Finding unexpected validation in the doctor's office

In mid-July of 2020, during one of the early Covid-19 spikes, I developed a cluster of covid-like symptoms: shortness of breath with any exertion and even with talking, chest pain when I breathed, extreme fatigue, mild fever, muscle aches, and an occasional dry cough. I got a nasal-swab test; it was negative, but at the time, false negative rates were roughly 20-30 percent. I also got a chest X-ray, which showed my lungs were clear. After a couple of weeks, the fever subsided, but the fatigue lasted at least a month and the shortness of breath lingered for months. 

My doctor referred me to a pulmonologist, who was brusque and dismissive of me from the first meeting. She told me that the covid test I’d had -- a gentle swab inside the opening of the nostrils, not the one that goes all the way to your brainpan -- was garbage.

But she also told me that, since I’m fat, it was more likely reflux causing my lung symptoms. And also, because I sometimes have trouble sleeping, I probably also have apnea. (She wasn’t just a pulmonologist, but a sleep doctor). 

I tried explaining to her that I have sensory processing disorder, and I wake up at the slightest unusual noise or movement at night, and that’s why I don’t sleep well. “It’s possible that you have … whatever that is,” she said disdainfully, “But apnea is very common in people of your size.” Never mind that we were on a video call and she could only see me from the shoulders up, and had no idea what size my body was.

Unfortunately, I’m accustomed to having interactions like this with doctors. I’m fat, I have fibromyalgia, I’m neurodiverse and I’m well educated on my own health. I do a lot of self-advocacy in the doctor’s office, and some doctors don’t like it. They also don’t always know how to handle it when someone turns up in their office with so many unfamiliar conditions (even though none of them are particularly rare). 

I stopped seeing that pulmonologist. My GP put me on a steroid inhaler, which was the first thing to really bring my lungs any relief. After a month of breathing freely, I met with a different pulmonologist, who took my history again. He said right away that my symptoms strongly suggested I’d had a virus that affected my lungs, and that covid was entirely possible. He also said that lasting shortness of breath was common after these kinds of viruses, and that sometimes a miscommunication between the nerves in the throat and the nerves in the chest/lungs can be part of the problem. 

I laughed. “No, it really can happen,” he said.

“I believe you,” I said. “I have fibromyalgia -- my nerves misfire pretty often.”

He didn’t question it. At all. 

He referred me to UCSF’s voice and swallowing center, where they would check for any signs of a nerve issue. On the day of my visit, the speech-language pathologist talked me through my history. Again, she mentioned the potential for nerve systems misfiring. When I mentioned I have fibromyalgia, she nodded knowingly. “It’s really common for folks with fibromyalgia to have these kinds of issues. We see it all the time.”

My body warmed with relief. It’s rare enough to find healthcare workers willing to take fibromyalgia seriously, let alone ones who are familiar with treating patients like me. 

“We also find that this happens in patients who have a lot of sensory sensitivities,” she said. 

“That’s me, too!” I said. Of course, I’m not at all surprised -- people with sensory sensitivities are more likely to develop chronic pain conditions, and vice versa. But not that many people in health care seem to be aware of that. 

I thanked her for being familiar with these things, and she smiled. And then, when it came time to numb my sinuses and run a scope through my nose and down into my throat, she did two things that really helped: One, she explained everything she was about to do. And two, she got the tiniest scope possible, the one they use for infants, so it would cause me the least discomfort. 

I’ve written before about having to craft my own healthcare procedures. It’s exhausting, and shouldn’t be necessary, but it’s also worth it. So it was a huge surprise and relief to be taken care of -- without having to do any of the work myself. Why can’t more medical appointments be this way?

I still don’t know if I had Covid-19. My lungs feel a lot better, and the voice and swallowing center didn’t find anything wrong with the nerves in my throat. And I’m grateful that, at that appointment, I felt genuinely seen.

We Are Here to Help Each Other

Photo by Ralph (Ravi) Kayden/Unsplash.

When we’re together, humans constantly influence each other’s emotional states. A grumpy person on our bus can leave us feeling cranky, while a calm doctor can soothe us from the moment she enters the exam room. When our kids or partners are testy, it can make us short-tempered, escalating a moment of tension into a fight. And when we snuggle into a loved one’s arms, both of us quiet and breathing slowly, we settle into a bubble of calm and safety.

In psychology, this is often called “co-regulation,” especially that last example. Scientist Stephen Porges believes that humans, like all mammals, were designed to settle their nervous systems in connection with others. We learn to self-regulate through the safety that co-regulation teaches us, and teaches our bodies.

