December 16, 2014 – Ancestors
102 years ago today, my dad, Judge Woodrow M. Melvin, was born in in the house his father built at 306 Berryhill Street, Milton, Fl. My grandmother, Laura Melvin, gave birth to six boys in the same bedroom of the house; Dad was #2 A generation later, my parents made their home in that house, and my mother, Juanita Weeks Melvin, gave birth to one son and two daughters — in the same bedroom. Mom would have been 100 this past July 13. There is a Melvin family plot in the Milton Cemetery where most of my recent ancestors are buried.
Fort Bowie – 130 years later
The flag marks the old parade grounds at Ft. Bowie
southern Arizona
lonesome cow
a little cold there in the Chiricahua Mountains
a few of the rocks at Chiricahua National Monument
talk about bumpy roads!
San Xavier Mission
San Xavier Mission
On Monday, Doug and I rode down yet another dirt road in the deserts of SE Arizona; we crossed Apache Pass and other places documented in the westward advancement of the White Man. We walked the 1 ½ miles into the ruins of Fort Bowie, a walk which took us through beautiful land and past Apache Springs; the water bubbles out of the ground, runs in a small stream, and then disappears. It was the water that attracted wild game and humans. The location of those springs set the location of the Fort.
The only sounds we heard were the occasional bird and the steady crunch of our shoes on the rocky ground. The trail was scattered with numerous markers describing various battle sites and the myriad of ways the White Man conquered the Indian. I was intrigued was one plaque beside a mock-up of a teepee; it explained the Indian diet which included fresh game and a large variety of nuts and vegetation. At the Fort, a very different sign explained the rough life of the soldiers and their very limited diet.
There is a Fort cemetery, outlined by an adobe wall. Another plaque explains that after the Fort was abandoned (because the Indians had been eradicated after the surrender of Geronimo), the Government moved the bodies of all the officers and most of the enlisted to a National Cemetery in California, leaving the civilians and a couple of Indians. Today there are wooden headstones marked “In Memoriam” to those left behind in this quiet, beautiful corner of Arizona. One tells the story of a six year old boy who was crushed by a wagon wheel; his claim to fame, there amongst the cacti and rolling hills, is that he was the first child buried at the Fort. My grandparents lost a child; he is buried with them at the Milton Cemetery; I think broken hearts look the same, across time and cultures.
At the Visitor’s Center we met an Apache who lives on the Reservation near Gallup, NM; he had come to this site of his Apache ancestors with a different perspective than most tourists. He explained his house on the Reservation has all the modern conveniences and that he has several Aunts who live in hogans with dirt floors and continue to carry water. He spoke with pride of his 4 year old nephew who is the 4th generation descendant of Geronimo. We understood from the pamphlet that Geronimo had surrendered in 1886 and was brought to Fort Bowie, before being shipped by rail to Pensacola, Fl. Pensacola is about 30 miles from my old family home and the Milton cemetery; my grandparents were young adults when Geronimo was locked up at Fort Pickens on Santa Rosa Island. Our new friend, this modern Apache, showed us a picture of his ancestor, Geronimo – standing on the parade grounds with his hands on his hips.
On Saturday we rode up to the Chiricahua National Monument – a place much colder than the low-lands around Tucson. In fact, I thought I’d freeze to death. The rock formations are the stunning result of 27 million years of erosion which followed the eruption of Turkey Creek Volcano.
We also visited the San Xavier Cathedral – a white adobe structure that reflects the desert sun.
Tomorrow, Dec 17, we’re heading to Puerto Penasco, Mexico, to visit a couple I met three years ago on my four-corners motorcycle ride. Sixteen years ago I spent a week skydiving onto the beaches at Puerto Penasco. It’s a small world, full of adventure.