52 Ancestors 2026: A Day in the Life – A Shaker Day

 

A lot of oft-repeated truisms start with “There are two types of people in the world,” and go on to say something about morning people and night owls, dog people and cat people, or those who see people as falling into two types and those who see gradations. One of the traits sometimes described in terms of dualisms is the difference between people who are organized and follow routines and those who are carefree and spontaneous. As an inveterate list maker and daily planner, I can see some truth in that distinction. And how often is the “two types of people” statement followed by, “And they always seem to marry each other”?

We could go much deeper into discussions of opposites attracting, but this entry is more of an exploration of a very orderly religious sect that is part of my family history: the Shakers (or the United Society of Believers in Christ’s Second Appearing). My paternal ancestors, the Bantas, were part of the mixed Dutch/Huguenot Conewago Colony that migrated to Kentucky in the early 1780s. Three Banta brothers (my first cousins six times removed) were among the founders of the Shaker Village of Pleasant Hill, Kentucky.

Each day in the Village was marked by the hour. At 5 AM, a clock would strike and the villagers would wake up. Those assigned to tend the farm animals would take care of feeding them and, for the cows, milking them. Next came breakfast, followed by another strike of the clock signaling the start of farming, industry, and other chores. The farmers tended the crops and animals in the morning. The industrial work included making furniture and clothing, much of it for the village but also for sale to the outside world. At the striking of the noon bell, the villagers would meet for dinner, after which they began their afternoon work.

The day ended with supper, followed by prayer and meditation and lights out at 9 PM. Of course, the Sabbath was reserved for worship, along with the necessary farm activities. The Shakers also held special events featuring their signature singing and fervent dancing. Simple times and an eschatological worldview did not mean an absence of joy.

Throughout the day, the Shakers would assemble for prayer, anticipating and hoping for the Second Coming, which they believed was imminent. They wanted to be like the five wise bridesmaids in Matthew’s Gospel and live their daily lives in preparation.

For many in the early years of our nation, the wild days were times of opportunity, but some wanted a life of stability and an escape from the outside world. For them, the Shaker villages provided a sanctuary and an opportunity for women to be full members of the community, although the division of labor was usually based on sex. The Shakers were part of the religious revivals that characterized the early days of the Republic, but their enforced celibacy and the fact that the Second Coming still hasn’t happened meant that the colonies could not last. Their music and craftsmanship, however, have endured.

We may not understand their theology, but many of us who are list makers and planners might envy their routines. To a point.

Photo: From https://blog.shakervillageky.org/today-in-pleasant-hill-history/

52 Ancestors 2026: A Hard Choice – Should I Stay or Should I Go?

 

For my ancestors, crossing the Atlantic Ocean was not the end of their migrations. It did not take long before they left the East Coast for the trans-Appalachian frontier, enticed by promises of abundant land but often unaware of the dangers they faced as they encroached upon lands inhabited for thousands of years by Indigenous peoples. Tensions rose even higher during the American Revolution, when the British armed Native nations and encouraged attacks on frontier settlements.

The Conewago Colony of Pennsylvania, where my paternal Dutch/Huguenot ancestors lived, faced a difficult choice. Their families were growing, but farmland was not. Should they remain in a community increasingly surrounded by German and English settlers, dividing their farms into ever-smaller parcels until they became unsustainable, or should they move west? Some relocated to the Shepherdstown area of Berkeley County, Virginia (now in Jefferson County, West Virginia), but that only delayed the inevitable. Soon they heard of the abundant land in Kentucky and of the route south along the Great Wagon Road through the Shenandoah Valley and then west on the Wilderness Road. They had already migrated from New Jersey to Pennsylvania. Would this simply be the next step in their journey?

Because the decision was so consequential, one of the colony's patriarchs—my 5th-great-grandfather, fifty-six-year-old Samuel Duree (or Durie)—volunteered to join a scouting expedition to Fort Boonesborough and the surrounding Kentucky country. The party departed Shepherdstown on March 1, 1779, and arrived safely on April 7.

One interesting coincidence is that, only days before Samuel's party reached the fort, another group led by Joseph Starns, which included my maternal 6th-great-grandfather Frederick Starn, was ambushed by Shawnee warriors while returning to Virginia. Only Joseph's son, Jacob Starns, escaped. But that's another story for another day.

