one tree in the shadowlands

finding branches on the tree

Four or five years ago I was perusing the archives at the Ohio Historical Society in search of ancestors.  I already knew that my family line could be traced to the mid-1800's to a couple counties in southern Ohio.  I was reading a history of Meigs County produced for the American Bicentennial in 1976.  Several individual family histories were recorded.  I went back to the "t's" and was pleasantly surprised to find an entry under "Trainer."  As I began reading, my pleasant surprise turned to outright joy.

There was a picture of an old farmhouse, and these words at the beginning of the paragraph, "My great-grandfather, James Trainer (1803-1875), justice of the peace and veterinarian, married Mary Patterson (1809-1886) in 1828.  My grandfather Hiram (1845-1918), was the eleventh of fourteen children born to this Irish couple."  I knew that my great-great-great grandfather, Mathew (1835-1918), had a brother named Hiram and a father named James.  I looked at the bottom of the article for the author's name...it was Ada Belle Robinson Trainer.   It said she was residing in Lancaster, Oh in 1976.

I went to another side of the archives and retrieved a Lancaster phone book.  Her name was listed and there was an address!  Several days later I found myself walking up a driveway to a fading green house, wondering who I would encounter.  I didn't even get a chance to knock on the door, because a little old woman came around the corner of the house, watering can in-hand.  I surprised her, but she quickly recovered, and I introduced myself.  I love to do this...to see a person's face when you bring up a name from their past and they slowly make the connection.  We are related!

That Spring day I began a relationship with Ada Belle Robinson Trainer that continued until March, 2005, when she passed away.  We enjoyed hours of conversation together (which she allowed me to tape). She brought out old photo albums, newspaper clippings, diaries, and family heirlooms.  Ada Belle was a family historian's dream come true. She kept notes of each days events, saved everything, and had an incredible memory for people and events.  Over the course of many visits our relationship grew to the point that she brought out the real treasures...the family Bible of James & Mary Trainer, of Hiram & Eliza, of Harry and Alma (her parents), and pictures of each couple.  They were absolute gold.  She had her father's diaries....over 30 years of daily entries from 1914-1945.

Through Ada I discovered a farm my family never knew existed.  James first came to Ohio in 1835.  He built a cabin in Meigs County and lived there with 12 children, before building a house in 1849, and having two more children.  That house stands to this day, and I have been in it. The name "Trainer" is barely legible on the barn door.  It was farmed by two more generations before Ada and her mother had to sell it in 1949 due to her father's early death.

My direct line left the family farm in the second generation and moved north one county.  They pursued a life of farming, working in brick yards, clerking in stores, driving trucks, and various other blue color jobs.  Somehow the family branches lost track of one another in just a couple generations.  My grandfather had no idea there was a homestead in Meigs County; he didn't even know he was Irish.

But because of Ada it all came together.  I visited her briefly on the day before she died.  The rest home where she was staying had called to let me know she would not live many more hours.  She could barely talk, but managed some "yes" and "no" answers to questions.  Her breathing was labored and we both knew her life would soon end.  I quoted Psalm 27:1, touched her hand, and told her to rest, as I slipped out of the room.  The next day her daughter called, "Mom is gone.  She asked for you to do her funeral."

So on a clear, spring morning in March 2005, I stood beside Ada's casket in Athens, OH.  I celebrated her life, and reminded a handful of people about her faith, and trust God that I will see her again someday. Since there were hardly any family members left, I helped bear her body to its final resting place.  Then Linda and I went home.  We saw Ada's picture in our living room, paged through the family Bibles she entrusted to our care, and thanked God for paths that crossed in His grace.

The Patriarch & Matriarch

James Trainer was born on October 12, 1803 in Pennsyvania, and died June 24, 1875 in Columbia TWP, Meigs County, Ohio.  He married Mary Patterson on September 17, 1828.  She was born in New Jersey on November 25, 1809, and died July 31, 1886 in Meigs County, Ohio.  The couple had fourteen children (Margaret, Mary, Jane, Mathew--from whom I am descended, John, Joseph, James, Sarah, Isabella, Samuel, Hiram, Eunis, Catherine, and Elizabeth). 

According to Ada Belle Robinson Trainer, "My great, grandfather, James Trainer (1803-1875), Justice of the Peace and veterinarian, married Mary Patterson (1809-1886) in 1828.  My grandfather, Hiram, was the eleventh of fourteen children born to this Irish couple.  They are buried in Old Lebanon Cemetery not far from Temple Church."

They are listed as a "pioneer family" in Columbia TWP,  Meigs County History (p. 262).

Recorded in the Athens Messenger on July 8, 1875:  "Uncle Jimmie Trainer, one of the oldest residents of Columbia township, recently died."

Recorded in the Meigs County Telegraph on August 4, 1886:  "Mrs. Trainer, an aged lady of Mt. Blanco, died Saturday at 15 minutes past 1 p.m., after a long illness.  She was buried Sunday at Lebanon Church, of this township.  The funeral services were conducted by Rev. Ricketts of Albany."

among the weeds

A few years ago all I knew about my ancestors was that they originated in southeastern Ohio.  Time and providence narrowed that search to Vinton and Meigs Counties.  The discovery of a living relative on the far end of the family tree caused me to focus on northwestern Meigs County.  This led to the discovery of a family farm and several "Trainer" tomb stones in the cemetery of Temple Church near Carpenter.  However, the burial plots for the patriarch and the matriarch of the family, James and Mary Trainer, were not to be found.

