Category Archives: social

Harrison Genealogy

Having traced our Scandinavian roots we shift to a tougher one to crack; The Harrison side of the family– born into the Russian Empire what is currently Lithuania. Difficult because there was little to go on. We had first hand knowledge of those who were born in the USA of course but their parents that immigrated and who had enjoyed good lives here were loath to talk about their past. In other words any hard facts were not forthcoming. We did not have places of birth, dates, or even their former names and spellings.

Nanny Fan dismissed most inquiries, saying that her last memories of the old country were too distressing to re-live. We believe she probably witnessed religious prejudice, cruelty and even bloodshed. There were hints that some emigrated with just the clothes on their backs and valuables hand stitched into coat linings.

We think our relatives from the old world would have wanted to assimilate as citizens into the USA not only to avoid scorn or ridicule but to gain a normalcy that would not sabotage their sense of community or livelihood. First order of self help: losing a foreign sounding name and learning English. So, none of us twice removed had good intel.

We had but one strong hint: the original family surname sounded like “Kurgon”. So where to begin…

Working backward with the closest relative, father or mother, we find out who their parents were and in this case learn that Zadie’s father, Max Boris Harrison had immigrated. Starting with a 1910 United States Census we scrape the year of immigration (1908) and discover that he, with parents and siblings, were under the same roof in the USA by 1910. It was likely that they immigrated together as well; but what surname? Harrison was the naturalized but how to search for this family in archival ship passenger listings?

A challenge is that invariably each tracking document has the names malformed in some way. Not only were names changed but then altered or misspelled through clerical error along the way. The Census poll has the name as Herrison. Sifting through passenger lists would have been and impossible task before searchable computer databases. Realize that a data set was once transcribed by human hand from records hand written and with hopeful accuracy. In our case Harrison turns up zilch. Luckily a search engine allows for fuzzy or broad pattern name spellings. Browsing dozens of returns we capture a hit with a Max Herison. And with a departure port of Hamburg, Germany it makes sense. A bit of sleuthing reveals that this was close proximity and the natural point for anyone emigrating from the area now known as Lithuania. A German document processor upon hearing Harrison phonetically would have written down Herison. The German word Herr (a conventional title showing respect when addressing a German gentleman translated as Sir or Mr. and sounds like “hair”) so naturally a local clerk might trade the letter e for the a. His counterpart in New York would switch it back from e to a!

SS Kaiserin Auguste Victoria – Passenger List

Observe Max B, his mother Rose, and younger sisters Dora, Lena, and Hannah all together. (Father: Morris immigrated in 1904) Their ship makes interesting historical reading. It was operated by the Hamburg-Amerika Line and they traveled Steerage Class on the 9 day voyage to New York.

So we now know Hamburg. Our family boarded with their new surname Herison but the trail goes cold again. Searching the old name Kurgon reveals little except that an alternate spelling, Kurgan, offers many hits but with another obstacle. The first/middle name Max Borris would need to be translated along with everyone else’s given names. Mother, Rose was Rasha or Rasya in the old world. Dora Sarah was Sore Dvora. Morris Harrison was Movsha and had many name variations but ultimately was to become Morris. Max Boris birth name was Berel Mordekhay. That one was never going to turn up even with the broadest of search variations. There was better luck with his father’s name which helped to pinpoint him with the other family members.

Finally, having the names we could find places and dates. Browsing the LitvakSIG online data source for taxation, conscription, and family list ledgers was fruitful.

The central government did in fact run a comprehensive Census back in the day, which would have been most excellent for our purposes except that they only retained population counts and counts by ethnic percentage — discarding all the other details. Shoot.

Armed with a a place, also with spelling variations depending on nationality, required some geo-political learning. In the USA we have town|county|state with maybe a rural township to complicate the effort. The Russian Empire used province|district|town as we drill down. One aspect is that modern political borders and alignments are significantly less helpful. Lithuania for example wasn’t a thing before WW I but listing a country location as Russia does not work either. One must find and utilize period correct maps.

