Looking for anyone interested in information on her or husband Howard Croy. I have some fascinating documentation of them.

Lenora died in Spokane, Washington, about 3 years ago at the age of around 104.

http://cgi.rootsweb.com/~genbbs/genbbs.cgi/USA/Or/Marion

This forum is only for Biographies.

REV. ALVIN F. WALLER

Born in Abington, Pennsylvania, May 8, 1808. Was brought up in the faith of the Methodist church, of which he became a member when he reached the age of twenty-one and three years later began to preach. In 1833 he wedded Miss Elpha White, the fruits of the union being three children, one son and two daughters, one of the latter being an Oregon girl. In 1839 he, together with his family, came in the ship around Cape Horn to the far off Pacific Northwest to labor in the missionary field. He arrived in 1840 and for thirty-two years thereafer he was faithful to the cause of the Master, and during such time he was an active participant in the laying of the foundations of charitable and religious institutions. He was one of the prime movers in the organization of the Oregon Institute, from which grew the Willamette University, and he was the principal agent in establishing the Pacific Christian Advocate, founded in 1853.

His good works were innumerable, and were performed in a truly Christian spirit. AS a man and a minister, Mr. Waller had great perseverance, energy and fidelity, and was a clear, logical and powerful preacher. His judgement had weight in the public mind on all questions, whether connected with state or ecclesiastical interests, because his intellect was many-sided. He wa a minister, and had an intense loyalty to his church; but he was more, - a broad, patriotic, and public-spirited man.

In such pioneers as Mr. Waller a great blessing came to the early days when civilizations were made and commonwealths founded on the shores of the Pacific. During his life in Oregon he made his home in Salem. He died there, December 26,1872. Mrs. Waller survived him for nine years, dying December 30, 1881. Their children were O. A. Waller, Mrs. C. H. Hall and Mrs. C. C. Stratton.

Do you know who Rev.Alvin Waller's parents were? Most of my Wallers are from Ohio, Indiana and Virginia. But that doesn't mean that there couldn't be a connection. My oldest
Waller is Jesse Waller, Sr. b. 22 April 1758 Berkeley Co.,VA
I would be very interested in exchanging information if we feel there is a possibility of a connection.

Thank You,

Carol Dell

From the book:
INTO THE EYE OF THE SETTING SUN
by Charlotte Matheny Kirkwood

It was a long time ago when I first found myself, more than
eighty years, I was not more than four. I remember myself as I sat on the door step of a Missouri farm house, and even Missouri was a new country then. The bees in the patched gee gum were expected to swarm that day and Father told me to watch, watch it carefully. The gum was third or fourth in the row. It had been hollowed from an old stump. I can see it yet. The patch was of tin and probably covered a knot hole, or a place burned though when the stump had been heaped with red hot coals to char and soften the inside
before it was scraped and evened, and finally made into a bee gum.

I remember that the patch was a crooked one and as I close
my eyes and reproduce the picture of it in my memory I can see that it was not very workman like, for the corners of the tin curled back, though I probably did not think about that at the time. It seemed a very long time. Watching bees
even now would make me drowsy, but I did as I was told and
watched and nodded and listened to the monotonous hum of the locust. From time to time Mother came to the door to see if I was still awake and attending properly to my task.

Then all at once, I found myself very very much awake, indeed something truly terrible seemed to be taking place in the bee gum with the crooked patch. The bees were going round and round to such a bussing and roaring, and so many of them as to almost hide the very gum itself. Who would
have thought that so many bees could have lived in that old stump? I was so excited that I almost fell on my nose when I ran to tell Father to come as fast as ever he could.

When I got back the bees were nearly all gone; not more than
a handful still buzzed about, while others were going in and out quite as though nothing had happened. I was so disappointed that I was ready to cry when Father told me to look at the mulberry tree. It was the tree that Father kept to feed her silk worms, and there, on a low limb, hung a cluster of bees as big as our well bucket.

I had not supposed there were so many bees in the world, but
there they were, Father told me to go back a ways, then he gave the limb a shake and the big swarm fell directly in front of an empty gum that he had placed there but a moment before. Then he beat upon an old tin pan. Such a clatter as it set up ... no wonder the bees were glad to go into the gum to get away from it.

After it was all over, Father said: "Now Lottie, that stand of bees is yours, and we will leave it right there under the mulberry tree so that you will know it. Anyone who has ever been four years old will know that I was pretty proud of it.

