An Ode to Christmas and the Silvan Family of Fuentesauco, España

Writing THE GIRL IMMIGRANT when all through my files

I found documents stirring across thousands of miles

Various photos were tucked into SILVAN folders with care,

With fantastical hopes they’d multiply if I peeked there.

I dreamed of a time, far back in Spain’s day

when our forbears lived with guitar music and spade

their orchards were failing, their money grew dim.

And Hawaii soon called to reach out a limb.

So… many generations I am learning their names

their birthdates, marriages and the babies that came.

I readily walked through their streets to find signs

to show me rich histories maybe survived.

Our ancestors are all nestled snug in dirt beds

Visions of descendants never entering their heads.

But I try to imagine their Christmas long ago

With fiestas and celebrations both high and low.

A lacy mantilla covered our grandmother’s hair

and she’d just kneeled down for a long Christmas prayer.

When out on the plaza mayor, there arose such a clatter

she wanted to spring from her knees to see what was the matter?

Away to the window, someone’s child flew like a flash

Tearing up the aisle and tripping toward the sash. 

She tried to sit quietly, prayer-like and timid,

As this matriarch was feeling blessed and aged.

The moon on the crest of the cobblestone street,

Gave the luster of mid-day to those trying to sneak…

When, what to her wondering eyes should appear,

But all of her grandchildren smiling ear to ear.

With their parents behind them, so quiet and quick,

She knew in a moment she just might be sick

With excitement and pleasure, their footsteps came,

And she smiled at each one, whispering their names.

Now, Agustin, Jacinto, Celestino and Felisa

Teodora, Juanitco, Alejandro and Manuela, ~

Bring in baby Jose and move into my pew

And dash in beside me, to kneel for a few….

And then, in a twinkling, she heard the priest say

Feliz Navidad! Merry Christmas this day

Agustin, Juan, Victor, Geronimo and Crescencia

Smiling at these Fuentesauco Silvans in silencia…..

He glanced toward the Alvas, Martins, Hidalgos and more

Inhaled Christmas incense and watched its smoke soar

He thought his flock never looked so wondrous and fair

And felt Christmas peace arise all through the air.

These Spanish families would grow and multiply soon

Some might even try to fly up to the moon,

But Fuentesauco would shine like a beacon to draw

Descendants to meet these ancestors they foresaw.

I smile as I dream of how it was then, wondering slightly

how it really could have been; my people blending tightly

All part of my line with red or brown hair, blue eyes or dark

Their Spanish lives aching for food, aching to make a mark.

Our Spanish pride will never dim as long as we remember

How THE GIRL IMMIGRANT’s family was just a glimmer

Of a family before…descendants, young, old, tall and short

This story spanning across waters to their Hawaiian port

They left their homeland but kept Spanish traditions.

They played their music and sometimes eyes even glistened.

As they prayed.  They cried.  They lost children at sea.

But still persevering… as Americans, created thee and me.

Cousins: The Family of Paca and Pedro in Fresneda, Spain

Maria Angela and her mother, Francesca (Paca) Ruiz with Steven (2009)

Our last group of cousins consist of Francesca (Paca) Ruiz Martos and her husband, Pedro Nuñez Camuña.  We are related through Pedro Nuñez Camuña bloodline.  Before our trip to Spain in September, 2012, it was with great sadness to learn from our cousin (Janet M.) after her visit to Spain a couple months earlier, that Paca Ruiz died a few months earlier. Steven liked her very much.  Steven jotted notes for our family tree during his 2009 visit.

Before I met Maria Angela, I was vicariously introduced to her by a honking van outside our apartment in Puerta de la Torre.  The bakery truck's arrival lured all the children and Steven out the door quickly...donuts, breakfast rolls, bread and cookies littered the back end and our cousin was the delivery man: Paco Nunez Ruiz who is Maria Angela's brother.  While munching on donuts, I learned his brother, Antonio, owned the bakery and a store in Fresneda, a very small burg nearby.

Steven soon put their family 'together' for me and it was our next stop along a winding village road and into a small parking lot.  The building was shaped like an "L" with a small store adjacent to the home of Maria Angela and her husband, Manolo.  They ran the store for their oldest brother, Antonio.  (Of course, in Spain, the oldest brother always inherits... and typically the younger siblings are employed at the family business).

Adrian, Maria Angela, Steven and Esther in Huertacilla, Spain

The children of Paca and Pedro are Antonio, Juan, Josefina, Maria Angela and Francisco (Paco).  The day of our visit, a very short blonde woman with the bluest eyes like the sky greeted us: Maria Angela.  She did not speak or understand   English, clearly frustrated that we couldn't converse but Steven, as always, translated for us and it made it easier.  Maria Angela nodded and shyly smiled but if only... I'd studied the language harder.  I understood about 30% so at least I wasn't completely lost in the conversations.

On the other side of the "L" is a small cafe with tables and chairs crisscrossed along the tiled patio just outside the door to the store.  It was here that we conversed over Spanish café con leche and tapas with dessert quickly following.  Maria Angela's children are named Adrian (8) and Esther (6).  Esther pulled out a book from school and shyly extended it to Steven.  English!  Maria Angela hopes to learn from her daughter and talk to us in English on another visit.  (smiles all around here).

