Friday, October 27, 2023

My Stolper Roots: Jeremias Schröder, the Rabbit Hunter - My 7X Great Grandfather, Part 1

 

I have been working on my family history for over two decades. This is going to sound a bit odd, but there are some ancestors who do not want to be found. They want to hide away with their assorted secrets, content to leave their descendants perpetually in the dark. From them, you must wrestle every scrap of information. There are also the ancestors who, if you prod them, whispering that if they want to be known, they need to give you a helping hand. I am always astonished (and sometimes, frankly a little spooked) when a brick wall will suddenly crumble after a “heart to heart” with these ancestors. Then there are the ancestors, who you are not looking for, have no knowledge of, and suddenly, there they are. Plop. Falling into your lap like ripened fruit tumbling down from a tree. That is exactly what happened in the case of my 7X Great Grandfather, Jeremias Schröder.

Each of us have 512  7X  great grandparents. There may be some family historians who know the names of all 512 of their ancestors, but I would guess, if they exist, there are not many of them. Jeremias takes two spots of the 512, as I descend from two of his great grandsons, Christian and Gottfried.

My Stolper family were, to be blunt, peasants. Hardy peasants, as my existence will attest, but peasants, nonetheless. Some of them may have been tied to the local landowners as serfs. As such, the records of their existence are minimal, confined to tax and church records.

The earliest surviving German church records are from St. Sebald in Nuremberg dating back to the year 1524. Lutheran churches began requiring the records of baptisms, marriages and deaths be documented in about the year 1540. The Catholic church started requiring the same record keeping in 1563 and by the year 1650, most Reformed Churches required the same.

For my family, most of whom belonged to the church in the village of Budow, the records appear to have been kept beginning in the year 1643. Until the very end of World War II, those records were intact. They encompassed three hundred years of the lives of my family and their neighbors.

In many areas of Germany, the records, or sometimes their duplicates, managed to survive the war. In the district of Stolp, however, it has been reported that two-thirds of all records (not just church records) were lost.

A series of maps will give you an idea of where the Stolp region and the village of Budow were located.

Below is a German map of the Weimar Republic which represented Germany from 1919 to 1937. The Baltic Sea (Ostee) is located along the coast of Pomerania, and in fact, is located directly below where the Baltic Sea is labeled.














A closer look at the area of Pomerania as of 1939 shows you the exact location of the District of Stolp. Stolp is the second furthest Eastern Kreis. There is an area in the southcentral portion of Stolp, that dips a finger down along both the borders of Rummelsburg and Bütow. It is within this area that some of the villages of the Budow Parish sit, with Budow located Northeast of the area.












Here is a map of Stolp Kreis. The blue area marks the location of Budow.

















In 2010, during my long-extended blogging hiatus, a genuinely nice German woman reached out to me. When I say reached out, I mean she did a very credible search to track me down. Can I just say that my experience has taught me that either a Schröder gene or a Quetschke gene must be where we get our research chops from, because invariably, these are the people who are particularly good at finding people and places.  

It turned out that she and I were third cousins. She descended from Great Grandfather Leo’s eldest sister, Bertha. We exchanged pictures and information, and she sent me two genealogies. One represented the line of Bertha’s father, Wilhelm Heinrich Schröder and the other was of Bertha’s mother, Caroline Wilhelmine Quetschke.

I, of course, was overjoyed. I marveled that there had been a genealogical interest in the family in earlier generations. It was at this point my cousin told me that genealogy was required by the government. The government in question was The National Socialist German Workers’ Party or more commonly known as the Nazi Party. She told me that the genealogy was completed in 1933, the year the Nazi Party came to power. My cousin told me everyone needed a completed genealogy. I don’t think that was strictly true in the beginning. However, a genealogy was, in fact, required of all Party members, and for all public officials, which included teachers.

Bertha Schröder had two sons who were teachers. They would have been required to prove their Aryan status by genealogical means. There was a booming business for genealogical work while the Nazi’s were in power. Carrying around a sheaf of genealogical papers that had to be produced on any kind of a regular basis turned out to be a bit unwieldy. The Ahnenpaß came into being. It was a small book, like a passport with all the relevant genealogical information, the entries on each page stamped and signed by the appropriate entity.

Eventually, more people were required to have an Ahnenpaß. I don’t know what percentage of the population carried genealogical passports, and I don’t know how many survived the war, but for those of us whose ancestors’ records were wiped out during and in the aftermath of war, they provide information that is no longer available.

In the information that I was given, Jeremias was not listed. The genealogy only went back as far as Anthonius Schröder, whom I now know was the son of Jeremias. There were no dates given for Anthonius, but his son, Johann Schröder, had a birthdate of 5 March 1725 and his place of birth was listed as Budow. This let me know that my family had been part of the Parish in Budow since at least the early part of the 18th century. In a place where the surviving birth records do not start until 1838, this was information I never expected to receive.

