Francis (Frances) (France) (French) Surname

Well, I suppose we should just start at the beginning. The only trouble with that thought is that in genealogy, determining just where be the beginning is the "johnny part" as my Appalachian grandmother would have said. Because every time you uncover one grandparent, you are blessed with the names of two more, and so it grows exponentially.

But begin we must if we are ever to tell the tale of my Appalachian genealogy. Let me first state, however, that there may NEVER be a complete tale of one's Appalachian history. As evidence for my statement, let me enlighten you to the fact that I have FIFTY-ONE first cousins on my mother's side alone. FIFTY-ONE! And that doesn't count my paternal side. Sheesh. What a brood! But that's another trait of our Appalachian families... they were large families. One of my greaty-great grandmothers several generations back had seventeen (yes, 17) children. And it wasn't uncommon for a man to be married three or four times, having been widowed several times, and have children by all four wives.

But we'll try to begin here on this post. And we'll begin with my maiden name. Even that, however, is complicated. (Isn't everything?) You see, I was born under the surname "France", however, my father was born under the surname "Francis" as was my oldest brother. There was some sort of mixup with the spelling of the name and it became so confusing that finally my mom and dad had to deed their own land to themselves to effectuate a name correction. From that point on we went by the name of France, not Francis. But I have a nephew, Dr. Bryan Francis of Williamson, WV who still uses his father's surname (my late brother) that being Francis. So I identify my maiden name as France, and/or Francis. Other spellings of the same last name include Frances and the derivative "French". So if you are any one of those and if you have ancestors who crossed paths in the Appalachians before spreading on westward and northward or southward, then you and I might be distantly related.

Which brings me to another point... Sometimes it seems that at least in this neck of the woods, I may be distantly related to everyone. Not actually, of course, but there is such a sense of community and past and such that we feel related because we are connected in a social sense. We even call our elder people "Aunt" and "Uncle" when they are no blood relation simply out of respect. Most of us have been taught that from a young age.

Now about my France or Francis family:

WILLIAM FRANCIS, SR.

It seems that there was a William Francis, Sr. who started all this here in Pike County a long, long time ago. Grandpa Francis was born around 1795 in Virginia. He never used his full name but it is thought that his middle name was Howard. Evidently Grandpa Francis was not much of a businessman...as he traded 1,600 acres of his land for a hounddog. It is also said he traded some more land for a milk cow. It would appear that they saw him coming. Either that or land was plentiful back then, which it would have been.

When Grandpa William Francis, Sr. moved from what is now Russell County, Virginia to Pike County, Kentucky, the trip took five weeks by wagon and he brought with him a Cherokee Indian wife and that's how he became known as "squaw man" ... a name I also affectionately call my husband because he calls me "squaw".

Grandpa William is shown to have been married to a Delilah Francis (we believe this to be the Cherokee Indian wife he brought with him) and they had at least seven children including William Francis, Jr., my grandfather.

WILLIAM FRANCIS, Jr.

William Francis Jr. was born in 1817 and died in 1863 in Pike County, Peter Creek, Kentucky.
He was married to Margaret Bouney (daughter of Sarah Mullins Bouney and Joseph Bouney --my Revolutionary War grandfather).

WILLIAM "BUD" FRANCIS

William, Jr. had William (the third or "Bud" as he was called). Grandpa "Bud" Francis was born in 1853 and he died in 1917. He married Tylithy Hylton., daughter of Susannah Griffith Hylton and James Hylton. Tylithy died and Grandpa Bud remarried Octavia McCoy. (Yes, of the infamous "McCoys".

JOSEPH FRANCIS, Sr.

Grandpa Bud Francis and Grandma Tylithy Hylton Francis had several children including my great grandfather, Joseph Francis, Sr., who was born in 1889 and died in 1975. Joseph was married to Vesta Sanders but she is not my grantmother. Grandpa Joseph had an affair with Mary Hurley (daughter of John Rile Hurley and Jane Allen (and no they wern't married either). The result of Grandpa Joseph and Mary Hurley's union was my father, Joseph Francis, Jr.