SPANISH COUSINS in La Fresneda, Spain

Our first stop in Spain was Alla en Frente, a beautiful restaurant owned by Antonio Ruiz Sanchez..... who employed his family.  This included Encarna (above), and his brothers: Paco, Joaquin and other cousins.   Antonio's sister (Josefina) and brother (Juan) had other employment.  Steven told me the restaurant was classy, beautiful and truly elegant.  In fact, he raved about it and explained that their Ruiz cousins (Pedro from yesterday's posting) owned a different kind of restaurant next door.  But --- when we arrived in front of the beautiful restaurant, it was empty.  We learned later, there were several tries to save the business --- the last was changing it to a pizza parlour.  Nothing worked.  Money was dim.  Everyone was laid off.  The restaurant was closed.  

Encarna had been the cook in Alla en Frente.  She is married to Paco Rosa (in photo above).  We drove around the corner to their house and all the hugs, laughter, kisses on each cheek and food embraced us immediately.  I met their daughters, Encarnita and Natalia and later --- their son, Francisco.  Encarna does not speak English but Encarnita speaks enough so we could converse in kindergarten stages.  What a beautiful family.  I still remember the wonderful food --- one of the dishes was a salad with peas, potatoes and corn.  When I asked what the white creamy sauce was, they said it was a mixture of mayonnaise and milk.  I never learned the specific answer and wish I'd asked more questions.  It was delicious.

The girls never stopped smiling.  Once, they even burst into laughter when Encarna was discussing her name and the name of her daughter, Encarnita.  In Spanish, 'carne' means meat.  All her life, she wondered why her mother named her meat!!  Steven and I explained that ENCARNACION (their true name) means carnation, a flower.  She beamed and nearly danced around the room.  This woman is over forty years old always thinking she was called meat!

The girls also are quite upbeat.  They are on Facebook.  They use the internet.  They are boy crazy. And they are adorable.  Encarnita had a tattoo on her leg that brought my smiles out in a wild glow.  This is Encarnita on the left, Natalia on the right.  And see Encarnita's tattoo --- :)

After they fed us, hugged us, photographed us and tried to make me understand their Spanish... Later, we all jumped in two cars and drove up into the hills to Encarna's father's house.  ANTONIO RUIZ is the patriarch of the family, 76 years old, who made us feel very welcomed in his home.  We sat on an open veranda where colored azulejos (blue and white ceramic tiles) lined the very large porch and surrounded the edge near the railings.  ENCARNA introduced us to her twin brothers, Paco and Joaquin,who look nothing alike but both offered their hugs and Spanish-cousin welcomes.  (Joaquin is the twin  brother with glasses)

 

During our visit with old Antonio Ruiz, Encarna led me down the beautiful tiled steps across the flower-filled yard and bent beneath the fronds of huge trees that lined the driveway and backed up next to the house.  Higos (Figs).  Fresh figs.  She pulled several off the limbs and handed me a bunch.  Then she pulled off the rinds and showed me how to eat them.  Once I started, I couldn't stop!  They were delicious and it brought to mind my life in Woodland, California as a child:  Figs littered the sidewalks when I was little and during my walk to school, my joy was squishing them all over the cement walk.  I'm sure the teachers loved it when I walked across the classroom floor.  I never liked figs except in Fig Newtons.  Since my day with Encarna and her family, all I remember about that day in the Spanish sun are hugs, laughter, food and FIGS!

VENTA PEPE GLORIA - Spanish Cousins ~

THE RUIZ FAMILY IN FRESNEDA, SPAIN

Imagine my delight when Steven drove us to Venta Pepe Gloria Restaurant, a place I had heard of through stories of my brother and father.  This was a place where (mostly men) people congregated to gossip, eat, laugh, watch television and principally connect with other Spanish family and a multitude of friends.  The restaurant's parking lot was large and beautiful gates led beside and behind to what I later learned was the special area where baptismal and wedding parties took place.  The land was owned by Ruiz people as far as the eye could see.  Each family had a little portion of soil to create their homes and businesses.  This particular restaurant sat smack next door to another family restaurant named Alla en Fuente -- to our dismay, it closed a couple of months earlier. (More about that family in day 3 of posting.)

Walking up the stone steps to the large veranda framed by a beautiful railing, we walked inside the double doors and Steven was instantly recognized as a long-missed cousin from America.  Steven's face lit up when he saw Paco Fernandez Carnero (also a cousin) at the bar...and watching Paco rush around the end of the bar to greet him with a big Spanish hug and kisses on each cheek, he turned to me and I was embraced, cheeks kissed, and pulled into the warm atmosphere.  (Of course, everyone assumed I was Steven's novio (girlfriend) instead of his sister).  When I was introduced as the daughter of Miguel Ruiz Silvan, Steven's sister...the sounds of welcome were clamorous.  There is a photo above the bar showing Steven with our father during one of their trips several years ago and Paco grabbed it to show us...  This is Paco with his wife, Joaquin.

We were led to a table, bread and a plate oil were delivered with glasses of wine and I felt like I'd come home.  Within minutes, the owner arrived --- Pedro Ruiz Gomez --- more hugs, more cheek kisses and Spanish words flew between him and my brother, more hugs, more wine.

Pedro's sister is named Joaquina, married to Paco Fernandez (the bartender).  Joaquina is the cook in her brother's restaurant, her husband is the bartender and their nephew is a waiter -- Andres!

