A Beginning

I have thought about writing a book covering the genealogy of my family for many years. It was only recently that my son reminded me that I needed to write a book. I get torn between writing about our genealogy and the story of my life. Somehow, I think that they may be interwoven but I am not quite sure how. I hope that on this site I can begin to put these two together.

My grandfather Charles Lee Stauffer was a very quiet man. In fact, I don’t remember ever having a conversation with him when I was little. I remember him tending to a large vegetable garden from which he sold fresh vegetables to the local grocery store nearby. He had chickens at one time, but I only remember using the empty space for a clubhouse with my sister, cousin, and a few neighbor kids we played with. We sat on crates covered in gunny sacks and tried to ignore the wasps swooping down. I often would ride my bike around the large oval shaped block that we lived on and would wave to my grandparents sitting on the porch. They would often be there on summer evenings. Holiday celebrations included dinners in my grandparents dining room with other family members living on our block, and afterwards grandpa would often sit in his chair and smoke a cigar. We were given the paper rings off the cigars to wear on our fingers.

On occasion when the cemetery up the street became overgrown Charles would help trim and shape the many flowering shrubs, and later helped my father with the trees and shrubs in our yard. I remember that because he chewed tobacco and there was an empty coffee can that he spit in. Gross!  When I was older, I learned that he was also a minister of the Christian church. He had a falling out with the church when they changed their practices and became less stringent.  I have that bible today.  There are many of his sermons written in his own hand amongst the pages.

I remember my grandmother Goldie (Bovey) Stauffer as a round woman who was always busy. She did the laundry in a wringer washer in the front yard scrubbing the garments on the washboard and then hanging them on the clothesline to dry. The basement was covered in shelves with canned vegetables, and homemade jams. Walking in the house I was always overwhelmed with the smells of something delicious baking. She made pies and cakes that she sold to the grocery store and always kept a glass cookie jar on the table in the kitchen with fig newton cookies. She also took in ironing jobs. Sometimes when we came over we would find her in the kitchen in front of this larger steamed roller that she pulled sheets through to remove wrinkles from.

I fell in love with peonies because of my grandmother. I was fascinated by the ants that crawled across the pedals, helping them open up into a beautiful flower.  They were such fragrant and colorful flowers.  Her flower garden was outside the kitchen windows around the little nook where the kitchen table sat.

In the fall my grandmother, my mother and my aunt would sit under the large maple tree by the well and snap beans, and shuck peas while our clubhouse gang put on plays for them. In the fall that maple tree became a bright orange ball.  It is still standing today. 

I spent many summers in my grandfather’s garden.  I loved eating his fresh peas and blue grapes from the grape arbor.  My sister and cousin would use a canning jar to capture big garden spiders.  One time I opened a jar to get a better look at one and didn’t know that there was a spider on the lid in my hand.  I dropped that lid so fast!  It’s one of those memories I have never forgotten.

In the winter we would build forts in the cornfield with the neighbor boys.  We dug big holes, and then covered them with corn stalks and leaves leaving an entrance to crawl into.  The farmer finally caught us and stopped our fun. 

I don’t remember my grandfather passing.  I vaguely remember going to his funeral.  My mother talks about how hard it was to take away his car keys.  Shortly after his passing, my father and my aunt had a yard sale and sold most of the family belongings.  My grandmother came to live with us in Springfield, IL, for quite a while until she fell and broke her hip.  My mother took care of her until she just couldn’t anymore.  She died in a nursing home back in Dixon, IL.  They are buried in Chapel Hill in Dixon, along with many of Charles and Goldies other family members.