Russian Empire Provinces of Kovno, Vilna, Suwalki until 1918

These old time provinces today would encompass Lithuania and spill into current day Belarus and Poland. Our Kurgan (Harrison) group lived in Vilkija which is on the Nemunas River in the province of Kovno district of Kovno. An alternate spelling, Kaunas, is synonymous. The former is Russian and Lithuanian is the latter. Here we find our relatives and discover some who didn’t make it to America.

By the time we, as descendent children, take interest and get around to inquiring about family background history — direct informational account is no longer possible and by now second/third hand news. Logistically, one’s closest living relative was probably a youngster themselves (Nanny Fan was age 5) when she and her family emigrated and she would have had scant primary recall. She would have instead relied upon stories or tales after the fact and that these recollections may have been influenced by blur, bias, or emotion.

So the old family backstories were easily contorted or even lost all together. It’s interesting to uncover them in the perspective of historical times past and with a perceived glimpse into what once was.

How do you pronounce that

This Strombotne family surname has always been a twister. Some get it right first try but others, be they strangers or acquaintances could attempt — make a hash of it and give up or not even try for fear of mangling and risking insult injury. The first syllable was generally easy for them but the rest of it, usually a big fail. Frequently the “t” gets ignored for some reason and it’s uttered phonetically : strom·bone·eeee . Cringe. I had a Junior High PE Coach that would say it Strum·bot·knee with the emphasis on the second syllable. He had the last 2/3rds correct but the first syllable came out like strum (as in strum guitar).

Here’s how: Strom begins with an ST blend phonic same as do words straight or strong and these two consonants precede rom which sounds like ROM (computer read only memory) or rom as in Trombone (the instrument(s) from The Music Man) then bot like in robot and finally “ne” — say knee (the knee bone connected to the…) Strom·bot·ne

Then we have spelling tangles. After they’ve heard the name spoken there is the issue of the last letter. Was that an “i” followed by conversation: “Oh! is that Italian?” No it’s a letter “e”.

Strombotne is an anglicized family name tracing its origin to a farm in Norway — Straumbotn.

Ancestors that lived at Straumbotn and elsewhere had been using a patronymic naming system. The use of a fixed family name was made compulsory by law in Norway in 1923. As a result of this change, many chose and began using their patronymic name as their fixed family name; others (as in our case) chose their farm’s name as their permanent family name and thus the surname name — Strømbotne.

Patronymic Simplified: A child’s last name was derived from the father’s first name. If you had a daughter you would add – datter to the end of the father’s first name, if you had a son you would append  – sen or –son to the father’s first name and this new name compounded would become the Childs surname. Sometimes the name of the farm was used as a 3rd name; not so much as a surname but as an address identifier. The reason being is that after several centuries many now had the same first and last names. A formal change to a fixed family surname  began in the early 1800’s and was widespread by about 1900.

Spelling differed but the sound was always the same. Straum was the (Nordland local) Nynorsk standard and Strøm was the Bokmål way (Danish was the written language of Norway until 1814).

Considering authenticity, I doubted that my ancestors pronounced words anything like we do here in the USA. Then I told a Norwegian friend, last name Tvedt 🙂 of my state of perplexity and asked him to read it into a recorder.

Strømbotn 

We think that other peoples in broader Scandinavia had been adding a soft “neh” sound to botn, so Strømbotn gained an “e” in its spelling to align with this pronunciation. A second theory is that since there are no English words that end in “tn” consonants that this vowel was added to the spelling. Somewhere along the line the soft “e” (neh sound) became a hard “E” (sounding like knee) the spelling Rule #3: the silent “e” ignored evidently.

After an ah hah! moment of imagining a lifetime spent methodically (incorrectly) correcting people it became clear to me that my instilled conception of pronunciation wasn’t necessarily THE way .