Pedro's wife is named Maria Laura Fernandez.  They have two daughters; 16 year old Elise and 13 year old Laura.  Elisa speaks English very well and her delight in understanding and conversing with us was a sight to behold.  I can still see her smiling.  Laura speaks no English --- but offered to give us a special treat!  Her specialty is the Rumba.  So, we made a date for the next day after visiting Alora (looking for information on Rosa Romero Fernandez, our great grandmother) and Laura would dance for us!  (And she gave me a lesson too...All I need now are my abuelita's castanets that my Aunt Millie promised to me yesterday!)

You will notice the name of the restaurant is Pepe Gloria.  This is the name of Pedro's father.  He is one of the older generation and knew our grandfather Bernardo (Ben) Ruiz Romero.  The family connections made words swim through my head.  I took detailed notes and the photographs are thick in my file.  Despite my lack of Spanish, I managed to converse with smiles, my eyes, hand motions and toasting wine to them... They nodded, hugged, kissed both of my cheeks in return and took me into their family as their own.

Ruiz cousins across the ocean

During this Christmas season, I have been overwhelmed with new cousins who have treated me as a special long-lost relative.  And I, in turn, have embraced these wonderful people with a smile that will not quit...and a longing to get to know them better.

There are five days until Christmas and the countdown I envision is to honor them with their story.
My first story is about Angela Ruiz Fernandez, who was named after her paternal grandmother, Angela Ruiz Roman, the mother of Juani Ruiz Ruiz --- Young Angela's father.  Juani Ruiz Ruiz is married to Maria Delores Fernandez --- Angela's parents.  Angela has a sister named Margarita (who recently had her first child, a son) and a brother named Juan Jose, who has a daughter named Maria.  Juani and Maria Delores were amazing and eagerly shared any information I needed, including a photograph of their family (our family).  I was sorry I did not meet their other children but enjoyed photographs in their lovely, Spanish-tiled home above the town of Los Nunez, across the small valley from my father's house called la casa ronda.

 This photo is Angela Ruiz Roman on the left -- Juani as a young man/father next to his wife, a younger Maria Delores Fernandez....and their two oldest children.

ANGELA --- My first memory of Angela (pronounced AN'-hell-ah) was her huge smile, large brown eyes and the perplexing look on her face as she realized I did not understand Spanish well enough to converse with her.  As in many situations such as this, the smile on the face, through the eyes and the constant nodding in place of words seemed to be our way of connecting.  Luckily, she has some English and shared them with me --- which definitely put a smile on MY face also.

The second memory was the delightful enjoyment in motherhood she displayed and pride in her boys.  Little Ivan is ten months old and absolutely adorable with huge blue eyes and a smile that crinkled up his little face. By the time school was out, she introduced us to her older son, Ruben, who is six --- He was as dark eyed as Ivan was blue eyed and extremely shy where Ivan was overly exuberant.  My family across the ocean!

Angela and I share an across-the-miles relationship via email and Facebook that I never expected and this connection has added a new dimension to the familial and genealogical research I so enjoy;  she and her father drove into the country to snap a photo of my grandfather's house where he was born (Bernardo Ruiz Romero) and perseveres with her help trying to send me the birth certificate of her paternal grandfather, Jose Ruiz Nunez.  I hope to receive it soon, especially because it will solve a piece of the Ruiz family puzzle.... More on that issue another time.

Their long walk vs. my long walk

I love walking, especially when I know it is burning calories and I can have that last piece of mince pie or that margarita without the fear of both landing on my hips.  While living in Virginia, I used to walk three miles every day and it took about an hour on our country road.  It was a workout but what a feeling of accomplishment when I crawled up the driveway afterward...  Now, in Arizona there is no country road but sidewalks and streets, a little traffic but very walkable.  I have been walking about a half hour instead of the old hour walk but still felt good about it.

Then, I decided the Nike+iPod sensor would help me because a voice tells me how many calories I burn, how far I walk, when I meet the half way mark, how fast I am walking etc.  That tiny little sensor 'finds' my iPhone where my iTunes music sits and the instructions were followed to the letter...  Placing the little sensor in my sock, I walked around the house to get it synched and up popped this wonderful display asking if my workout request would be distance, time, calories or anything.  Wow.  I was impressed.

This morning, sensor inside my sock, earphone to my head I started off on my normal route even though it was barely 50 degrees.  I was ready to roll as a Samba got my gait started and I was off.  Suddenly, after walking nearly half my route a woman's very nice voice cut into the music telling me I had walked half a mile.  That surprised me... I was so sure I'd walked farther...  Then, reaching the end mark of my usual route, the woman's voice cut in again to tell me I'd reached the one mile mark.  What???!!  I stood still a moment, disbelief flooding my senses.  Well, I said to myself ----(I had been deluding myself since June when I arrived and began my walking routine)  I'd just walk the entire route again and that should be two miles.

When I finished my usual route for the second time, the little voice (I no longer thought it was a nice) cut into my Spanish guitar music to tell me I had reached the 1-1/2 mile mark.  What???!!  That wasn't possible.  I was dragging a bit but pushed on... and walked up and down every street in the housing development waiting for this woman to give me the word to STOP.  Never happened...the music went on but I didn't.

