.

Then came the biggest question: When was this picture taken? Everyone is dressed nicely, so perhaps it was Easter. But what year? The boys were born in 1875, 1878, and 1883. They all appear shorter than their father, who stood about 5’9”, according to his Civil War records. This suggests the photo might have been taken in the late 1880s or around 1890.

An intriguing possibility is that this photo might be linked to the Cassatts’ daughter, Laura, who lived from 1885 to 1888. Could this have been taken at her funeral? The boys would have been about 13, 10, and 5 at the time. Or perhaps the picture was taken in the fall, after the broom corn harvest.

There’s so much to ponder, but one thing is certain: this photo is a true family treasure.