JOSEPH FRANCIS Jr.

My daddy was born in 1921. We are not exactly sure of the date because he has no recorded birth record on file. He married Georganne Blackburn when he was about sixteen years old and they had a son, Otil Francis. They divorced and my dad later married my mother, Opal Virginia Lee who is a daughter of Charles Compton Lee and Ethel Smith Lee. My mother still lives in our homeplace in Kentucky

So there you have it.. the short and the skinny of my Francis Ancestory. As far back as I currently know for sure. I know my mother's side of the family much better as Daddy was raised by neither his mother nor his father but by two spinster school teachers. He even went by the name of Joe Allen for a while as was the case for children who were born out of the confines of marriage in that day. All we have is his school record to guage his age, as I previously mentioned there is no official record of his birth. But one thing is for sure... he was born...and that's how I got here..the third of four children born to Joseph Francis (France), Jr. and Opal Virginia Lee France.

Right now, these are but names on a screen ...nothing more. Names and dates of lives lived and died. But in the future I hope to regale you with some actual stories of these people that will make them come alive for you as you meet my Appalachian ancestors. But for now, we'll leave you to digest the names and dates. My best to you this Saturday evening.
__________________________

NOTE: We believe that Grandpa William Francis, Sr.'s father and mother were Thomas Francis and Susanna Bottom Francis but this has not been substantiated yet.

My Appalachian Surnames

We've been talking in general about Appalachia and its history and culture and ancestory. I think it's now time to talk specifically about MY Appalachian history. In the next few posts you'll be hearing about my family ancestors specifically. If my scanner decides to cooperate, you'll be seeing some vintage pictures as well. Some of the family Surnames that I have researched or am continuing to research are:

Francis or France (my maiden name)
Lee (my mother's maiden name)
Smith (originally German and "Schmidtt" -- my maternal grandmother's
maiden name
Daughtery (Irish)
Honaker (Swiss)
Fuller (Swiss)
May (English)
Lockhart
Allen
Hurley (Irish)
Coleman

There are many others, of course, but we'll start with those. That should keep us busy for a while. Many regards to my followers and faithful.

*Horse photo above copyright Susan Troxell See 2010 of Lexington, Ky.

"Nuh wah doe he ya duh" (Peace) -Our Native Heritage

When the Europeans arrived in what was later called "the new world"...when the first "white man" pushed across the Appalachian mountains deep in the heart of the what would be the Carolinas, Viriginia, Kentucky, Tennesee--the land was not empty and void. Not only was it teeming with all manners of wildlife, but it was populated with a variety of people and families. The Cherokee, the Blackfoot, the Mingo, Ottawa, Shawnee, Delaware, Senaca, and many others were already here. Even the name "Appalachian" comes from the Appalachee Indians. Their way of life fully entrenched and an operating society of peoples were living and thriving in the land that was to be known as America.

These people warred with each other over territory and hunting rights. They may have worn breechcloths and mocassins but were far from the "uncivilized savages" that history has often portrayed them to be. They spoke complex languages far different from the "How" and "ugh" that Hollywood has stereotyped. They lived, they worked, they loved, and they prayed ...and in a lot of ways were the same as you and I are today. They just did it in a culture unlike anything the European had previously seen. But it was not because they spoke in strange languages, or wore strange clothes, or even because their skin was brown that the European disregarded their first claim to this land. It was not even for the lofty goals of Christianizing or civilizing these people that the Europeans overran their land. It was, in actuality, the age old motivation of greed -- pure and simple.

The native Americans had something that the Europeans wanted--the land and its bounty. And the Europeans used their advanced weaponry to come in and take what they wanted much like a bully on a schoolyard playground. But what devasted the population of Native Americans more than any gun was the diseases brought by Europeans. The germs that the Europeans carried with them across the Atlantic to an unsuspecting population of Native Americans who had never before been exposed to such and therefore had no resistance, were far deadlier than any gun ever used against them.