Limping back inside the house, I realized I'd been walking over an hour which in the Virginia days would have been three miles...  I flopped into a chair and studied this little piece of....plastic and flipped through the iPhone Nike+iPod APP for more information..... when, suddenly an unbidden vision of immigrants walking all day long for twelve days floated through my mind.  Oh. My. God.  How did they do it?  They had babies to carry, toddlers to pull along, trunks to lug across the miles in carts, blisters to ignore, miles to endure.  Some women were pregnant, some losing their babies along the way, birthing them near Gibraltar only to lose them on the ship voyage.  NOW, I feel small --- never to complain about the distance again.

Although I will drive the route today just to measure how far I walked because that sensor could be wrong....  but I AGAIN applaud the tenacity, courage, strength and strong will of our ancestors.  Their history gives me such pride.... and even if the sensor is right... I will walk and walk and walk some more.  I know I could never catch up to those people's long march to Gibraltar so long ago.

ORTERIC Immigrant Ship Manifest - INDEX

Compiling the ship's immigrant passenger names and indexing them with the villages they left and the family they left behind continues toward completion.  Just a gentle reminder to anyone whose interest might lie in finding your immigrant ancestors who may have been on the SS ORTERIC sailing from Gibraltar on February 24, 1911 to Hawaii --- this list may hold the names of your ancestors.

The document is currently being created with the invaluable help of a man from Malaga as he studies every page that Steven A. has painstakingly transcribed from my Orteric page copies.  It is a wonderful work in progress.  At this time, there is an email address for readers to use if there are changes they notice on their own family's transcribed information.  We are doing the best we can as we continue to look at extremely difficult cursive letters and change them into readable type.

You can find the document at ORTERIC IMMIGRANT SHIP MANIFEST - INDEX in progress

Eusebio Gonzales --- two of them!

With the diligence of a bulldog, my genealogist in Seville has given me information that is perplexing as much as interesting.  In the Silvan family, Cristencia (whom he tells me may be spelled Crescencia) Silvan Hernandez married Eusebio Gonzales in Fuentesauco, Zamora, Spain in May 1906.  There have been several questions that arose based on differing names on documents in the family as well as a mystery about a military medal he earned and never received.

With my curious nature, I wanted to find out why this man was called Eusebio Gonzales Hidalgo on the certified birth record one of his children received from Spain some years ago and on other documents he was called Felix/Felis/Feliso Gonzales Hernandez.

There is a story in the family that tells me he and his sister, Isabella, were orphaned at a young age.  A family in Fuentesauco had daughters and added Isabella to their family, adopting her but refusing to accept Eusebio.  He lived in an orphanage and was treated badly so he ran away and joined the Spanish military.

The next part of his life shows he married Cristencia Silvan, the aunt to my grandmother, Manuela Silvan.
The ship's manifest lists him as Felix G. Hernandez.
Why Hernandez I wondered?  Was his name changed to Hernandez because Cristencia's parents made a home for him?  Was he related to Agustina Hernandez, Cristencia's mother's family?  The questions shot rapidly through my head.

I wanted answers.  Fernando Hidalgo de la Terada in Seville tried to find Eusebio's military records.  We wanted to find that elusive military medal he'd earned all those years ago but never received.  Now the story gets fuzzier!  Here is Fernando's findings:

Hello Patricia,

I've received your family's certificates but... I think there is a problem with your information because Eusebio González Hidalgo and Félix González Hernández are not the same person, as you can see in the attached with all the information the certificates have given to us. In fact, Eusebio González Hidalgo married another person in 1907 and died in Fuentesauco in 1977... and Félix González Hernández married Crescencia in 1906...

II.- Celestino Silván. Natural de Fuentesaúco, en 1822. Jornalero. Casado con Agustina Hernández, natural de Villamor, hija de Miguel Hernández, natural de Villamor, jornalero, fallecido antes de 1884, y Margarita Martín, natural de Villaescusa (Zamora), fallecida antes de 1884. Fueron padres de:

1. Juan Francisco Silván Hernández (tomo 5, fol. 162-163v). Casado en la Iglesia de Santa María de Fuentesaúco el 23 de abril de 1900 (tomo 5, fol. 145v), con Rita Marzo Trascasas Marzo, natural de Toro, en 1881, hija de Manuel Trascasas y Manuela Marzo, naturales de Toro.
2. Crescencia Silván Hernández, natural de Fuentesaúco, 15 junio 1884, tomo 10, pág. 114, hija de Celestino y Agustina. Casada en Fuentesaúco con Félix González Hernández, el 5 de mayo de 1906 (tomo 5, fol. 257).

Eusebio González Hidalgo. Natural de Fuentesaúco, Zamora, 14 agosto 1881, tomo 8, página 171, hijo de Luciano González Vicente, natural de Fuentesaúco, jornalero, hijo de Bernardo González, labrador, fallecido antes de 1881, e Isabel Vicente, naturales de Fuentesaúco, y María Hidalgo, natural de Fuentesaúco, hija de Ángel Hidalgo, jornalero, y Marcelina Antón, naturales de Fuentesaúco. Casado con Gabina Alba Zamorano en Fuentesaúco el 27 de abril de 1907. Falleció en Fuentesaúco el 9 de marzo de 1977 (tomo 2, folio 130).

 THE CERTIFICATES SHOULD BE IN MY MAILBOX IN THE NEXT FEW DAYS.  A VERY EXCITING PART OF THIS EMAIL FROM FERNANDO RELATES TO THE MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE HE FOUND FOR CELESTINO SILVAN AND AGUSTINA HERNANDEZ!  Curiouser and curiouser!

