Exciting News!

 
My first book has launched!
By-Gosh Johnson and the Long Walk: 
The Story of John A Johnson.

  https://a.co/d/0djCJEQw  

In 1868, Johan’s dreams of building a life on the family farm in Byarum, Sweden, have slipped beyond his reach. With little future ahead except conscription or a hard life as a hired farmhand, he faces an unbearable choice: remain in the only home he has ever known or risk everything for the promise of America.

Leaving behind the familiar countryside of rural Sweden, Johan begins a journey marked by optimism, heartbreak, hope, and unexpected joy. Thousands of miles from home, he must navigate the hardships of settling in a new land alone.

A sweeping story of courage, family, and the immigrant dream, this novel reminds us that sometimes the life we find is greater than the one we imagined.

 

Never Give Up - Friday's Faces from the Past

My family tree has a few researched branches so long they could span the ocean, and they do! I can't take the credit for most of the information. Much of it was accomplished years before I ever began my research.

Memorial stone in Byarum Parish, Jönköping, Sweden
My loose translation: Memorial To the memory of the

532 Byarum residents who 1853-1930 emigrated to America,
to seek their livelihood.
My great grandfather, Johann August Johannesson, was one
of the 532 that left Byarum in 1869.

I have had help and I've been fortunate to meet some wonderful cousins along the way who dropped crumbs for me to follow when I needed it.
Other branches have only grown a few inches in all the years my family has been working on our genealogy.

One of the most stubborn branches has been my dad's Johnson and Nelson lines. All four of his grandparents came to America from Sweden in the mid 1800's as young, mostly single adults. We had vague stories of Sweden, and a few names that had been passed down, but little else.

If you know anything about Swedish names before the 1900's, you know that each generation received new last names depending on their father's name.

August Johannesson really was Johannes' son! Johanna Håkansdotter really was... you guessed it, Håkans' daughter!
That makes for very difficult searching made even harder by the fact that I didn't speak much more Swedish than "thank you," "yes," and the names of some traditional dishes.

It was a very slow growing branch! 

The information I had on my Swedish ancestors existed on my Ancestry.com tree for years without comment, as the branches around them grew with new information and newly found cousins.

I spent time in Lindsborg, Kansas at the Old Mill Museum learning how to research using the Swedish records. Every time I found a new person or fact, I'd go to my family tree and enter the data. Years of searching and waiting ended abruptly one day last spring when I opened a message from a

Anders and his family in their home in Jönköping, Sweden

woman in Sweden claiming that her grandfather, Anders, and my great grandfather, John, were brothers. John had come to America while Anders had remained in Sweden.

The pictures started coming and I found myself looking into faces of family. Familiar family resemblances! I never dreamed this would happen after so much time.

After many questions, much research, and major breakthroughs in my understanding of Swedish records, I am proud to call Gunnel my cousin. We write back and forth and share new and old bits of family news.

And... I've started planning a trip to Sweden!

Never. Give. Up.

Sentimental Sunday - Trip to the Farm Site of Arthur T. Johnson

Sunscreen, long pants, old shoes, long socks, camera..., Ready to go!
That's right! It's summer, a time to climb over barbed-wire fences and explore the old homesteads and farms! 

Our first stop of the day was my paternal grandparents' barn, just to the northwest of McPherson, Kansas - all that's left of the farm that I spent much of my childhood exploring.


My cousin and I prepared for hiking through freshly cut wheat fields. After a discussion about which path had the least poison ivy, we stepped through the Osage Orange trees that form the hedge around the land.


The barn looks south from a grove of trees that have grown up around it. I walked to about where the old farmhouse would have stood to take the shot. From there, I could see that the roof is in good condition with no signs of caving in.

I wonder how old the red paint on the siding is. I was hoping there would be a little piece of the barn laying around for me to take with me, but it's still very much intact. 

What I remember most about this barn is the smell of oats wafting through from the small hatches with wooden latches (still in place).

As we stood in the doorway, there was a sudden noise from above, and out swooped a large barn owl - white with gray spots - from the door of the loft. It flew a few inches above our heads, close enough to feel the breeze from its large wings, and out the door of the barn. What a nice surprise!




I'm thankful that this barn is still standing. My sisters, cousins and I spent many hours playing in it as children (1960's) and our parents (1930's), most likely, before us.

iLike my iphone - Tech Tuesday

You would think I would have heard all of the stories by now. I've been asking questions and I've known him my whole life. That doesn't seem to matter. My dad thinks of a new story almost every time I talk to him. The problem is, I don't trust my memory and many times we are in the car and I am driving! We were on the highway coming back from a trip to Osage City, Kansas, where his mother grew up. He started talking about his Grandpa Nelson who came to Kansas from Sweden when he was about 20 years old. He recalled the Swedish words that his grandpa used to call his horses to him. Then, he repeated the words from so long ago. I scrambled for my iphone and touched the button for voice memo. I now have it recorded and saved to my computer. A few weeks later I mentioned to my dad's younger brother that I had heard how Grandpa Nelson called his horses. Immediately, he repeated the same words with the same thick Swedish accent. I wish I knew what the words meant but neither of them have a clue! I have voice recordings of many special people thanks to my iphone!