Diseases such as small pox wiped out entire villages and peoples. Having no immunity to such, the Native Americans were completely vulnerable to these germs. The diseases had been in Europe for centuries and some natural immunities had developed in the European populations. Not so in the unsuspecting, isolated, native populations living in the new world.

What were not devasted by disease, were rounded up and forced to march hundreds of miles to be "relocated" to reservations. One such march has become known as "the trail of tears". But not every Native American went west. Some stayed and have formed tribes such as the Eastern Band of Cherokees located in North Carolina. Others, such as most of our Appalachian ancestors, went far up in the mountains, innermarried with their Scots-Irish and German neighbors and whenever possible, passed for "white" on the census roles.

Most Appalachians who have definite native American blood in their DNA have no official tribe affiliation. We have long ago lost our culture to a way of life that became our new culture -- that of being Appalachian. Most all of us are aware of our ancestory to some degree and know of a long lost ancestor who was "indian". You have but to look at us to confirm it. But we were robbed of the official tribal designation because of circumstance and necessity to blend in and assimilate.

Still, there remains an affinity for the land and for the place that we call "home". It is said that once an Appalachian..always an Appalachian and it will always be where you call "home" no matter how many houses you own or how far you roam. The deep connection with nature and spirit that our native ancestors possessed still resonates within us today in Appalachia.

Sometimes when I am out walking and catch a breeze upon my face or look out over the mountaintops I can feel it. The spirit of my forefathers who were here long before any European stepped foot upon this soil. That spirit is alive and well within the people of Appalachia, and it comes to us in the quietness to sit upon our shoulder and to call to us from a far off distant place that our mind has forgotten but which is familiar to our soul. And suddenly, for just a moment, we can once again feel it--that deep body and soul connection to the land and our people. And our soul sings once again the ancient songs of our forefathers. Listen and see if you can hear it too:

Cherokee Morning Song:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VqoxOcEqpk&feature=related

Above graphic copyright of: The World it's Cities and Peoples.

Soaring with the Eagles...Our Scottish Heritage...

So many people from Appalachia share a similar heritage. Both my husband and myself, along with many others from this area are primarily of Scottish, Irish, German and Native American descent. My husband's ancestory includes French and English as well. But looking at him, you can't deny the Scottish/Irish heritage that is there. It is said that three Coleman brothers came into Appalachia orginally and helped settle and progeninate the entire Coleman population here. If that is so, they surely took well the job of extending the Coleman name, because you can't throw a rock around here and not hit a Coleman. Once, while waiting to be seated at a local restaurant, the hostess called three parties of Colemans before it was actually our turn. I think I heard two more being called while we were dining. They seem to be everywhere!

This is an ode to the heart and spirit of our Scots/Irish Ancestors. This is an ode to my husband, a strong man of faith and family who loves adventure just like his ancestors. He plays hard, loves strong, and prays daily. There is no denying the Scottish blood that runs in his veins. This is for him. But it is truly the story of all of us here in Appalachia. If you are Appalachian...this is YOUR story too...

Our Scottish ancestors were what became known as "Ulster Scots"...those who relocated from Scotland to Ulster in Northern Ireland and then intermarried with the Irish and later came to America. We are also referred to as "Scots-Irish".

We came over the Atlantic before the Declaration of Independence was even thought of. We left our homes and our families. Said goodbye to parents we would never see again. Left a land that was all we knew. We were adventurers. We faced the unknown for a dream that we held in our hearts. For us, the end of the rainbow was always just over the next hill. We were instrumental in carving a new nation out of the rock and unforgiving landscapes we found.

We landed on the shores of North Carolina and spread out across the land and spilled over the mountains of Virginia into the Shenandoah Valley and pushed on westward into the Appalachian mountains of what would become West Virginia and Kentucky. I imagine that seeing the Appalachian mountains for the first time may have faintly reminded us of our highland homes across the sea. We married native indian daughters and together, our families helped build the roads, the towns the forts, and the railroads that would forge a new nation. We are your presidents, your statesmen, your war heros, your wagon builders, your blacksmiths, your teachers, ...your friends. We are Scotsmen.