My Family Health Portrait

How many of us follow our genealogy to find the health history that might follow our own families?  How many have a disease in their family and wonder where it came from?  The following link will take you to a government site where you can complete the forms and share with your own family so many of the questions can be answered.

Create My Family Health Portrait

A Christmas Treat

This is such an enjoyable "journey" for us!

My mother emailed it to me this morning and it is easy to use and like candy to the eyes.

Enjoy!

Left Click on the link below
Type in an address and SEE the house!

Go "home" for the holidays

A Málaga Connection

This is a study in ancient Spanish soldiers and spiritual impressions.  The group is in a large alcove near the back of the church in the great cathedral of Málaga, Spain in the Costa del Sol.  While in Spain, my brother, Steven, marched me to the scene because he was stunned to see the remarkable resemblance between this soldier in the close-up photo and his own face.  The Spanish connection appears strong, even though we are but half Spanish, he felt the pull this statue invoked so I wanted to honor his feelings on a posting all its own.

For without Steven and his Spanish-speaking ability for translation and discussion and his friendships with the Spanish families in the southern part of Spain, my journey would never have been the experience I will always remember with smiles and gratitude.

Celestino Pedro SILVAN Dosales ~ new information

It was with great excitement that I received information today with confirmation of my 2nd grandfather's birth year = 1822.  With the help of a genealogist in Seville, whom my brother and I met during our recent visit to Spain, I will soon have further documentation clarifying more family history.

When my great Aunt Crescencia Silvan Hernandez Gonzales was born in 1884 --- her father was listed as 62 years old!  And there was one more child, Agustin, who was born three years later.  Now with this window into the past I will soon have papers in front of me --- Our 2nd grandmother must have been much younger than her husband since she was still within child-bearing age.

The puzzle pieces continue to grow --- and with so many wonderful research helpers assisting me, those same puzzle pieces are fitting into the big picture!

The house of abuelo (grandpa) Bernardo Ruiz

While in Spain last month, Steven and I asked our cousin, Juani Ruiz, if he knew where our grandfather was born.  We'd been told he was born at home, like so many other babies in those days.  Pepe Garcia told us grandpa had been born in a house in an area called Arroyo de los Olivas, which we knew was near Almogia.  Juani shook his head negatively and told us no, it was nearer to Los Nunez, where he lives currently and where la Casa Ronda is located, our first father's house across the little valley from him.

This was the day before we left Spain and we were disappointed we couldn't follow this clue!  However, with the kind and eager help of Juani's daughter, our cousin ~ Angela, we now have a photo of the house grandpa Ben was born in ~  Angela reminded me the house had been renovated (perhaps several times since the 1900s, obviously).  AND, the house is located between Los Nunez and Almogia.  So, the location is not necessarily cleared up to pinpoint it for an address but we are so happy to know more of grandpa's past!

SS ORTERIC, the immigrant ship 1911

When I first began my Spanish family genealogical quest, I did not know where to begin; I floundered, feeling very alone and lost until I encountered a Genealogy Class in Williamsburg, Virginia --- From then on, I had my lights on ~

Some of my heaviest questions were how did they get to America?  Why did they leave?  Did they come alone or with other family members?  We were given lists of genealogy sites that were free, others we had to pay to join.  I was amazed at the amount of information just waiting to be plucked from the internet!  I learned about www.ancestry.com and maneuvered around the site until one day I was astounded to find immigration ship manifests.  After striking out several times, I typed in Trascasas instead of Silvan and my abuelita's name popped up.  From there, it is history (literally) as I followed the manifest to other families and then eventually found my Ruiz family on the SS HARPALION.

I did not want others to feelalone when they began their family quests, so I decided to begin transcribing the names and vital statistics from the SS ORTERIC onto a document that would allow other Orteric descendants to find their families.  It was a daunting task and my own research and writing got in the way off and on for months --- until a stranger, also an Orteric descendant wanted to try his hand at transcribing with me.  He has managed to add many, many names and now has the help of a genealogist who found me through my website.  With Steven A.'s hours of hard work and Cristobal N.'s invaluable help, we have managed to go page by page through the manifest and decided to share our findings on a public document.

I  cannot simplify the website to two words as this blogger site won't allow me to shorten for ease in access. Click on the link below to access the Google document.

ORTERIC'S IMMIGRANT SHIP MANIFEST -- An Index in Progress

PLEASE REMEMBER -- THIS IS A WORK IN PROGRESS...
IF YOU FIND ERRORS about your family, please send an email to request the changes to us at: orteric1911@gmail.com

Maybe one day the HARPALION and others may be transcribed... If they are now, I am unaware of it.  Another author has created a transcription for the HELIOPOLIS in google docs and it is very detailed.