Samuel selected land near White Oak Spring Station in Mercer County, Kentucky, then returned to the Conewago Colony with encouraging news: there was good land, and plenty of it. One migration party, led by Hendrick Banta, settled near the Falls of the Ohio (now Louisville region). Samuel's group arrived in March 1780 and established themselves near White Oak Station, close to Fort Boonesborough. Among them was my 4th-great-grandfather, Peter Cossart, who settled near Hart's (or White Oak) Spring, about a mile from the fort.

The promise of new land in Kentucky, however, came at a terrible cost for the Durie family. During an attack near Samuel's son Petrus's newly built cabin in Mason County, Petrus, his sister Angenitie, and two brothers-in-law were killed, while Petrus's wife escaped with their children. Later, another son, Hendrick, was killed during an attack on White Oak Station. Samuel's son-in-law, Peter Cossart, my ancestor and husband of Marie Durie, was killed while gathering blackberries in the summer of 1781.

Life on the Kentucky frontier was harsh. Although the end of the Revolution eventually brought peace with Native nations, it also brought increasing numbers of settlers, competing land claims, and the expansion of slavery into Kentucky. The once close-knit Dutch/Huguenot community gradually began to disperse. Many families remained in Kentucky, but others—including members of the Banta family—helped found the Shaker community at Pleasant Hill. Still others, including some Banta and Cossairt families, moved north around 1800 to Turtlecreek Township in Warren County, Ohio.

For the Conewago Colony in general—and for Samuel Durie's family in particular—the decision to stay or go was anything but easy. Yet those choices became part of the larger westward movement that shaped both American history and my own family's story. Earlier migrations from New Amsterdam to New Jersey and Pennsylvania had been relatively peaceful. The move to Kentucky, during the turmoil of the American Revolution, proved to be far more costly.

Photo: 

Daniel Boone Escorting Settlers Through the Cumberland Gap by George Caleb Bingham, Mildred Lane Kemper Art Museum

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: 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: A Brick Wall Revisited – A Curry-Spiced Breakthrough

 

I’ve written before about my 2nd-great-grandfather in my father’s side, Robert M. Curry. He married Elizabeth Ann Maddox but died near the end of the Civil War. It is still uncertain whether he was the same Robert Marion Curry who enlisted in the Union Army and was executed. As if this uncertainty wasn’t enough, for a long time, I kept hitting a brick wall when trying to find out who his parents and siblings were. Still, there were a few clues. A printed Maddox family history noted that Robert had a brother who married his wife’s sister, Sarah, and according to Find A Grave, his parents were James and Rebecca (Anderson) Curry.

Could this limited information point me in the right direction? Yes—and no. The proposed parentage was intriguing but led to another dead end. However, the Curry–Maddox connection opened a more promising path.

As usual, I began with what I could easily find: the census population schedules. Starting in 1870, I found Elizabeth, age 45, in Vernon County, Missouri, with her children but no husband. Moving backward, I located the Curry family in the 1860 census, where Robert M., Elizabeth, and six children, all of whom matched the household from 1870. Looking further back, things became even more interesting. 

In 1850, Robert and “Betsy” Curry were living in the crowded household of Jesse Maddox in Monroe County, Missouri. This suggested a pattern—and a plan. Were there other Curry households in Monroe County? Yes, but one stood out: a household headed by Susan Curry, with five others bearing the Curry surname. Could this be Robert’s mother and siblings? The population schedules also noted that the mother and Curry children were born in Kentucky.

To test this theory, I went further back. The 1830 and 1840 census records list only heads of household and household members sorted by age categories, but by examining the later census data, I created a spreadsheet to reconstruct the likely household composition.  

Picture: 1840 and 1830 Census predictions based on 1850 and 1860 Census records.

Two Curry households appeared in Monroe County. One, headed by R. H. Curry, did not match well with the known children and included slave ownership, which did not align with the later economic status of the family. The other, headed by Samuel Curry, was a much better fit, with children whose ages aligned closely with those found in later records.

Up to this point, the research had relied on traditional methods—census records and careful data organization in a spreadsheet. The next phase, however, involved using artificial intelligence tools. I shared my findings with my ChatGPT assistant, including full census data and the observation that a John Curry and a William Curry appeared in the same township as Robert in the 1860 census. John matched a "John Curry" from the 1850 Susan Curry household, suggesting a possible match. My assistant recommended checking military records for Robert Curry, but that avenue proved unproductive. However, the marriage record of Robert and Elizabeth and Elizabeth’s death certificate were consistent with the working hypothesis.