To begin to understand the trek of the Scotsman from his homeland in Ulster, Ireland to

what would become America, please take about ten minutes to enjoy this video on Ulster Scotts, set to music. You won't regret it, I promise.

To view the link: Click on the link to open. Or, open a new browser window and Cut and paste into your browser: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=05z5ZXKHKbY

The way I see it...

THE VIEW FROM MY OFFICE....

Part of understanding others

is having an appreciation

of their particular way of life and surroundings. This is a view from my window where I live and love and raise my family in the Appalachian mountains of Eastern Kentucky. It's very different from the surburban view from my sister's home or her urban cityscape from her office. I know, because I lived for six years in the million plus populated city where she lives and raises her family. And neither place is better than the other. Both have their pros and cons. They are simply different.

Some people may not think this view pretty. I think it is beautiful. Serene and quiet, it is where I watch the squirrels play and the occasional deer visit from my office window. I remember so many years spent in an office in which I was so busy trying to advance corporate America that I hardly had time to notice if the sun was even shining. Having the opportunity to write from my home office and look out over our backyard property and watch the leaves as they change color and fall to the ground is a welcome respite indeed.

And should I feel the need for more excitement, I can get in our pickup truck and head up to Walmart where there's always something going on. (smile). There's some fifty thousand people in this town and my husband and I think all of them go to Walmart on Friday evenings. On my way home, I can stop by Applebees and pick up a couple chicken pecan salads for our dinner if my husband's not in the mood to cook. (He's the chef extrordinare' in our house). We can sit out on our deck overlooking the water and talk about the day while I sip my Diet Coke with a lemon wedge. Later, he can unwind from a long day of meetings and seeing patients with some silly movie on our big screen tv. I walk our white pekingese and light the candles in our family room fireplace. I work out the college visitation schedule with our youngest son while he calls to check on our other three and our grandchildren.

Any evening in which we can find the time, we will jump in the Dodge 4WD truck and head out for a country drive. We don't have to go far...it's all country around here. Sometimes we drive to the Breaks Interstate Park in Virginia. Sometimes we just tour the beautiful mountains and hills right here in Pike County. We always take our camera. We both love pictures and my husband is an excellent photographer. Our walls at home are lined with his work. If I can talk him into it, we stop for ice cream on the way home from our drives.

Our autumn weekends are often spent traveling to our grandson's latest cross country meets. Lean and handsome, our thirteen year old grandson is following in his father's footsteps and is quite the athlete and runner. Winter weekends find us on a bleacher at some middle school basketball game watching our beautiful twelve year old Anna cheering for her team. Our youngest granddaughter, Sophie, has just announced she will be joining a dance team and needs ballet shoes. She's four and the light of our lives.

Spring finds us overwhelmed with a packed baseball schedule that our youngest son handles with relative ease. He's a senior in high school and a six-foot five inch varsity baseball pitcher for the Bulldogs. Thirty-two games later we are all tired, sunburned, and ready for a vacation...but happy to see how well he is doing.

My husband works two jobs ... one with the school system working with children who have language difficulties and one in the evenings with stroke victims and such who have speech impairments. Right now, my job is to take care of him when he finally gets home, and to be mama to our boys. It's a position I love, and one that leaves me time to visit my 84 year young mom who lives an hour away. I'll drive down for a couple of days and the two of us go out for lunch to her favorite little restaurant (The Front Porch)...where we'll share soup and a sandwich and the latest news and a bunch of smiles and silly jokes and memories. I cannot tell you how precious this time is for me. While I'm down there, I try to squeeze in a breakfast or lunch with my good friend, Marla. We'll meet over coffee (she drinks hers hot, I drink mine cold) and discuss the kids and the state of education and the fact that our husbands work too hard. (Her husband is an anesthesiologist).