Not quite a year ago, a friend on a German Forum that I belong to, published a page of genealogy from a periodical that published family genealogies. It was in German and I used a program to translate it into English. Jeremias was in this genealogy, but for some reason I missed that Anthonius was also there. I remarked that it was interesting, thinking that it was not my family line. I have no explanation for why I didn’t realize the significance of what I was reading, but let’s just be blunt. I blew it. If Jeremias was doing any orchestrating of events, he was shaking his head at what a slow witted descendent he had.

Then, about a month ago, I noticed a DNA match. It was only a twenty centimorgan match. Usually, a match that small I don’t spend much time on, but I did notice that the match was on my father’s maternal side, my German side. I cannot pinpoint the moment I decided to reach out with a message, or any real logic behind my reaching out, but I wrote a brief note. To my surprise, a truly kind man answered me back. It was his father that I matched. 

We exchanged family trees, and while we had similar family names, neither of our trees went back far enough to figure out our common ancestor. However, on exchanging our information, he realized in the process of his research, he had found a genealogy that didn’t belong to his family line, but that a handful of the earliest ancestors on that tree were also My Ancestors.

That is when the pieces started to fall into place, and I realized what a wonderful gift I had received – from my distant cousin, my forum friend, and the son of a DNA match. I received the gift of my family - German ancestors that I might never had known except for the generosity of others.

In my next post, I will take a closer look at the information on Jeremias, delve into the history of the time, and draw conclusions about my rabbit hunting ancestor.

Until Next Time . . .

 

© 27 October 2023, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder

  

Map Attributions:

Weimar Map Attribution: By kgberger - own drawing/Source of Information: Putzger – Historischer Weltatlas, 89. Auflage, 1965, CC BY 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=3414361

Von Hellerick - Eigenes Werk, based on a map from [1], CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=65077963

Hardow, Rudolf, Karte de Kreises Stolp mit Bildern aus der Erdgeschichte, Urgeschichte, Kulturgeschichte, Volkskunde, Naturkunde, der Industrie, des Erwerbs u. des Sports. 1932, https://bibliotekacyfrowa.eu/dlibra/publication/3530/edition/3717#description, Public Domain, accessed 16 Sept 2023.

Sources:

Pommerscher Verein Freistadt, Stadtkreis Stolp / Kreis Stolp, https://www.pommerscher.org/cpage.php?pt=71.  Accessed on 2 Sept. 2023.

Germany Church Records, https://www.familysearch.org/en/wiki/Germany_Church_Records#Overview. Accessed 5 Oct 2023.

Stolper Heimatkreise e.V,  Kirchspiele – Budow, https://www.stolp.de/kirchspiele/articles/kirchspiel_budow.html, Accessed on 2 Sept. 2023.

Genealogy created in 1933 for descendant of Bertha Tuschy née Schroeder received by Terry Snyder, 2010.

Archiv ostdeutscher Familienforscher, “Schroeder,” 1998 5/6, P 175.

© 27 October 2023, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder


 


Wednesday, September 6, 2023

Happy 16th Blog Anniversary to Me 🎉

 

I’m not sure what exactly made me look, but I realized that I had just missed my 16th Blog Anniversary. Some of you may know, I started out blogging with a local newspaper, and because I wanted some control over my posts, I asked and was told there was no problem with setting up a duplicate blog on Blogger.

My original blog was called Desktop Genealogist, so naturally the duplicate blog was named, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged.

I took a big, long break from my blog writing.  There were a lot of reasons for the break.  I had pretty much lost my focus.  I got caught up in the likes and clicks.  I had health issues.

The group I was part of had decided to go on Facebook, and I was then and am now, diametrically opposed to Facebook.  I get why others use it.  My children have bemoaned that I was missing pictures of their babies, my foreign friends have hinted strongly that it would make life easier, and family and friends have repeatedly told me how “out of the loop” I am.

Meh.  I have always done my own thing, and my thing has never been about doing what everyone else is doing.  It is one of the few personal quirks I have come to value in myself. (Please don’t ask me about the personal traits I don’t value. The list would be tediously long!)

So, Happy 16th Blog Anniversary to me. (Only a little late.)












If you are interested, here are the top all-time viewed blog posts. 