In the case of brief person to person interaction it’s unlikely to matter too much how you pronounce it. No longer do I impose (unless badly adulterated) and even then at times let them know “close” or “good effort” as it gives them satisfaction and allows them to smile. But, for standardization (and extra points) say Strombotne – – – strom·bot·ne, straum·botn, or possibly straum·boat·neh.

Coming ‘Round Out West

As a young boy I can remember Dad bringing home random arrowheads and stone rock Indian artifacts from out on the range. While I never witnessed one of his lucky chance finds, I was with him once when he pointed to another piece of western history — ghostlike narrow tracks through dry hard packed alkali ground. From out of nowhere and scattered tumbleweed these parallel impressions were the dirt markings of the old Butterfield Stagecoach he explained. This seemed so incredulous to me that day and I retained the memory.

That was 60 years ago and even at the time the trail remnants would have been dated by a century. Local knowledge. I categorized his factoid as legend or folklore.

Present day and watching an old James Stewart/John Wayne cowboy western re-run (1962 and available on streaming media), I spied a stage. This movie prop rekindled my early intrigue, for barely legible on the side of the coach roof in faint paint was Butterfield.

for movie timeline purposes they tried [unsuccessfully] to obfuscate the name

This prompted a deep dive [web] search. There was in fact a stagecoach express so described: The Butterfield Overland Mail Company. Accordingly, it operated between St. Louis and San Francisco funded by a 4 year U.S. Postal Department contract. Recalling the glimpse of rutted arid San Joaquin Valley tracks gives one pause; it would have been a rough tough dusty ordeal and how far we’ve come…

Full circle. Dad was onto something! Excepting that reproduced historical map creations are not necessarily precision navigation and that evidential proof has been obliterated by agricultural progress the mapped area of trail discovery does happen to highlight the territory of my one time visit. I like to think that Dad was spot on.

California segment

The Sticks

A 1971 USDA historical aerial photo from UNC Chapel Hill libraries showing the neighborhood now known as Charleston Woods. Before the houses were built, Charleston Woods was actual woods! The point location was determined by taking angles from the Bond Lake Dam (under construction), the White Oak Creek and a transmission line which transits. It is a general estimate.

annotated snippet copy of the original neighborhood

There are also aerial photographs of the county from 1959 and 1938 that also show pine and hardwoods here. The farmland fields that are present in these images are limited to low flat areas of Crabtree Creek; what is now Bond Park Baseball Diamonds 5 & 6 and the Prestonwood Soccer Complex northward. The survey depicts rail tracks and 2 public roads that precede these dates — Highhouse Rd. and Old Apex Rd. None of the streets that we enjoy today had been built yet. The actual full resolution photo file taken on February 24, 1971 can be retrieved easily from here.

The same perspective (via satellite and incolor) today!

After measuring the [29″] diameter of a particularly large Loblolly Pine in the backyard it can be assumed that the area has not been recently cultivated. A 36″ tree is considered mature and that size equates to about 150 years age. There have been people in the area since before the Civil War so it is of course possible that the area had been logged, farmed, or burned. The 1938 shows faint trace remnants of bare dirt that may have been encroaching trails. These are no longer noticeable in subsequent surveys.

Developers had there way made progress and this area has forever lost its out in the sticks nature. It would have been easier to clear cut but to their credit many of the trees were spared.

Update: (according to this source) Before the first Europeans set foot on the [North Carolina] Piedmont Plateau, the land was 99.5% covered by Old Growth forest (oaks, maples, pines, hickories, poplar and tulip poplar, persimmon, elm, hemlock, beech, magnolia, cedar, ash, willow). Some scholars write that the Old Growth was harvested entirely by 1750. All agree that these magnificent trees had been taken down by the start of the Revolutionary War in 1776. When the Old Growth was gone, they started in on the secondary growth. This greatly over-simplified history explains the proliferation of fast-growing pine trees common today.