So while my life here in Appalachia is nothing like yours in the big city...it is a good life. A rich and full life, peppered with the things I love. And it is this life that colors the way I think and the way that I believe. Will I ever go back to the city? Possibly. My husband and I love the city..the lights, the bustle, the activities. We take off to the city several times a year and just enjoy the cultural offerings and activity and dining. We may even move to the city when he retires. But for now, Appalachia is where we were born, it's where we live, and where we'll stay. Blessings to you.

Ode to the Appalachian Coal Miner...

There are so many talented people here in Appalachia. For every person you have heard of from this neck of the woods who can play and sing, there are many more playing in small venues, who's names are known by few but who are every bit as talented as the biggest star who ever graced the stage. One might say that there is as much unmined talent in these parts as there is unmined coal. One such talent that I stumbled upon quite by accident while researching music and/or videos to share with you regarding the people of Appalachia is one Alan Johnston or "cathead 77" as he calls himself on the YouTube videos that he posts. If you have never heard Mr. Johnston, or his daughters Stacy Grubb or Jessi Shumate..you owe it to yourself to find one of their CDs. Cathead is a rare and wonderful talent with a Waylon Jennings like voice. Raw and natural. Truly. As real as it gets -and in every way Appalachian. It is his rendition of Sweet Appalachia (and that of his band, "South 52) that I chose to represent the spirit of my entire blog.

The link for the song "Sweet Appalachia", performed by Mr. Johnston, is posted above--directly under the cover picture. To hear this anthem for what it is to be Appalachian, just click on the words "Sweet Appalachia". I believe that this song was also recorded by the great bluegrass legend, Del McCoury as well, but quite honestly, for this particular song, I prefer the raw and unembellished voice of "Cathead" to that of Del. Maybe it's because I know Mr. Johnston is living the life he's singing about. He is a resident of West Virginia and has been most of his life, so far as I know.

I do not know Mr. Johnston's heritage but, judging strictly from his soulful, beautiful voice, and his remarkable ability to put feelings into words through the songs that he writes, I would venture to guess that he is of the Scotch-Irish desent like so many in Appalachia are. Mr. Johnston, if I am wrong, my humble apologies to you sir. But your music so touched a chord within me that I wanted to share it and give you your proper due here in this, my own humble forum.

The fact is, like so many talented Appalachians, Mr. Johnston has many songs, most of which you probably have never heard before. Many tell a story of an actual event that happened in Appalachia or speak to ongoing events that affect this region. All resonate with his deep and abiding faith. I chose one here for this purpose to share with you because it is a tribute to the Appalachian coal miner, a profession shared by so many here in Eastern Kentucky and all through Appalachia. The song is entitled "Sky of Stone" and the accompanying pictures that Mr. Johnston uses with his song are from a world that was exactly like that of my daddy's coal mining days. My daddy's work was before the big machines and the mountain top removal methods used today. Daddy and his fellow mine brothers worked with pic axe and shovel, often on their hands and knees for eight hour shifts, forcing the earth to give up her bounty. For this they received what, for the time, might have been an honest days wage, but also an old man's lungs by the time they were thirty.

Just as today, the coal companies back then got rich off the backs of these Appalachian men.--while Appalachian families struggled to make ends meet. I'm not anti-coal production by any means, but it has always been the case that the coal companies made the money while the people and the land of Appalachia were used so long as they had something to give and then left behind when they had "give out".

This song, so beautifully and hauntingly sung (and written) by Mr. Johnston, along with his video, tells the story of yesterday's Appalachian coal miner. It is the lives of our fathers, and grandfathers in pictures set to music. It is their story, and it deserves to be told and no one tells it better than cathead in this song. No words that I could write would give you a deeper understanding of the conditions in which these men lived and died. Enjoy-- and if it moves you as it does me...perhaps you could drop Cathead a note and tell him you enjoyed his music. Oh, and his lovely, and oh so talented daughter, Stacy, is the voice you hear singing backup on this.

Daddy, I know that no one loved or missed coal mining any more than you did and if God allows, I know you're listening tonight in heaven as Cathead sings this tribute song to you and your many fellow miners and their families of Appalachia.

