As the trees lose their color and release their leaves, I feel melancholy. The seasons of my life are passing quickly, and every thought or mood I have these days is amplified by COVID.
I needed a tonic for my gloomy thoughts, so I started a pandemic project: sorting through boxes of old photos. Talk about a reminder of passing time!
I’m trying to make sense of all the begats. Many pictures are of family members who were gone before I was born. Have they influenced me other than genetically? I think so, if only through their stories.
I know more about my Canary ancestors than other branches of my family. I have a few photos of my paternal great-grandparents, Edward and Jennie Crays Canary, born in the 1870s. They lived out their lives in and around Washington, Indiana, like most of my mother’s kin.
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My great-grandfather died young of tuberculosis, a scourge in those days. He was a railroader for the B&O Railroad, once a major employer in southwest Indiana. It was hard, dirty work, but I’m sure he was grateful to provide for his family. When he died at 50 in 1921, there was no Social Security. My grandfather Lyndon Canary and his brother stepped up to support their mother, and Jennie moved in with one of her daughters.
Great-grandmother remarried some years later to a gentleman known as “Mr. Shively.” I don’t know if Jennie and Mr. Shively had a great love story, but they were a good team. They ran a gas station/café in Shoals. Mr. Shively cared for the cars, and Jennie took care of the cooking. She had four children and many grandchildren.
She invited all her family to Shoals on Sundays for dinner after church. I guess if you cooked six days a week for a café as Jennie did, cooking for a family group was a piece of cake! Mother told me her grandma cooked something special for each family member every week. Mom always asked for coconut pie. Mother adored her Grandma Jennie, whom she remembered as a kind-hearted, generous woman.
My Grandpa Lyndon married Lenna Steele, and they had three precocious daughters: my mother, Ruth, and her sisters, Imogene and Betty. They grew up in the Great Depression. Imogene died at age 34 of heart problems, leaving two young daughters behind. Mother was widowed at 35 and raised three daughters alone, and my Aunt Betty, the youngest, had five children and juggled household responsibilities with a writing career.
I come from a long line of folks who worked hard and had challenging lives, no doubt a commonality with many of us prime timers. People who faced tragedies and kept moving forward. People who clung to their faith and took care of each other when times were tough. There were divorces, alcoholism, early deaths, illness, poverty and heartaches aplenty in my lineage.
My ancestors could’ve easily complained about their circumstances, but mother said when she grew up in the Great Depression, no one grumbled. Everyone was in the same boat. Everyone had it hard back then.
I’m grateful that medicine and science have made great strides in the last 150 years. Tuberculosis is mostly gone, and heart trouble is treatable. There’s much to be thankful for, even in this time of COVID.
One day, my great-grands may see pictures of me online. They definitely won’t have stories of me cooking gigantic meals every week, but if I’m remembered, I hope it will be as someone who loved her children and adored her grandchildren. That would be a satisfying legacy. What are your stories?
Sharon Mangas is a Columbus resident and can be reached at [email protected].
