Family

Walton’s Mountain: A Visit to Schuyler, Virginia

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Take Highway 29 south of Charlottesville. The broad four-lane highway rolls gently away from the crowded streets of this college town, climbing into the wooded ridges of Nelson County. Mountains? Having lived in Nevada, I still think of these as hills. Beautiful, forested hills—but hills nonetheless.

The road passes wineries, cideries, and bed-and-breakfast inns that seem perfectly at home in Virginia’s countryside. As pleasant as they are, I found myself wondering what this landscape looked like during the 1930s.

Twenty-four miles south, turn left onto Route 6—Irish Road. A few minutes later you’ll arrive at the Walton’s Mountain Museum in Schuyler, Virginia.

Walton’s Mountain Museum building front

That’s how I drove home.

Getting there was another matter.

From Somerset, Virginia, I followed State Route 20, where road construction narrowed an already winding highway. Cars crept through one lane at a time, each of us patiently following the next toward destinations that, in my case, were entirely unfamiliar.

July in Virginia is predictably hot and humid. But on this particular day another visitor had arrived first: smoke from the Canadian wildfires, nearly 900 miles to the north. I had hoped that by climbing into the mountains I might outrun the haze—or at least rise above it. Instead, the smoky air that blanketed our valley had settled over Schuyler as well. The destination proved both new and strangely familiar, but the clear mountain air I had imagined never appeared.

Housed in the former Schuyler High School, the Waltons Mountain Museum features carefully recreated sets from the television series, including John-Boy’s bedroom, the family kitchen, and Ike Godsey’s store. Opened in 1992, the museum has become an important part of the local economy, drawing fans from across the country and around the world. During my visit, guests had come from nearby Charlottesville, North Carolina, and much farther away. A glance through the visitor log confirmed that the appeal of The Waltons extends well beyond Virginia.

Walton’s Mountain Tshirt signed by Richard Thomas
Newspapers remembering Earl Hamner
Original Hamner Home
The Hamner Home-TV version

The television series ran for nine seasons and 221 episodes before concluding in 1981, followed by a number of reunion movies through 1997. Nearly three decades after the last of those specials aired, visitors are still making the pilgrimage to experience the world of a family who, though inspired by real people, largely lived in fiction.

The museum occupies an interesting space somewhere between celebration and remembrance. Visitors come to relive the lives of the fictional Walton family, but the museum never lets them forget the real family behind the stories. Earl Hamner Jr., whose childhood inspired the series, grew up here with his parents and seven siblings. Throughout the exhibits, photographs place members of the Hamner family beside the actors who portrayed them, gently reminding visitors where fact ends and storytelling begins. The Hamners first became a novel, then a film, and eventually one of television’s most beloved series. Yet behind it all remained a very real family from a very real Virginia town.

Spencer’s Mountain, by Earl Hamner, Jr. image from Amazon

The museum’s caretaker that afternoon had grown up in Schuyler. She was old enough to have known many members of the Hamner family personally, although I never quite sorted out exactly who or when. What mattered was that she transformed the exhibits from static displays into living history. She shared firsthand stories, local memories, and bits of background that never appeared on the exhibit labels. More than anything I read on the walls, she brought both the people and the town to life. I found myself disappointed when she excused herself for a break.

Earl Hamner Jr. was born in 1923 and died in 2016. He was only three years older than my father, one of five children, and five years older than my mother, who grew up with six siblings of her own. Like the Hamners, my parents lived through the Great Depression. Yet standing in Schuyler, it was easy to imagine that those difficult years were considerably harder in the hills of rural Virginia than they had been for my parents in Southern California.

Still, hardship has a way of producing stories worth telling. In this case, those stories have endured for more than fifty years, continuing to draw people who long for a glimpse of a simpler world—or perhaps simply a kinder one.

I spent an unhurried afternoon wandering through the museum, complimenting the caretaker on the thoughtful exhibits. I lingered longest in John-Boy’s recreated bedroom, which somehow felt exactly as I had imagined it. Before leaving, I picked up a few jars of Waltons Mountain jam from the gift shop. The Moonshine Jelly contained considerably more “moonshine” in its name than in its recipe, but it was enjoyable all the same.