That Missouri home had been but a stopping place, a step in
the westward journey and even then, Father and Mother were thinking and talking about Oregon. Mother was from Kentucky and Father was from Virginia. I was the youngest of seven.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Father had prospered beyond most of his neighbors and Mother was contented and happy. We were living in our new house on the bluff. It was big, built of sawed lumber and painted white with green trimmings. Our veranda overlooked a lower level where the big farm spread out before us. Beyond that, lay the river with its cottonwoods and its willows and its beauty.Only Jasper and I were at home then. The others had all married and had gone to make homes of their own.

About this time a couple of scotch Mechanics came to our house. Father and son they were.In early times mechanics were not allowed to leave Great Britain. They hoped to keep their industries to themselves. Interests in Boston were to start a "Glass house" (factory) but there was no one in America who understood it. In the early part of the last century a man was sent to Scotland to hire men who understood the glass business, and smuggle them to America. It was rather a delicate piece of business for a price was set upon the hand of any man, who tried to hire them.

Rather generous inducements were held out and nine or ten mechanics succeeded in reaching America and a glass house was established in Boston. I think about 1820. One of these mechanics was a Scotsman by the name of James Kirkwood. His Family joined him later and he was there for a
number of years, but finally his wife died and he and three of his sons came west.

They were with the Emigration of 1846. When they reached Fort Hall, they separated and Joseph, the eldest son, came to Oregon and married my cousin, Lucy Ann. The Father and two of his sons went on into California. They arrived there just in time to join John C. Fremont's army and serve under him through the Mexican War.

When peace had been declared, they went to Sonoma and put up a small foundry and machine shop. Their first castings were a set of lathe heads cast from copper cannon balls. They were very good castings too, I know that for a fact, for they are still in use.They were at Sonoma when word came that Marshall had discovered gold. They left the fire smouldering in the furnace and went at once.

While they were in the mines, they met a man, who said: "My brother-in-law's name is Kirkwood." They were interested for they had heard nothing of Joseph since they had separated at Fort Hall. A few questions and they knew that the stranger was talking about the son and brother, whom they had lost. That was how they happened to find him again. The West was small in those days.

As soon as the old Scotsman found that Joseph was in Oregon, nothing would do but they must go at once. He was a mechanic and not a gold-digger anyway. So he and one son took passage on an old sailing vessel for the Colombia
River. The youngest son refused to leave the mines, so they left him there. It was the last that they ever saw or heard of him, though they tried for years to find some trace of him. His name was Henry.

The old sailing vessel upon which they took passage was wrecked in a fearful storm. The rudder was torn away and to save themselves from going on the rocks near the mouth of the Colombia, the Captain cut away the mast. The rigging
held and the dragging mast helped swing them out to sea again. Then they drifted, helpless, along the coast toward the North and were finally washed upon a sand beach on Vancouver Island, British Colombia.

They hired an Indian to bring them up the Puget sound in a canoe. Then they walked to the Willamette Valley. The district that they came though is now the State of Washington. At that time there ware almost no white
settlements anywhere. They saw but one white man on the entire journey.

From the Falls they followed the river and finally reached the Ferry. As Jasper was setting them over, they asked if he had heard of Joseph Kirkwood and where they could find him. So they were brought to our house.

The Father spoke such broad Scotch that we were "hard put" to understand a single wood that he said.The son was over six feet tall, with hair as black as a raven's wing and fine, direct, honest blue eyes, they stayed all night with us and Father took them in the morning to a bit of a log cabin on the high hill where Joseph and cousin Lucy Ann lived. The young man's name was John. He was looked upon with favor by most every mother and father in our country,
if they had marriageable daughters, for he was known to have
Seven Thousand dollars worth of gold dust and besides that, he soon took up a donation land claim and built a house on it. The daughters looked on him with favor because he was so very handsome.

Our boys liked John because he was pleasant and quiet. I think, perhaps, the main reason that I liked him was because he liked me.

One cold, stormy day in 1852, the day after Christmas it was, I put on my green Calico dress and John and I were married and went to live in the little
house between the two big oaks on the prairie.

That same day Jasper was married to Mary ring. That was the reason that I was married in a calico dress. I had other dresses that Father had brought from California, very nice ones they were two, but Mary Ring had only a simple
little calico, so I wore mine and John said it was the most
beautiful dress that he had ever seen.

