Fortunately for me, my paternal grandparents possessed the good sense to move south before it became the popular and stylish thing to do. They were both what southerners affectionately term "Yankees", from Pennsylvania, and if it had not been for the fact that my grandfather was employed in the timber industry, I might well have grown up wading snow up to my neck. This was about the beginning of the 20th century and timber was abundant in the south. Grandfather secured a position with a rather large lumber company, and he and grandmother moved south. Thank goodness! South, where the sun most always shines, and golf can be played on most days.
One of the things that a person sometimes does when he reaches the point of retirement, and every day is Saturday, is to attempt to trace his ancestry. My father's family has been somewhat of a problem from the outset, since they are few in number, scattered, and nobody maintained much in the way of records. However, it is quite likely that my Southern ancestors and my Northern ancestors wound up shooting at each other during the late unpleasantness known as The War Between the States. Mother's family was well endowed with Confederate soldiers. There was one great-great grandfather who went off to war behind the Confederate Flag at the age of 61. Then, there was another maternal great-great grandfather who lost his life in that great conflict, along with four of his brothers, so you can see, we are most definitely what was termed "a house divided."
In one of my northern grandfather's letters to one of his sisters, which is one of a very small collection, he stated that it had been 14 years since he had come south, and he guessed that he would always remain here. He did, until his death. His roots became firmly planted in southern soil.
One might easily say that I am well acquainted with knowing what it is to be "Southern by the Grace of God." |
