Inked

Bows and arrows rise

in blue-painted memory,

whisper secrets in a language

that no longer exists.

I am compelled to tattoo

Pictish letters on my skin,

preserve the modern heir

of a distant arsenal.

Midnight ink voices

another century,

another continent;

marks my rite of passage.

It tells the story of us:

connections and parallels

in endless equinox―

a barcode to identify me as yours.

tk/March 2014




R.A.D. Stainforth considers a tattoo... 

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Magi

Natives, Slavs, dark Irish, moan

for elsewhere, sigh like an accordion―

they hover with snake eyes,

offer melancholy and vodka.

Smoke rises from their pipes,

twists the many places before

with all the next stations―

part boxcar, part gypsy wagon.

They swaddle in babushka, braid bone

in my hair, rock me in peat and hay,

croon lullabies of painted roses.

I am colicky―sleep takes a long time.

I dream of conjurers, hypnotists

whispering  a distant star―

a scent of madness and resin candles,
the raven-smooth face of the Black Madonna. 

tk/March 2014



R.A.D. Stainforth melts my words like candle wax... 

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*The Sleeping Gypsy, 1897, by Henri Rousseau

My DNA results...accidentally on purpose...

Last week the results from my mtDNA (maternal line) test arrived. My maternal Great-Great Grandmother was said to have been full-blood Cherokee. Like most Native American roots, it's hard to document on paper. Family Tree DNA already had my sample, so all I had to do was order an upgrade.

After eight weeks of anticipation, the results finally came in, not only confirming my Native American heritage from my mother's line, but also an unexpected percent of Ukrainian!  My main maternal links in order of percentage are: English, Irish, and Native American.

The Ukrainian connection explains a lot...my love of winter, melancholy, poetry, Russian icons, vodka...and maybe even why I recently bought a vintage student accordion, which I am slowly learning how to play. I find this all very fascinating.



* I snapped this pic accidentally on purpose

the number of dead people is increasing

Isn’t it so weird how the number of dead people is increasing even though the earth stays the same size, so that one day there isn’t going to be room to bury anyone anymore? For my ninth birthday last year, Grandma gave me a subscription to National Geographic, which she calls “the National Geographic”. She also gave me a white blazer, because I only wear white clothes, and it’s too big to wear so it will last me a long time. She also gave me Grandpa’s camera, which I loved for two reasons. I asked why he didn’t take it with him when he left her. 

my paternal great-grandfather, Glenn Hanna
with his portable bellows camera, circa 1910

She said, “Maybe he wanted you to have it.” 

I said, “But I was negative-thirty years old.” 

She said, “Still.” 


Anyway, the fascinating thing was that I read in National Geographic that there are more people alive now than have died in all of human history. In other words, if everyone wanted to play Hamlet at once, they couldn’t, because there aren’t enough skulls. 

― Jonathan Safran Foer

Speaking of dead people, photography runs rampant in my DNA. All my paternal grandfathers were photographers, starting with Joseph Lorenzo Dow Hanna in the 1850s, when photography was a new fangled art. Friday, on my routine Goodwill stop, I spotted this lovely old Kodak accordion camera, a smaller version of the one my great-grandfather Glenn Hanna used, back in 1910. It stirred that crazy photographic gene and I had to bring it home with me. All the grandpas nodded in approval.

image:  Kodak folding accordion camera, my latest Gee-Dub find

destination

My walls are covered

in cave writings

transferable graffiti

between generations

passed between

number one daughters

like passwords

in the air at the first snow

tribal smudges bruise

my Achilles' heel

to scrape squeegee clean

or saddle-up and ride

Tess Kincaid

August, 2011 

Thanks to R.A.D. Stainforth for reading this piece.  Check out his excellent blog, Black Dogs.


Click here for more Magpie Tales.

embracing my Native American DNA

deep dna

Those of you who read this blog, know I am always talking some particular thing that makes my DNA "tingle". Several of my readers have mentioned the concept of "Deep DNA". I've read a bit about the notion and am totally fascinated. Deep DNA is the theory that not only does our DNA helix determine our physical characteristics, IQ, aptitudes, and emotional traits, but possibly some of our ancestor's memories, as well.

There are portions of the DNA genome sequence for which no discernible function has been identified, often referred to as "Junk DNA". What if these mystery genes might bring with them the experiences of our ancestors? It's amazing to think we could possibly tap into feelings and memories of those who lived thousands of years before us.

I'm always telling WT I was some kind of metal smith in a former life. I am drawn to metal objects like a bee to honey. What if these certain DNA tinglings, as I like to call them, these feelings of reincarnation come from an ancestor in my line who was a blacksmith? After all, thousands of lives come together to make up my own unique DNA.

One day, several years ago, when I was heavily into my ancestral research, I was completely enamored with a certain great-great grandmother, Mary Hopkins Hanna. I spent much of an afternoon, logging her data into my family file, and seriously pondering her life, her emotions on losing a father in the Civil War, as well as a son to tuberculosis. That evening, as I was making dinner, I found myself humming a slightly familiar, but unusual tune. Several days later, I had to identify this stubborn earworm. After quite a bit of poking around online, I found it was Listen to the Mocking Bird, 1855, an American folk song popular during the Civil War. The song is a mournful tale, the singer dreams of his sweetheart, who is dead and buried. It's said to be one of Lincoln's favorites. Perhaps it was one of Mary's, as well.

Listen to the voices of your DNA. Our forebear's lives, their joys and fears are living in us. And they happen to make this particular girl tingle.


