Whether well thought out, (or as Forrest Gump might say)
“more accidental like” my daddy left stuff behind. I have several of his
paintings on my walls. He loved to paint barns, and swamps, and trees and such
things on large canvasses. And once he completed a work, he would either frame
it with a two-tone, store bought frame of natural wood, and gold trim, or he’d
envelope the painting with his own hand made frame of pecky cypress. To my
knowledge, he never painted from “real life,” but copied existing paintings in
art magazines.
In his 50’s, my Father got involved in genealogy. At the time
there was no internet, or ancestry.com, since Al Gore hadn’t yet thought of the
idea. (The last sentence should merit a smile.) Everything daddy did in the
area of genealogy was done using actual source documents. Over the course of
several years, Henry Jr. compiled an exquisite volume which contained data on
all the descendants of Isham McDonald, his great great Grandfather, through
John McDonald, his grandson. That volume has been distributed to numerous
extended family members.
Speaking of Isham McDonald, my dad and I once took a trip
together, in the late 90’s, or early 2000’s, to the old Orangeburgh District of
South Carolina. Isham had settled in this area prior to the time of the
American Revolution on, (as I recall) the Little Pee Dee Creek. Daddy and I
hoped to find the approximate location of our Scottish grandfather’s original
homestead.
Having arrived in that part of South Carolina, since my dad
was an exterminator, he looked up a local man who was involved with the same
vocation, and we sat down with him. My Father explained our purpose for being
in the area, and Mr. Carter informed us that he knew an old man who he felt
sure could assist us.
The local exterminator led the way, and after about fifteen
minutes, we rolled up in the old fella’s yard. Mr. Brown was 90 years of age,
(and no doubt he has passed from the scene by now).
He was a lively old guy, and obviously enjoyed having company.
My dad, Mr. Carter and I sat in the living room with the kindly old man, and
his wife for thirty minutes or more, as we discussed Isham McDonald, his
Revolutionary War service, and his South Carolina homestead.
Daddy had long known that he would never find the exact site
of Isham’s property, since Gen. Sherman had burned nearby Southern courthouses
during the Civil War, and records such as land deeds, and last wills and
testaments had been lost forever.
However, Mr. Brown proceeded to tell us that when he was a
young man, he hunted raccoon along the Pee Dee Creek, and at one time it was
easily 40 feet wide. His eyes twinkled, as he reminisced that on one particular
hunt, he and his dogs were tracking a coon, when he stumbled and fell into that
creek. Of course, we all laughed with him as he shared that poignant memory.
As he approached the end of his story, the old fella mused,
“You know, I can tell you where that creek is, the one your Granddaddy Isham
lived on. It’s not the fast moving river it used to be though. It’s nothing
more than a culvert under the road today.”
And so Mr. Brown told us how to find our way to what remained
of the creek, and thanking him, we took our leave. As we walked into the front
yard, Mr. Carter “left us to our own devices” as he, no doubt, realized that
this was a father and son moment. Daddy also thanked this fine man, and so we boarded
our separate vehicles and went our way.
(If I recalled the
name of his business and the city where it was located, I’d enjoy chatting with
Mr. Carter again. I would update him on our visit to what was left of that
creek, and share with him the details of my dad’s passing).
Well, my readers, as I alluded above, we found the creek, or
as Mr. Brown and I have previously implied, what was left of it. And indeed, it
was no more than a culvert which ran under that old country road; perhaps three
feet wide and only a trickle of brown water. Daddy and I got out, and walked
down the embankment. I suppose we took a few pictures, but if so, ten or twelve
years later, I have no idea where they’re located, and I regret it.
We may have lingered there all of six or eight minutes, and
my dad mused that Isham’s homestead would have been within a mile or two from
where we stood. The trees and undergrowth in this area prevented us from
following the path of the creek, and I doubt we would have discovered anything
of further significance, had we been able to do so.
Nevertheless, the bond between my dad and I was strengthened
that day, and the time we spent together that week allowed us to reconcile any
unspoken differences which may have existed between us.
I will be eternally grateful that my Father and I were given
the opportunity to say some things to one another we’d never said before, to
spend the quality time together that we’d never spent before, and to go where
we’d never gone in pursuit of those whose very flesh and blood we shared.
By William McDonald, PhD. Excerpt from "Snapshots From a Life (Not Always So) Well-lived" Vol. 3
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