“Our ability to achieve a state of regulation—and especially to be able to support others who are in distress—actually comes from our capacity and opportunity to lean on support ourselves. And we need the support of not just one strong relationship, resiliency research shows, but of many. We need a distribution of support, so that we have access to a wide range of relationships to keep us resilient without overtaxing any one of them,” Porges said last year.

Growing up and even now, it’s hard for me to feel 100% safe leaning on other people for support and comfort. I think it’s for a combination of reasons: being on the autism spectrum has made it more difficult for me to understand human behavior sometimes, especially when I am too trusting and wind up getting burned. I’ve been hurt a lot by people, and I’m still learning that, while some interpersonal harm is abusive, we also accidentally hurt each other even in the best of relationships. And then we mend again.

Co-regulation doesn’t happen only between mammals of the same species. Anyone who’s had a close relationship with a cat, dog, horse, or other sweet critter knows that we can soothe and support each other across species. For much of my life, I’ve sought comfort and safety from animals, cats in particular. They have helped me immensely.

The brilliant folks at Queer Nature talk about the idea that co-regulation can go beyond mammals, beyond other critters, to other beings in nature (trees, stones, rivers), or the earth itself. As someone who instantly settles down when I am among trees or by the ocean, I love the idea of co-regulation with these spaces. But is it “co”? Am I helping them return to calm and safety in the way they’re helping me? Sometimes I would swear I feel a tree lean into me when I lean against it, or the playfulness of water as it laps around my ankles, certainly.

Getting to these ideas, and accepting them, can be challenging, especially for those of us raised in white privilege, a white/human supremacist culture, and/or in a culture that values individualism and doing everything on your own. Humans in leadership have been dismantling close connections to nature for centuries, especially in an effort to eradicate those connections among the indigenous people of the Americas. But when you look at how many ways different species rely on each other for survival, it begins to make more sense. In her book Braiding Sweetgrass, Robin Wall Kimmerer writes about how the sweetgrass grows better and healthier when some of it (about 50 percent) is harvested by humans. Or think about how our gut flora couldn’t live without us, and we couldn’t live without them. Nature is full of such examples.

I have been reading these ideas and absorbing them, ironically, in an effort to reach out more often to my fellow humans for help, comfort, and safety. I’m lucky to be at a point in my life where I have a lot of people around me who understand the value of community, particularly communities of care, and of not enduring something alone. And, slowly, it’s getting easier to reach out to them when I need. But that hasn’t diminished the value, for me, of finding comfort with my kitty, the shoreline, the birds in my backyard or a quiet grove of trees. I’m very lucky to have that, too.

Tell Me Baby All Through the Night

Mike Tramp of White Lion.

When I was in my teens and 20s, I would occasionally have dreams in which I became friends with a musician I admired. We would take long walks together, talk for hours, snuggle and hold hands. Or I would dream that something stressful was happening, but then suddenly Metallica would arrive and start playing music, launching a fun, impromptu party that made all the stressful things go away.

It’s common wisdom, especially these days, that everyone (and everything) in our dreams is an aspect of ourselves. I’ve written about how I fell in love with hard rock and heavy metal as a teenager, because the music comforted and soothed me so much. I also had crushes on many of the musicians, both because they were so good-looking, and because they made music that was such a good friend to me.

I dreamed at least once of spending a day with Guns N’ Roses singer Axl Rose. Although I now see him as a very problematic (and racist, homophobic, and misogynist) person, as a teenager I saw him as a troubled/wounded soul. Sometimes I imagined I could heal him; other times I’m pretty sure I identified with his woundedness. In the dream we talked and talked and hugged and hugged. It was really sweet.

In another dream I met up with White Lion singer Mike Tramp in Copenhagen, and he showed me around the city as we talked and held hands. At the end of the day — I still remember this clearly — we sat on the stoop outside his house and snuggled. Tramp projected an image of a good-hearted guy, deeply worried about the state of the planet and unafraid to love. It was that sweetness that came through in the dream.

I wrote to Tramp about the dream, telling him all the details and how I wished we could be friends in real life. He didn’t reply. That’s okay.

These days, I see these dreams as an effort on the part of my subconscious to befriend and love different parts of myself, whether it’s a part that feels broken, a sensitive part, or a part that wants to soothe a tense situation with music and joy. In them I felt so much peace and love, and I’d wake up missing the person I’d dreamed of. That was the hardest part. They felt so real.

I rarely have such dreams anymore. I miss them.

What I Watched in 2020

I spent a lot of time sewing this year, and often while I was sewing, I was watching movies and series. Also, I’m part of an online slack community where we watch a lot of things together, so a lot of the rewatches on my list (plus “Lost” seasons 2-4 and “Avatar: The Last Airbender) come from there. It was a year for comfort, for revisiting familiar things.

