Sorry Whistler, I was waxing on a bit last night while trying to make up another story in my head (I’d like a short story thread [smile]). I ended up not making a lot of sense anywhere. I am landless and without tribe at present.

Murihiku or ‘tail end of the land’ was where I was born but I never identified with Ngai Tahu. I mostly cared for the tamariki of "Te Upoko o Te Ika a Maui" but they were not my tribe. Now I care for the children of the Darkinjung land but the Bundjalung, Wiradjuri, Kamilaroi, Worimi and Dunghutti that are here are not my tribes.

I am waiting for a quiet moment in fostering children through DoCS to approach a local (further north, there is a gap here) aboriginal provider of foster care. If I volunteer with an aboriginal provider I wont be able to do long term care but I will apply to do short term and crisis care of the indigenous children.

This quiet moment could be a long way off with the commitments I have made right now and I didn’t think a white person would be allowed but dwg found some stuff out by talking to his people and I was really happy to discover I would be able to.

Foxy can’t you do the research or are records lost? Mum does most of it on the internet. But I know it is really really time consuming. I can’t keep track, all those same names and dates.

The earliest ancestor I have any knowledge of was the father of my mother’s mother in Eishyshok. Eishyshok is a small town on the Polish-Lithuanian border. He was a Litvak, a Lithuanian Jew, who lived from 1799 to 1906.

Levin saw his boots were wearing out. In the nineteenth century when a person wanted a new pair of shoes or boots he made a pair himself or went to the local shoemaker and had a pair made. Country stores in Eastern Europe didn’t sell ready made footwear. The customer chose an area of hide and asked that the shoes be cut from that. Levin was a particular man who wanted the world made as right as it could be made for him. He scrutinized each hide and ran his hand over it. The shoemaker became impatient. “You’re ninety-nine years old. Why are you so fussy?”

“Who knows how long I’ll last? Very few people die over the age of ninety-nine.”

His daughter, my grandmother, was the kindest, most loving person I have ever met in my long life.

I remember her legs were shapeless and thick with the oedema that afflicts some old people when they retain fluids. As a little boy I asked, “Ma, why are your legs so thick?” I called her ‘Ma.’ Her children did so why shouldn’t I?

She looked at me and held me close. In a dreamy voice she said, “When I was a young and beautiful woman in Eishyshok on a starry night I went swimming in the river. The smell of cedar and the reflections in the water so took me that I was not aware of the nearby water mill until I was drawn into the water wheel. I was so battered that my legs were no longer shapely when I got out. That’s why my legs are like this.”

Of course, I believed my grandmother. She was rigidly honest and would not lie to me. It was only years later that I realised that she did not want me to think of the infirmities of age.
continued

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She was also an earthy sceptic doubting anything like miracles or a messiah. She said, “If a man’s desperate enough a board with a hole in it will do.”

My mother’s father grew up in a Hasidic family in Riga, Latvia and was named Velvel Sclaterovitch. In his travels he was walking through Eishyshok and met my grandmother. Marriages had been arranged for both of them. That became as nothing. My grandfather cast off his Hasidism. Grandmother was a Misnagid, an opposing sect. OK. He was now one, too.

He went to England and promised that he would send for her. In England he remained poor so he came to the US. He got a supply of goods in New York City. With those goods he peddled up in the Adirondacks. He took the train from New York City to the Adirondacks. He would walk through the woods with his suitcases which he called ports or telescopes. He visited isolated farmhouses and sold them things. Taken by the beauty of the mountains he loved the Adirondacks. The itinerant pedlar was generally welcome as he was a source of news from the outside world. Quite often he would sleep in the woods.

After accumulating some money he sent for my grandmother. As will happen she became pregnant. Early in her pregnancy they decided the lower east side of New York City was not a proper place to raise children. They moved to Brandon, NY in the Adirondacks, a settlement of about six families, not on any paved road. Brandon no longer exists, but that's where my mother was born on March 6, 1898.

Since everybody except my grandparents were French-Canadians my mother learned French and Yiddish before she learned English.

My grandmother made French-Canadian dishes such as Johnnycake. I assume that the Canuck housewives learned how to make some Jewish dishes. When Jerry the horse got too old to work my grandmother wanted to have him rendered. My tenderhearted grandfather would have none of that. Jerry lived on in retirement until he died of old age.

Forrest

<< I am glad to see that it got you in, and that you were so obviously pleased to see it in the context in which I placed it. >>

You can delight at reeling me in all you want, dear Forrest, but the pleasure in that particular encounter is all yours. I most certainly was NOT pleased to see that term in print, yet again, no matter what its context.

<< I know you want to be a member of my favourite tribe, Bronwyn, and I truly desire to see you accepted into it, believe me. >>

Well, Forrest, I already share membership of your ethnic tribe and your tribe of place. I certainly have no desire to be a member of your Australian Male Fraternity or your Aussie Macho Fockwits or whatever your AMF tribe is meant to be! And I still haven't decided yet whether to feel flattered or mightily insulted that you'd even think I might aspire to qualify for your diatribe! Does it have a membership of one, or are there others who belong to this illustrous little group?

<< While we are on the subject of Australian ethnic sub-tribe perjoratives, have you any suggestions of one for 'us', as opposed to ones for 'them'? >>

No, I don’t. I don’t share your penchant for perjoratives! Interesting to note though, that despite all the derogatory terms we’ve coined for other ethnic groups over the years, the ones given to those of Anglo-Celtic descent tend to be fairly innocuous and almost code-like in meaning. Unless of course I’ve missed out on hearing some of the more potent, which is quite possible. I guess it’s just another manifestation of the power imbalance that's always been there.

DavidF, what an absolutely fascinating family history you have!

I thoroughly enjoyed reading about your' grandparents life in America.
What a wonderful multicultural richness both America and Australia has.
Thanks, Sue

I agree with Suze - what wonderful rich heritages
are coming through in this thread. It's such a
joy reading them...

Dear Whistler,

Thank you for your kind wishes for my mother-in-law's
upcoming 90th.

We shall be having a family celebration at my home
for her - and it will be special.

Dear Piper,

You write so beautifully. I really enjoyed your
latest couple of posts. Sooo descriptive and
moving.

As for my mum's family - records have been lost - I
have the few basics though, and I do intend to further
research her background, when I've got more time.
What I'm currently trying to get from her
is the anecdotal kind of stories that can be passed down
for future generations. She's made a small start - and I'll
keep on encouraging her to continue.

Dear David f,

Your background's so interesting. I hope that you've
written some of it down for the future generations of
your family. The story of Levin's shoes struck a cord
with me. My Russian grandmother's family were 'shoe-makers,'
or rather they made what my mother described as "moccasins,"
or slippers that one wore indoors, out of the finest hides
available. They owned a 'factory' - that produced these
hand-made moccasins.

My grandmother was a superb seamstress - she left me the
most beautiful hand-made doll, with the most exquisite
clothes any child could hope for. I still have her.

I also have her recipes for Borscht, Potato Cakes, Kugel,
Chicken broth with dumplings, Gefilte fish, and much, much, more.

Dear Bronwyn,

How about a few lines about your family background.
Pretty please?