After more than thirty years producing graphics and exhibits for museums and visitor centers, I’ve seen displays of every size and budget. Every exhibition hopes to honor its subject well. Could the captions have been more legible? Certainly. Would improved lighting and newer display cases have showcased the collection more effectively? Without question.

But they also might have polished away some of the museum’s charm.

John-Boy’s Bedroom
Waltons Living Room set
Waltons Kitchen set

For me, the exhibits were memorable. The stories were unforgettable. And the best exhibit in the building wasn’t behind glass at all—it was the woman behind the front desk who remembered when these stories were simply the lives of her neighbors.

If you’ve been to the museum, let me know in the comments below. 

The Mountain

Crossing America

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The self-titled 1972 album by Manassas, the band formed by Stephen Stills of Crosby, Stills & Nash fame, features a memorable cover photograph taken at the train station in Manassas, Virginia. A Civil War enthusiast, Stills chose the location because of its historic significance and named the band after the town itself.

Photographer Ira Wexler captured the band standing casually on the platform, hands in their pockets, Stills leaning against a post. Aside from the unmistakable hairstyles of the early 1970s, they could easily pass for a group of groomsmen waiting for the train before one last evening on the town.

That photograph always brings back memories for me because I had stood on that very platform four years later—not as a music fan, but as a traveler crossing America.

Photo: Manassas album cover (credit: Ira Wexler)

A Summer on the Road

In the summer of 1976, during America’s Bicentennial celebration, I set off on a month-long bus tour across the United States. Along the way I met Simon, a young traveler from Wales who had come to experience America firsthand. We were the same age and quickly became good friends, sharing long hours on the bus and exploring each new destination together.

By the time we reached Washington, D.C., we had already visited places that seemed larger than life—The Alamo, New Orleans, Walt Disney World, and Cape Canaveral. Looking back, there wasn’t much to see at the Space Center itself, but simply standing where the Apollo missions had begun was unforgettable.

After the crowds and museums of Washington, Simon suggested something different. As a Stephen Stills fan, he wanted to visit the train station in Manassas that appeared on the Manassas album cover. It wasn’t on my itinerary, but that’s one of the joys of travel: sometimes the unexpected side trips become the memories that last the longest.

Photo: Manassas train platform, 2026

Crossing America on Two Wheels

That same summer, another branch of my family was making an even more remarkable journey.

My aunt Shirley and my cousin Colleen participated in Bikecentennial, the cross-country bicycle ride created to celebrate America’s 200th birthday. According to my mother, who has an incredible memory for family history, Shirley—45 years old—and eleven-year-old Colleen may have been the youngest mother-daughter team to complete the route.

They began in Reedsport, Oregon, and pedaled east across the country. Many riders struggled with heat, exhaustion, and injuries, and some left the ride altogether. At one point Shirley and Colleen separated from the larger group, continuing entirely on their own. They followed the established route and campgrounds, but without the companionship or support of other riders. Just the two of them—and they finished.

My brother Dave was serving in the Army at Fort Riley, Kansas, during their trip. He remembers visiting them as they crossed the state.

“I went to see them about mid-journey while they were crossing Kansas. They looked incredibly fit, thin, and tanned. It was quite an adventure they were having, and I remember thinking how unusual it was to see a mother-daughter team, especially with Colleen only about eleven years old.”

Reporter (and participant) Mark Donaldson wrote in 2016, reflecting on the Adventure 40 years before. 

“Four thousand cyclists hit the trail the summer of 1976 — young, old, male, female, representing dozens of countries. Two thousand bicycled the entire trail from coast to coast. We all share one common bond. We all feel that the summer of the Bicentennial was one of the best summers of our lives.”

Years later, Colleen reflected on how unlikely the whole adventure really was.