Movies:
Knives Out
Hail Satan?
Rocketman
Booksmart
JoJo Rabbit
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood
Mystify: Michael Hutchence
Parasite
Ever After (rewatch)
In Bruges (rewatch)
Pride and Prejudice 2005 (twice, both rewatches)
Anna Karenina
Tea With the Dames
Can’t Hardly Wait (rewatch)
Mad Max: Fury Road (rewatch)
Ladybird
Terminator (rewatch)
Terminator 2 (rewatch) 
Terminator: Dark Fate (rewatch)
Disclosure
Lost and Delirious
Little Women 2019 (rewatch)
The Others (rewatch)
The Craft (rewatch)
Practical Magic (rewatch)
The Lady in Black
Mary Shelley
Nightmare on Elm St. 3
The Witch (rewatch)
The Legend of Sleepy Hollow (rewatch)
Bram Stoker’s Dracula (rewatch)
Legend (rewatch)
Willow
Twilight (rewatch)
New Moon
Eclipse
Breaking Dawn 1&2
Christmas Vacation (rewatch)
The Two Towers (rewatch) 
Joe Vs. The Volcano
The Return of the King (rewatch)

TV:
Messiah
Shrill S2
Anne With an E S3
The Gift S1
The OA S1&2
Self-Made
The Magicians S5
Next in Fashion S1
Lost S2-4 (rewatch)
Devs
Queer Eye S5
The Celts: Blood, Iron & Sacrifice
The World of Stonehenge
Avatar: The Last Airbender S1-3
Pose S2
Mrs. America
Tales From The Green Valley
Victorian Farm
The Haunting of Bly Manor
The Haunting of Hill House (rewatch)
What We Do in the Shadows S1&2
Fleabag S1&2 (rewatch)
Great British Baking Show S8
The Undoing
Ugly Delicious S1&2
His Dark Materials S2

Favorite Podcasts of 2020

Podcasts are more popular than ever, and it can be tough to find the gems. I can’t promise that my favorite podcasts of 2020 will be ones that appeal to you — they are perhaps somewhat niche — but I hope some of you will really enjoy these.

In no particular order:

Feminist Survival Project 2020: Emily and Amelia Nagoski wrote an indispensable book in 2019, “Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle,” and this is their podcast companion to the book. They had a feeling 2020 would be a difficult year, but they had no idea how difficult it would be when they launched this podcast in late 2019. Each episode is full of chatty, useful science and tools for getting through life. Favorite episode: “The Madwoman.”

I Weigh: Hosted by Jameela Jamil (“The Good Place,” “Legendary”), each episode features a deep, vulnerable interview with someone who’s making a difference in the world. I love how honest and cathartic these conversations are. Favorite episode: “ALOK.”

How to Survive the End of the World: Sisters Autumn Brown and adrienne maree brown’s podcast about “learning from apocalypse with grace, rigor, and curiosity” feels a little too relevant in 2020. Early this year, Autumn did a series of wonderful solo interviews that focused on different survival skills: housing, health care, agriculture and much more. My favorite was the two-part interview with Queer Nature, which connected wilderness survival skills to trauma survival, nervous system regulation and much more: “Tactical Hope” and “The OODA Loop.”

Maintenance Phase: Aubrey Gordon (Your Fat Friend) and Michael Hobbes (“You’re Wrong About”) launched this brilliant new podcast late this year, with deeply researched episodes on aspects of the weight loss industry, including Snackwells cookies and “wellness” culture. They’ll be back with new episodes soon. Favorite episode: “Anti-Fat Bias.”

Rebel Eaters Club: Writer and teacher Virgie Tovar’s podcast features a lively and fun interview each episode on food, diet culture, and feeling good in our bodies. (Each one also features one of the guest’s favorite snacks). Catch up now and get ready for season 2, which begins on Jan. 5. Favorite episode: “Food is Life” (with SF Chronicle food writer Soleil Ho).

Feels Like the First Time: It might be cheating to include this one, since it’s only available to people who are Patreon supporters of “The Storm: A Lost Rewatch Podcast” or “Buffering the Vampire Slayer.” In this bonus podcast, culture writer Joanna Robinson (“The Storm”) introduces activist Kristin Russo (“Buffering”) to major movie franchises she hasn’t seen before, quizzing her beforehand to see if she can guess key plot points and catch phrases. Sometimes Kristin turns the tables and shows Joanna a movie she hasn’t seen before. Either way, they are hilarious and charming — and now there’s a slack where subscribers can live-watch movies with them each month. It’s some of the most fun I’ve had this year. If you’re already interested in either “Lost” or “Buffy the Vampire Slayer” and want to invest in a quality podcast, it’s worth it to get this bonus podcast.

