Toss of the Cosmic Dice

Why bother? I mean really? ~ They’re dead. Who cares about the past, and what difference does it make? But here’s the deal, sometimes we do something for its own sake, other times because we want to. And then, if for no other reason, just for the fun of it. 

There was a five-year period from when I finished writing a family memoir until I picked it back up for editing and polishing. In that five year hiatus, I worked on my genealogy, gathering all the historical facts, pictures, and tales I could glean about my parents and their lines. I didn’t plan on dancing with the dead any more than I planned on having teenagers or being a writer. 

known and unknown Chatfields, carte de visites (Eliza and I.W. Chatfield are lower right corner)

From adding flesh to the bones of our ancestors and breathing life into them as far back as I could reach, I came away with a sense of my genetic make-up. When I began, I knew little beyond my grandparents’ names, then I came across pictures of Grandma Nellie Chatfield with her sisters, Ada and Mamie. How could I not know that she had sisters? I nearly fell out of my chair, partly from realizing how clueless I was, but also how curious.

Nellie Chatfield, her sister Ada Whitaker and sister Mamie Rosborough, daughter Ina Chatfield, daughter Noreen/Babe Chatfield (my mom), Hylda Hughes (wife of son Gordon), Velma Turnbull (wife of son Charles) at steering wheel, circa 1931, Chico, CA. The car, a 1931 Auburn 8-98 convertible, belonged to Nellie’s son Roy.

That’s what started me on the hunt. I spent untold hours on the computer (you’ve no idea) and tracked down other relations for information and to rifle through their photos, records, and letters. I now know my history and my heritage. I have many of the same traits and tendencies that those who came before me did. I gained insight about my culture. I came away with a love of history. I didn’t know squat about those who settled this country, about planters and pilgrims, about the Revolutionary and Civil Wars, or WWI and WWII. Did I sleep through high school history? I know I had the books as I carried those weights back and forth every day for school. Apparently I never opened them. My ancestors were part of all that, and somehow I’d missed it.

Clemens collage created for me by my brother Gordon Clemens and his wife Marian

Actually, I find it stunning that I’m here at all. Truly, what are the odds? From a toss of the cosmic dice? First of all, each of those that came before me had to meet, then live long enough to procreate, then their children had to repeat that process:

• Peter Clemens, a stonemason, and his wife Mary Reiland arrived in New York from Luxembourg in 1855. In 1861 they removed to Minnesota and bought land in Pine Island, then moved to Mazeppa in 1865. It was in his house that the First Mass in Mazeppa was said, and continued to be said until the completion of the first Catholic Church, most of the cost of its building borne by Mr. Clemens.
• George Chatfield and his third wife, Isabel Nettleton emigrated in 1639 from Sussex, England on the ship St. John, and were of the original inhabitants of Guilford, New Haven, Connecticut.
• Albrecht Hoy and wife Maria Schaurer left Prussia in 1751 to settle in Berks County, Pennsylvania.
• Henry Chamberlain, V and his wife Susannah Hinds (their lines are from England) were born in Massachusetts in 1718 and 1722.
• Sebastian “Boston” Shade, an innkeeper and gristmill owner, was born in 1750 in Cumberland County, Pennsylvania. His father, born in Bavaria, hailed from what is now Hessen, Germany; he was hired as a mercenary by the British government to aid in the rebellion of the colonists—then switched sides.

That’s a long line of dead people who’ve been part of this country for generations, all of whom contributed to my very being. I stand on their shoulders, for if not for them I wouldn’t be here. Those of us that work on our family lines have an obsessive dedication and curiosity that surprises even us. It’s a remembering that’s important, offering an understanding of our imprint as a member of our culture and family, and who we are as human beings. Knowing where I came from reveals to me who I am.

I’m blessed to be one of the keepers of the lines, alongside my brother who has been at it for years, along with a number of both near and distant cousins. It’s given me a relationship with them, among untold others, who’ve also shared what family information they possessed. Many with whom I connected were in their 80s and 90s; they were thrilled to talk to someone who was interested in their life and generously shared their stories and pictures with me. They were also grateful to have a remembering of their past, and I’m thankful that they were able to contribute before they died.

Not everyone is fascinated by genealogy, particularly someone else’s. I’ve been to events where speakers rhapsodized at length about their kith and kin; it was painful having them ramble on, and, it was an “aha” moment. I realized we do all this work, and really, nobody else in the room gives a rat’s ass. I discovered nothing bores me more than listening to the drone of another’s family line, yet oddly enough, there’s nothing I like better than the puzzle of sorting out my own. I love the quest, and the satisfaction of having missing pieces fall into place. Gathering my kin also fulfills a need in me; it’s part of my wanting to keep the family together. I do it for my ancestors, for my family still living, and for those yet to come. I do it to remember. And I do it because it’s important to me. That’s why I bother.

© March 2015. Catherine Sevenau.
All rights reserved.

A smattering of lines:
Chatfield Heritage
Peter Clemens & Maria Reiland
Finley McClaren Chamberlin & Emily S. Hoy
Isaac Willard Chatfield & Eliza Harrington