SHOULD’VE BEEN A COWBOY

 WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? THEY ASK, AND I REPLY… 

SHOULD’VE BEEN A COWBOY

Jerry & Sunup 1996

I've studied my family history for 40+ years and have had a modicum of success.

I am proud to claim a “fur trade and cowboy heritage.”   

My family roots have, for the most part, been tied to the land.

My recent ancestors, the past twelve generations, came to North America from Scotland, England, Sweden and Denmark, Netherlands, Ireland, France, and Norway.

Among them there were Puritans, Quakers, Anglicans, Catholics, Huguenots, Baptists, Presbyterians, and a plethora of other Protestant sects.

Their occupations included farmers, ranchers, loggers, fur traders, teamsters, blacksmiths, saddle-makers, coachmen, horse-traders, canoemen, cavalrymen, soldiers, and builders.

During my 81+ years on planet earth I have been many things… 

a soldier, carpenter, home builder, canoeist, cowboy folk artist, horseman, movie historian, genealogist, fur trade historian, and a writer.

Brown Family 1950

One of my fondest childhood memories was a 1950 visit to the Lon and Olive Brown family, mom’s aunt and uncle in Montana. They literally lived in the woods several miles out of Kalispell, Montana. Uncle Lon described his home as a ‘stump ranch,’ where he made his living by farming, ranching, logging, hunting and fishing.

During that 1950 visit I learned to ride a horse, and I heard tales about Lewis and Clark’s Voyage of Discovery, stories about cowboys, Indians, and trappers in early Montana. I was hooked and wanted to learn everything possible about such a beautiful and alluring place as Montana. I’ve spent most of my life doing just that…

A few years back my eldest grandson had a college class project that required him to interview his granddad to ask about the changes seen in a lifetime.

Jerry 2024

I responded, in part, by taking all of my favorite family photos, and putting them in a slideshow that reflects my ancestry and the past 80+ years of my life…

Artist, Writer, Cowboy Heritage: The life and times of Jerry England

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FXnRA0PHZQo

NOSTALGIC LOOK BACK AT WALNUT ACRES (aka Woodland Hills, CA) between 1953 - 1957

Now in my 82nd year on planet earth, I spend a fair share of my time reflecting on positive memories of the past. I define memory as, “What once was will always be.”

I was a pretty lucky kid... I grew up in the ‘country’ and ‘city’ at the same time.

And, there were some pretty nifty things left over from a colorful and historic past.

It was the perfect combination for a kid with a horse that dreamed of being a cowboy.  

In 1953, my dad built a house on Manton Avenue in an area that was known as Walnut Acres (aka Woodland Hills, CA). Across the street from us there were thousands of acres of rolling farmland with wild oats.

The farmland had once been the Platt Dairy, and before that it was Rancho El Escorpión, a Mexican land grant originally given in 1845 by Governor Pío Pico to three Chumash Native Americans.

Here’s what it looked like 70 years ago…

1952 photo of the Woodland Hills, Calabasas Area with El Escorpión adobe barn (red), a friends horse ranch (orange), my home (yellow), and Old Calabasas (Raspberry). Clink on images for a larger view.

1953 me and my bicycle with the remains of Platt Dairy behind.

Me and my bicycle — juxtaposed 1953 - 2022.

1953 view of Platt Dairy (camera North), with El Escorpión adobe barn at the far right (library photo).

Me and my first horse ‘Paint’ in the winter 1954. I out grew this 20 year old gelding, and had a new horse in just a few months. Look beyond us to get an idea of the open space I rode in.

Dirt road leading to El Escorpión adobe barn about 1953 (library photo).

El Escorpión adobe barn closeup as it appeared about 1954 (library photo).

Me and my dad on our horses (Lucky and Sandy), about 1955, on Manton Ave., Woodland Hills (aka Walnut Acres).

c.1950s Title Insurance Co. map of Spanish and Mexican Ranchos. Rancho El Escorpión is on the left, center near the Ox Cart.

