Francis Archambault (Janeaux)

October, 2011

Dear Children,

I think of you often and wish the distance between us was not so great. Your grandmother shares news of you and how quickly you are growing up. She tells me that you are taking an interest in your family history. To start, you should know that the Missouri River that borders your state is part of your heritage. It is the path that brought your grandmother’s great-great grandfather, Francis A. Janeaux, to the West. His son had a daughter and she gave birth to your great-grandfather.

Your great-grandfather, whom you know only from pictures, had a flair for sharing stories on summer afternoons. We would huddle in the living room of our modest home while thunderstorms broke the heat of a Southern day.

Stories of ghost trains and passages quoted from Robert Service poems were part of his selection. Once in a while he would make the comment that his great-grandfather, Janeaux, had founded a small town in Central Montana. Since this statement was often knitted in with the fantastic stories our father shared, we would turn to our mother and ask, “Is that true?”

She would always smile and say, “I don’t know. Ask your father.”

Sometimes truth is difficult to find. It most often requires a leap of faith and can lead to a revelation about ourselves, our family and our friends. History is a strange science. In searching for facts, we hope to find the truth, when all we really find is bits and pieces of a puzzle we try to fit together. This is the truth as I perceive it based on the facts that I have found; you may be challenged to find the facts for yourself.

Your ancestor’s story begins in the small village of L’Assomption, in the Province of Quebec, in the country of Canada, where there lived a large family in a stone house. It was a blended family. Jean Baptiste Archambault was a widower with several children when he married Angelique Durand. They had several children of their own. Among the group were two brothers who were always close. The oldest, Francis, was born in 1839. His brother, Odilon, was a couple of years younger.

As young men, Odilon settled into the life of a husband and father; Francis chose a different path. By age 18, he was in the western territories of the United States – first via St. Paul, then down to St. Louis. From there the Missouri became his home for many years.

What appears at first to be a major change may not have been. The village of L’Assomption is located just north of Montreal, on the Saint Lawrence River. Fur trading was an early part of the lives of people living in the area. We can only assume that Francis may have known or worked with some of the fur traders who lived in the area. It was the fur trade industry that gave him work on the Missouri River.

Francis, who was now using the name Avila, entered an unpredictable business with roots that go back to colonial times on the North American continent. Trading posts could be setup in one area and within a short period of time abandoned, burned or disassembled and moved to another location a few miles away.

I don’t know much about his life during the first decade on the river. He was with his family during the 1861 Canadian census. His mother died in 1860 and perhaps he came home for a short period of time or perhaps the Civil War years were not a good time for fur trading. He did return to the Missouri and in 1870 he was working at Fort Stevenson in Dakota Territory.

I must stop and put this letter in the mail.

Love to all –

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What have I learned?

My interest in family history is well into its second year with some progress, but so much more is waiting to be discovered. Sometimes it seems that the search will never end; and I wonder what, if anything, I know now that I didn’t know nearly two years ago. Perhaps what I have learned most is not the full story of an individual, but a new perspective.
1. We live in relationships with family, friends, society and our place in history. The same holds true with our ancestors.
2. When you think you’ve hit a brick wall, keep pushing. Little surprises are on the other side. It may not answer the question you are looking for, but it may be just enough info to start you down a new path or at least to provide you a point of encouragement.
3. History doesn’t have to be a dry subject. The picture of a Missouri steamboat published in a book means more when you know that a relative once boarded that vessel. Archives and libraries are packed with letters, journals and photos written and taken during the time period. They breathe life into the past.
4. It’s always valuable to revisit the information you think you know by heart. Occasionally you see something you didn’t consider the first time and renew the search with a different approach.

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Enjoying the moment and stumbling through history

21 July 2011

Thirty-four years ago, while sitting in a classroom at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro, I did not understand why I needed an extra science class. It was customary for the Registrar’s Office to conduct a spring audit during a student’s junior year. That’s when the deficiency was discovered and summer school was written on the calendar.

The connection of on-campus activities or school chums was not a part of a town student’s life. Town students were considered by some faculty as the least of the student population in terms of intellect. Most of my friends had dropped out and gone to work or had chosen to continue their education somewhere else.