This is an exciting project and there are hours and hours involved in its creation.  There never seems to be enough THANK YOUs but I keep trying to find them ~

Spanish journey memories

Gathering photos to create a memory collage for my gallery is too difficult when there could never be a collage large enough to encompass the memories.  At the top left, is Zamora, Fuentesauco and the street and sign where the Silvan Hernandez family lived.  Standing in Seville at the Plaza de España with the miraculous colored tiles everywhere, then Almogia --- more tiles, the Calle Winters sign and Gibraltar -- the rock straining against a skyline that so many Spaniards remember as their last sight of home.   And Toro!  The village of a long line of Trascasas where we found elegant wines, a view of forever and a man in the juzgado who pulled out ancient books to look up our family names.  Then, Avila where Steven tried to climb the castle wall and the food and sangria in all the villages and big cities... Garbanzo bean soup, bonito (tuna, roasted red peppers on bread) and more.  Seeing la casa ronda in Los Nuñez, standing on the terrace and feeling the dream...Seeing Benagalbon where the Ruiz family lived, going to Alora where our ancestors were born and lived before being buried on the hill at the castle.  And Steven introducing me to Spanish olives, boquerones and the church where Picasso (Ruiz) was baptized in Malaga.  And the cathedral in Malaga where Steven introduced me to a long-ago soldier with his face (bottom photo).  And meeting Ruiz cousins in several villages who fed us, hugged us and made us feel at home.   Then, Nerja, Torremolinos and Marbella where the Mediterranean's siren song still calls...

Another ancestral village -- Villamor de los Escuderos

The same day we left Villaescusa behind, we followed the map back toward Fuentesaúco and the road beyond to the west.  Six miles from Fuentesaúco  we found the village that was small, poor and a little decrepit but welcoming nevertheless.   We saw some stone and cement buildings that were very small, very old and falling down around themselves.  And so many 'se vende' (for sale) signs above the doors and windows as we drove slowly through the town.  It was obvious the unemployment disaster made its mark in this village and we could feel the heaviness around those pathetic signs.

We were intrigued by a half-cement wall painted with pictures and words that told us it was a town filled with young people though and that made us smile. 

The church steeple could be seen from the main road so Steven guided the car toward the spire and an old stone church rose above us.   

The population was 469 last year, so it wasn't surprising to learn there was only one church and cemetery in the village.

The stones were golden colored and were obviously very old like so many others we had seen.  Close behind the church sat the cemetery…and another locked gate.  Shaking it a bit, I was happy to see it rattled open for us… Steven followed, shaking his head as I’d burst through another gate.

Our goal was to find a gravestone for Miguel Hernández Hernández, the father of Agustina Hernández Martin, mother to Victorino, Juan Francisco (our abuelo) and Cristencia --- the Silvan immigrant families who later became Souza, Medeiros and Gonzales.  

We knew Agustina had been born in this village so it seemed logical her parents were undoubtedly buried somewhere in the soil that spread around us in every direction.  Walking through the graveyard gave us a prickle family but we found no family stones within the old stone walls.  They were either too poor or the etchings dissolved over time.  We had a few spiritual moments, took some photos and prepared for the main village --- Fuentesaúco, where the Silvan family began their journey to Hawaii.

A RUIZ connection from Spain

Today is a big banner day in my genealogy quest -- a MAJOR breakthrough thanks to my genealogist contact in Malaga, Spain:  MARIA REY GARCIA was my grandfather's stepmother.  She was well-loved and they spent a loving life together into their later years.  We did not know anything about her family, her first husband or the life she led before marrying my great grandfather, a widower, FRANCISCO RUIZ GARCIA.

Today, the story lights up.  We now have, with the help of Cristobal N., a family tree for Maria and I will post it here for the Ruiz family whose bloodlines stem from Maria Rey Garcia and Francisco Ruiz Garcia.  (two separate Garcia families)

Diego Rey Palomo

Born in 1834 in Colmenar (Málaga)

He died on Monday, July 8, 1878 in Colmenar (Málaga), 44 years

Cause of death: Brain fever

Gender Male

He was the brother number 2 of 3 brothers

His father, Diego REY Perez * 1805 +1870

His mother, María PALOMO Fernandez * 1810 +1870

Older Brother: Alonso Rey Palomo * 1832 +1902

Younger Brother: Pedro Rey Palomo * 1845 +1911

Spouse: Maria Garcia Naranjo = 1860 * 1840

Civil Marriage Date: 1860

Civil Marriage Location: Colmenar (Málaga)

Maria Garcia Naranjo

Born 1840 in Colmenar (Málaga)

Gender Female

She is the sister number 7 of 8 children

Her father, Gaspar GARCIA Matías * 1795 +1870

Her mother, Maria NARANJO Quintana * 1800 +1870

Older Brother: Antonio Garcia Naranjo * 1835 +1900

Younger Brother: Cristobal Garcia Naranjo * 1845 +1900

Spouse: Diego REY Palomo = 1860 * 1834 +1878

Civil Marriage Date: 1860

Civil Marriage Location: Colmenar (Málaga)

Children:

Diego Rey Garcia * 1861

Maria Rey Garcia * 1863 - Our current records indicated birth year as 1871*  

Isabel Rey Garcia * 1865

*I believe the above information clarifies her age was two years younger than grandpa, not ten.

Maybe we may learn something about Maria's first husband, Senor Morales...Yes, I am now GREEDY.

Ancestral churches in Toro, plus more

As a follow up to my previous posting about Toro -- where the Trascasas and Marzo families lived, I wanted to post a street grid to show the churches and where our family lived.  This street grid (plano) was recently emailed to me from the tourist office in Toro and it's been a 'walk in their shoes' looking for the churches listed in the marriage document for Manuel Trascasas Alonso and Manuela Marzo Garcia as well as the birth document for their daughter, Jacinta Modesta (sister to Eustoquia Rita Trascasas Marzo, my bisabuela/great grandmother).

