Hannah Ann

Hannah Ann, my 2x Great Grandma, is the inspiration for this site, this blog, and this small business I’ve created. She is also, as I see it, an incredibly profound piece in the mosaic of multiple generations coming together in and through me in present time.

According to my Grandma Eve’s writing & my own research, Hannah was steady & strong and most definitely “bold & queer”.

She was a take-no-bullshit kind of woman who made her own way through life despite all of the challenges that were thrown her way.

It seems fitting that, to properly begin sharing about my personal family history in this space, I must start with Hannah. From her I can work forwards and backwards in my maternal line as I share more individual stories, but in my mind, it all begins with her, the pebble tossed in the pond of my heart as a small child, and from which the ripples expand.

Hannah’s Beginnings

Hannah was born 1860 in rural Indiana, the 8th of 13 children, to Quakers, Daniel & Nancy Lindsey.

According to our family stories she was happier working in the field than she was in the house with the other ladies. She was strong, independent, and had big thoughts about the wider world that made her parents uncomfortable. She also loved music and exploration which were quite queer interests for a young woman of her time to pursue.

She was, in fact, called “bold and queer” by her mother for acting outside the norm of her family and faith.

Bold, meaning one who takes risks, was not a compliment at the time, and queer had not yet become a slur, but instead meant strange, odd, and peculiar. Neither descriptors were meant by her mother to inspire her actions. Despite this, Hannah quietly embodied these labels throughout her life with grace and resilience by going against the grain, surviving unimaginable loss and heartbreak, and never ceasing to fight for what she knew to be good and true.

After much prodding from her mother and sisters, she slowly came in from the fields and began spending more time in the home building her Hope Chest, collecting and making small items to add to her chest over the course of a few years.

At some point, on one of her adventures, Hannah purchased a glass hatchet (a small hatchet shaped item molded in clear glass). It was a novelty item that, by all intents & purposes wouldn’t have necessarily made sense for a woman like her to have an affinity for, but she loved it nonetheless. Over the course of many decades this small novelty became a most prized family heirloom.

From Farmer to Wife

In 1887, much to the horror of her family, Hannah married late for the times (yes, 27 was quite old for a bride) to a man no one knew. She simply packed everything up one day, climbed aboard James’ wagon, and off they went…

Away from the only home she ever knew, the farm she worked tirelessly with her father and brothers, and the sisters she loved, causing a rift between her and her family that I don’t believe was ever healed.

Hannah was suddenly filled with love and hope, her time spent with the making of house and home as well as their first child, Eva Caroline, born in 1888.

But the Honeymoon Period was Short Lived

After Eva came Durward, Dale, Leah, Denzil (AKA Dutch, my great Grandpa), and finally, Ursula in 1900.

It seems, though, from my Grandma’s writing, that they weren’t a “traditional”, happy, nuclear family.

James would be gone for long stretches of time, working in other states. He would send money sometimes, and show up to meet the babies or to make new babies, but never to raise them or properly support Hannah and never with anything positive to say.

During one of his absences Hannah found it financially necessary to close up their rural home and move into town where she could earn a living to support herself and her growing brood. James, upon returning, was livid. He believed this move looked bad on him and I can’t say he was wrong. While working remotely to support ones family was common practice at the time, it usually resulted in actually financially supporting ones family, something James wasn’t doing and Hannah’s move made that fact apparent to the community.

Hannah, the Mama Bear that she was, did what she had to do to keep her family safe and healthy.

Unfortunately, despite her best efforts and in two separate instances, she lost two of her children to horrible accidents (an accidental poison ingestion and a fall into the boiling wash water resulting in an unrecoverable scalding).

Dale died at only 2 years old and Leah died at 4 years old, leaving Hannah devastated twice over, only 4 years apart.

In 1900, while Hannah was pregnant with her 6th child, James returned home again after yet another long absence only to become physically abusive. After an especially violent attack, Hannah sent Denzil for the Sheriff who escorted him away for good.

To the best of my knowledge he never returned to the family in any way, and passed away only 11 years later under pretty nasty circumstances.

But that’s a story for another day.

Hannah spent the rest of her days raising, caring for, and protecting her children on her own until they were old enough to fend for themselves and make their own way.

She tended a small garden, tended her General Store, and tended to the community as best as she was able, never wavering from her indominable spirit and fierce sense of what was good and true in her mind and heart.

In the End

Hannah died at age 77 in April of 1937 in the home of her youngest daughter, Ursula.

I’d like to think she was surrounded by the people who loved her best and that the community mourned her loss.

Her life was not romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a good, solid life, and it was built on her terms despite all the challenges she faced.

My Grandma Eve wrote the below poem for Hannah to read at her funeral. She asked me to do the same for her at her own Memorial.

When Endings Become Beginnings & the Ripples Expand

The glass hatchet Hannah purchased as a young woman passed from her hands to my Grandma Eve’s hands when Hannah died, a small item that took on great meaning.

I remember, as a child, if I was especially good, my grandma would sit me down in the middle of the bed & hand me the hatchet to look at for a few minutes while she told of Hannah. It always felt *so very special*.

In 1997, when Grandma Eve passed, she left it to me along with the unfinished draft of our family history she titled, “The Glass Hatchet”.

Somewhere along the way, through the ups & downs of complicated lives, the glass hatchet took on the meaning, energy, & intention of breaking the cycles of trauma, abuse, & addiction. Eve’s memoir aimed to the same.

But as I said in the beginning, in my mind, it all begins with Hannah and I feel a great affinity for her…

A deep respect & understanding that seems to transcend time…

A profound gratitude for the work she put in so that I might be afforded all of the opportunities I’ve been granted & that still sit before me.

And so, as I navigate this journey, I carry forward a single photo of Hannah taken shortly after my grandma’s birth (that’s Hannah on the right in the light dress with the big collar, and Eve in the back in her Aunt Eva’s arms) coupled with the glass hatchet, my grandma’s written memories of her & now, this site/blog and business of my own.

There was a fire within Hannah that burned deep & bright and I am ever determined to carry forward the spirit of an immensely strong woman who overcame unimaginable grief & trauma to do pretty alright by herself & her family, one step, one day at a time.

Onward,

Melis