Bear with me, as I lay a little ground-work. I would like you to meet my grandmother, who was born and raised in Graham...
Like a scene from Laura Ingalls Wilder, Thelma Benston, the golden-haired girl spent her childhood days frolicking in the prairie grass of Rocky Ridge and wading in the muddy waters of Muck Creek. When she wasn't fishing for crawdads or riding the hay-wagon, she sat at the feet of her half-Quinault grandmother Sarah Davis Benston. Tales told were hidden in Thelma's heart and the retelling would continue to captivate...
Sarah had met and married William Benston, a fur trader with the Hudson's Bay Company. Too young to sign on with Hudson's Bay, yet determined to leave home after the death of his mother, William stowed away on a ship carrying his older brother Adam. They set sail in 1843 from a far-away island called 'Orkney', off the north coast of Scotland.
Fast forward some one hundred and sixty-nine years...to November of 2012. Thelma, the golden-haired girl (my grandmother) has been gone for thirty years now. Though her memory begins to fade a little, the golden thread of those stories...the rich tapestry of our family history still glimmers from time to time.
For some reason, the glint in the tapestry has caught Henry's attention this dark, November night. He is fascinated by tales of William Benston, the man who took the 320 acre homestead claim at Rocky Ridge where we have our home. He decides it's time to visit Orkney. Tickets are bought. Reservations are made. I smile at the prospect of a long- held dream realized. The Lord knows the desire of our hearts.
Sarah had met and married William Benston, a fur trader with the Hudson's Bay Company. Too young to sign on with Hudson's Bay, yet determined to leave home after the death of his mother, William stowed away on a ship carrying his older brother Adam. They set sail in 1843 from a far-away island called 'Orkney', off the north coast of Scotland.
Fast forward some one hundred and sixty-nine years...to November of 2012. Thelma, the golden-haired girl (my grandmother) has been gone for thirty years now. Though her memory begins to fade a little, the golden thread of those stories...the rich tapestry of our family history still glimmers from time to time.
For some reason, the glint in the tapestry has caught Henry's attention this dark, November night. He is fascinated by tales of William Benston, the man who took the 320 acre homestead claim at Rocky Ridge where we have our home. He decides it's time to visit Orkney. Tickets are bought. Reservations are made. I smile at the prospect of a long- held dream realized. The Lord knows the desire of our hearts.
RSS Feed