What I Read in 2020

I read a lot in 2020, I think to distract myself for a few minutes or hours at a time from what was going on in the world around me. Granted, a lot of what I read was heavy and difficult, but I often like reading books that help me grow.

I also attended a lot of book events this year — only one or two in person (the last one was for the launch of Danielle Svetcov’s book “Parked”) and many more online. I appreciated virtual book events because I didn’t have to go anywhere, and I could attend events happening all across the country. Even when we go back to in-person events I hope some live-streaming options will remain available.

If you’d like to follow along with what I’m reading in 2021 and beyond, you can add me on Goodreads. And now, on with the list!

1. “H is for Hawk,” Helen Macdonald

2. “You Were Born for This: Astrology for Radical Self-acceptance,” Chani Nicholas

3. “Fangirls: Scenes from Modern Music Culture,” Hannah Evans

4. “Open Me,” Lisa Locascio

5. “Binti #1,” Nnedi Okorafor

6. “How Not to Let Go,” Emily Foster

7. “Dog Medicine,” Julie Barton

8. “Covet,” J.R. Ward

9. “Parked,” Danielle Svetcov

10. “The Dialectical Behavior Therapy Skills Workbook,” Matthew McKay, Jeffrey Wood and Jeffrey Brantley

11. “Our Bodies, Ourselves: Menopause”

12. “First We Make the Beast Beautiful: A New Journey Through Anxiety,” Sarah Wilson

13. “Insecure in Love: How Anxious Attachment Can Make You Feel Jealous, Needy, and Worried and What You Can Do About It,” Leslie Becker-Phelps

14. “Death Wins a Goldfish,” Brian Rea

15. “Blossoms and Bones,” Kim Krans

16. “Daisy Jones and the Six,” Taylor Jenkins Reid

17. “Mudlark: In Search of London’s Past Along the River Thames,” Lara Maiklem

18. “At the Pond: Swimming at the Hampstead Ladies’ Pond,” (anthology)

19. Water Log,” Roger Deakin

20. “The Power,” Naomi Alderman

21. “KTLN,” Alee Karim

22. “A Black Women’s History of the United States,” Daina Ramey Berry and Kali N. Gross

23. “Brown Album,” Porochista Khakpour

24. “Big Girl,” Meg Elison

25. “Breath: The New Science of a Lost Art,” James Nestor

26. “Braiding Sweetgrass,” Robin Wall Kimmerer

27. “Real American,” Julie Lythcott-Haims

28. “Invisible Gifts,” Maw Shein Win

29. “Bury Me in Thunder,” Moira J.

30. “The City We Became,” NK Jemisin

31. “Wow, No Thank You,” Samantha Irby

32. “Writing Ourselves Whole,” Jen Cross

33. “Every Heart a Doorway,” Seanan McGuire

34. “Gideon the Ninth,” Tamsyn Muir

35. “Emergent Strategy,” adrienne maree brown

36. “The Mermaid, The Witch and the Sea,” Maggie Tokuda-Hall

37. “Axiom’s End,” Lindsay Ellis

38. “Meeting Faith: The Forest Journals of a Black Buddhist Nun,” Faith Adiele

39. “She Votes: How U.S. Women Won Suffrage, and What Happened Next,” Bridget Quinn

40. “The Tower at Stony Wood,” Patricia McKillip

41. “The Companions,” Katie Flynn

42. “Resistance,” Tori Amos

43. “Unforgetting: A Memoir of Family, Migration, Gangs, and the Revolution in the Americas,” Roberto Lovato

44. “Find Layla,” Meg Elison

45. “You Can Keep That To Yourself,” Adam Smyer

46. “Occult London,” Merlin Coverley

47. “The Five,” Hallie Rubenfold

48. “Paranormal London,” Gillian Pickup

49. “Hench,” Natalie Zina Walschots

50. “Hyperbole and a Half,” Allie Brosh

51. “Solutions and Other Problems,” Allie Brosh

52. “My Grandmother’s Hands: Racialized Trauma and the Mending of Our Bodies and Hearts,” Resmaa Menakem

53. “Inferno,” Catherine Cho

54. “Proper English,” K.J. Charles

55. “The Story of Dion Fortune” (as-told-to)

56. “Stalking Tender Prey,” Storm Constantine

57. “A Really Good Day: How Microdosing Made a Mega Difference in My Mood, My Marriage, and My Life,” Ayelet Waldman