Her mother had recently earned a degree in U.S. History after more than twenty years of night school. When she read about Bikecentennial, she assumed it would be perfect for her eighteen-year-old son. He wasn’t interested and simply replied, “You should do it.”

So she did.

At the time Shirley worked a full-time desk job, smoked two packs of cigarettes a day, and had hardly ridden a bicycle in years. Nevertheless, she bought the required camping gear, tents, panniers—and bicycles.

There was just one problem: the smallest adult bicycle was still too large for eleven-year-old Colleen. Their solution was wonderfully 1970s. A trip to Kinney Shoes produced a pair of platform sneakers that added two and a half inches of height, just enough to reach the pedals!

The family finally assembled the bicycles on Mother’s Day for a ten-mile practice ride.

Two weeks later, they left Reedsport, Oregon to bicycle across America.

Colleen, 1976

America by Rail

Nearly twenty years after my bus trip, I found myself circling the country once again—this time by train.

I boarded the Capitol Limited at Union Station in Washington, D.C., bound for Chicago. Twelve hours in a coach seat convinced me that sleeping accommodations were worth every penny, so I upgraded to a roomette before continuing west.

Traveling by rail offers an entirely different perspective on America. Unlike flying, where the landscape disappears beneath the clouds, the train carries you through small towns, mountain passes, deserts, rivers, and endless stretches of countryside that most travelers never see.

Looking back, I’ve crossed America three different ways: by bus, by train, and—through the remarkable story of my aunt and cousin—by bicycle. Each journey revealed a different side of the country, but they all shared the same reward: the chance to slow down, meet interesting people, and discover that sometimes the best memories come from the miles between the destinations.


In 1976, Americans celebrated 200 years of independence. Nearly fifty years later, as the nation celebrates its 250th anniversary, I realize those celebrations were never only about fireworks and parades. They were about movement—people setting out to see their country, whether by bus, bicycle, or train. My own memories of that Bicentennial summer, and the remarkable journey of my aunt Shirley and my cousin Colleen, remind me that America is often best understood not from a history book, but from the road itself.

Let’s Make Ice Cream

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The hand-crank home ice cream maker was invented by Nancy M. Johnson. She filed the patent for her “Artificial Freezer”—the world’s first hand-cranked ice cream machine—on July 29, 1843, and was officially granted the patent on September 9, 1843.

Nancy Johnson’s patent (“Artificial Freezer,” U.S. Patent No. 3,254) was granted on September 9, 1843. Her design introduced the familiar hand crank and internal dasher that churned the cream mixture while surrounded by ice and salt — the basic principle still used in many traditional ice cream makers today.

The oak bucket design became the standard because the wooden staves insulated the ice-and-salt mixture surrounding the metal canister. That basic arrangement — wooden bucket outside, metal cylinder inside, hand crank on top — remained essentially unchanged for generations. 

I asked Mom what she remembered about growing up—did her family ever make homemade ice cream? She grew up during the 1930s-40s in Southern California. 

“When I was a kid we had a 2 quart one I think…maybe only 1  1/2…not sure.  It was green, and rather large.  With 7 kids and Mother and Daddy, it took a lot, but we had cows so we had plenty of cream. Strawberries from the garden, or chocolate, usually. And we had an ice box that held 300 pounds of ice, if I remember correctly.  We only bought 100 at a time. It was a real chore, getting it just right at the end, then packing it to ‘ripen.’”

There were many years, looking back even before the 1990s, when our church would celebrate the Memorial Day weekend with a church-wide Strawberry Social. Church members would prepare flats of fresh-picked strawberries, ice cream makers would be brought out from home storage and dusted off, and the chocolate syrup bottles and shortcakes or bisquits would be layed out on tables in the Gym. In those days, the weather would always cooperate and we would all sit outdoors under the trees, picnic tables and folding chairs set up in the parking area, eating and talking and enjoying the promise of summer.

When I bought the electric one, one of my friends said that he had a similar one but that they seldom use it. Even with the ease of an electric ice cream maker, it’s definitely more convenient o buy a half gallon at the store and skip the effort. But you miss the excitement of watching the miracle happen!