1.  Iglesia de Santo Tomas Cantuariense is located at #4 on the map.  This is where Manuela Trascasas and Manuela Marzo were married.

2.  Iglesia de San Sebastian de los Caballeros is located at #8 on the map.  This is where Manuela Marzo Garcia worshiped based on the marriage document.

3.  The home of Manuela's parents,  Gregorio Marzo and Teresa Garcia, lived on Calle San Juan.  You will see that street just to the left of #20 on the map.

4.  The home of Manuel Trascasas and Manuela Marzo was situated on Calle Oliveras.  You will find that street just below the #1.

While Steven and I walked through the many winding and interesting streets in Toro, we remember the Calle Doctor Oliveras well.  It was situated near the juzgado  where we met with the registrar -- and who sent the documents to me to find when I returned from our journey in Spain.

Genealogy helpers along the way

For someone who loves words like I do, one would think I would never be at a loss for those words but...

During my genealogy journey, I have met several strangers, eager to help me and I want to express my deep appreciation for their diligence and say how happy I am that our paths have crossed.

Steven A. -- whose valued expertise in translating documents, rooting out clues I have missed and being my cohort in establishing a document that will eventually show the SS Orteric passengers who traveled with our families --- in an orderly and organized Google document for others to read.  He has spent hours helping me decipher those old Spanish documents and lucky for me, he enjoys it like I do ~

Fernando H. -- a genealogist we met with in Seville, who has guided me toward the research that will help with the historical facts in my book, Manuela's Footsteps.  He suggested I look at navigation historical books written by Nicolas Salas, a Spanish author, for in depth information about the waterways in 1911, the cost of tickets, where the boats sailed, the pier they boarded the ship on the Guadalquivir River and more.

Nicolas Salas --  With my inability to read Spanish without the help of a trusty translation program (that is often crazy), I knew I'd hit a brick wall.  However, my genealogical journey has often slammed me against brick walls so I did what I usually do:  I scaled the wall and found the author's web site, wrote to the man and he responded!  He has written me several times and sent me valuable information and photos of historical events to add to my cache of research.  The most recent email he sent to me was inviting me to Seville to enjoy the celebration of the city naming a street in Seville after him.  I wish!

Cristobal N. -- This man found me through my www.patriciabbsteele.com website, where he noticed I am working on the SS Orteric manifest that I mentioned above.  During our correspondence (thanks again to the translation program!) he offered to help me with genealogical questions for the Ruiz family because he specializes in genealogical detail in Andalucia.  He also gave me a little lesson on the "s" being pronounced as a "z" and shortened words (etc.) that I found while in Spain with my brother.   He hopes to find detailed information for our ancestors in Benagalbon and Alora.

Isabel C. -- A charming woman at the tourist office in Toro, Spain has responded to several of my email requests and today I received a detailed map of the town in color clearly showing our Silvan ancestor's churches and streets where they lived.  Santo Tomas and Santo San Sebastian churches are well marked and to think we could have walked along those cobblestone streets during our walkabouts but did not realize we were so close... but I'm delighted to have this much.  I will include the map in my book, Silvan Leaves.

And not to forget my cousins in Spain, whom I have met recently.  Angela R F hopes to help me find the house where Grandpa Bernardo Ruiz Romero was born (a photo?) and there was a puzzle piece she is helping me find:  Her great grandfather was Bernardo's brother!  What?  We have Juan, Miguel and Diego born in Spain.  Is this a new brother we haven't learned of?  Or....?  I am most anxious for the results of her findings.

There are so many who have helped so much.  This is another Thank You to add to my many before.  I can't say it enough and since I am obsessed with finding our family and noting it all down --- I will say it again.
Muchas gracias a ustedes.

Villaescusa, a Silvan/Martin village and a poem

Villaescusa, Province of Zamora, España

Wikipedia defines Villaescusa as a town of Spain, in the province of Zamora, in the community of Castile and Leon with a population of 321 inhabitants.  

This was definitely one of the tiniest ancestral villages we visited, just a few miles from Fuentesauco.  From this village, came Angel Silvan Martin who married Maria Alejo Dosales, the father of Celestino Pedro Silvan Alejo, my second (great) grandfather (bisabuelo) and Margarita Martin Rodriguez, the mother of Agustina Hernandez Martin, my second (great) grandmother (bisabuela).   It is my theory that the Martin and Alejo families from this village were also ancestors to the Martin cousins in California; This link will be discussed at length in my book, Silvan Leaves, which I hope to publish later this year.  

The road into Villaescusa, initially lined with beautiful houses, led us into quickly narrowing streets into the main part of the village where everything changed.   Houses were older, smaller on twisting streets that went in several directions.  We saw a woman in a flowered dress hanging laundry above us from a beautiful balcony nearby with dogs barking from the street below.    

Slowing a bit, we found a few old gentlemen sitting in the small Plaza Mayor before the Ayuntamiento with flags gently blowing in the warming breeze above them.  We counted nine men, sitting in chairs, some near small round tables, all gazing at us with undisguised interest.  We assuredly gave them food for later conversations.  