1. “Tri-Racial Isolate: A Hidden Ancestry” posted 12 Jan 2009

2. "My Seneca County Ohio Roots" posted 1 March 2009

3. “How about it,  AncestryDNA, wanna be my hero?” posted 30 Sept 2014

4. “Looking for Catherine” posted 1 Feb 2009

5. “Death Certificates - Sources of Primary & Secondary Information"  posted 31 Sept 2007

6. “In Honor of the First US Woman Becoming a Presidential Nominee of a Major Party ” posted 7 June 2016  

7. “What do Fill Dirt, a 1500 Year Old Indian Mound, and the Wal-Mart Corporation have in common? Nothing Good!” posted 11 July 2009

8. “A Webinar, a database, and the forgotten African American Ancestor” posted 16 Feb 2009

9. “This Little Piggy” posted 14 April 2008

10. “Because the Boat Rocked” posted 24 May 2009

The most viewed blog post that I have posted in the last year? 

"Wordless Wednesday - Christmas Massacre" posted 21 Dec 2022
 

When I write, I write for myself.  If other people find the blog and like something I have written, that’s great. But in the end, and I forgot this at one time, I write what I feel I need to say. And that is enough for me.


© 6 September 2023, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Saturday, June 10, 2023

Today is our 34th Wedding Anniversary!

 

Sunday, May 14, 2023

The Art of Painting Pictures

The little girl hurt. She thought she could hear her daddy's voice. She wanted to tell him about her pain, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't talk and tell him that her throat hurt. She opened her eyes, and saw the sheets of her bed and thought it strange that a hospital would have red sheets.

Her mother in the waiting room didn't have the luxury of her daughter's confusion. When she saw the nurse running through the hall, she knew instantly what the red soaked nurse's uniform meant. Something had gone wrong. She knew, as only a mother could, that the red blood splashed over the front of the nurse's clothing was that of her child. 

It was a simple procedure, a tonsillectomy. Children had them all the time. The little girl, 7 years old, had suffered repeated bouts of bronchitis, and the family physician had said the young girl's tonsils were bad and needed to be removed. It would be an adventure, the mother had told her daughter, and the 7-year-old listened to her mother's words and believed them.

Instead, when the physician finally came and found the woman, his own eyes laced with concern, he told her they were trying to stop the child's bleeding and doing everything they could. He shook his head, patted her hand and walked back to be with his patient. 

The mother stood there by herself. Her husband, lulled by the routine nature of the surgery, had gone to work that day. The mother dazed and in disbelief, waited until they came to take her to her daughter's bedside in recovery. 

The little girl looked small and fragile. The mother thought her heart would break. The little girl moved in and out of consciousness, only vaguely aware of her surroundings those first two days in recovery 

The mother left that first night exhausted, and came back early the next day. She stayed at her daughter's bedside, leaving only long enough to shower, change and occasionally sleep. The child, once reunited with her mother, felt the comfortable safety that she always felt in her mother's presence, never once understanding how close she had come to death. 

The child never saw, never felt the fear behind her mother's smile, she heard only her mother's comforting voice, talking of things they would do when the girl was better. The mother's words were strong, and the picture painted in the little girl's head so clear, that not for even the tiniest of moments did the little girl think it would be otherwise. 

Slowly the little girl recovered. The surgery, the hospital were just a bad memory for the girl, nothing more. 

As the daughter grew, again and again, as life presented each new difficulty, she would come to her mother, listening intently as her mother found ways to paint a picture of a positive outcome, no matter how serious the problem. 

When the girl grew into womanhood and the problems became larger, the mother's words continued to create positive pictures. Even when the young woman didn't believe, her mother's words were so powerful, so filled with detail that the young woman moved forward on faith alone at the sound of her mother's words. 

It happened when the young woman lost her own baby daughter. The mother drew the picture of another baby, this one healthy framed in the young woman's arms and it was so. 

It happened when the young woman, in the midst of a broken heart and marriage, listened as the mother painted the picture of another love, a perfect partner for the young woman, and this too became so. And so it went, the mother teaching the daughter how to paint the pictures in her mind.

It would come as no surprise that the mother, who for years had been painting pictures in the mind, now put those pictures on canvas, sharing her talent with friends, family — charming even strangers with her work. 

And the daughter, who had not inherited her mother's artistic talents, found her own way to create pictures, creating them with words. 

Though many women have had an impact on my life, none more so than my own mother. It has been her strong words that have propelled me through the rough times (tonsillectomies and all) and helped me soar through the good. 

This tribute is written for you, Momma — for your wit, wisdom and warmth and most of all, for teaching me to paint pictures. I love you.


🎕 Happy Mother's Day, Momma.  🎕



Note: This post first published 13 March 2008 and republished in honor of Mother's Day. 2023.