Click HERE to go to the Lincoln Library for a listen to the song, as well as the lyrics of Listen to the Mockingbird.

sepia saturday, we are who we were

In the last several years of genealogical research, I discovered my maternal Great-Great Grandmother, Mahala Ray, born in 1812, is said to have been full-blooded Cherokee. This is almost impossible to prove on paper, considering many Native Americans carefully hid their ethnic roots, completely disappearing into white families, to avoid atrocities such as the Trail of Tears. The word "squaw" was an epithet of utmost disgust. Many census takers presumed them to be white, and recorded them so in the records.

Mahala was born in Tennessee and spent most of her life in Jackson County. She married William E. Smith, had nine children, was widowed, and then married her widower neighbor James Spivey, 37 years her senior. Their son, George Washington Spivey is my Great Grandfather. Sadly, other than this, I know nothing else about her.

"We have come to understand that who we are, is who we were," said Anthony Hopkins, in the role of John Quincy Adams, at the climactic moment of Steven Spielberg's Amistad. This haunting quote from the film has often made me wonder exactly how much influence DNA, as well as the life experience of our ancestors, have on who we are today.

Pioneer life was harsh and childbirth unending. I would love to know Mahala's dreams, her fears, and what bearing her ethnicity had on her life. I also can't help but wonder what effect her life has on mine, apart from the obvious things, like the color of my eyes and hair. My DNA is tingling to know, since her story is also part of my story.

Family Tree DNA has my sample, on which I plan having additional tests run, to check for Native American genes. I'll be sure to keep you posted on the results. This would confirm the oral history that's been handed down through the generations.

vintage postcard from my collection

Every man is a quotation from all his ancestors.

Ralph Waldo Emerson

For more Sepia Saturday participants click [HERE].

the genome bug

Jen brought up an interesting topic for further discussion on genetics

and illness, in our comment conversation in the last post on Patrick

Tracey's book, Stalking Irish Madness. There are those of you out

there who are not as thrilled with the idea of genealogical research,

as I am. I know, it can be a tad dry. But take a minute to play it

forward, on a more personal level.

.

There is now a do-it-yourself DNA test, that can detect major

inherited genetic risk factors for diseases. It's what you might call

a genetic health scan. They can scan our genomes and tell us what

diseases are likely in our future. It is amazing that our DNA, once a

mystery, is suddenly a hot commodity. There are over two dozen

companies competing for it in cyberspace. This hot new technology

is fascinating, whether it's to find our illusive roots or chart our

future. Why wouldn't we want to have a peep in the crystal ball of

our future health?

.

But, what if the test showed your risks for heart disease to be

genetically low? Would this talk you out of taking care of yourself?

Granted, most testing companies don't take lifestyle issues, like

smoking, or family history into account, even though both can

bump the odds up or down. What if your genetic DNA shows the

odds of developing Alzheimer's is high? Would you rather be

blissfully unaware?

.

.

Be careful about reading health books.

You may die of a misprint.

~

Mark Twain

.

.

photo: wisteria vine at willlow manor

Genetic Genealogy

After hitting a brick wall in the ancestral search for the lineage of
WT's great-great-great-grandfather, Andrew, we submitted a
sample of his DNA to Family Tree DNA. When the results were
obtained, they were given over to his surname project. Compared to
over one hundred other DNA samples, from the same surname, we
were able to rule out several possible lineages. It was also amazing
to see what his geographic ancestral origins were. Hopefully, as
more participate in the project, we will be able to make an exact
match and trace Grandpa Andrew's family tree back to Ireland or
Scotland.

DNA testing can show if two people are related, suggested geographic

origins, if you are of African, Jewish, Native American heritage, or

even if you match Thomas Jefferson. In the field of genetic genealogy,

testing can help, through the surname projects, find documents for

that elusive ancester, his homeland, or if you are related to another

family with the same surname.

Family Tree DNA is a commercial genetic genealogy company based
in Houston, Texas with its partner laboratory, Arizona Research
Labs, housed at the University of Arizona. They offers analysis of
YDNA, mtDNA, and autosomal DNA to individuals for genealogical
purposes based on DNA samples collected using a cheek swab
method with a kit. All samples once submitted are stored at Arizona
Research Labs for future testing and archiving of DNA samples
collected from family members. In February 2009, Family Tree
DNA announced that they, in partnership with the National
Geographic Genographic Project, have tested over 500,000 kits.

My sister and I recently submitted our own DNA samples to Family
Tree DNA, just to see if we have a match.

There Will Be (in my) Blood

This photo was taken in about 1912 in Albuquerque, New Mexico. My Great-Great-Grandparents are on the left, Palestine and Mary, their daughter Winifred, who we fondly called "Auntie", their friends Jesse and Mable in front, and Mable's mother and sister in back. They moved their family to New Mexico from Indiana in an effort for their son, Guy, who was ill with tuberculosis, to recuperate.

Parts of the movie, There Will Be Blood, were actually filmed outside of Albuquerque. When I saw this film, I was transported straight back in time to the 1910 Albuquerque of my ancestors. I have never been there, but immediately recognized the rocky stubble of the landscape.

I have often wondered how Palestine's voice and accent might have sounded. In the film, Daniel Day-Lewis, who played the part of Daniel Plainview, was silent through the opening mining scenes. When he started to speak, in the first meeting with the townspeople, I felt chills listening to his character's distinctive voice! I was instantly back in time ... it could have been Palestine himself speaking! Day-Lewis studied oral histories of the time period to create his unique American accent and style of speech. I was absolutely mesmerized by his Oscar winning performance.

I also felt my roots in the wonderful surveying scenes, since I have several generations of surveyors from this ancestral line. Palestine, as well as his father, Joseph Lorenzo Dow Hanna, were surveyors. JLD served as county surveyor in Howard Co., Indiana from 1861-1865. I just might have to go back and see this film again, before it leaves the theater, just to feel my DNA tingle.