One summer day we piled the kids in the car and made the drive to Meigs from Columbus for the sole purpose of walking through cemeteries.  We made our way back to the Temple Church graveyard and spent an hour or two walking the rows, reading the names, and imagining the stories.  As we pulled out of the driveway, we turned east and began to head toward the highway.  On our left my wife noticed a small, crude sign that said "Lebanon Cemetery" at the begining of what resembled only a dirt-covered, private driveway.  I kept driving and Linda asked, "Did you see that sign?"  I think I responded in the affirmative, but didn't think much of it.  But just her asking the question caused me to pause and wonder if I really wanted to just drive past even the faintest possibility.  I applied the brakes and we headed back amidst the kid's complaints. 

The sign at the end of the road was small and rusted; it was a wonder we had noticed it.  We drove up a short hill past two homes when the road suddenly ended before a gate and a wide open field, bordered by trees.  Behind the gate was a collection of 30-40 deteriorating tombstones in an overgrown patch of weeds.  We climbed out of the car and began checking out each one, at times tracing the worn letters with our fingers to make out names.  Many were beyond repair and totally unreadable.  But in one corner of the cemetery a tall monument stood somewhat apart from the rest. 

I cannot desribe for you the emotions that ran through me when I was close enough to make out the name carved on the stone..."Mary Patterson wife of James Trainer," with his name on the opposite side.  Their birth and death dates were engraved as well.  We spent a long time taking the monument in...obviously erected by children who cared deeply for their parents.  I felt privileged to stand above their resting place and honor their courage and hard work, and to thank their children for leaving an enduring reminder of their parent's lives.  It is awesome to consider the family stood on that same earth in 1875 to bury my great-great-great-great-great grandfather.

surname origins

Picture:  The Trainer family farm circa 1910. 

One day, while browsing at the Ohio Historical Society Library, I came across a book produced by the residents of Meigs County in 1976 for the American Bicentennial.  Several long-time county families produced short biographies.  Since they were listed alphabetically, I turned quickly to the letter "T" and was pleasantly surprised to find an entry written by a woman named Ada Belle Robinson Trainer.  Beside a picture of an old farm house,  she wrote of her great-grandparents, James and Mary Trainer, and described them as "an Irish couple."  Irish couple?  I didn't know the surname "Trainer" had anything to do with Ireland.  I wondered if I could find Ada Belle...she had written her piece more than 25 years ago....

The "Trainer" name is a Gaelic and Ulster surname originating in County Meath, Ireland.  "Mac Treinfhir" suggests "strongman" (trein = strong; or treunmhor=very brave) (fhir = man).  "Mac Crainor " is phonetically more correct, since the t is aspirated in the Irish form of the name.   In the fourteenth century, many Threinfhir families migrated from Monaghan to the English colony in County Louth. They may have left Monaghan for better land, or to escape the pressures of the McMahons or that of the neighboring Maguires of Fermanagh. In the 15th century, the Threinfhir family appeared as McCrennor in the Ardee area, Southeast of Carrickmacross.

Source:  An Etymological Dictionary of Family and Christian Names With an Essay on their Derivation and Import; Arthur, William, M.A.; New York, NY: Sheldon, Blake, Bleeker & CO., 1857.

a barn

Some pics of an old Trainer barn in Meigs County posted here.

a beginning...

Picture:  Velma Lucille Trainer Hogans (1908-1989) in her "Bonnie & Clyde" days (front left).

I don't know when it started--this interest, desire, or even longing--to uncover roots.  From earliest childhood I remember a passion for history.  Oh, I read comic books and fiction just like all the other kids, but in addition, I was intrigued by people and events long past.

Wandering the stacks of the library in Gahanna, Ohio as a grade schooler, I was irresistibly drawn to the history section.  Pictures of World War One pilots and their wood, canvas, and wire crates enthralled me.  Eddie Rickenbacker and the "Hat-in-the-Ring" Squadron were early heroes, and he was even from central Ohio, where I called home.  Claire Chennault and the American Volunteer Group captured my attention next.  Tex Hill and Robert L. Scott were names seared into my memory.  The P-40 became my favorite airplane, and shark mouth Warhawks screamed through my imagination chasing Japanese Zeros in wild dogfights, wing roots blazing in flashes of machine gun fire.

As time rolled along, a love for aviation history turned to military history, then all of human history.  All the while, these experiences were accented by time spent in high school, college, and eventually seminary--ah yes, seminary.  At some point in this journey, the Author of history, who calls Himself the Alpha and Omega, captured my attention.  Since He knew me before the foundation of the world, it only seemed appropriate to give myself wholly to knowing Him and helping others along that same Way.  This has led me to share the beginning of life and end of life with many, as I stand beside parents cuddling a newborn and caskets cradling a worn out body.  And this is what eventually led me to genealogy.

The first funeral over which I presided was for a great aunt.  Her name was Velma, and regrettably, not too many family members could think of glowing things to say of her.  Apparently, she was quite the eccentric, but all I could remember of her as a young boy, was chasing cats on their family farm.  I had lost track of her in the busyness of life, and found myself rehearsing her days for the final time before less than a dozen people.  I take those moments quite seriously now, much more than when I began as a rookie pastor.  Capturing the essence and impact of a life in thirty minutes or so is a daunting task, but more on that later. 

Velma's greatest contribution to me was a stack of typewritten notes, full of names, dates, and scribbling.  At some point, whiling away lonely days in a dilapidated farmhouse, she had felt it important to record what she could remember of her ancestors.  What was actually left of the family, a brother, a sister, and a few nieces and nephews, pushed the information my way.  I am sure they thought, "Maybe Jon will be interested in this stuff."  I don't remember if I stashed the documents away or dug through them immediately.   But when the recorded memories finally captured my attention, I took in names, dates, and places I had never heard or seen.  I wondered if I could take what Aunt Velma had begun and build on it.