Let It Go…Away

Winter, your beautiful crystals have been appreciated in all their varied shapes.  It is time to just let. it. go.  The cold.  It DOES bother me, anyway.

Winter, your beautiful crystals have been appreciated in all their varied shapes. It is time to just let. it. go.

Amanuensis Monday: We Are Off To The Races

The branch of the Minor family from which I spring left New Jersey in the late 1790s and settled along Big Whitely Creek, Greene County, Pennsylvania.  Abia and Margaret (Pearson) did not homestead in isolation, and may well have lived within the fortified structures that uncles John and William Minor had built in the area.  By 1803, Abia and Margaret aspired to their own farm along the waters of Big Whitely, and on 2 February Uncle William Minor and his wife, Hannah, conveyed title to 150 acres of  “Race Ground”, for the sum of $1,700 “of lawful money of the United States”.  The oak studded hills had been conveyed or patented to William from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania in 1789.  In 1803 the creek-side land  became the childhood home of my patriarch–John Pearson (Pierson) Minor.

Map_Greene Township_Greene County_Pennsylvania. Caldwell Atlas. 1876. edited.zip

You can read the text of the deed below:

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Robert Minor of Greene County, Pennsylvania

On this anniversary of Robert Minor’s death, I am seeking cousin-ly review.  Robert is shown here in front of his home on Ceylon Lane.  With confidence I can identify his wife, May, and his two children, Helen and Donald.  But who are the rest of the folks?  What say you, descendants of John P. and Isabella Minor?

Minor Family Group Shot circa 1915. Back row (l-r): unknown, Robert Minor, May Minor, unknown. Middle: unknown. Front row: Helen Minor, Donald Minor, unknown, unknown.

Minor Family Group Shot circa 1915. Back row (l-r): unknown, Robert Minor, May Minor, unknown. Middle: unknown. Front row: Helen Minor, Donald Minor, unknown, unknown.

Snow Game

For reasons that defy human comprehension, my dog adores snow in the face.  Here he waits patiently for me to put the camera away, and pick up the shovel stashed nearby.  The crazy boy will hold the pose while I scoop a mound of flakes, then hurl himself into the freshly tossed crystals, fur flying behind his air-borne torso.

For reasons that defy human comprehension, my dog adores snow in the face. Here he waits patiently for me to put the camera away, and pick up the shovel stashed nearby. The crazy boy will hold the pose while I scoop a mound of flakes, then hurl himself into the freshly tossed crystals, fur flying behind his air-borne torso.

Back in the Day: Just Praisin’ the Lord

Back in the day, when I was several years younger, my weekends were book-ended by sports and church. In between these equally sacred southern traditions, I gathered with youth group buddies, in living rooms and back porches.  We called ourselves the Sonrise Singers, and our tireless devotion to guitar strings and vocal harmonies led us into nursing homes and church sanctuaries where we shared our zany sense of the spiritual.  We were one in the spirit.




Sonrise Singers Practice.1 Sonrise Singers Practice.3 Sonrise Singers Practice.2 Sonrise Singers Practice.4