Living on campus might have made this intrusion in my life a little more palatable. Now it was simply one more item to check off at a point when deep in my soul I wanted to quit, go to work full-time and move on with my life.

It must have been that restlessness that connected my spirit to a slide show of cloud formations. I’m sure this use of classroom technology was meant to inspire budding meteorologists and keep the rest of us awake. As the instructor explained each type of cloud formation, the word that jumped out was Wyoming, that state just south of Montana.

Does Wyoming look like Montana? How much would it cost to fly to Montana? It may be difficult to imagine in a world of instant communication and frequent flyer miles what an off-the-wall idea that was. How could a town student, whose farthest point of adventure was a rare family trip to the beach, even begin to think about flying to Montana? Whatever this restlessness was in my spirit, it would not go away.

Depleting my savings account to buy the ticket was the least of my concerns. I still had a part-time job to get me through my senior year. I had to convince Daddy that I needed to do this and that I needed him to come along since I had never been on a plane. I enlisted an advocate, Mama.

Daddy had not been back to his hometown in over 20 years. The siblings had all moved away from Lewistown. My grandmother still lived there. We scarcely knew our Western relatives. They stayed connected by phone calls on birthdays and short notes in Christmas cards. A decision had to be made soon. It was almost the 4th of July vacation week.

We arrived in Billings where my father’s youngest brother loaned him a car for the trip to Lewistown. I wish I had known then, what I know now. I would have asked more questions and different questions. Not only questions of my grandmother, but questions of other people we spoke with.

Julia Jackson Snyder (L) takes time to talk with me. Photo taken in Lewistown, Montana in 1977
[Julia Jackson (Snyder) graciously took time to speak with me during my visit in July 1977. She took the short cut into town via horse.]

I enjoyed the brief conversations with my grandmother, visiting the museum and other places in town and especially the quality time with Daddy, who suddenly seemed to have boundless energy. It became a time of fond memories. I enjoyed the moment for what it was. Only now can I see that time in historical perspective.

Lewistown was experiencing its own stirring in the spirit. The community was preparing two years in advance to celebrate its 100th anniversary. Individuals were researching the history of the town and avidly sharing information. Amid the scant notes that I took about my own family, I have bits and pieces of other stories, of a history that I knew nothing about. I recognized the name General Miles. Otherwise I could have been in another country trying to learn its past.

It was the first time that I had heard the words Métis and Red River cart. Yet it seemed as if we were in the middle of a continuous conversation and it was assumed that we were already a part of it. Each conversation ended with the same question, “Was Janeaux Métis?”

Now I realize I missed half of the story. I was so focused on my great-great-grandfather that I failed to understand that I was being given bits and pieces of information about my great-great-grandmother’s life and the story of her family too. I hope I don’t make the same mistake again.

Fortunately the people of Lewistown took their history seriously. Now others are building on their foundation.

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Wonderful people

18 July 2011
I found a nugget of information and sent off a request two months ago. Along the way I’ve been in contact with wonderful front-line people who respond to research requests. They always go the extra mile. Even when they cannot find the information asked, they graciously suggest another possible option. Let’s hope that the third time is the charm.

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The power of extended family

27 June 2011

My father worked in textiles as a production planner. One of the traditions that became part of that life-style was a two-week vacation, preset by the employer and never taken back-to-back. The entire plant would close in the winter between Christmas and New Year’s Day and in the summer it would close during the week of the 4th of July.

For our family, Christmas celebrations were at home; but it was time to pack the car and head to South Carolina during the week of July 4th. My mother’s family lived there. She had three sisters and four brothers. They in turn married and brought into this world an average of three children or more.

Mama was born into a family of huggers. After a four-hour trip, car doors flung open and the barely emerged occupants were surrounded by arms. This was not a precise process. At best it was a waltz, but most often it was more of a square-dance as each partner was swung around to the next.

This greeting of mass confusion often resulted in someone being squeezed in the middle of a hug, which always meant you received a second hug intended for you alone. By the time the “Oh, I’ve missed you!” and “It’s so good to see you!” greetings had died down you were being ushered through the screen door to share refreshments.