Connected Home

The older style HVAC thermostat while programable was a P.I.T.A. requiring a learning curve with flashlight and small printed diagram each time. So, I bought a cloud connected unit that promised easy scheduling and operation along with simple DIY and compatibility.  All very fine until installation time that required a fifth wire between wall mounted device in the hallway and furnace upstairs. While it was trivial to connect the existing coded 4 wires I was able to sleuth an explanation online for better understanding of the meaning of the codes and how the system operates. This would prove useful.

 

For Reference:

  • W – Heating (white wire)
  • R – Continuous 24 v ac Power (red wire)
  • G – Fan (green wire)
  • Y – Cooling (this wire is yellow in the diagram)
  • C – Common (this wire is blue in the diagram)
Closing R and W will initialize the heating cycle. The blower operates independently as determined by a separate furnace heat exchanger mounted temperature controller. In other words, once the heating chamber is properly warmed up the blower will come on. Similarly, when the thermostat shuts the gas valve, the blower continues to run until the furnace has cooled. Closing R and G will initialize the blower (FAN only) Closing R and Y will initialize the cooling cycle AND the blower. The schematic shows a diode (one-way) between Fan and Cooling function so that operating the Fan in manual mode doesn’t run the AC but running the AC will run the [blower] Fan.
That blue wire coded “C” in the diagram is the 5th wire mentioned for the installation. It is not used in my old tech thermostat but required to power the WiFi in the new one. Fortunately it was available as part of the existing cable bundle at the wall mounting point and quick to attach to the new thermostat.
 Not so fast was connecting the other loose end of that wire in the furnace room. The example furnace in the instructional video  was modern and straightforward with printed circuit board and nicely labeled terminals. Mine looked very different and I was faced with this:
I believe the term is Spaghetti. No worries. Just tracing the wire color back to the thermostat gave understanding of the terminal to which it was connected.  Finding the “C” terminal was a process of elimination but to be certain I applied the probes of my pocket multimeter and looked for voltage and/or the absence thereof.  I hit a roadblock when the meter showed excessively high readings (60v) and on every terminal?! I was sure I was looking at a defective transformer. I spent an embarrassing length of time Googling a replacement part in between back and forths for Voltage checks and rechecks. Something was amiss.  It was a classic Red herring until I saw the error of my ways. The multimeter setting defaulted to DC and I erroneously believed that was the output I was looking for. The transformer drops the 115v AC to 24v but doesn’t convert it. i.e. the Current was still AC. 24v AC. I changed the function switch from DC to AC and suddenly everything was all good!
I completed the installation and buttoned things up. Works perfectly and I can program intuitive heating and cooling schedules to heart’s content – instruction manual not required.

Grape Picking

…for the Wine Making Industry.

“MOG” is material other than grapes. i.e. stems, leaves,

The harvester machine [ Korvan 3016 ] straddles a row and utilizes a set of longitudinal Nylon Picking Rods, Metal Rod Holders and Wings  to shake the entire vine.  In this fashion the grapes are separated from the vine and fall by gravity onto a cupped conveyor. Along the journey to toward the hopper gondola which collects the harvest for transport, MOG is extracted by powerful fans and jettisoned overboard. The entire procession moves along at 2.67 mph

 longitudinal rods to shake
longitudinal rods for shaking
 

It’s a Goner

My initial concern was one of monetary loss ($750). My connected device was gone. Misplaced. Standing-by in the left front pocket of my trousers, normally, it lends a sense of form against my thigh. An occasional pat or  brush of hand reassures that it is secure. Previous experience told me that this was a good location. Too rigid for a hip pocket and prone to spill from an open shirt pocket; it had only slipped a very view times when seated within the soft confines of sofa or pillow chair. One naturally makes a wallet / phone check upon exit.

The last reaffirmation check revealed that the usual location was empty. Confounded, I checked the other pocket possibilities. Nope. It was missing.

