On the way to our first genealogy destination, we stopped at the James Family Farm and Museum, childhood home of Jesse and Frank James, in Kearney, Missouri.

The cabin, built of log and clapboards, is quite small, and was originally built in 1822. The Reverend Robert James brought his wife Zerelda and son Frank there in 1845, and Jesse was born here in 1847. After the Reverend’s death (he had gone to California after gold was discovered and died there), Zerelda remarried (twice, ultimately). She began giving tours of the farm after 1882, a practice continued by Frank after her death, and later, Frank’s son and Jesse’s grandsons. The home contains many items belonging to the James family, including two beautifully made quilts crafted by Frank’s wife, Annie, who seems to have been a gifted seamstress. In the 1890s, Zerelda added two ready-made rooms to the original structure, purchased from the Sears catalogue.

In addition to the family’s home, there is a small museum which contains more James family items, including Jesse’s and Frank’s saddles, the family Bible with entries made by Zerelda, the boots Jesse was wearing when he died and the tombstone of Frank James’ treasured horse, Dan. It seems that when Dan died, Frank had him buried on the farm some distance from the house. Frank included Dan’s grave in the public tours he gave, but as he aged, he found it harder to make the walk to it, and the horse’s tombstone was moved closer and closer to the home. No one knows now where the horse is actually buried!

Later in the trip, we visited the house in which Jesse James was shot to death at age 34 in 1882. He was living with his wife and two children in St. Joseph, Missouri, under the name of Tom Howard. Jesse’s tiny white house still bears the scars of that shooting: a hole in the wall, subsequently enlarged by treasure hunters, and gouges in the wood floor where more treasure hunters carved pieces of blood-soaked wood out of the boards! The home also contains artifacts from Jesse’s coffin—his grave was exhumed in 1995 so that forensic scientists using DNA testing could determine if the body buried in his grave was really him. (It was.)

When I tired of galloping through the pasture, I swam in the irrigation ditch that ran behind Grandma’s house like my own personal river, caught frogs for frog swimming races, or stretched out on a beach towel on the wooden bridge that crossed the ditch, baking myself in the summer sun. Or I would read in a lawn chair under the huge oak in the front yard, listening to the soothing sound of chickens softly clucking while they searched a flower bed for tasty bugs. Occasionally, the rooster’s crow broke the quiet of the afternoon.


Grandma was a great cook and I ate slabs of her homemade bread covered in fresh butter or homemade jam all day long. I reveled in peaches and watermelon purchased from local produce stands, or plums picked right off the tree. For a special treat, sometimes Grandma would make boysenberry cobbler, the purple berries oozing juices through the crumbly top crust.

Grandma’s mother, Great Gram, lived across the street in a tiny, pink house and many evenings I’d go play Rummy with her. (One of my first lessons in sportsmanship came at the card table: You can’t play cards with the grown ups if you cry when you lose.) I loved to play cards with her, but I admit to an ulterior motive as well. She made the best milkshakes I’ve ever had. She’d pour canned Hershey’s syrup over several scoops of chocolate chip ice cream and icy milk, then mush up the whole concoction with an old-fashioned egg beater. It was so thick, I had to eat it with a spoon.

My mom and step dad live in the house with the red trim now. Sadly, we don’t get to visit very often, since we live 2500 miles away. But when we do make the trip to Cottonwood, I’m reminded that I was once a girl with no cares, running wild through a cow pasture and slurping up milkshakes without a thought of their calorie count.

I’m still new enough to blogging to really appreciate these awards, and get a kick out of answering the questions that go along with them. For this one, I’m supposed to tell you 10 things about myself. You already know of my horse addiction and several of the various other pastimes I enjoy, so here are 10 random facts you probably don’t know:

I worked on an archaeological dig in Jerusalem when I was in college.

I’ve been quoted in two books.

I do a crossword puzzle every day, in an attempt to keep my brain cells snapping and popping.

I sing along with the radio in my car. Loudly.

I’m allergic to kiwi fruit.

I was born and raised in California, and still miss the wonderful climate.

My husband and I have been married for 22 years, despite having worked together in the same office twice and currently working out of a shared home office.

I’m totally addicted to a game on my computer called “Mahjong Titans.”

My great grandmother was full Cherokee Indian.

My favorite flavor of ice cream is mint chocolate chip.

More important than the random facts, I get to share some blogs I enjoy. I hope you will like them, too.

The Enchanted Earth. I keep passing these awards on to Meredith because her blog is utterly delightful. She takes beautiful photos and writes uplifting and creative posts. One of my recent favorites was “Star Stuff.” Check it out.

A Nature Art Journal. Elizabeth’s nature journal pages are wonderful, and I’m inspired by looking at them.

Hope in Every Day. Krista’s blog title says it all.

Walking Nature Home. Susan is a writer, her husband is a sculptor, and he is fighting brain cancer. Her writing is lovely and positive, even in the face of her husband’s illness.
Thank you to Laure for giving me one more reason to smile last week, and to all of you for your kind and encouraging comments.

Edited to add: One more great blog to visit: Blueberries, Art and Life. Teresa's thoughts on art and life--and she's already won this award once before!