© 13 March 2008, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder


Wednesday, May 10, 2023

Happy Birthday, Fly Killer

 


I’ve created a killer, a fly killer, that is. A few weeks ago, in the natural course of an energetic four-year running in and out, a quick thinking fly managed to breach our inner sanctum. Quick thinking yes, but maybe not so quick moving. After my own thwarted attempts at swatting the little pest, the grandson begged me to let him try. 

So I handed over the white fly swatter. And what do ya know? Deadeye managed to do in a few well-aimed swats, what Grandma had not. He killed that darn fly. 

 “I’m really quick, right Maw?” 

 “Yes, you are.” 

 “You couldn’t get him, could you Maw?”

 “Nope, I could not.” 

 “We don’t like flies, do we Maw?”

 “No, we do not.” 

 “Hey, are you goin’ to tell PaPa Al, that I’m quick?” 

 “Yes, I am.” 

 A few weeks later, when one of the deceased fly’s buddies made it in through the opened screen door, the grandson was not pleased when I managed to shoo the fly back outside. 

 “But, I wanted to kill him,” grumped the peanut gallery. 

 My explanation of a win-win philosophy was lost on a four-year old who thought I was just mucking up his chance at another fly victory. Later, as we played outside, the little guy got his chance when a hapless fly landed on one of our outside toys. Deadeye, took aim, and swatted the fly with his BARE hands, and put another notch in his fly killing belt. After a brief discussion about why it was good policy to wash one’s hands after such a heroic act, I said, 

 “Hey, I’m going to have to start calling you Fly Killer. Yep, I’m going to call you, Fly Killer Snyder.” 

 Silence, as the two of us walked the length of the stone driveway.

 Then, “Its okay, Maw. You can call me Fly Killer if you want.” 

 A few more steps, a quick kick of the stones, and then my buddy looked straight up at me and said, 

“I kinda like that name.” 

 Glad to oblige, kiddo. Glad to oblige.


Happy Birthday to FKA Fly Killer Snyder.  I love you, sweet boy. I don't know where the time has gone. 


Originally published 6 Oct 2008.

© 6 October 2008 and 10 May 2023, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder 

Happy Birthday, Mikey Boy!












 


Ah, Michael, you are the child who is so unlike me. Sometimes I have looked at you in awe, wondering how it is that I have produced such a child. By the age of two, it was obvious that you had outstripped me in mechanical genius, when you took it upon yourself to replace a dead battery in the toy train engine, that had finally, blessedly gone silent after weeks of constant use. You opened up the battery compartment of the toy, took out the old battery, went to the drawer where we kept batteries, pulled out the right size battery, put it in the correct way, closed up the battery compartment, and went toddling away with that pleased smile I’ve come to know so well and the train engine running, pressed noisily up to your ear. I watched the whole thing in shock. I, a woman who barely knew what a straight edge screwdriver was, had produced this child.

I remember one particularly trying day, when I had gotten out late from class. I had to pick your brother up at day care, you at preschool and your sister at elementary school. Nothing was going right. We were finally on our way, racing across town to get to the elementary school when we were stopped at a railroad crossing waiting for an approaching train. You had been begging me to turn the radio on, which I finally had done. Now, you were tugging at my sleeve asking me to turn the radio off. 

 “But, Mikey,” I said with all the exasperation I was feeling, “you just asked me to turn it on!” 

Mommy, just listen.” 

 So, I turned off the radio, and did just that. Wrapped in the cocoon of our car, you and I sat listening in companionable silence to the clickety clack of the train. You with that silly precious grin pasted all over your face, and me suddenly engulfed by your pure sense of joy. 

There are so many little slices of the world that I would have missed, my son, had you not been there to show me. Today is your birthday, Michael. I celebrate it not only for you, but for what having you has brought to my life. Happy Birthday, Mikey Boy!

Love, Momma


Originally published,  10 May 2009.

© 10 May 2009, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder


May and Busy Times

 So ...  May is a busy month in my family.  You have Mother's Day.  Followed by a lot of birthdays.  There is my Sister's birthday.  There is my Son's birthday.  Two Grandchildren were born in May.  Our cute curly haired red headed Great Grandson made his appearance three year's ago in May. (Wow, how is that even possible?) And finally, there is the guy who brought this startling revelation into my life: I am wildly attracted to tall red haired men, with sparkling blue eyes and a ready smile.  (Even when there hair turns white.) That guy, well it's his birthday this month, too.  

All of which is to say I'm busy and I won't be writing much this month.  However, I thought in honor of today's birthday boys, I would resurrect an older post I had written for each, a loooong time ago.  The next two posts are for them. 

(Also, my allergies this year are way over the top, making me officially cranky,  or as my husband would say, crankier.  High level crankiness does not make for good writing.)




© 10 May 2023, Desktop Genealogist Unplugged, Teresa L. Snyder



Terry

Terry

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