There are many iphone apps that I use in my genealogy work. The obvious ones besides voice memo are Ancestry, where I can look up basic data from my entire family tree and Genealogy Gems for great podcasts. Of course, I use Google, Maps and History Lite to find more information about events and places I am studying. I have a new App called Research Logger that I hope will help me during my genealogy adventures this summer.

My iphone has proven to be a great tool to have along wherever I go. Oh, it also makes a great phone!
Does anyone have other Apps they use for genealogy?

The First and the Second Arthur Theodore Johnson With Update

2026 Update: 

I wrote this post in 2011, before I started writing my first book. Research for this book proved the story wrong in a couple of ways that shocked my uncles. I proved to them, through newspaper articles and church records, that the order of events was different from what they had always been told. The correct version of this story (as far as I can make it without having been alive at that time) appears in my book, By-Gosh Johnson and the Long Walk.

 My 2011 Post:

My grandpa was the second Arthur Theodore Johnson in the family. He was born a few months too late to meet his older brother, the first Arthur, but nevertheless, he was there. His mother may have known he was there, but there is no way to tell.

It was a spring day in the countryside near McPherson, Kansas, and my great-grandparents, John and Ida Johnson, were on their way into town with their young family. The date was May 14, 1889. As Arthur 2 rested in his mother's womb, maybe feeling his two-year-old brother Emil pressing against him from their mother's lap, Arthur 1 ventured toward the back of the wagon. Four-year-old boys are curious and can get into trouble when they have a few minutes behind their parents' backs.
I have no way of knowing what alerted their parents to the tragedy. The back gate of the wagon must have made some noise when it flew open, but they stopped the wagon and looked behind them to see their precious firstborn son lying in the dust of the road. He was gone before they could get to him. The fall from the wagon had broken his neck.
The emotions around that little stretch of road must have been overwhelming. My great-grandparents probably wailed with their grief as little Emil stood by, taking it all in. He was too young to realize that his life had changed forever in the seconds after the gate opened. That one event threw him into his brother's place as "the oldest child"; cemented it in his mind by the horror of the scene, and left a scar that would stay with him for the next 70 years. Did the 2nd little Arthur feel the grief of his mother as she cried for her son?
The scene was worse than anything I can imagine, and yet it would get worse in a matter of minutes. The wagon stood in front of a neighbor's farm, and soon that family had entered the picture. The neighbor proceeded to berate the grieving father for being so careless with his child. How could he leave his small son in such a dangerous place? He should have known this would happen! Hurtful words saturated the heavy air and did nothing for the family’s grief; they were never forgotten and would be repeated even 3 generations later. I’ve been told that John never fully recovered from those words. The first little Arthur was carried to the same neighbor’s farm until arrangements could be made for a funeral. A simple trip to town had turned several lives upside down.

Firstborn son, Arthur, was buried in the cemetery behind the Swedish Lutheran Church outside of McPherson, Kansas. We aren’t sure where because there is no longer a stone. Seven months later, my grandfather, and the first Arthur’s namesake, was born on December 4, 1889.

Julotta Christmas Service

Julotta is a Christmas service that was brought to the United States by Swedish immigrants. Since the Covenant Church was founded by Swedish immigrants, Julotta was naturally included on the calendar of events for most Swedish Covenant congregations.
Every Christmas morning, before most people were even awake, my family and I were up, dressed, and on our way down the empty streets and across the city to the First Evangelical Covenant Church in Wichita, Kansas. It felt odd to be out so early in the morning, with the lighted streets lined by houses with windows still dark. Walking into the church, we were welcomed by dozens of candles that provided the only light in the sanctuary and the smell of coffee and breakfast wafting up the stairs from the kitchen in the basement. Before we could concentrate on food though, we gathered in the sanctuary to participate in a very special early morning service. There were Christmas carols, special music played on many different instruments over the years, (including guitar when I began playing as a teenager) and a celebration of the birth of Jesus.
After Julotta, we made our way downstairs to enjoy a breakfast that had contributions from every family present. Swedish pastries, fruit, fruit soup, little smoked sausages, bacon, egg dishes, juice and coffee filled the long table close to the kitchen. Food was eaten, dishes were washed and everything was dried and put away by 8:00, just in time for us to head for home and then on to Christmas Day celebrations with extended family.