| welcome to the journal
entry that got away, aka, March 6-8. Three days
without writing an entry might make you think I
had a really busy time or else a lot of fun. I
have had more fun and work on other days without
getting behind so much. However, I had to help my
dad in sending out a lot of mailers for his
business, and it was the most tedious computer
work I had done in a long time. So, the thought
of staring into another screen was not a positive
one. Anyway, I did do some writing I thought you
might find of interest--my Winslow family story.
Next week's assignment is to write about my
earliest memories, which I think will be very
interesting. Here it is:
Every year at the
family Christmas in Boston, the crib was brought
out. The whole family gathered around it looking
at it--but never touching the delicate heirloom.
It was small, unadorned, and made of wood
darkened by the years. There was a magical air
surrounding it, especially since its importance
was never mentioned out loud.
Finally, on one visit to Boston, a young girl was
led over to the crib. Her grandmother knelt
beside it and said, "This will be yours one
day. It was passed through my family to every
first born girl." The young girl smiled,
excited that this obviously important item would
be inherited by a girl, and not a boy, like
everything else seemed to be.
After that Christmas, the crib was carefully
wrapped and carried with the girl and her parents
to their home in Texas. It was placed in the
corner of the dining room for many months, until
one day the girl was caught putting dolls in the
crib. She was reprimanded that this crib was not
a toy. The girl wondered what use it was then.
Soon afterwards, the crib was hidden away in the
attic, not to be seen until the girl had grown up
to be a mother herself.
My mother told me this story when I asked her
about the crib, after it was slowly lowered from
my grandparents' attic. After hours of carrying
(and sometimes throwing) newspapers, stuffed
animals, and other odds and ends down the stairs,
the small weathered crib was an welcomed
diversion. Unlike my mother when she was younger,
I immediately asked why this crib was so
important. "Did you sleep in it?" I
asked, thinking that no one had thought to keep
my crib.
So, my mother told me that her grandmother was
named Georgetta Winslow, and that her ancestors
had came over on the Mayflower. Supposedly this
treasured crib had also come over on this
historical trip, and had been cherished ever
since.
There were two Winslows who came over on the
Mayflower, but only one, Edward, survived to have
a son. That son, Josiah, had one son, Isaac who
moved to Maine, and had one son and so on.
Finally, there was George Winslow, who moved from
Maine to Boston, who was the great-grandfather
and namesake of Georgetta Winslow Connolly.
Edward Winslow is one of the most famous
passengers of the Mayflower. His trip was not a
last resort of a younger poor son, like many of
the others. Not only he was a member of the upper
class in England, and the oldest son, all of his
other siblings eventually came and settled in
Plymouth, and later Boston. In England, Edward
was a printer who passed out illegal religious
pamphlets. He promoted religious freedom in his
own books, which he went on to write in Plymouth.
He had an adventuresome spirit, eventually dying
at sea near Jamaica. He was the third governor of
Plymouth, and was put in jail for performing
civil marriage ceremonies by the English
government. Edward has the third signature on the
Mayflower Compact, and he is famous for improving
relations between the Pilgrims and the Native
Americans. In fact, some say that the first
Thanksgiving dinner was his idea.
All of this provided for a wonderful history
lesson on a day otherwise spent organizing a
dirty attic. The crib is an heirloom, but what
does the family connection mean? In a way, it
makes the history of the Pilgrims even more
personal, and helps me feel like there is a
tangible interaction through the crib of old and
new. But the most interesting aspect of knowing
that Edward Winslow is an ancestor, and probably
the most distant one, is the questions I have
about what life was like for him, and the other
Winslows. I can't help be curious about the
motivations, the dreams, the hardships of this
special family. In the mean time, the crib sits
in a closet, held carefully together by string.
more soon,
Melissa
03/09/00 02:22:40 AM
(ps: in the
pictures up top, that is a friend's motorcycle,
and I am only posing on it)
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