Joe France, Jr.-- 1921-1995 --beloved husband, father, grandfather, and Appalachian miner, I dedicate this song to you.

--To hear Cathead's song "Sky of Stone" , click on this link:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0F1yB_7Wprk&featured=related

Note: Photograph above is called: "Coal Miner Teach Slone" I do not own the rights to this photograph. It is part of the Earl Palmer Appalachian Photograph and Artifact Collection, Library of Virginia, Richmond Virginia and can be viewed at the Library of Virginia website. All rights and priviledges for this photograph belong to them.

A Beautiful Soul

The year was 1926. To the world, she was just one more child born in the heart of the poorest of Appalachia. So what, you may ask, was special about the third of eleven children born to a mountain family who could barely feed them? This child just happened to be my mother. And like the beautiful stone for which she is named, my mom, Opal Virginia Lee France, has proven to be stronger than the circumstances from which she came, with a fire and beauty that is unique to her.

From the time that she was a small child, all she wanted to do was attend school. When she was three years old, she "slipped off" from her grandfather, Hiram Martin, to follow her two older sisters across a mountain to the school. Grandpa Hiram or "Harm" as he was called, brought her back and told her she would have to wait for her turn to go to school, but her love of learning had already been ignited. Sadly, however, education was not easy to come by in the mountains and time in which she grew up. Even when it was finally "her turn" she was only allowed to go to the eighth grade before she was required to stay home and care for her younger siblings (who later themselves went on to high school and some to college). But the dream of an education would not die and years later she returned to the mountain "David" school to finish her high school education and to watch her children go on to college and lucrative careers. By example, she taught that education was the one thing people can not take from you. And because education was so prized by our mother and father, we children came to know and understand its value.

But even when she was going to school, things were not easy. She only had two dresses. One to wear, while the other was being washed. She also had very little food to take in her "dinner bucket". At recess and lunch she would stand and watch the other little girls eat their fried apple pies with the delicate crispy curst and sweetened apple filling. Once, she even ventured to ask them for a bite, only to be turned down and laughed at. Most days, her bucket held only cornbread and beans and that was only when her mother had enough to spare for lunch.

As a young woman, she desparately wanted to join the women's Air Corp but her father strictly forbid it, and so she had to content herself with watching after her older sister's children. It was while she was at her sister's house that she met a hard-working, self-made, handsome, dark-skinned man of the community and married him after three months of "courtship". She was 23 years old and 87 pounds of pure determination and spunk, tempered by sweetness of spirit.

Two children later, her husband, a hard-working Applachian coal miner, became disabled through no fault of his own and would never be able to work again. She would go on to be the strong woman that she is and for the next forty years, she cared for him and their four chidlren until the day he died. She lead by example in her quiet, dignified way. She was stubborn but she had to be. She was steadfast and resolved. Yet, the unjust situation to which she had been born and the unfortunate circumstances in which life had placed her and her family never touched her heart nor made her the least bit bitter. Her countenance remained as sweet and as beautiful as the flowers that still grow on the mountainsides of her childhood home.

Now, 84 years young, Opal Virginia Lee France has raised four children, each a success in their own right, loved one man for 45 years 'til the day he died and has went on loving him since. She remains true to her God and her community and still works a four-day week at the local community center.

Gone is the smooth skin that once housed her smile. Faded is the rich chestnut hair that once framed the face of a hopeful young girl. But replacing that superficial and fleeting beauty is a beauty of another kind...a lasting beauty with the hallmarks of a heart having been through the fire of life and having remained ever young. To my mother on this mother's day...May I be half the woman that you are. How very blessed all have been who have known you. All my love, your daughter-- Geneva. P.S. I think I know where we can get some homemade fried apple pies and coffee...and this time...you can have all you want. I love you, Mom. Thank you for your influence in making me the woman I am today.

Opal Virginia Lee France at 85 years young in 2011.

Note: Photograph above is copyright GenColeman2010 and may not be used without permission.