58. “Pagan Britain,” Ronald Hutton

59. “Maid of the King’s Court,” Lucy Worsley

60. “My Dark Vanessa,” Kate Elizabeth Russell 

61. “Shit, Actually: The Definitive, 100% Objective Guide to Modern Cinema,” Lindy West

62. “Fat,” Hanne Blank

63. “What We Don’t Talk About When We Talk About Fat,” Aubrey Gordon

64. “Wired for Love,” Stanley Tatkin

65. “So You Want to Talk About Race,” Ijeoma Oluo

66. “Magic Lessons,” Alice Hoffman

67. “The Body is Not An Apology: The Power of Radical Self-Love,” Sonya Renee Taylor

68. “Mediocre: The Dangerous Legacy of White Male America,” Ijeoma Oluo

69. “The Highly Sensitive Person: How to Thrive When the World Overwhelms You,” Elaine N. Aron

The Storms of Sleepy Hollow

Philipsburg Manor, Sleepy Hollow, New York, photographed by Daderot in 2005, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

One branch of my family tree includes many folks who were among the first settlers of the legendary town of Sleepy Hollow in New York. Even better, their family name was Storm. 

A side note before we get started: Sleepy Hollow wasn’t always called Sleepy Hollow. The little village north of Tarrytown was most often called North Tarrytown from its incorporation in the late 19th century until 1996, when it officially changed its name, staking its claim to the Washington Irving story. 

One of my earliest ancestors to settle in Sleepy Hollow (in Haudenosaunee territory) was my 10th great-grandfather, Dirck Goris (or Gorisszen) Storm. He was born in 1630 in Leiden, in the Netherlands. He married Maria van Montfoort in 1655, and they had a son, my 9th great-grandfather, Gregoris Storm, in 1656. The family, including two other children, traveled to North America in 1662; Maria gave birth to a daughter during the journey. 

Before arriving in North America, Storm had served as the Town Clerk for Oss, in the Netherlands. When they arrived by boat -- at the foot of Wall Street in Manhattan -- Storm became involved in local affairs right away. He owned property, including a tavern on Beaver Street, and later served as Town Clerk for communities in Brooklyn. In 1670 he became Secretary of the Colony. In 1691 the British sent him north to Tappan, where he became the first Secretary and Clerk of the Sessions for Orange County, New York. Later that decade, Dirck and Maria were recorded as members of the Old Dutch Church in Sleepy Hollow, not long after the church was built. 

The Old Dutch Church in Sleepy Hollow, built in the 1690s and seen here in a postcard from 1907.

He was also a skilled writer, and the church members asked him to write the history of the church, dating back to 1697. His book, Het Notite Boeck der Christelyckes Kercke op de Manner of Philips Burgh, offers a rare look at early colonial life. He died in 1716, and is buried in Sleepy Hollow. 

The original village was quite small, with several large and active families that sometimes intermarried. My Storm ancestors married Van Tassels at least three times: Pieter Storm, son of Dirck, married Margaret Van Tassel in 1696, and Elizabeth Storm married Lt. Cornelius Van Tassel in 1756. A third marriage played a small role in one of the spookiest stories of all time.  

Sleepy Hollow was well established by 1820 when Washington Irving -- who had lived in nearby Tarrytown and socialized in Sleepy Hollow -- wrote his famous short story about the Headless Horseman. The character of Katrina Van Tassel was inspired by a flesh-and-blood daughter of the Van Tassel family. Although historians believe the actual girl was Eleanor Van Tassel; her aunt, Catriena, inspired the name. Eleanor’s grandparents were Jacob Van Tassel and Aeltie Alberts Storm. They married in 1724 in the First Reformed Church of Tarrytown. 

Dirck Goris Storm’s descendants remained in and around Sleepy Hollow for generations. Gregoris lived in North Tarrytown much of his life and is also buried in the Sleepy Hollow cemetery. Likewise his son, Derck Storm, who was born in 1695 and died in about 1762. His son, Hendrick, was born in 1709 and lived until 1793; his son, Gregorus, was born in 1731, baptised in North Tarrytown, and lived until 1807. Most or all have headstones in Sleepy Hollow. (So does Washington Irving.) 

The latter Gregorus Storm and his wife, Jannitje Williams, had at least three children, including my 5th great-grandmother, Mary Storms, who was born in 1760 in Haverstraw, just up the Hudson River (and on the other bank) from Sleepy Hollow. It’s unclear to me why she went by Storms instead of Storm; her brothers, Jacobus and Johannis, didn’t. Mary married Joseph Allison in 1781 and they had 11 children together. Mary died in 1829. The Allison lineage carried down to my grandmother, Frances Allison Nesbitt, whose middle name comes from that line. 

