Country Gal/City Woman: "PHEBE....Country Gal, the First!"

Riddle ... What would you get if you (well, not literally you!) mixed the genes of a deeply-committed young man, an English Quaker activist with a prison record who later became an esteemed politician in New Jersey with the genes of an Irish country, rock-solid, potato-growing farmer of a non-Catholic background, playfully not averse to employing a bit of self-deprecating humor and a streak of "feyness" a mile wide with maybe (for purposes of adding color to this story only) a fondness for a "friendly pint" now and again, himself the progeny of the minor Cranston Scottish Clan hell-bent on surviving the life and times of the William the Conqueror era, along the Scotland-England border, with the mind-set of "kill or be killed!" (Personally, I think we have a candidate for Congress amongst us!)

(Purely for your historical information, this particular Clan was "small potatoes" compared to others of the ravaging, plundering and pillaging camps of Clansmen who were called "The Reivers" when they rode the countryside from dusk to dawn in full armor astride their handsome mounts dressed in likewise protective armor looking for bounty, a beautiful woman or branded cattle. To be caught meant certain beheading, no future in that for sure.)

This Clan, with not a Mensa candidate amongst them, only basic farming/survivor instincts, eventually smartened up and clambered aboard the first boat leaving for Ireland, settling in Ulster, County of Monaghan, in Northern Ireland, if only to lay to rest the irksome long-rumored fables of Scottish thriftiness (nobody is saying "cheap") looking forward  to "spending their first dollar (or its Irish equivalent)  on a pint of the ale." Or corned beef and cabbage! Personally, my bet is on a nice Guernsey milk cow, a bale of hay and a pitchfork, not necessarily in that order.

Stirring into this mix, add a dash of the German-woman's dedicated sense of duty, honor, stubbornness, fair-play, familial pride and anything left over from the Depression Years.

The answer to "The Riddle" is, surprise! your Friendly Patch Blogger who wanted to know more about ancestral roots, the "who and the why" of a personality that is certainly a blend of all of the above, a Duke's Mixture as we are sometimes referred to in loftier circles.

All of the above is to introduce to you a woman who has since 1997 been an obsession within my soul and a touchstone to thousands of cousins who share my maiden name or are like-wise descendants of John and Anne Kinton Borton:  Phebe Marsh Cranston.

THE SEARCH FOR PHEBE...Country Gal, the First!

"Finding Phebe Marsh Cranston" was going to be THE search of my lifetime, and that search would culminate where? I did not have a clue, and it was the cry of my heart to find her. (And to think it was with the aid of my computer, a "behemoth" I wanted no part of not that long ago, a machine that I was certain would only make my work as the secretary/treasurer of the Arcadia Friends Church Pre-School more complicated and even kept a second set of financial records just in case...yup, that's exactly what I did.) Hey, there are times I don't trust my washing machine and dryer even with the Sears Protection Plan!

Phebe, we knew from information scribbled on a thin scrap of paper that had materialized out of nowhere, was the wife of Great-Granddad William Cranston, but that was it! No birthdate or birthplace, no parents' names, no siblings' name. Phebe was the victim of reverse paper trail ... inaccurate records, records lost, even the spelling of her name was up for grabs. In fact, her name and those of two other sisters, were omitted (inadvertently) from two very definitive books on our family history, "The Borton's 300 Years in North America - 1679-1979" published independently by Betty Mann of Lansing, Michigan, a dedicated researcher/cousin. This two-volume history of the Borton Family and its descendants is now out of print and rests in a place of honor on my bookshelf: With a little bit of imagination, one can almost breathe life into the people whose names populate those tomes.

But, in finding Phebe, my Great-Grandmother...I was alone on this one. Well, there was my tried-and-true trusty Best Buy protected Gateway computer at my beck and call from Day One, and I am beholden!

Knowing that the Cranston Family had roots in Grant County, Indiana and Guernsey County, Ohio, I placed a query on both of those sites through the USGenWeb research website. A year passed before a reply to my query was posted, and it contained a bonanza of information from Sheila Watson who just happened to have finished a headcount of all the souls resting in the cemeteries in Grant County. Sheila's post to me read: "I have found Phebe!" So she had, along with my Great-granddad. I cried. You will appreciate this little add-on: When I e-mailed Sheila that I wanted to send her some kind of appreciation gift for her hard work, and that her devotion to her hard work in finding Phebe brought me joy and tears, she said, "My dear, that is enough reward for me, your joy and your tears."

So, we know that Phebe, William, their 23-year old son, along with other members of the Borton/Marsh/Cranston families, are at rest in the Fletcher Chapel Cemetery near the entry way to the Fletcher Chapel Church near Hanfield-Marion, Indiana, on burial grounds donated by her brother, Benjamin Marsh.