The ancient church stood in its own little space, stone houses all around in the crux of avenues that intersected before us.  The church was graceful, built with stone bricks in the front and cemented smaller stones at the back end.  We saw the arched, worn-wood doors and commented on the tall pointed top with a stork’s nest and bell tower we'd become so used to marveling at in prior cities.  The church was closed… 

Where was the cemetery? By then, we knew cemeteries were either attached or very near the village churches.  To prove it, we slipped behind the church to follow a solitary road that appeared to run into farmland.  And there it was.   The first view brought the spring of tears behind my eyes.  Five generations from my first father’s birth started there and some ended.  The setting was pastoral and quiet.  

Steven drove slowly through the gate after I unlocked it; I walked up the slight inclining road toward the gated cemetery beside what appeared to be a second church.  It was a peaceful place.   That gate was a bit harder to open but I shook it hard and bam!  It opened with a clang, one side a bit disjointed and I stepped through.  Steven cocked his head at me, laughed quietly and followed me inside.

We saw standing headstones stretched in loosely-structured rows though some were old and weathered, spotted white, their etching long smoothed away; some leaned and some had fallen altogether with their age.  There were graves marked with hard stones, backed with bricks, while steel railings bordered others.  We walked the length and breadth of the small cemetery looking for the names of Silvan, Martin, Alejo, Dosales and Rodriguez.  Nothing.  However, they were there;  They touched me as I slipped through the narrow openings.  I knew they were there.

Leaving quietly after jamming the lopsided gate’s bar back into place, we felt the family’s aura around us as we stepped away and found the huge, ancient tree with its limbs chopped off to read the framed sign held firm to its trunk. (see September 24 blog)  Steven read its poetic Spanish words aloud; emotion overwhelmed us, sweeter than my words can describe.  Sadly, the photo is unclear --- I’d hoped to re-read it again but it was not to be.

Despite Villaescusa being the smallest village we’d explored so far, we could barely find our way out of it afterward.  Such small, twisting and dead end streets!  First you are in the village, next on a dirt road driving without an exit.  Its cluster of houses appeared like a mirage; one could almost imagine the wavering edges, blurry and hidden as we nosed our car through its strangely laid grid of streets.   

And then we were suddenly on the road toward Villamor de los Escuderos for our next adventure.

Álora, the pueblo blanco

Wikipedia defined Álora as a municipality in southern Spain which is part of the province of Malaga (Andalusia). Located near Malaga on the right bank of the river Guadalhorce. It is a typical pueblo blanco, a whitewashed village nestled between three rocky spurs topped by the ruins of the castle. 

 Driving toward Álora while in Spain, Steven and I marveled at the panoramic view miles before we saw the first sign pointing the way toward this ancestral village.  Knowing our great grandmother, Rosa Romero Ruiz and her parents, Miguel Romero Fernandez and Maria Ruiz Ruiz began their lives here, we made a wrong turn and ended up traveling along a goat trail before we realized we no longer saw the white village in view.   It was quite a fete to find a place wide enough to turn around when the farming hills and stone walkways rose to meet us.  Then, we met the goats when we backtracked!  Hundreds of them ~

The village was indeed white.  

It was also indeed quite complicated to maneuver in since it was another Arabic village, twisting and quite narrow streets that fed outward like a wheel from the congested plaza in the center of the town. 

Our first stop was the tourist office.   This tiled sign is attached to all government buildings.  When I saw it beside the door of the tourist office, I mistook it for the actual Ayuntamiento... Steven explained this phenomena to me and afterwards, I found the signs multiple times through the villages.

Armed with my family tree and questions, a woman was eager to help but no answers were found other than the castle, grave history and a promise to possibly find information based on the dates I produced for her.

My paperwork/history showed Rosa’s name, her parent’s names, her approximate date of birth and death along with my step-grandmother’s name, Maria Carmen REY de Cordoba.  My theory is the women knew one another.  A widower with four children when Grandma Rosa died, Grandpa Frank Ruiz married Maria, who had also lost her spouse.  The family story states they were neighbors in Álora but I do not have documented evidence of that fact.  Maria had one child that we know of, Isobel Fernandez.  With the “Fernandez” name, she may have been distantly related to Grandma Rosa since her father’s name was also Fernandez.  This is conjecture only.

Where is the cemetery?  We want to find gravestones of our ancestors.  Alas!  No cemetery, per se, exists in Álora.  In the old days, all burials were at the top of the hill inside the old castle walls.  Bodies were cremated due to lack of space and gravestone plaques were placed at the site only if a family purchased and delivered the plaque for the grave site.  Disappointed, we trudged on.  There was a castle to visit and photos to take…  However, after following castle signs that led us to the central plaza for the fourth time, we chose to snap photos from afar, knowing they were undoubtedly ‘up there somewhere.’ 

During the various trips in and out of the village streets, we saw people everywhere, especially around the plaza; fresh chickens were hauled by a man pushing his cart gingerly down the street in front of us, a large truck barely scraped by us in narrow openings beside us, children played among the adults too close to the car for comfort.  We saw beautiful metal at windows of white houses along our route.  There were roll-down shutters on the windows and Queen Palm trees shouldered close along the neighborhoods.  The narrow streets jutted into one another as we chicken-necked our way in and around tiny cars parked here and there.  Overall, the village appeared quaint, clean, interesting and welcomed us with open arms --- all except the route up to that castle!

Since my return, I have written to the juzgado (court house) in the hope that an antique book might have a page with the Romero Fernandez information.  

Until then, we will move on to the next village of Benagalbón Spain in my next post.