As with the other ancestors I’ve written about, I’d love to visit Sleepy Hollow, walk the streets they may have walked, visit their bones at the Sleepy Hollow cemetery, and find out just how haunted the village really is.

The Mennonites of Massanutten in the Shenandoah Valley

The White House, built in 1760, photographed in 1929. Built by my sixth great-grandfather, Martin Kauffman Jr., for Mennonite services.

My family tree is (perhaps oddly) full of religious leaders. 

One of my grandfathers was a Southern Baptist preacher, the other a traveling evangelist. My fourth great-grandfather, Robert Frazier Jones, was a Methodist minister who built his own log church outside Atlanta in the early 1800s. 

And several of my ancestors were Mennonites whose parents fled persecution in Europe. These families started out in the Mennonite community in Pennsylvania and ultimately moved south to Luray, Virginia, where they created a Mennonite settlement in the Shenandoah Valley. They included the reverends John Roads, Martin Kauffman, Sr. and Martin Kauffman, Jr. 

Four married couples, my sixth great-grandparents, were among these settlers of the valley next to Massanutten, a mountain named by the indigenous people of the area, most likely the Algonquins. Among them were Joseph Roads and Mary Strickler; Abraham Brubaker and Barbara Miller; Conrad Bieber and Maria Magdalena Kniesley; and Martin Kaufmann, Jr., and Mary Lionberger. 

Their great-granddaughter (and my third great-grandmother), Rebecca Roads, was born in Luray and moved to Licking County, Ohio, where she married my third great-grandfather, Isaiah Winegarner, in 1831. 

Joseph’s father, John Roads, was born in Switzerland in 1712 and immigrated to the U.S. when he was in his early teens. He married Eve Catherine Albright, whose parents were from the village of Gamburg, Germany, and they were among the first settlers of the “Massanutting Colony,” which was established in 1726 or 1727 in Luray. Although the majority of these early settlers were Mennonites, a few were Lutherans or Calvinists, according to the Spring 1994 issue of the Shenandoah Mennonite Historian newsletter. 

The journey could not have been easy. “The Massanutten settlers pushed a hundred miles beyond the Potomac and the frontier settlements into the heart of the wilderness, where they could expect no aid from their friends in Pennsylvania nor from the Virginians across the mountains,” Harry Miller Strickler, one of my distant cousins, wrote in his book Massanutten, Settled by the Pennsylvania Pilgrim, 1726.

“When those Swiss pioneers located this spot they found scenery not unlike their own beautiful Alps in Switzerland, not so sublime probably, not so awe-inspiring perhaps, beautiful scenery nevertheless -- ‘God-like scenery for God-like men for God-like purposes.’ The scenery is too beautiful, and too much like Heaven must be to be described by the most facile pen. So I will not attempt it, but advise you to go and see it for yourself,” Strickler wrote.

There were undoubtedly indigenous tribes living in the area at the time who were, at the very least, displaced by the new settlers. And more settlers kept coming. By 1758 there were at least 39 Mennonite families in the area, including my 6th great-grandparents. Strickler was born in the community. Brubaker was born in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, and had moved to Luray by 1750. Miller, too, was living in the settlement by 1750. Bieber and Kniesley were married in Berks County, Pennsylvania, and arrived at Massanutten in 1756. Kauffman was born in Lancaster and came to the settlement before 1740, when he was still a young child. Lionberger was born in nearby Hawksbill Creek, and was living in Massanutten by 1760.  

Both Joseph’s and Martin’s fathers became important religious leaders in the nascent Mennonite Church. But Joseph’s family suffered a significant tragedy. In August of 1764, historians say, eight “Indians” and a white man, who some claimed was Simon Girty, attacked the Roads homestead. They were likely looking for money, as John had quite a bit hidden in a niche in the cellar wall. John and Eva were both killed, along with six of their children; Joseph and six others survived. The attackers set fire to the homestead, destroying it, but the hidden cache of money survived. 

This information comes from A History of Shenandoah County, Virginia, by John W. Wayland, written in 1927, and there’s a similar account in Strickler’s book. While it’s widely accepted that several members of the Roads family died on the same date in 1764, I can’t speak to the accuracy of the details. 

Another view of the White House.

Martin Kauffman, Jr., built a two-story house he called the White House -- because of its white-washed stucco exterior -- in about 1760. The building was used for Mennonite services for many years. In 1770 a new religious man arrived: John Koontz, a Baptist who converted many of the Mennonites to his faith, including Martin Kauffman, Jr. 

When the Revolutionary War broke out in 1775, the Mennobaptist community split; traditionally, Mennonites are pacifists who don’t support war. “Martin Kauffman, having first been a Mennonite ... retained most of their principles after he became a Baptist. These principles caused a division in the White House Church during the Revolutionary War, and Kauffman became the minister of a small number who did not believe in ‘slavery, war, or oaths,’” according to Strickler’s book.

