With Spring arriving and bearing all its glorious pageantry of colors, smells, and sounds, I could not resist taking a walk through Old Salem today during my lunch hour.
Old Salem is a historic village with original buildings dating back to its earlier days in the 1700's and 1800's. (Think Williamsburg, VA) It was founded by the Moravians, a group of settlers who left Moravia (modern-day Czech Republic) in search of religious freedom. Many settlled in Pennsylvania and a years later some of them once again pulled up stakes and migrated South, settling on a tract of land they named "Wachovia" which is in present-day Winston-Salem, North Carolina. It's been declared a national historic site is a great place to see a slice of life from centuries earlier.
Old Salem is fascinating and enjoyable to most folks that stop to visit but it's particularly special to me since many of my ancestors were Moravian. From my most recent genealogical research I have not been able find ancestors who actually lived in the village of Salem but those whom I have researched did reside nearby. Therefore I'm fairly confident that I probably do have some ancestors who did actually reside in Salem or nearby on the Wachovia tract of land.
Some of you might be aware that I'm weighing some serious options these days. The types of decisions that are never easy or fun to make. These kind of dilemmas justify what my parents always said when they affirmed that life isn't always easy nor is it always fun once you become an adult.
Walking down the cobblestone streets of Old Salem today I tried to imagine what it must have been like for my female ancestors some 200+ years ago. I imagined the streets filled with women on their way to market, or merchants leaning out their windows, waiting for customers. The clanging of the blacksmith's tools as he made a new set of horseshoes. The clippety-clop of horses' hooves on cobblestone. The smell of leather, sweat, animals and even freshly baked Moravian pastries. Maybe even the snort of a pig in a neighbor's pen or the clucking of a chicken. These sounds no longer exist in present-day Old Salem. Yet what do still exist are the chirping of birds who have returned following a long winter; freshly plowed soil awaiting drops of seed for a crop of cabbage, corn, and onions; violets peeping through the tall blades of small green patches of grass; and just the plain ole smell of Spring!
That's when it occurred to me. I realized that while centuries may separate me and my Moravian ancestors, we share some commonalities. I may not have had to endure truly hard, physical labor, a strict religious upbringing, or bearing children at a young age. Yet like those before me, I have now some difficult decisions to make. Life-altering decisions. Just as they and their families pondered whether to move across the ocean and later down the Great Wagon Trail to North Carolina, so too do I contemplate traveling across borders or state lines and whether or not it's the right choice to make. Just as they grappled with the dilemma, fearing a new culture, climate change, leaving all that was familiar and comfortable for them, so too do I.
Old Salem is a historic village with original buildings dating back to its earlier days in the 1700's and 1800's. (Think Williamsburg, VA) It was founded by the Moravians, a group of settlers who left Moravia (modern-day Czech Republic) in search of religious freedom. Many settlled in Pennsylvania and a years later some of them once again pulled up stakes and migrated South, settling on a tract of land they named "Wachovia" which is in present-day Winston-Salem, North Carolina. It's been declared a national historic site is a great place to see a slice of life from centuries earlier.
Old Salem is fascinating and enjoyable to most folks that stop to visit but it's particularly special to me since many of my ancestors were Moravian. From my most recent genealogical research I have not been able find ancestors who actually lived in the village of Salem but those whom I have researched did reside nearby. Therefore I'm fairly confident that I probably do have some ancestors who did actually reside in Salem or nearby on the Wachovia tract of land.
Some of you might be aware that I'm weighing some serious options these days. The types of decisions that are never easy or fun to make. These kind of dilemmas justify what my parents always said when they affirmed that life isn't always easy nor is it always fun once you become an adult.
Walking down the cobblestone streets of Old Salem today I tried to imagine what it must have been like for my female ancestors some 200+ years ago. I imagined the streets filled with women on their way to market, or merchants leaning out their windows, waiting for customers. The clanging of the blacksmith's tools as he made a new set of horseshoes. The clippety-clop of horses' hooves on cobblestone. The smell of leather, sweat, animals and even freshly baked Moravian pastries. Maybe even the snort of a pig in a neighbor's pen or the clucking of a chicken. These sounds no longer exist in present-day Old Salem. Yet what do still exist are the chirping of birds who have returned following a long winter; freshly plowed soil awaiting drops of seed for a crop of cabbage, corn, and onions; violets peeping through the tall blades of small green patches of grass; and just the plain ole smell of Spring!
That's when it occurred to me. I realized that while centuries may separate me and my Moravian ancestors, we share some commonalities. I may not have had to endure truly hard, physical labor, a strict religious upbringing, or bearing children at a young age. Yet like those before me, I have now some difficult decisions to make. Life-altering decisions. Just as they and their families pondered whether to move across the ocean and later down the Great Wagon Trail to North Carolina, so too do I contemplate traveling across borders or state lines and whether or not it's the right choice to make. Just as they grappled with the dilemma, fearing a new culture, climate change, leaving all that was familiar and comfortable for them, so too do I.
They contemplated and followed through with the brave move because they were in search of a better life. A life where not only their religious freedoms would not be violated but a new life in a land full of opportunity. To finally have the house and land they had always dreamed of. Starting a family, perhaps, and learning a new trade. Isn't this also what I'm searching for to some extent? Better opportunities for Nelson and me--allowing us the chance to one day be financially sound and independent? An avenue--that if followed--would allow us to start a family? An avenue that if sought and followed--would allow us a better life?
My grandmothers made many sacrifices. It's the reason I always admired them so much during there lifetime and continue to (though they are no longer living). They both learned at a very young age that sacrifices must be made in order to persevere and move forward. They received the harsh lesson early in life that no, life is not fair and it can be quite difficult, testing one's faith. That sometimes risks must be taken, though not without much thought and discussion. Even my own parents made sacrifices for my siblings and me--most notably when they relocated to a tiny town in rural Appalachia in the 1970's.
So as I stood on sidewalk near Old Salem's square, my foot resting shakily on a buckled cobblestone, I realized that I may very well have to make a similar decision. The question is, am I willing to make sacrifices? Am I willing to make sacrifices for the sake of a better life? Am I?
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