Our friends at Liberty Mills Farm in Somerset have a rather unique way of making their ice cream, hooking up a vintage John Deere tractor to power up a couple of units; so much fun to watch!

So, I guess the question isn’t “are you a Ben and Jerry’s fan or a Häagen-Dazs fan?” no, I think the real question is “hand crank or electric”? After all, anyone can buy ice cream. But dedicating the time to making it? Now that’s commitment! 

After trying the egg custard base, vanilla recipe, we are ready to venture out. I’m guessing the next culinary adventure will be double chocolate, and for the addition of small marshmallows and walnuts to make rocky road will be heaven. But I’m not opposed to trying out a good strawberry ice cream recipe. 

While there are millions of variations, most online recipes fall into a few primary methods:

Vanilla Ice Cream

  • French / Custard Style: Uses a base of egg yolks, sugar, milk, heavy cream, and real vanilla bean or extract, gently heated and then churned.
  • Philadelphia Style: No egg yolks used. The base is just heavy cream, whole milk, sugar, and vanilla extract.
  • No-Churn Style: Whipped to fluffy peaks with heavy cream and sweetened condensed milk, then frozen without a machine. 

Chocolate Ice Cream

  • Standard / Custard: Starts with a vanilla custard base, with unsweetened cocoa powder or melted chopped chocolate whisked directly into the hot milk and cream.
  • Two/Three Ingredient: The no-churn method, blending sweetened condensed milk, heavy cream, and cocoa powder.
  • Double / Dark: Typically adds both cocoa powder and melted bittersweet chocolate for a very rich, fudgy flavor. 

Recipe suggestions from Asktheicecreamqueen.com

Top Five most consumed ice cream brands in the US are (statista.com)

  • Ben & Jerry’s
  • Blue Bunny
  • Breyers
  • Dairy Queen
  • Blue Bell Creameries

Letters From the Past

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One of the most memorable examples of handwriting analysis appears in The Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes, in the story The Reigate Squire (also published as The Reigate Puzzle).

In that story, Sherlock Holmes examines a torn fragment of a note and performs a brilliant bit of analysis. He deduces that it was written by two different people—a younger man and an older one—based on subtle differences in pen strokes. Even more impressively, he observes that the two alternated writing individual words. From the handwriting alone, he infers personality traits and even the relationship between the writers (who turn out to be the Cunninghams, father and son).

Holmes explains his reasoning in terms both simple and elegant: the weak, irregular strokes of an elderly hand contrasted with the bold, confident lines of a younger one. The analysis becomes central to solving the crime.

The Reigate Squire is really a showcase—a kind of set piece built around handwriting as a forensic tool—and it remains one of the more scientifically intriguing episodes in the Holmes canon.

My own interest, however, is far more personal.

Recently, I came into possession of an envelope filled with old letters—ones I had written to my mother and stepfather more than fifty years ago. She had saved them all: along with grade school photos, birthday cards, and other bits of life that somehow survived the decades. When she moved into a smaller apartment, the whole collection found its way back to me.

And that raised an unexpectedly difficult question: what do you do with handwritten letters from the early 1970s?

Do you throw them away?
Or do you sit down and read them—slowly—and try to rediscover your 18-year-old self?

I chose a third option.

I scanned one of the letters and submitted it for handwriting analysis, pairing it with a recent sample of my writing. If nothing else, I thought, it might create a kind of “before and after”—a small window across half a century.

The results were…interesting.

What’s especially striking is not just that the structural traits match—it’s that the movement signature matches. Handwriting, it turns out, is less about the shapes themselves and more about how the hand moves across the page. In both samples, the rhythm, the rightward momentum, the confident t-bars, and the distinctive descender curves all carry the same kinetic “accent.”

In other words: it still feels like me.

What’s changed over time feels natural—almost reassuring:

  • The size is slightly reduced → more efficiency than diminished energy
  • The pressure is lighter → a common effect of age, as muscles soften
  • There’s a bit more angularity → often a sign of reflection and analysis
  • The baseline remains steady → suggesting continued motor control and cognitive stability

That consistency across decades points to something deeper: a stable personality core—expressive, engaged, structured in thought, and purposeful in communication.