Martin Jr. and many others created a new church, the Mennonite Separate Independent Baptist Church, resuming services at the White House. He also petitioned the General Assembly of Virginia for a military exemption similar to the one given to Quakers and traditional Mennonites, but the petition was denied. 

The separatist church began to disintegrate, but Martin Jr. and some of his followers moved away from the Shenandoah Valley, starting a new community called New Lancaster (now simply Lancaster) in Fairfield County, Ohio. His White House remains standing in Luray, and was listed in the National Register of Historic Places in 2013. And my Winegarner ancestors -- dating back to Isaiah Winegarner and Rebecca Roads -- have been in Ohio for generations. 

While this group of Mennonites eventually led to the birth of my great-great paternal grandfather, Cyphus Winegarner, others descended from the same community are also found in my paternal great-grandmother’s line. Blanche Barr, who married Cyphus’ son, William Winegarner, is descended from Mary Strickler, who was part of the Shenandoah Valley Strickler clan, and from David Pence and Barbara Ruffner, whose families also lived in the Massanutten colony. It’s clear that the folks who left the colony remained close after relocating to Ohio, intermingling and marrying for at least a couple more generations. 

I have never been to Virginia, but would love to visit the area my ancestors lived. In addition to the White House, there’s some indication that a few of the other original homesteads are still around, possibly including Hope Farm, which was built on the land where the Roads family was burned. Those who were killed in that incident were buried near the banks of the Shenandoah River, just downhill from the house. I hope their spirits are at peace.

The Nesbitts of Berwickshire and County Down

My grandmother, Frances Nesbitt, was born in November of 1908 to Frederick Nesbitt and Louise Howell. But I didn’t learn until I was an adult that Nesbitt was the name of a longstanding Scottish clan with a lot of history behind it. 

The name is associated with the lands near Edrom in Berwickshire, Scotland, close to the English-Scottish border. Historians believe the name may have come from a geographical feature in this area; “nese” means “nose” in Middle English, while “bit” means “mouthful,” “piece of ground,” or possibly “bend.” The family name dates back to at least 1160, when William de Nesbite was listed as a witness to a charter by Patrick, Earl of Dunbar to Coldingham Priory.

The Nesbitts established two fortified houses in the 12th century, East Nisbet and West Nisbet. East Nisbet, now known as Allanbank, was located on the Blackadder Water near Allanton, although the original tower no longer exists. West Nisbet remains, and was extended in the 1630s to form the bulk of the present house, located in the Scottish borders. 

(There’s also a Nesbitt Castle in Zimbabwe, which was built in the 20th century by Theodore Albert Edward Holdengarde and then restored by Digby Nesbitt, a businessman from southeastern Zimbabwe.)

Nesbitts have two clan tartans, a primary one and one for dancing/performance, plus a badge that features a boar and the phrase “I byd it,” meaning “I endure.”

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Nesbitts pepper Scottish history, participating in the wars of Scottish independence and the Scottish civil war. Alexander Nisbet wrote a definitive book on the history of heraldry. His son, Philip, was knighted; he was later captured in battle and executed in Glasgow in 1646. Two other sons, Alexander and Robert were killed in the Scottish civil war. In the 1700s, some Nesbitt families moved to Ireland, and later to North America. 

My ancestors were part of this migration. I can trace my grandmother’s lineage back to what is now Northern Ireland; her grandfather, James Corry Nesbitt (that’s him with the tartans, above), was born in November of 1847 in Clanmaghery, a village in Tyrella, Ireland, and came to the U.S. in 1866, when he was 19. He moved to Ohio, where he met and married Elizabeth Woollard in 1880. According to the 1880 census, he and Lizzie lived at 260 East Town Street in Columbus, Ohio, and he worked as a dry goods retailer. The 1900 census shows James and Lizzie living with her parents at 247 East Broad Street in Columbus, and his occupation as “traveling salesman.”

Much of the 1890 census records were famously destroyed in a fire in 1921, but in those intervening years James and Lizzie had at least one child, my great-grandfather, Frederick Cookman Nesbitt, born in January 1881. In 1910 James and Lizzie were still living with her parents; he’s listed as working as a “com traveler” for a “cerfiet house” (if anyone’s got guesses, please comment below). They remained living at the Broad Street house in the 1920 census, after Lizzie’s parents had died, and James was working as the treasurer of an organization; which one isn’t listed. James Corry Nesbitt died in October of 1928; Lizzie lived until March of 1948.