I was only a child, not quite fifteen and John was twenty four. For sixty two years we lived on the same farm where we began our married life.

Walt Davies
Monmouth, OR
Into the Eye of the Setting Sun
by Charlotte Matheny Kirkwood(1838-1926)
You can get the book from Walt at Walt55@aol.com

Old Davy Hunt lived on the other side of us. He was said to be very rich and had many slaves. He was not the type of southern slave holder that we read about or see pictured on magazine covers. I think that perhaps he was a kind old man, but Mother did not approve of him, so I was never there except the one time when I went with Father to buy some hens. Little as I was, I noticed that the huge log home was in great disorder. I noticed especially that the bare floors were black and spotted. Our floors were of lin wood, and being Mother's were as white as only linwood can be made.

 Nels, a half grown negro boy, was told to catch the hens, but he paid no attention. He was told again but still he sat on the "upping block" and swung his bare feet. Then Mr. hunt said: "Nels honey" Nels sprang off the block
like a spring beneath him had been released, and went at once for the chickens. The word "honey" it seemed, had great significance, it was well understood in the Hunt family to just precede a flogging, and from the way Nels moved, I suspect that the margin was very narrow. When we were there it was rather late in the day and the chickens were going to roost. Nels caught them off of the big veranda. They had huddled into the chimney angle. I thought it a funny place for chickens. Standards at five cannot be so very well formed, but I was quite clear about one thing I knew that Mother would mightily object to chickens roosting on our veranda, and I also knew that our floors were always spotless. I had it impressed on me firmly, even painfully,
that kitchen floors were to be cherished and pr reserved and never, under any circumstances were they to be whittled, even though lin wood was soft and one had a knife of one's very own.

 I did it but once. It was a foolish thing to do and I knew it at the time, but it was an actual necessity. I was afraid to go out in the dark and just
must whittle. I found a crack that gave me a good starting place and I had whittled quite a hole before someone saw me and told. Lin wood is as soft as the softest pine. I was spanked, but I just could not be ashamed of that hole,
however hard Mother tried to make me. Lin is the nicest wood in the world to whittle. Of course I was sorry that it had to be Mother's kitchen floor.

Mother must have loved our home in Missouri, for she had worked very hard to make it beautiful. Our yard was a riot of blossoms. I have never known anyone who loved flowers as my courageous pioneer Mother loved them. The fall before we left for Oregon she gathered seeds from her own and her neighbors gardens, and planned and dreamed of the flowers that she would grow in that great new country in the west. All that last winter Father was getting ready to go.
Whatever the conversation happened to be about, when we sat around our fireside at night, or when neighbors came to visit us, it would eventually turn to the great adventure. As the time drew near, all thought of other things was put aside. There seemed no effort or desire on the part of anyone to talk of today or yesterday. Everyone seemed thrilled with the gripping romance of it. I do not remember an expression of doubt or regret.

One remark of Father's caught and held my attention and dwarfed all other things into insignificance: "They say it is three thousands miles, and to reach it we travel straight INTO THE EYE OF THE SETTING SUN." I thought about it a great deal and finally asked Mother what he meant. So she explained that we were to follow the sun. I reasoned still further to myself to follow the sun? Why then it would be always day and one would never need to go to bed just because it was to dark to do other fascinating things. How that gripped and thrilled me. I could hardly wait till the time came to start. Sometime late in the winter, Father sold our home to Mr. Collins and with it, the household goods and the stock except what we were to take with us, and the bee gums, even the one that belonged to me that I had helped to hive and had taken such pride in. I do not recall that I regretted it. I was too much taken up with the thought of following the sun to have room for any other emotions.

At last our wagons were drawn up before the house, four of them, with deep boxes built of new lumber and double thickness. At intervals on either side big iron staples that held the ends of the hickory bows, while the bows
themselves arched above and held in place the homespun covers.

Then the loading began and such careful loading as it was. Not a thing was put in place until it had been considered well, and finally judged indispensable. Mother's chin quivered when she laid her treasures many of them, to one side. Moving is always such a wonderfully interesting occasion to little folk. One can go to the piles of things that the stupid grown folks have failed to appreciate, and have put aside to give away or burn as the case may be, and many a fine addition to the playhouse may be salvaged, or bright bits of cloth that one is sure to find useful for doll quilts or wardrobes. And when the move is made, if one handles it tactfully, one can always manage to tuck them in somewhere.