Recovery would be a puzzle. I would have to recollect when last handled as well as account for all events and movements since. A window of confidence was roughly 45 minutes but then you realize that a general summary recollection is clear but all of the small ‘witness’ details insignificant at the time, are brain stored in short term low level memory. Initially I was assuring myself that my phone was likely safe and would “turn up” but no; it took hours of revisualization and introspective thought to reconstruct.

The other pilot and I were leaving the airport on foot for an impromptu round trip to Cooper’s Island but not before a quick pit back at the jet to retrieve hat and sunblock. I reckoned that while crouching beside open suitcase in the bag compartment perhaps it had deposited there (False hope.  It hadn’t ).

Early on along our route we encountered two young girls opposite direction who were keen on our uniforms. We side stepped clear of the road and had a pleasant chat on the shoulder  with one being a Londoner and the other a Local. Before carrying onward there was a FB friending and group Selfie. Did I withdraw my (camera) phone and mis pocket opening? Did it fall silently into the deep grass? I would later retrace this 1/2 mile stretch trying unsuccessfully to recall the exact spot we all stood. Sweep scanning blades of  green for a glint of case or reflection on gorilla glass a dark thought occurs. Pickpocket! (Possible I suppose but a stretch)

Having arrived at the park entrance and while stalling for a bit while the other fellow captured some white sand beach setting photo I angled my leg to retie shoe lace. (squeezed from pocket opening) Was it the first beach or the next? Which fence railing?

24 hours had elapsed and I had gone back twice to search replaying everything but to no avail. I had to exhaust the possibility that it wasn’t just laying there undiscovered. After all, an opportunist would surely have attempted to access and the clever Find-my-Smartphone feature would broadcast its coordinate location. Alas, being out of country as I was the phone’s antenna was in airplane mode and therefore off network. A thief would merely have to wait it out knowing that the owner would probably remotely erase the device contents eventually after losing hope.

In fact, I was seriously poised to do that very thing. A data breach would be ugly with personal information of every kind risking exposure. The phone is locked by 4 digit PIN but with time and sophistication a good hacker might succeed. I learned that while the data wipe feature would allay these concerns, this option would also kill any possibility of tracking or easily identifying the device. In fact, it would make it possible for the discoverer to activate a fresh install — finders keepers.

Disgusted that I lost control of my property, resigned to writing off the asset as a loss, disappointed in having failed to find it, soul searching; why I am such a slave to the thing in the first place. Like so many by habit, I find myself staring at the small screen during every possible moment. How to go about replacing? Perhaps now is a good time to go cold turkey and kick this addiction?  I’m part way there.

By the next day I’ve traversed many states of mind; bummed, gloom, depression withdrawal but I’m less frequently checking the empty pocket or having phantom sensations. I’m actually gazing about spaces and at people during the idle moments.

By now the lost phone should be at lo-batt or nearly depleted. Seriously ready to Nuke…

Reunited

[spoiler alert: review the previous post first]

The CSR behind the desk at airport FBO doubted that I’d ever see it again. It had not shown up at their lost & found. I hadn’t expected it to. Whoever picks it up will keep it, she says. Just the same, I was wondering if perhaps an honest citizen might  turn it in. I had asked a Park Service  maintenance employee if they knew and the suggestion was floated that I try the local Police Substation. The CSR was dubious and I was primed to agree but then somehow we decided; let’s try.

She picked up the phone. I was only party to the one sided conversation but when she started relaying bullet questions from the other end such as: What color is it? and: What is the screensaver? (Sailboat) and then: What is the name on the boat? it became crystal there was going to be a happy outcome.

The CSR personally drove me over to claim it. I would have liked to have rewarded the soul who turned it in. My faith in humanity is restored. May that individual enjoy their good Karma.

I credit good police work. The officer had actually called over to the Bermudian Maritime Authority and determined that the yacht pictured from the lock screen was not in country. I explained that a year ago that it had been and the official confirmed this to be known.

property receipt
BTW, I’m off the wagon but trying to be diligent about usage. It goes without saying I’m installing a collar and chain 😉