And there’s one subtle distinction I find especially meaningful. The earlier sample shows an expansiveness of life; the later one shows a depth of thought. That’s not decline—it’s development.

The analysis itself considered a wide range of characteristics: letter size, loops and lines, pressure and stroke strength, formation patterns, rhythm, flow, even emotional tone. The conclusion was clear: this is the same writer.

But not the same person. Or perhaps more accurately—the same person, continued.

The evolution tells a quiet story:

  • Emotional expressiveness retained
  • Increased discipline and structure
  • A slight softening of stroke
  • A more deliberate, measured pace

If I had to summarize it in one sentence: the later sample reads like the same voice—just seasoned, steadier, and more intentional. It’s comforting to discover that 18-year-old me and 74-year-old me still have so much in common.

We don’t often get the chance to revisit our younger selves—much less to recognize them, and feel at ease with who they’ve become. It was a fun visit, less scary than I had expected. How about you? Have you taken any trips down Memory Lane lately?

Rancho Roundup

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Plaid work shirts, cuffed trousers, wide-brim felt hats; Western-style boots (especially the stitched details on the girl’s boots). The guitar style (flat-top acoustic, likely a budget student model common at the time). Tinted photography was common for family or promotional photos in the early ’40s and in fact the coordinated Western attire across all five members points to a performing sibling group.

The photograph fits exactly with how radio station youth or family acts were photographed in small and mid-market stations like KFXM. Everything about this photo matches what we know about KFXM at the California Hotel: KFXM regularly used local talent, especially teenagers. Western / cowboy programming was extremely popular during WWII and shows like Rancho Roundup often featured live music, family groups, and youth performers filling daytime or weekend slots.

But what does Mom say?

“The war was still going on. When I was 14, we 4 younger kids sang cowboy songs on the radio. We were known as “The Rancho Roundup.” There were two or three others who sang with us, but I only remember Norman Newberry, who came from Texas, and whom we teased incessantly because of his accent.  He is in the picture of us sitting on the corral gate.”

The country music group Rancho Roundup was a live performance band that appeared on San Bernardino radio station KFXM, and met and performed with Tennessee Ernie Ford there. Their appearances took place in the early-to-mid 1940s. 

Bonita Hinds, in an audio interview recorded for the San Bernardino Public Library in 2003, recalled that her brother (who played guitar), her mother, and other friends and neighbors performed as the Rancho Roundup as well, the name given more to the show rather than a particular group. 

“Oh, yes, California Hotel. We were called the Rancho Roundup and we were on the radio, KFXM, which was at the California Hotel, and we met Tennessee Ernie Ford and we would play – sing – for about half an hour, I don’t remember how long. My brother played the guitar – and mother and Eleanor, all three played the guitar. And there’s different people in the, friends from our neighborhood that were in the show-dozen of us, or maybe less, eight of us maybe. And we did that one whole summer for about half an hour or so.”

Later, after World War II, Country music personality Tennessee Ernie Ford worked as a disc jockey at KFXM where he hosted an early morning country music program called “Bar Nothin’ Ranch Time”. He created his “Tennessee Ernie” persona during this time and became popular in the area before moving to another station in Pasadena. 

The Inland Empire had a thriving country-swing music scene in those early years. San Bernardino was a hub for the “Dust Bowl” migration, and many local bands played live “Western Swing” in the hotel’s ballroom or the studio. Names often associated with that era’s local circuit include groups led by Cliffie Stone or early versions of the Town Hall Party musicians who were active in the Riverside/San Bernardino area.

A number of groups were active in the area during the 1940s. Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys were widely known as the “King of Western Swing,” Wills and his band moved their operations to California in the early 1940s, performing extensively across Southern California venues. Foy Willing and the Riders of the Purple Sage performed both on radio and in regional venues. Tommy Sargent’s Range Boys were Southern California-based western swing group active in the 1940s as were Tex Williams and the Western Caravan.