This move was different. When our four wagons were finally loaded, not one once of doubtful weight was in them. So careful had been the loading, that when Mother's seed bag was found to have been overlooked, there was no space
left for it, so Mother started the long trip to Oregon with it tied to her saddle horn. There was plenty of room in those wagons for many things besides the seed bag before we reached the west coast. Sacks of bacon and flour had
given place to bags of soiled cloth and some of our wagons were almost empty.

Walt Davies
Monmouth, OR

 The sorting out and packing took several weeks. In the evenings my four brothers would sit around the fire and make ram rods for their guns, and mould the round lead bullets that were used in the old muzzle loading muskets. One of the guns, with its old flintlock, stands in the corner as I write these stories. It stands high as a tall man, and is so heavy that only a strong man can level it and hold it steady. It was made by hand, and has a silver plate on the side of the carved stock, that tells the name of the
maker and the date. I was fairly good at running the hot lead into the iron moulds and the boys would let me do it. They allowed me to "neck" the bullets when they were cold. When fresh from the mould there was always an uneven place where the opening in the mould had been. It had to be carefully cut off with a sharp knife, and it was rather a tedious task. So the boys were glad to leave it for me to do.

 But I really wanted most to make a ram rod. I would whittle and work on one for hours and try to hold my tongue out of the corner of my mouth like Jasper did when he was very intent upon his work. I thought perhaps it might
help, but it was of no use. My ram rods were always crooked. I think I must have wondered about it, for Jasper said: "Lottie, what do you want a ram rod for, you haven't got any gun?" That was quite true, but I had not thought of it.

 When the ram rods were perfectly shaped, they were scraped with a piece of glass, then rubbed with sand till they were as smooth and true as though they had been turned in a lathe. Then the boys would take a thin tow string and
wrap it spiral fashion from one end to the other, spacing it maybe one inch apart. Then they would double back to the starting place, then they would hold it for a second in the flame and the string would burn off in a flash. Then there would be little brown lines that formed tiny squares, scorched lightly but indelibly, from end to end of the rod. I thought them very beautiful.

Walt Davies
Monmouth, OR

 A few nights before we went away, a party of neighbor boys came over to bid us good bye. Mother set out buttermilk and johnny cakes. Two or three of the boys slipped out and after a while came in carrying a bee gum. They had held it over a shovel full of hot coals and tobacco till the bees were all dead, so the gum was opened in safety and the clear flakes of honey were passed around.

 The frontier boys, to whom sweets were a rare delicacy, ate it and laughed and laughed at the joke on Mr. Collins, who then owned our bees. He was said to be rather over careful of what belonged to him, so they thought it was a great lark. I remember that Father seemed to enjoy the joke even more than they did. He ate the honey and chuckled to himself, but Mother refused to touch it, though she gave no reason at the time. Mother was very pious. Most anyone at all would have known that by first looking at her. I guess Father was to, for the matter of that, but one would never in the world have suspected it by just seeing him or hearing him laugh.

 Later, when the company had gone, Mother looked very severe and frowning at Father, said: "Daniel, I am surprised at you for allowing those boys to take Mr. Collins' honey. You even ate it and laughed with the rest of them." Then Father laughed even louder than before. He laughed till the tears came and said: "why Polly, the boys did not know it, but that was not Mr. Collins' bee gum. It was the one that I had kept for ourselves." That was my Fathers sense of delicacy. The boys probably chuckled for a long time over the joke they played on Mr. Collins I am quite sure they never learned from Father that they had sat by our own fireside and had eaten the honey that we were to
take with us. Everybody loved my Father. Of course, I always knew what a wonderful man he was, but I used to wonder how a really, truly pious man could be so happy. I suspected that he was maybe, not quite so pious as Mother or sister Lizabeth. I used to think to myself that I would rather be like Father maybe not quite so pious as the others. I am eighty seven now, and like Father, I always found it easy to laugh. It has helped me over many a rough place in the trail, it also has gotten me into many a tight place too.

