Genealogy: Searching for the Posey House

While on my five-year genealogy hunt one day, I took my innocent children and niece on a search for the Posey house.

I’d stumbled upon a photo of it during a hurried three-hour session in the Allen County Genealogical Library in Fort Wayne, Indiana.

On that particular summer, my family was recovering from 20 years of a military life following my husband’s retirement and we stopped to visit friends from Los Angeles to Maine.

In about five weeks.

(Hey, after four years in Hawai’i we needed to blow all the carbon out of our poor van’s exhaust pipe!)

We’d spent two days with friends attending Concordia seminary and while my husband and children helped them move into an apartment, I spent three hours in a terrific treasure trove of material.

Among all that rich material was a drawing and a reference that it was standing near Port Tobacco, Maryland.

Still standing from 1640?

It was allegedly the oldest house in Maryland.

Fascinating.

And we were going that way.

The hunt

Three weeks later, my husband had flown back to California to work, so the Library of Congress intern (niece), two teenagers (boys), elementary school student (boy) and preschooler (girl) found themselves with me driving over the Governor Nice Bridge into Maryland.

We stopped at the visitor’s center and I asked about the house–which I’m going to call the Posey House just to preserve privacy.

The two docents weren’t sure but when I showed them the drawing and gave them the alternate name, they thought a local historian might know.

They called him on the phone.

He did know it.

He gave me convoluted directions that involved approximate mileage, a pink former electrical shop and a rutted clay road going up into the woods. “Good luck. It’s back there, but may be overgrown. You’ll see the sign and then you’ll know you’re there.”

Everyone in the car under 25 looked skeptical. They wanted to play with old friends in Annapolis.

But I had the keys and off we went.

Once the mileage approximated the historian’s guest, we kept our eyes peeled for anything on the broad highway.

Wait, was that it?

We had to turn around and backtrack, but spotted a small cinder block building painted a fading pink with a vague sign. A clay road climbed the embankment behind it into the woods.

Why not?

We bumped up and then down the road, passing several lovely old mansions tucked into the thick Maryland woods. The road came to an end at a split rail fence and there was the sign.

We found it!

I saw a woman working in a flower bed. I got out with my camera.

She was understandably suspicious, but I explained what I was searching for, who I was and pointed to my Hawai’i license plates. I’d obviously traveled a long distance.

I distinguished myself by knowing a great deal about the Posey family (of course–Francis Posey was my immigrant ancestor, arriving in Maryland in 1627. His son may have built the house).

She allowed me to take some photos and the kids got out and stood in front for a shot taken by my niece.

I appreciated her letting us do that and gazed a long time at the tiny middle section of the house that allegedly had stood for more than 300 years.

As I turned to return to the car, my five year began to dance.

She had not used the rest area . . .

The Posey house owner looked decidedly put out and I didn’t blame her. I hushed my daughter, but the woman threw up her hands. “All right, she can come into the house and use the facilities.”

I brought my camera and took some photos of the interior.

We profoundly thanked her.

I stood beside the van as my daughter climbed in, waved at the woman and looked around at the breeze dancing the woodland leaves.

The history I knew for sure

Eight generations back, my ancestors lived on this land–though probably not this little house (research done today suggests the oldest section dates from circa 1750 at the earliest).

Francis Posey  sailed a ship from a nearby dock to attend the Maryland Legislative Assembly as the Port Tobacco delegate.

Benjamin and Bennett Posey  lived nearby and knew the property. Their parents both died prior to the Revolutionary War. They joined the Continental Army from this neighborhood.

One day after the war ended, they rode away to their destiny farther west and never returned.

I was the first one in that long line of descendents–along with the children–to return.

Curious how genealogy allows time to fold over on itself and you catch just a glimpse of the past.

Thank you to that unknown woman who owned the Posey House and the kindness of strangers who provided directions.

Tweetables

A dancing five year-old and a peek inside history. Click to Tweet

The kindness of strangers and historical roots. Click to Tweet

Genealogy and the family vacation. Click to Tweet