All of these groups created a sound that lived on for years, performing in local concert and dancehall venues throughout Southern California. Western swing, which peaked in popularity during the 1930s and 1940s, began to decline in the late 1940s and saw a significant drop by the late 1950s. Key factors for its decline included a wartime tax on dance halls in 1944, the rise of rock and roll, the advent of television, and shifting popularity toward smaller-band honky-tonk. But I still love that sound!

It’s Been a Week

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It has been a week! Which started roughly six months ago, but finished up today.

When we first moved to Ashburn, it was the beginning of a rather long and protracted downsizing. I had recently retired, we were in a house which over the years had begun to feel too large for us, and my wife had just a few years left in her then-current job when she would have to decide, “what’s next?” Moving from Fairfax, we expected that the townhouse we had bought in Ashburn would be an interim step for us as we downsized, expecting it to last us for perhaps five years. We ended up staying six before selling and moving this spring, downsizing again.

The process of getting ready to sell our home began in earnest back in January. While we debated the pros and cons of buying or renting another place (we eventually decided to rent), we knew a lot had to go to squeeze the contents of a 1,900 square foot townhouse into a 1,000 square foot apartment. Here’s a great hack: get a storage unit close to where you will be moving: those hard decisions about what to purge can be made later when you aren’t under pressure to pack up everything and go.

So it’s been six months of preparing followed by a long day of movers wrapping and packing and moving us into an apartment. Most of our boxes have now been unpacked, newspaper and bubblewrap cleared out. I’ve run the dishwasher once; we have trash valet service which means no more trips with trash cans up an icy or snow-covered hill to the street. We’ve run a load of wash in the new full-size stackable washer/dryer and tonight I’m planning on using both the gas range and the stove to make dinner. Big steps!

We had two assigned parking spots at our townhouse, here we have a parking garage with open parking. An elevator provides a quick ride downstairs to the apartment lobby and the mail room, the gym is on the ground floor level and a rooftop deck is great for viewing the sunset.

Already I miss our bit of yard and common area green space from the old home even though the deer here in Ashburn ate almost everything I ever planted. I have to say, all-in-all it’s been a good experience. Deb has never lived in an apartment and it’s been nearly 40 years since I have. The times we’ve moved as a married couple can be counted on one hand, not all that bad for boomers. My Mom wrote recently that she had moved ten times in the seven years after she had graduated high school in 1946. I’m not complaining! It’s another My Retired Life Adventure.

Let’s Chat (GPT)

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Sometime back I wrote a post on my website using ChatGPT; actually, I asked the questions and then used the system’s responses in an effort to sus out the narrative and possible conclusion of a series on HBO. The series was a takeoff from a popular roleplaying game (which I had not played). And so, while it seems most of the show’s viewers already had the end in sight based on their familiarity with the video game, it was new territory for me. You can read the post here or watch it online here. No spoilers! But it writing the post did give me an appreciation for and a tiny peek into the world of AI.

Over lunch with a friend this week, the topic of AI came up again during our conversation. It has been all over the news recently, at least here outside the nation’s capitol, and with President Trump’s announcement of Stargate datacenter infrastructure investment, well it seemed like a good time to take another look under the covers. That, and with every software or App update seeming to push their own version of AI, I wondered how much it may already be impacting my life.

So Dave challenged me with a small stress test. I had used AI before, but would I be interested in using the technology to plan out an upcoming (hopefully!) overseas trip? Game on and challenge accepted!

We are interested in a possible ten day adventure to a country I have never visited before. I started by posting what seemed like a pretty modest request: plan an itinerary for a seven day driving excursion. stops for sites of interest, accommodations, and dining. In seconds I was rewarded with a detailed plan for my adventure. Pushing on, I asked for tweaks in the results: what about stops for pubs and restaurants? How about interesting castle or garden tours along the way? What about historical sites to visit, distilleries, shopping? There is a limit to what a free session will return but I had what I was looking for. When copied into a Word doc, I had ten pages of preplanned travel adventure.

