At Least That's What I Thought

Before we left, I tried to find every ancestor buried in Ontario, and make sure I knew where every cemetery was so I wouldn't miss anyone. One couple, Adam Clarke Cooper and his wife Charlotte, I didn't have any record of where they were buried. But I remembered reading somewhere that someone thought they might have been buried in Buffalo. So i checked out the Buffalo cemeteries, but there over twenty of them, and I couldn't figure out which ones were old enough, and I finally ran out of time and gave up.

So on our way to the church history sites in New York, we got hopelessly lost in Buffalo. We ended up just driving around until we finally found a road that was on the map. As we were wandering, we passed a cemetery. I said, "I wonder if Adam and Charlotte are buried there."
But we continued on, finally found our way out of Buffalo, spent the whole day visiting church history sites, and made it back after dark. Our plane would be leaving at 11:00am the next morning, and our trip was pretty much over.
At least that's what I thought.

As I pulled out our itinerary to make sure I knew all the right times, I realized that our tickets were for the 24th, not the 23rd. I was shocked. I still have no idea how that happened, and I still get angry when I think about it. They were for the wrong day!!!
So we called the airline, and after charging us a hefty fee, they changed our flight to the right day. But it wouldn't leave until 5:00pm.
Suddenly I had a lot of time on my hands.
So I said, "Remember that cemetery we passed when we were lost?"

We found our way back, and asked at the office.
You already know, don't you?
They were there!!!
How crazy is that?Of course, they had no headstones. That doesn't seem to be the fashion among my family. This backpack is where Charlotte's headstone should be, and if you look really close, you can see Jef waving his arms where Adam's should be. They're like ten rows apart!

And remember how I thought that first cemetery was so big?
Well, this one was bigger.
It was HUGE!
Massive!!
It was
two hundred and sixty-nine acres!!!
Yes, I'm serious. You can check their website.

I didn't even know they made cemeteries that big.

So Jef and I found a picturesque spot to eat lunch by one of several bodies of water. While we ate, we noticed this big weird thing, and we went to check it out. No names on the slabs, a weird quote on the poking up part. We couldn't figure out why it was there.
We said, "Huh."
And went home.
So when I got home, I went to their website, and found out that this thing is a very famous monument by Frank Lloyd Wright, and they are very proud of it. I guess we're not exactly architectural connoisseurs, are we?
Also turns out that Millard Fillmore (the President) was buried in that cemetery. But we sort of missed that.
Or maybe we did see it, but we just said, "Huh."
And went home.

Just a Practice

We missed the kids' primary program while we were gone. (I know, I know. I feel terrible.) But we called that night to see how it went. When I talked to Cannon I said, "So, was it the primary program today?"
"No, it was just a practice."
What?
"A practice with everyone watching?"
"Yep."
"Oh. So, did you do a good job at your practice?"
"Ya, I was pretty great."
What a kid.

Alvin Smith

Seeing as how we were so into cemeteries on this trip, you know we didn't leave Palmyra without visiting Alvin's grave.
I thought it was cool how he has a new headstone that will last longer, but the old one is stuck in the back of it. (And already it's almost unreadable like most of the other headstones we saw on our trip.) I was thinking how hard it must have been for Lucy to leave her nice house that she had wanted for so long, but after vising this grave, I was reminded that the farm wasn't the only thing she left behind.

Sacred Grove

My favorite church history spot was the Sacred Grove. It felt just like being in the temple, only you were out in the trees. And it was a lot bigger than I thought. There were quite a few people there, but you could find a bench and feel completely alone. No wonder Joseph Smith went there to pray.
I took fifty pictures just in the Sacred Grove, and I know you're disappointed, but I only posted two. Come on over, and I'll show you the rest. ;)

Joseph Smith Homes

We also visited Joseph Smith's farm where he lived when he was young. You know how it says his father moved the family to a different county? Well, it must have been an inside joke, because the two houses are only about a block apart, with a county line in between. They have built this replica to be as close to the original as it can possibly be. Apparently they've won quite a few awards for it.