As I write, those memories are so vivid in my head. They’ve been brought to mind through the power of extended family.

Of the eight children that my grandmother had, only two remain to connect us to that generation. At the urging of his children, Mama’s baby brother connected through Facebook to not only his children, but a gaggle of nieces and nephews. His arrival changed the conversation. Instead of snippets of posts on what’s for dinner and favorite sites on the Web, the family bond began to return.

Our uncle is the family historian on my mother’s side. When he posted some old family photos, comments began to appear. Some of the cousins remembered when the photos were taken; others were thrilled to see them for the first time. We laughed at hairstyles and wondered at strange expressions captured by the click of a camera filled with a fresh roll of film.

It was a family reunion, twenty-first century style. There were no hugs, greetings or sweet ice-tea, but it left the spirit uplifted through shared memories and love.

Related Posts

Lunch September 2, 2010
December 2010 Post December 30, 2010

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Replacing boarded up windows

24 June 2011

There is something in human nature that makes us struggle with change as we learn to embrace it. Nine years ago, my husband and I ventured into the small market newspaper business. The idea was a local, weekly paper focused on the county where we lived. Two years later we closed the paper. We were older and somewhat wiser. But dreams die hard and often take twists and turns. I do more writing now than I did when we owned the business.

We kept a few samples of our paper edition and I continued to keep the old URL. Each year the URL remained in virtual space, much like a house with sheets of plywood for windows. I’ve always thought that boarded up houses and empty buildings were a waste of resources.

Why doesn’t someone sell them, give them away or fix them? Maybe the timing isn’t right. We can speculate all day on what someone else should do with resources or abilities. Instead, maybe we should look carefully at our own. It’s time to throw out what doesn’t work and glean what does.

The URL became one of those spring cleaning items that I did not know what to do with. As often happens in research and writing, ideas began to connect. I discovered a small piece of information that I had not known. Finally, I had an answer as to what to do with www.randophobserver.com.

I clicked on a link under WordPress News and found out that I could point my blog to the old URL. In effect, I could take the boards off the windows and renovate my virtual space. For anyone interested in reading Bridgingcenturies.wordpress.com, it means an easier name. For me, it means a check beside my to-do list and an effort at renovating.

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Hunting for Work

18 June 2011

Ben Kline was once described as a man of “blocky” build.  Surviving photos of him confirm that description. He was born near Devils Lake to a Métis couple. His maternal blood-line included French-Canadian and Crow. His paternal side was Chippewa and German.

In the diverse world of the Northern Plains, Kline spoke Chippewa and some English. He was a hunter and often joined with other Métis searching for buffalo, not a simple task. The herds that once roamed through present day Minnesota were moving west.  By 1870 their most eastern point of movement was between the Missouri River and the Red River. Hunting the buffalo meant moving with the herd.  It was a long-distance commute that took hunters across territorial lines and national borders. The hunting season would last for months.

When back at Devils Lake, Kline would cut and cord wood for $1.50 a cord. He also took a job as a scout for a mail service that ran between Fort Totten and Fort Stevenson. He earned $40 for a two-day, two-night journey.

It was on one of those mail runs that Kline met Francis Avila Janeaux for the first time.

Related Posts:
It Was a Very Bad Year – Maybe Not July 30, 2010
Why do you search the past? August 2, 2010
Identity of Average Joe June 4, 2011

Sources:

Ben Kline reminiscences, 1925-1931. Portion donated by Victor van den Broek, 1925. Montana Historical Society Research Center, Archives, Helena, Montana. (Copy of Oscar O. Mueller, 1932 interview with Ben Kline in writer’s notes. Mueller’s interview is also available in the “Ben Kline reminiscences, 1925-1931″ at the Montana Historical Society Research Center.)

Proposed Finding – Technical Report, Figure 5: Buffalo Range, 1800-1889; Summary under the Criteria for the Proposed Finding for Federal Acknowledgment of the Little Shell Tribe of Chippewa Indians of Montana; July 14. 2000; http://www.bia.gov/idc/groups/xofa/documents/text/idc-001419.pdf

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