If you live in this area today I hope you enjoy my NOSTALGIC LOOK BACK AT WALNUT ACRES.

ps

If you'd like to know what Walnut Acres and Calabasas looked like in 1956 have a look at these short YouTube clips taken from an old 8 mm home movie: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6IWMXJwflfc AND https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UcD2ztO7jC8 (ETI riders gathering for a trail ride to Chatsworth and back).

Happy Trails.

DNA CONNECTION, THE MEXICAN-AMERICAN WAR AND PRESIDENT FRANKLIN PEIRCE

I’ve been trying to learn the ancestry of Marcus Morton Pierce, our 2nd great-grandfather, for the past 25 years. SEE “Cowboy Legacy -- The short, tragic life of Marcus Pierce”

https://a-drifting-cowboy.blogspot.com/2011/11/cowboy-legacy-short-tragic-life-of.html

Then a few weeks ago I got a ancestry (dot) com DNA match to William Pearce (Pirce), our 5th great-grandfather, 1770–1841. 

From that connection I was able to piece together my PIERCE ancestry back to Thomas Pierce II, Sergeant, immigrant ancestor, 1608-1683, my 10th great-grandfather.

There I found an interesting "Family Relationship.” It seems Thomas Pierce II, Sergeant, immigrant 1608-1683, was the 3rd Great-grandfather to Franklin Pierce 14th U.S. President.

After considerable additional research I was able to discover our relationship to President Franklin Peirce.

OUR LINEAGE TO PRESIDENT FRANKLIN PEIRCE:

Franklin Pierce (14th POTUS, US Rep, US Senator, Brigadier General) 1804-1869
4TH COUSIN 7X REMOVED

Governor Benjamin Franklin Pierce 1757-1839
Father of Franklin Pierce (14th POTUS, US Rep, US Senator, Brigadier General)

Benjamin PIERCE or PEIRCE Sr 1726-1764
Father of Governor Benjamin Franklin Pierce

Stephen Pierce 1679-1749
Father of Benjamin PIERCE or PEIRCE Sr

Stephen Pierce 1651-1733
Father of Stephen Pierce

Thomas Pierce II, 10TH GREAT-GRANDFATHER, Sergeant, immigrant 1608-1683
Father of Stephen Pierce

Thomas Peirce III 1645-1717
Son of Thomas Pierce II, Sergeant, immigrant

Col. Timothy Pierce 1673-1748
Son of Thomas Peirce III

Nathaniel M Pierce 1701-1775
Son of Col. Timothy Pierce

Jedediah Pierce 1746-1826
Son of Nathaniel M Pierce

William Pearce (Pirce) (DNA Match) 1770-1841
Son of Jedediah Pierce

William Pearce (Pierce) (DNA Match) 1794-1875
Son of William Pearce (Pirce) (DNA Match)

James L Pearce (Pierce) 1819-1847
Son of William Pearce (Pierce) (DNA Match)

Marcus Morton Pierce 1842-1882
Son of James L Pearce (Pierce)

Lillian Amanda Pierce, GREAT-GRANDMOTHER, 1867-1957
Daughter of Marcus Morton Pierce

PLAUSIBLE EXPLANATION FOR JAMES L. PIERCE JOINING THE MEXICAN-AMERICAN WAR

Not only are we related to President Franklin Pierce, but there is an 1846-48 Mexican-American War connection that may explain the question of what happened to James L. Pierce.

For many years the question of what happened to James L. Pierce (3rd great-grandfather), father of Marcus Pierce, went unanswered. 

Then a few years back I found a James L Pearce (Pierce) who was born about 1819 in Foster, Providence, Rhode Island. That James L Pearce died in 1847, at Sea en route to Mexico during the Mexican-American War.

Perhaps he was encouraged to follow Franklin Pierce, his relative, who was gathering a New England brigade to fight in the Mexican-American War.