The real breakthrough came with the FamilySearch Full Text Search feature. Thanks to their AI-powered indexing and transcribing of handwritten documents, I uncovered land and probate records connected to Samuel, Robert, and Elizabeth Ann Curry. These records provided additional names and relationships, allowing me to reconstruct the family with greater confidence.

One settlement record proved especially valuable—it listed the heirs of Samuel Curry and their spouses, along with a land sale to George Cunningham. That name stood out. Further research revealed a FamilySearch listing for George Washington Cunningham married to Amanda Curry—whose parents were listed as Samuel and Susanna Devine Curry, who were married in Mercer County, Kentucky. 

That connection opened the door. I located an 1830 census record in Mercer County for Samuel Curry, with household members whose ages matched the known children. At that point, the pieces, including the Kentucky connection, began to fall into place. With the accumulated evidence, I felt confident enough—perhaps 87%—to reconstruct the family of Samuel and Susanna (Devine) Curry.

Picture: Reconstruction of the family of Samuel Curry. Three residents in 1830 could have been helpers, relatives, or children who left the household. Boy 2 in the 1840 Census could be a relative or hired hand.

There are still uncertainties. The birth year listed for Samuel in FamilySearch (1782) would be a few years too early according to the 1840 census but not the 1830 census, and there are many Curry families in 18th-century Kentucky to sort through. The age of the daughter who may be Sarah may be miscalculated in the 1830 census. But the nature of the problem has changed. I am no longer stuck at a brick wall—I am now in the confirmation stage.

Artificial intelligence tools played an important role in this breakthrough, especially in uncovering records that would have been difficult to locate otherwise. Still, human judgment, careful analysis, and a willingness to question assumptions were essential in bringing the pieces together into a more complete picture.

The search continues—but now, it feels like progress.

52 Ancestors 2025: The Name’s the Same — Not-So-Famous Davids Through the Ages

 

In researching my paternal line, one name appears again and again: David. Maybe it’s confirmation bias, but “David” seems to be the most common name encountered in my direct line; across all the variations of the Cossart/Cossairt/Cossatt/Cassatt name, there always seemed to be a David—at least until the late 19th century. Why David? The Cossarts were Huguenots, and as Reformed Protestants they often used biblical names, though not to the extreme of their Puritan cousins. Maybe this Huguenot family identified with the underdog who became king. My immigrant ancestor, Jacques Cossart, fathered three sons in the New World: Jacques (Jacob), David, and Anthony.

The first American-born David arrived in 1671 in New York City (formerly New Amsterdam). He married Styntje Joris Van Horne, worked as a stone mason in lower Manhattan, and began acquiring land in Somerset County, New Jersey. After being wounded in the 1712 slave uprising in New York, he moved his family to New Jersey. My line descends from his son Francis, born in 1717, but David also had an older son named David (born 1704). While Francis eventually joined the wave of westward migration, David moved north into the Mohawk Valley frontier. It is said that his three sons—David (of course), Jacob, and Francis—served the Patriot cause in the American Revolution.

Francis and his wife, Margaret Van Nest, later migrated with other Dutch and Huguenot families to the Conewago Colony in Pennsylvania, where he became a prominent figure and a committed Patriot. Like many frontier families, they were farmers, and their migrations mirrored their pursuit of new farmland. Francis’s son Pieter, born in 1746, continued the family pattern of moving into new territory. He and his wife, Maria Durie, eventually settled in newly opened Kentucky, where Pieter died during the frontier violence of the Revolutionary era. Meanwhile, David (born 1743) remained in the East, where his descendants became part of prominent Pittsburgh and later Philadelphia society.

We have already met Hendrick/Henry Cossairt and his twin brother David, born in 1778, who first put down roots in Kentucky and later moved into the Midwest—Henry to Ohio, David to Indiana. Henry’s son William Peter continued the line, but Henry, unsurprisingly, also had a son named David (born 1837). Records for this David—who altered the spelling of his last name to Cossatt—are scarce (future research opportunity?), but it appears he moved to Illinois before dying in Indiana.

From William Peter we move to his son David Cassatt, the Civil War veteran featured in several earlier posts. This David seems to have broken the longstanding naming pattern—he named his sons Orville, Virgil, and Bascom. (There was also a son George, who died in infancy.)

