Want to beat stress this holiday season? Kathy Pyles, my dear Internet cousin who does so much family research, referred me to a site that delivers daily health tips.2 Their advice for Friday, November 19:
The look of a familiar face appears to soothe nerves and dampen the stress response, according to a new study. And finding the familiar face in a photograph produces the same effect. Spend time with friends and family when you’re feeling stressed and keep photos on hand for times when they can’t be near.
Maybe this is one reason why my parents unwittingly chose as they did, when we helped decorate their tree these past few Christmases. Given the option to use their traditional tree ornaments, with all those memories and sentiment, they instead were excited to have me recreate for them the “Christmas Family Tree” that had become a tradition in our home.
Years ago, when our children were young, I planned such a tree, hoping to make our ancestors part of our holidays. I found an Ohio plastics firm3 that could cut 3 l/2 X 5″ two-sided, clear picture holders, into which I slid ancestral photos on one side and short bios on the other. After that I laced ribbon through pre-cut holes placed to display horizontal or vertical images.
My husband Dan and I planned a holiday family home evening during which we read these short biographical accounts and shared other family stories. Then we gently secured (or our children hung with gusto) each photographed family saint and sinner.
Crocheted bells and snowflakes crafted by convert natives in Zimbabwe, where my parents served a mission, doves, pearled strands, tiny lights, silk roses, and baby’s breath-all in white and secured with deep red velvet ribbon filled empty spaces on our tree, adding their nostalgia
Grandma Florence Tracy Hall graces our Christmas Family Tree
We held an open house and had a lot of fun with questions from New Jersey neighbors, who alerted a reporter and got our tree a local newspaper spread. Our town historian came by and, learning that we are LDS, asked if Salt Lake could film thousands of records in a local Presbyterian church basement vault. This we successfully pursued and, at her invitation, I got a first look at the carefully indexed cards.
There I found, to my wonder, that my very own people helped settle that first then-Congregational church when it was built of logs. Before I was through, I had copied out three hundred family records! I had canvassed cemeteries and archives all over New England, little knowing what was waiting only blocks from our home in Basking Ridge! You can’t predict what might happen when you get around to hanging those elusive, furtive ghosts of Christmases past.
Long after our children have left for college, missions, and marriage, decorating that tree each Christmas is sweet solace, helping our nest seem less empty. As I add new ancestral photos to the boughs, I search each glance, trying to read between the lines on their brows and in their stories. What was Christmas like for them? Curiosity again takes hold, as I search out new facts and note meaningful dates in their varied lives.
How could I have forgotten that Grandma Langford’s father, Heber Otto Chlarson, died on Christmas Day? Born in Sweden to convert parents, he was carried to Utah as an infant by his mother Johanna Charlotte Scherlin, who was disinherited for joining the Church. She then married Hans Nadrian Chlarson, her Swedish-born missionary, who also took in her convert mother. After Heber’s birth, “Hannah,” as she was called, crossed the ocean, pushing and pulling a handcart to Utah, and then waited several years for Hans to join her. (He stayed behind where he had good work and could sponsor other family members, in their quest to reach “Zion”.)
When Hans finally got to New York, his “grip” and all his hard-earned savings were stolen, leaving him with no choice but to get another job-this time, translating for the Union army. Or so he thought, as he got off the train, only to learn that he had been tricked into going to war to bleed for some rich man’s son. Though no citizen, he chose to start life in the States as a defender, not a deserter. He stayed, fought, and was severely wounded, but recovered enough to return to New York and beat up the man who nearly got him killed. For that, it is told, he went to jail.
All this time, Johanna wove cloth and blankets to feed her son and sang with her guitar, while a love-struck postman hid Hans Nadrian’s letters. She resisted his advances, knowing that her Hans would surely come. What a day it was, when Hans arrived! Apparently Hannah believed in sharing a good thing. She introduced her husband, over time, to some half dozen other plural wives.
That’s only part of their amazing story, but I must save the rest for later.
My grandfather’s mother, Rose Ellen Jackson, was born the first of December, 1865, the same day her son, my Grandpa Langford, died over a century later. Her parents moved from Lehi to Toquerville, Utah, after Brigham called them to settle there, in what came to be known as “the wine mission.” Some legends suggest that our practical prophet thought profit made from wine should not go to the Gentiles!
I wonder-did Rose Ellen’s mother, Annis Bedford, who crossed the plains as a young, single convert from England, enjoy a Yule log that year? A family tale says her British mate kept a schedule he would not break, even to fetch a doctor. He told his panting wife to hold the birthing while he finished his work-and with spunk and control, she complied! Rose Ellen was that baby, one of only four infants out of eight to survive in following decades.
Rose Ellen Jackson (1865-1935)
White blossoms wreath Rose Ellen’s hair, framing the resolute expression of a suddenly polygamous bride whose father asked, as part of his consent, that her older sister Mary Lydia also marry James H. Langford that same day.
Some years later, soon after the birth of her third child and just after Mary Lydia had her second, federal officers came to fetch Rose Ellen as witness to the charge that her husband was a man of “the Principle.” Her midwife mother-in-law, Mary C. Turnbaugh Langford, aimed a gun and dared the men to take Rose Ellen at that crucial time. They knew when to back off, bur returned three weeks later.
James Jr. went to jail for six months, though Rose Ellen never told about his “principals.” I place his photo, with Apostle Lyman and six others in their prison garb, on a top branch. There James Harvey, with his hand tucked into stripes and a conquering, Napoleonic stance, nods in proud review over his progeny.