James’ ancestors, including his father, William Nesbitt; his grandfather, Robert Nesbitt; his great-grandfather, also William Nesbitt; and his great-great-grandfather, James Nesbitt, lived much or all of their lives in Ireland, particularly the Woodgrange area of County Down. With the elder James the trail goes cold. We don’t know when or where he was born, or when he died. His son, William, was born in 1730, ostensibly in Ireland, and died in 1798 in Woodgrange. 

James’ father, William, came to the United States for at least a couple of decades. In the 1870 census he, and his wife Margaret, are listed as living in Ward 6 of Brooklyn; his occupation is listed simply as “Laborer.” They are shown living with their daughter, Ellen, and a 21-year-old William Nesbitt, likely a nephew or grandson. In the 1880 census, he and Margaret are shown living at 89 Carroll Street in Brooklyn, still with Ellen and William. He has no occupation identified, although by that time he was nearly 70. He died in 1888 at Clanmaghery. Clanmaghery Road, now also called the A2, still runs through Tyrella today.

I have not visited these regions of Ireland, though I’ve been to several other parts. Someday I’d like to see Tyrella and Woodgrange, and walk the coast near Clanmaghery Road. I’d like to visit the remaining Nisbet House and explore Berwickshire. I wonder if it will feel familiar.

Making friends with plants

Comfrey and chamomile.

Plant care has not always been my strength. I’ve had so many plants die from too much water, too little water, too much sun, too little sun, haunted soil -- who knows. But sometime in the past several years, I’ve slowly learned how to read plants’ cues. 

We are lucky to have a backyard, especially in a pandemic when it’s not as safe or easy to get outdoors into nature. But for a long time, our yard was next-door to a eucalyptus tree, which constantly blew a thick carpet of its leaves onto our soil, which discouraged anything else from growing. But a couple of years ago our neighbor cut down the eucalyptus, which opened up a lot of possibilities for gardening. 

Since then I’ve planted a variety of flora, some that are native to the Bay Area and California, and some that just do well here. We’ve got succulents and nightshades, chartreuse coleus and deep green impatiens with cheerful pink blossoms. But we’ve had a lot of trouble growing edible plants. Only cold-weather crops like kale and Brussels sprouts grow well in our cool and foggy city, and they often wind up so coated in aphids that they’re inedible. 

Herbs, on the other hand, seem to do okay. I’ve planted oregano and chives, mugwort and rosemary, yarrow and lavender that don’t mind the chill, and don’t attract every insect within a two-mile radius. 

This year I wanted to expand the number of herbs in my garden, and I began to wonder what the Ohlone Indians might have planted or foraged. At the same time, I didn’t want to steal information from a culture that isn’t my own. My own ancestors displaced indigenous tribes in other parts of the country, and even if they hadn’t, I have no business adopting their customs as my own. That said, the plants that grow well in the Bay Area have done so for a long time, and connecting with the land where I live means connecting with the plants of the region. 

The bulk of my ancestors came from Britain, Ireland, Scotland and northern Europe (Germany, Switzerland and Scandinavia), so I started digging around for the earliest information I could find on the use of native plants in the UK and Ireland. Before the age of modern medicine, it’s likely they would have used these plants as medicine, and learned about them from their own ancestors. And some of them were likely to grow happily here in San Francisco, too. 

I found a couple of good resources in particular. One was the Anglo-Saxon Nine Herbs Charm, a chant that mentions nine plants, the healing they provide, and how to combine them together to make a medicinal salve. The poem mentions mugwort, plantain, shepherd’s purse, nettle, betony, chamomile, crab apple, chervil and fennel. It is included in a text commonly called the Lacnunga, a collection of miscellaneous Anglo-Saxon medical texts and prayers, written mainly in Old English and Latin. It dates back to the 10th or 11th century, though some parts of it are much older. 

Another good resource is this post, from the Herbal Academy, about the gardens at Glastonbury Abbey. They include 11 plants that have been part of ancient British culture for centuries, including some brought over by the Romans, Saxons and Vikings. Among them are lady’s bedstraw, lemon balm, yarrow, meadowsweet, lovage, vervain (verbena), comfrey, elecampane, betony and woad. 

I knew a number of these plants would thrive in San Francisco, so I decided to add a few, including mugwort, comfrey, chamomile, lemon balm and vervain. Nettle already grows wild in the garden after the rainy season, and fennel grows like a weed in several spots in our neighborhood. Planting, growing, tending and making use of them makes me feel more connected -- to the ground under my feet, to the land where I live, and to my ancestors, who probably used these herbs as food and medicine. I love the idea that one of them could walk into my garden and recognize what’s growing there, know how to work with each leaf and bud.