And two generations later, there’s me.

So much passes down through the generations: genes, traits, customs, and stories. This post is more about names—how they endure through family tradition or serve as tributes to ancestors who might otherwise be forgotten. As genealogists, we sift through records to uncover the pieces of our “who we are” and “where we come from” stories. Sometimes a simple name is the clue that connects them all.

52 Ancestors 2025: Multiple — A Tale of Two Journeys

 

The prompt “multiple” can have many meanings, but this week I decided to explore one set of twins in my family. On my paternal side, my 4th-great-grandmother Marie Durie (or Duryea) Cossart gave birth to twins, Hendrick (Henry) and David, on March 25, 1778. They were born into the Dutch/Huguenot Conewago Colony of Adams County, Pennsylvania.

Their early life was tumultuous. They were only about a year old when their family—and other members of the colony—migrated to Berkeley County, Virginia (now West Virginia) before making the long journey to Kentucky via the Wilderness Road. The early settlers endured great hardship, as many—including the twins’ father, Pieter Cossart, and several uncles—were killed by Native Americans during frontier conflicts associated with the Revolutionary War. With Pieter’s death in 1781, the twins and their siblings were raised by their mother and likely by members of her extended Durie family, who had also migrated to Kentucky. Unfortunately, records from those early Kentucky pioneers are sparse, but the bonds among the Conewago colonists remained strong.

So how did the twins fare as adults? Did they stay in Kentucky or move on again? Both eventually settled in neighboring states—Ohio and Indiana—though by different routes. Hendrick, who later went by Henry, married Mary Nailor in Indiana and later moved to Warren County, Ohio, where he became a successful farmer. According to family lore, his mother spent her final days with him and is said to be buried in Dodds Cemetery in Warren County. Notably, many other Conewago descendants also settled there.

David’s path was more winding. Unlike Henry, he remained in Kentucky longer and married within the colony—his second cousin, Mary (Polly) Banta. The Bantas were among the leading families of the Kentucky Low Dutch Colony, and Polly’s uncles were founders of the Pleasant Hill Shaker Village. Henry and Mary had six children who survived to adulthood, while David and Polly had two: Jacob Duryea Cassatt and Mary Banta Cassatt. Interestingly, both children carried middle names from their grandmothers, and like their cousins, they later adopted the “Cassatt” spelling of the family name.

After Mary Banta Cassatt’s birth in 1818, David and his family left Kentucky for Indiana, eventually settling in Wabash County around 1834, where they were among the first settlers. He worked in the canal-building trade, as did his future son-in-law, John Matlock. By 1850, David was living with the Matlocks following the deaths of Polly and his second wife, Sarah Johnson. Like his twin brother, David had a grandson who served in the Union Army during the Civil War. Sadly, Thomas Jefferson Matlock died of typhoid while in service. David himself passed away in 1854 at the age of 76, surviving his twin brother by just one year.

David’s surviving son, Jacob Duryea Cassatt, became a prominent citizen of Wabash County. He served in the Indiana State Legislature and held other public offices but endured several personal losses. His first wife, Louisa Jane Roberts, died in 1846 at the age of 31, leaving him with three young children, one of whom died the following year. His second wife, Emma Jane Townsend, died in 1850 at just 19, apparently from complications of childbirth. Their surviving daughter, Mary, was living in Iowa in 1860 with Thomas and Mary Townsend—likely her grandparents. Jacob spent his later years in Wabash County with his third wife, Elizabeth Barker Jones, a widow who brought one child into the marriage. Together, they had three more children, including their youngest, Mary Banta Cassatt.

The twins’ lives reflected the broader American story—surviving the arduous migration along the Wilderness Road, enduring the dangers of frontier life during the Revolution, and helping settle the growing Midwest after independence. Their paths shared much in common: farming, migration, and long life. Yet there were differences. Henry left many descendants carrying the Cossairt or Cassatt name (including me), while David’s line, having fewer children and more daughters, did not preserve the surname. Still, his legacy and genes endure through the many generations that followed.

As an aside, another “multiple” could refer to the many times the name David was used in the Cossart/Cossairt/Cassatt lineage, but that’s tale for another day.

Photo

By FloNight (Sydney Poore) and Russell Poore - self-made by Russell and Sydney Poore, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=2806881