%20%200005.jpg)
James Harvey Langford, Jr. (1861-1922), second from left
Did James Jr., my mother’s grandfather, meet one of my father’s fathers, Helon Henry Tracy, there in federal confinement? Helon wrote, after languishing ten months, also for “co-habitation”:
Decem 25-Christmas in the Pen. After breakfast most of the brethren received baskets of delicacies from their families and friends in the shape of mince pies, apple pies, roast chicken and turkey, candy, nuts &c. Was called to the gate by the warden and informed that my time here would expire on the 29 and that I could bring out my box in the evening of the 28 and pack it as he examined it, also that my letters Rece’d from home and my journal would be permitted to pass.
Elder Helon Henry Tracy (1849-1893) served a mission to England
So it was on Christmas Day that Henry learned he could keep the journal that is now a family treasure.
It is tradition, now, to search out such brightly-wrapped gifts from Christmases past, tucked as they are, by our kin, in the evergreen boughs of our family tree.
Stressed out as I sometimes feel during holidays, it’s hard not to notice, while doing this tree, how my life sparkles with magic, as compared with what my ancestors faced.
Our children, too, recall with some nostalgia, early days of revelry at home, when the prophet Elijah’s contagious elation brought out Christmas spirits of a different sort. Strength to endure with faith beams sweetly from the countenance of these strong souls, who manifest mirth from behind stoic faces.
This is one of the more profoundly sobering Christmas seasons that our family will celebrate. My mother has out-distanced her doctor’s prognosis. We are greatly blessed to still have her with us this Christmas, as she battles cancer with typical Langford spunk and determination:
“What? Me go first and let your father get himself another wife?”
Ida-Rose L. and H. Tracy Hall on their 60th m. anniversary, 2001
My dear eighty-five year old father copes with her decline from an often distant, but in his case, congenial world, misted by Alzheimers.
We, as a family seek, as we can, to support the security they feel in living at home. Of course we hope to make this as good a holiday as possible. Faced more than ever with their and our own mortality, this seems like a good year to feature my parents’ living, rather than deceased. legacy. Today I sent a letter to our large, extended family, inviting their help. Perhaps those of you who wish to try the same, may adapt my letter to your own situation:
Dear Halls (all 5 branches of you):
For the past few years I have, at my parents’ request,
decorated their Christmas tree with ancestral photos
that have little bios slid in the back (see attached
sample). This has been a lot of fun and evoked family memories worth recording. This year, however, I want to decorate their Christmas Family Tree with a little different twist.
It will be meaningful, at this sometimes wrenching time, as we watch life on this earth ebb, to cover their tree with images of continuing LIFE.
If you could please scan (or mail) me a photo of your
family that is approximately 3 l/2 X 5″ (either way,
vertical or horizontal), I will print them off, slide them
into plastic photo-holders, and cover their tree with these, this season. My goal is to publish these, as part of our Hall family history, of which you would get a copy, so “cast your pics . . . .”
If you wish to participate, please include a label that includes 1) L-R, back front designation; 2) full names; 3) birth years; 4) when the photo was taken; and 5) the location.
You can send one of the whole family or, if you really feel ambitious, it would be fun to also place one of each of their nieces, nephews, siblings, children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren separately on the tree.
Who knows, we may get enough photos to set up an extra tree downstairs, of all their sixty-seven descendants, including seven children, thirty-five grandchildren, and twenty-five great-grandchildren, with four we know of on the way.
If you have time to weave that photo label into a bio (see attached sample) that I could fit into the back of the photo, that would be great to include in our history, though I will be grateful to just have all in the photo clearly identified.
You may wish to include a little thought/greeting to cheer my parents this important year-I will slide that in the back of each photo, on top of the photo description or biographical sketch.
[At this point I gave them my e-address and snail mail contact information.]
I hope to decorate the tree(s), starting on Thanksgiving afternoon, so the sooner the better. If that is not convenient, though, we will gladly add photos all through the season.
Mom and Dad so enjoy visits, but sometimes they forget who has come before the same day is over. These photos of our living family will be a constant reminder to them, throughout the season, that they are loved and remembered.
From past experience, I know that my parents will lovingly look at each photo, over and over. Last year, while we were taking down the tree, Mom “remembered” that the ancestral ornaments all belonged to her, in the first place. For his part, Dad hoarded them in a little pile and didn’t want to turn them over.
Love,
Sherlene
I can hardly wait to see the photos and greetings I know our family will be sending. Among the first to arrive was this family photo, sent by my niece Emily:
L-R, top then bottom: Emily (Neil) and Peter Schaumann and their sons Andrew and “Jack” Schaumann, Summer 2004
My brother-in-law Doug Mecham says he’ll find just the right tree, set it up in my parents’ living room, and fill it with tiny, white lights, ready for our “decking of the halls.” This is, after all, a year when we want to be reminded early about all that Christmas means, through an extended season.
Our 1996 Christmas Family Tree was this Austrian Pine my father grew on his Payson, Utah tree farm. The dove ornament on top of the tree was crafted by our White Plains, NY neighbor, Joan Mohr.
Though sidetracked for this year, familiar ghosts of Christmases past still rise to scare off the stressed-out Scrooge in me. They bid me share our Christmas Family Tree tradition with the likes of you, with hope that it might light our paths to peace this season. Who am I to resist such persuasion?
—
[1] Parts of this column were originally published, with the same title, in This People magazine, Holiday 1997 issue, pp. 77-79.
3 Photo holders are available from Eldridge Acrylics, 246 E 4th Street, Mansfield, Ohio 44902(800-458-7987, or eldridgeacrylics.com).
Submitted to Meridianmagazine.com by Sherlene Hall Bartholomew, copyright 2004
2004 Meridian Magazine. All Rights Reserved.