But the house they moved to is still the original. They've done some restoration, of course, but it is still the same house that the Smiths built and lived in.
And when you hear the stories about Joseph Smith taking up the bricks of the fire place and hiding the plates underneath? These are the same bricks, and we stood on them! It was so cool.

And from the Smith farm, you can see the Palmyra Temple. Apparently it is the only temple with a clear window in the Celestial Room so that you can look out on the Sacred Grove. (We didn't get to go in, so I can't tell you for sure.) The Hartleys (our new missionary friends from the little bitty branch) told us that when they visited there, Elder Harley commented that they must have trimmed the trees to make it so that you could see the sacred grove from the temple. You can see in the picture that otherwise all you would be able to see is the trees in front of the temple.
But the story goes that they were not allowed to trim any of the trees. However, for some strange reason, all the tall trees in front of the temple died. After they were dead, they were allowed to cut them down. And now you can see the temple from the Smith farm, and the temple can look out on the Sacred Grove.

Print Shop

The print shop where the original 5000 Books of Mormon were printed is also a cool spot we saw. My favorite was all the original artwork they had there. The original paintings of Moroni, Mormon, and Jesus visiting the Nephites are all hanging there.
But really the most amazing part was that there was a lady tagging along on our little tour with the Sister missionary, and when she showed us the original Book of Mormon they have on display there, the lady said all casual, "Oh, I have one of those."
What?
One of the original 5000? Just like this one?
"Oh ya, it was my great-grandfather's. He was one of those big-time Mormon pioneers."
And where is it?
"In storage somewhere. I'm gonna go home and find it, though."
Ya. You do that.

Hill Cumorah

It seemed that we had done all we came to do, and we still had a day and a half left. We were flying out of Buffalo on Tuesday, and we decided to spend Monday visiting some church history sites! When we showed up at the Hill Cumorah, the sister missionaries were very excited.
Turns out we had accidentally shown up on September 22nd! The day Joseph Smith first found the plates, and four years later received them from the angel Moroni. How cool is that?
We hiked up to the monument on the top of the hill. (Note the problem with self-timers. If the camera tips while you're waiting, there is nothing you can do about it.)
We walked up the grassy side, and down the forested side. I was surprised to find that even though the hill is quite steep, it isn't really that big. And you will also be interested to know that we did not see one single rock on the whole hill. I told Jef they probably removed them all because they were sick of everyone going off the trails in search of golden plates.

Fellowship of the Saints

The Sunday during our trip, we went to church at a little teeny branch in Walkerton. The members there were ecstatic about having us. I'm afraid we were something of a distraction during Sacrament Meeting, since everyone was either staring at us or trying to talk to us. The lady sitting next to me (whom I have never met before in my life) was a little miffed.
"Why didn't you tell me you were in town?"
Apparently, if we could have somehow announced our arrival to all of the members in the area, we wouldn't have had to pay for a single motel room or meal during our entire visit. I gave my email address away to several people interested in being my friend for life, and overall felt very loved.
The missionaries assigned to that branch, Elder and Sister Hartley, invited us over to dinner, and we had a great time. We are officially invited to their house in Kaysville as soon as they get home, and she sent pencils home with me for all of my Young Women. They say S.M.I.L.E., which stands for Spiritually-Minded Is Life Eternal. I thought it was cute.
So, the next vacation you take, don't make any reservations for motel rooms. Just plan on going first thing to the smallest branch you can find, and you'll be well taken care of.