Walt Davies
Monmouth, Or

Conner Blue was an odd little name and I wondered why they called him that. He was their daughter Theodora's baby. In later years, I came to understand that one name was quite as good as another. That was why the fine, cultured old couple had left the New England home, where the family had lived for generations, to take Theodora and Theodora's baby into a new country, as far away as they could get from things that they could not bear to think about. They had loaded two big wagons, filled them full of everything that they would need to last for the trip and help to see them through the winter. They hired a stranger, a Frenchman, he claimed to be, to drive the extra wagon. As it happened, this extra wagon carried the bulk of the things to eat.About this time gold had been discovered. They heard about it at Fort Bridger and at different places along the way. Everyone was excited, but Uncle and Aunty Farraday were not concerned about it. They started to Oregon, though many others changed their plans and when the road to California led away from the Oregon trail, they turned to the left and followed the road into the gold fields. As the long, long line of wagons came to the fork in the road, friends shouted good-bye to friends, even families separated and followed their different ways, and wagons turned by twos and threes to go into California.
(to be continued)

Walt Davies
Monmouth, OR

-----------------------------------

Conner Blue was an odd little name and I wondered why they called him that. He was their daughter Theodora's baby. In later years, I came to understand that one name was quite as good as another. That was why the fine, cultured old couple had left the New England home, where the family had lived for generations, to take Theodora and Theodora's baby into a new country, as far away as they could get from things that they could not bear to think about.

They had loaded two big wagons, filled them full of everything that they would need to last for the trip and help to see them through the winter. They hired a stranger, a Frenchman, he claimed to be, to drive the extra wagon. As it happened, this extra wagon carried the bulk of the things to eat. About this time gold had been discovered. They heard about it at Fort Bridger and at different places along the way. Everyone was excited, but Uncle and Aunty Farraday were not concerned about it. They started to Oregon, though many others changed their plans and when the road to California led away from the Oregon trail, they turned to the left and followed the road into the gold fields. As the long, long line of wagons came to the fork in the road, friends shouted good-bye to friends, even families separated and followed their different ways, and wagons turned by twos and threes to go into California.

But Uncle and Aunty Farraday drove past the turning place and on toward Oregon. They drove all that day. The wagon train stopped at a stream to make camp for the night. Uncle and Aunty Farraday were worried, worried and frightened. They had failed to catch up with Theodora and the Frenchman and the wagon with its load of provisions. Other drivers ahead had seen them turn to the left and thought nothing of it, till they saw the old couple and Theodora's little abandoned baby. It was too late to do anything then, they were two full days travel apart, and everyone knew that the wagons headed for the gold fields, were traveling fast. There was nothing for the heartbroken old people to do, but conserve what was left for them and go on with the Oregon division.

Walt Davies
Monmouth, OR
PS If I seam to forget a story's ending please give a holler.

My grandmother gave these letters to my dad. She obtained them while she was Head Housekeeper at the Masonic Home in Forest Grove, Oregon. When the residents passed away their personal belongings were sold if no family members wanted them.

The first letter is dated 20 March 1846 at Oregon City, OR and addressed to his mother Mrs. Elizabeth L. Rees of Riley, Butler Co., OH. It indicates that he came to Oregon about 1844 or 1845.

The second letter is dated 22 October 1848 at Sutter's Fort in California (Gold Rush time!) and addressed to Mrs. Amanda M. Rees of Champoeg, OR.

I have typescript copy of both if you are interested.

Coincidentally, my husband descends from a Rees family that was also in Ohio but I don't know if there is a connection.

Cathi

Elizabeth Ellen Rees b.23 Sept. 1850 m.___Hendershott

___Anna Rees b. 18 Feb. 1852 m.____Clark

Lora Amanda Rees b. 12 Sept. 1853 m.___Day

David Crawford Rees b. 06 March 1855

Thomas Hall Rees b.11 Dec.1856

Harry L. Rees b. 27 March 1858

Park Alva Rees 20 Feb. 1861

Willard Hamilton Rees b. 24 Oct. 186

Clara Augusta Rees b. 06 May 1868

Lillie May Rees b. 01 May 1870

Priscilla F. Rees b. 21 Feb. 1872

William C. Rees 05 Jan. 1857
I am also a descendent of James and Cynthia Groom Hall but from a sibling of Amanda Hall. Amanda's sister America Francis Hall married McDonough Rees in 1856. Another descendent with more information on these Rees is Peggy Lovelace Contreras E-mail plc@proaxis.com Good hunting

Ellen White

Cathi

Linch/Lynch

Lane