One last outing with the software before I close. With ten pages of results, I wondered if ChatGPT would condense or summarize the information for me. Rather than wading thru all that paperwork with a yellow hilighter, let’s let the AI do the work. Again, seconds later, a condensed version of my summer itinerary in was delivered, one and a half pages of pure travel fun waiting for me. In the past we’ve spent considerable amounts on Fodor travel guides and read thru numerous online reviews of hotels and restaurants, various travel experiences recommended by others. This year we are going to give AI a shot as our personal travel planner.

Comment below with your own experiences with AI; for good or il, it looks like it will be with us going forward. Oh! one last thing. I had used Adobe Firefly to generate a graphic for this post. Not satisfied with the results, I went old-school and ended up creating my own montage of text images. It took quite a bit longer than a few seconds.

Come to America

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Why? Why did my distant relatives come to America? I’ve pieced together the Who and the When and also the How. Through genealogical websites, librairies, and church records I’ve managed to sketch a fairly accurate account of my great-grandfather Paul Hilbig’s journey to America beginning with his birth in Prussia in 1870, his family’s immigration in 1874 and their settling in Petoskey, Michigan. But Why? Leaving Germany in the late 19th century would have been an arduous journey to make, especially with a young family.

Considering the political and economic climate of Germany in the late 1800s, it’s not surprising that many families made the decision to leave for what they hoped would be a more prosperous, and safe future elsewhere. On 16 July 1870, the French parliament voted to declare war on Prussia; France invaded German territory on 2 August. In the final days of the war, with German victory all but assured, the German states proclaimed their union as the German Empire under the Prussian king Wilhelm I and Chancellor Bismarck. With the notable exceptions of Austria and German Switzerland, the vast majority of German-speakers were united under a nation-state for the first time. Following an armistice with France, the Treaty of Frankfurt was signed on 10 May 1871. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Franco-Prussian_War)

Meanwhile, back in Michigan, immigrants were being actively recruited from Northern Europe and especially Germany to help settle the area. Michigan was rich in mining, logging, and agricultural resources, but poor in human resources. Beginning in 1845, Michigan established an Office of Foreign Emigration in New York and published a pamphlet which promoted the virtues of the state. Between 1860 and 1900, more than 700,000 immigrants came to Michigan, and nearly 400,000 of these new arrivals were born in foreign countries.

In 1869, the governor of Michigan appointed a Commissioner of Emigration to reside in Germany “. . . for the purpose of encouraging immigration to Michigan from German States and other countries of Europe.” (A Brief History of Michigan)

Portrait of Max H Allardt, from Michigan’s Thumb, a Paradise for Saxonia Settlers

The agent, Max H. Allardt, was posted to Germany from 1870-1875 where he published a periodical and a pamphlet extolling the wonders of Michigan. Allardt was born in Germany in 1829, immigrating with his family to the US in 1833. He studied law in Cleveland, and before being appointed Commissioner, had published the Daily Review newspaper in 1861. Immigration efforts proved to be very successful and the program was closed in 1885. By 1890 an estimated 2.8 million German-born immigrants lived in the United States with a majority of the German-born living in the United States located in the “German triangle,” whose three points were Cincinnati, Milwaukee, and St. Louis.

The 1880 census lists the occupation of my great-grandfather’s stepfather as farmer. Later occupations are listed as carpenter or cabinet maker, skills he would have picked up living among the German immigrants in northern Michigan. My great-grandfather’s occupation was also listed as carpenter, the family evidently having given up on farming perhaps when they moved closer into the town of Petoskey. Whether farmer or carpenter, they exhibited skills that would have been essential in the early development of northern Michigan, at that time abundant in natural resources but lacking in manpower to develop the area. A summer of research along the Hilbig Heritage Tour has essentially answered the Who What Where When and Why questions of my ancestry. But I’m sure there are still more discoveries to be made!

You can read the first blog post about this family search on my blog here: Coming to America

Photos from Michigan’s Thumb, by U.H. Schmidt