Lost and Found

So on we went to Tiverton, where we found just what we were looking for...
(Which would be the graves of Donald McDonald and Annabella Black, Annabella's mother, Jessie Black, and a couple of children.)
...and a couple of things we weren't looking for. Like this grave that lists another Donald McDonald - grandson of the other one. And on the back, family history information proving he's a relative. This was so cool to find.
But if you go back around to the front of this headstone, you notice that this Donald McDonald had two kids who only have birth dates. No death dates. Hmmm...
So we went to the library across the street, and the librarian in this little tiny town said, "Oh, ya, they're in the care center over in Kincardine." Wahoo!
So off to Kincardine to find some long lost cousins.
One problem.
Their wing of the care center happened to be in quarantine. Some respiratory virus was going around, and no one was allowed in or out.
Drat.
But a nurse showed me to Donald's window. (Another Donald McDonald. It really wasn't a very cool name in the first place. I don't know why these people have insisted on hanging on to it for so many generations.)
Well, Donald's wife had died many years before, and he never had any children. His sister, Maggie, in a room across the hall, never married. So they are the end of their line, and they weren't expecting visitors until Thanksgiving.
So of course they didn't have their hearing aids in that day. (Because they weren't expecting visitors.) And so I had to stand in the flower bed outside Don's window and scream at him. The poor man couldn't figure out why some strange woman was standing outside his window.
And what is she trying to say? I wish she'd speak up.
I finally managed to communicate who I was and why I was there, and he and his sister were very excited to meet us. We promised to come back the next day, and they promised to have their hearing aids in.
The next day Jef stuck a chair in the flower bed for me so that I could scream in comfort.
Then he went and took a picture. How helpful.
Maggie couldn't figure out how she ended up with cousins in Utah. I told her that my grandfather moved to Utah when he joined the Mormon church, but I don't think that meant anything to her, because a few minutes later she was asking, "And we don't know why your grandfather moved to Utah?" And a few minutes after that, "And your grandfather moved for some reason that no one understands?"
The third time I just agreed with her. Yup. Haven't a clue.

And here they are. They were very sweet, even if they're not very photogenic.
They kept talking about things we should see or do "when we come back next year." But I really don't think they'll be there next year, even if we did come back.
Maggie has lots of family history information, obviously much more than I have, but it's all in storage who knows where. So we left our address with an explanation of who we were, so that hopefully it will fall into the right hands someday and that information will eventually make it to me. Maggie promised to send it to me as soon as she got out of there, so maybe she will. It wouldn't be the first time I've had help from the other side.

Monte Cristo in Canada

Mixed in with my memories of Ontario, distant cousins, and cemeteries, are scenes from the Count of Monte Cristo. I undertook to read the unabridged version (1462 pages), and took it with me on my trip, thinking that I could make some headway on the plane. Jef must've gotten bored sitting next to me, because he jumped in at about page 800 (the cheater), and we spent the rest of the trip reading out loud to each other. So when I think of Ontario, I can't help remembering the guilty secrets of M. de Villefort and Madame Danglars, the desperate situation of Valentine, the despair of Maximillian, and the heartbreak of Haydee. Sounds like a soap opera, I know, and it kind of is, but yesterday we finally finished! I can't even remember the last time it took me over a month to finish a book I was reading every day. (Except the Book of Mormon, of course. But that's another story.)
Odd to have those memories mingled like that, but I seriously couldn't report my trip without mentioning all the suspense I went through all along the way. Kind of sad to have it over now.

Malcolm Black

While in Ontario, we just had to stop and see a distant cousin. (Very distant.) His name is Malcolm Black, and he comes from a long line of Malcolm Blacks. In fact, our common ancestor happens to be...
Malcolm Black!
I found him on the internet somehow (I've been trying to remember how, but haven't come up with anything), and found out he had a familybible from way back.
He also had lots of pictures and lots of stories.
I've had people ask me how my husband felt about spending a vacation almost entirely on my family history. But, as you can see from the picture, he was very "into it."

Malcolm lives in an old woolen mill, and he rents out the bottom floor to antique dealers. He lives in the second floor with his wife and a whole lot of "treasures." (Which insensitive people may call junk.) He even had machinery left from the old days when it still functioned as a mill.
He told us about another cemetery we could visit (because we didn't have enough already), and where to find an old school house built by Archibald Black. (That would be Annabella's brother, and the owner of this cool Bible.)
He also happened to live in what I thought was the prettiest area of our entire trip.

Tinfoil Tricks

As we visited cemeteries, we quickly found that many of the old headstones are unreadable. I was tracing the letters with my fingers, trying to "feel" what they said, and we also tried doing a rubbing with crayons, but neither of these methods worked at all.
My genius husband, however, came up with the best plan. We bought some tinfoil and pressed it on the headstone. It was like a miracle! All of a sudden, you could see words where before there had only been discolored bumps and holes. We carried tinfoil around with us to every cemetery thereafter. Way to go, Jef!