In finding Phebe, William and their second-born son, we have, with the help of newly-discovered cousins traveling the same genealogical path, enlarged our family circle by thousands through roots traced back to the same John "The Immigrant" Borton and Anne Kinton Borton, his wife and traveling companion when they came to the United States in 1679. This set of Great-grandparents came from England as part of the earliest Quaker contingent seeking religious freedom in the company of William Penn, a significant figure in the settling of New Jersey and later, Pennsylvania.

And I need to clear the record. Yes, John was found guilty, sentenced and served time in the well-known Towers, having been tossed in along with the founder of the Quaker Movement, George Fox, when he was a young man of 26 years of age. The year would be 1660, the same year his and Anne's first child, Anne, was born. The sitting King of England and all the King's men weren't about to put up with these religious upstarts so small Meetings were held in homes in secret to avoid incarceration and death, always a possibililty.   Little did I realize, as a kid reading my history lessons, that Grandpa Borton was, indeed, in the record book for his beliefs that would be passed down through the generations in the "Land of the Free."

John soon smartened up,  sensing danger and headed for the shores of New Jersey in  1679 aboard the boat, The Griffin, along with the kids and all their worldly possessions, other Quaker families and William Penn following heavy negotiations between England and the new land across the Atlantic Ocean.  Right off the boat,  John and family established a home on land sold to them by the Indian Chief Himmitkon with the Deed being witnessed by six other Chiefs, including his son, Osoxowkond, each having his own "scratches" for signature. Going price for John's land in (West)Jersey at that time was 20 pounds and seven shillings. John helped form and served in the First Assembly of Legislature for the new state of New Jersey.

For his service, as a gift from the still-prevailing English government, henceforth all female descendants of John "The Immigrant" Borton would be entitled to carry the designation "Dame." All descending males were entitled to a similar lifetime designation. To which my reiving Cranston cousins would probably respond - "Whatever!" And, those self-deprecating Irish cousins would say, "I'll drink to that!"  To this bounty, add the German Polka-dancing kinfolk who would add their own pithy remarks:  "Mein Gott im Himmel, what were those dumkoffs thinking!"  

I think it positively exciting to know that I share the Borton Grandparent lineage with one of the most influential Quakers of all time...John Woolman, The Traveling Quaker Minister. John and Anne were parents to eight boys and girls, all born in Aynho, Northhamptonshire, England. Elizabeth Borton (Woolman) and John Borton, Jr. are the two siblings from whom John Woolman and I descend.

Phebe's mother was Rachel Borton, wife of Jesse Marsh, once a strong Quaker member but lately turned Methodist. As a matter of record, Rachel was banned from the Quaker Church and actually shunned by her family when she married Jesse, and I can only pray that once grandchildren began to arrive at the Marsh household, old hurts healed and man-made church doctrines mellowed. The Borton Book doesn't tell me that. I do know that grandchildren carry a healing potion all their own.

In searching for Phebe, I have discovered within myself a deep appreciation for all those early settlers who braved the elements of time and weather to move to a new land, cultivate the raw fields, clear acreage on which to build sod and log cabin homes, to give life to and nourish those of whom I am a part and to whom my children and their children belong. We find that Phebe became a widow at the age of 39, left with four very young sons when her William died in 1852, the first to be buried in Fletcher Chapel ground. They had just arrived from Guernsey County, Ohio, and the future had to have looked bleak.

In those days, it mattered not if one be a Quaker or a Methodist or a lost soul making a spiritual connection with God, astride "Old Paint" moseying down a winding country road in Indiana, it was when chips were down that family members and friends reached out to one another in order to survive the pitfalls of worrisome daily living.  As is Biblical, widows were nurtured and cared for; happily for Phebe, at the age of 50, she found contentment in marriage to David Hill who passed away after ten years of marriage. Henry Shanehulser came along to help Phebe pick up the pieces of another shattered dream, and it was his name she carried at the time of her death. It was said in the newspaper clipping of her funeral service: "None knew her but to love her." and that she died in great peace at the age of 67 years, 7 months and 24 days, August 18, 1880, a member of the Methodist Episcopal Church.

This is not a sad story...it is one of admiration. Of this woman whom we knew so little about so few years ago, we now know that she, like most of the pioneer women...sometimes "with child" who rode wagon trains, on horseback or bravely trudged on foot the vast expanse of the undeveloped, uncivilized territory... was a "survivor" in some of life's harshest moments. Phebe, who was once only a name on a flimsy piece of paper, is infinitely more than just Phebe. She's the force behind whom I am becoming, a part of the gene-network that will make sure I am a "survivor" when the chips are down and "smarten up a bit" when the need arises!