The timeline fit, and would explain why Marcus was without a father at age 7 on the 1850 US census.

BRIGADIER GENERAL FRANKLIN PIERCE

Source: Wikipedia

Franklin Pierce was born in 1804 with the militia tradition in his veins, the son of a hero of the American Revolution who was among Washington's most trusted combat officers. 

Young Franklin attended Bowdoin College in Maine and, while there, formed a life-long friendship with Nathaniel Hawthorne, later one of his biographers. Upon graduation, he returned to his native state of New Hampshire and read for the law. 

Politics caught his fancy and his ambitions. He was a stirring orator and a tireless worker, and his progress was rapid: a member of the state legislature by 1828; its speaker by 1831. That same year he was appointed a colonel in the New Hampshire militia and served as the governor's aide-de-camp. 

He retired from Congress in 1842 and returned to state politics and his law practice in Concord, New Hampshire. 

The 1846-48 Mexican War took him into active military service as a brigade commander in General Winfield Scott's army. Pierce brought his troops in good order from New England to Veracruz and then overland to join Scott in the field before Mexico City. He participated bravely in numerous engagements, acquiring a bullet hole in the brim of his hat, and showed himself to be his father's son. 

In 1853 Franklin Pierce became the 14th president of the United States of America

THE TRADE... PAIUTE CRADLEBOARD & WINCHESTER RIFLE

 

Okay, so being 80 years old I admit to spending much of my remaining days reminiscing about adventures and experiences during my lifetime.

Between 1957 and 1960, I lived in Oakhurst, California, a small hamlet in the Sierra foothills. It was located just 13 miles from Yosemite Park, and in those days it only had a population of 357 men, women, and children.

My nearest friend, Bill, lived about a half mile north on a small 300 acre ranch. The two of us were both high school freshman, and because we both owned horses we often explored the National Forest areas surrounding Oakhurst. We had many hundred square miles of Oak Woodlands to explore. We could even ride to Bass Lake, four miles away as the crow flies.

 

On one of our adventures we stumbled upon and old, abandoned, dilapidated cabin. It was a humble wood structure with walls you could see through. The door had long since fallen off its hinges. A single window had been broken out allowing the nearby forest to invade. 

Off to one side, the forest was consuming a pile of rusted tin cans.

I got off Sandy, my red dun Quarter Horse, and peered into the dark cabin. After my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could see the cabin floor was covered with forest debris and oak leaves. There was the remains of an old iron stove in one corner, and a rusting steel bed with exposed springs against the back wall. 

A nervous Sandy was tugging on his reins, clearly agitated by this dark and dreary place. I was about to turn and get back on Sandy when my eyes picked up a shape that didn’t fit. I handed my rains to friend Bill and entered the cabin. There, under the window, and covered with Live Oak leaves was what could only be a willow cradleboard; long since abandoned in the decaying cabin.

I showed it to Bill and he agreed I had found a true Native America artifact, and maybe, a valuable treasure. We began making our way home, me clinging proudly to my valuable papoose board.

As we made our way along the edge of busy Highway 41, a middle aged gent spotted us and asked if he could see my new found booty. I handed the cradleboard to him, he examined it, and opined it looked to be willow, crafted by a Paiute or maybe Mono or Miwuk squaw. 

He asked what I’d take for it, and I advised him it wasn’t for sale. He responded, pointing to his home behind him, saying he had a nifty antique Winchester rifle to trade. 

DARN… he found my weakness. We rode down to his house and waited while he disappeared inside. In a couple of minutes he returned with a swell looking Winchester .22 Rimfire Single-Shot Rifle.

I reasoned that the cradleboard wasn’t complete — missing a hood and wrapping covers, and the Winchester would look mighty fine on the empty bracket of the four-gun rack in my bedroom. 

Swell looking rifle

The trade being done I rode home thinking I’d gotten the better part of the trade. It sure was easier to ride Sandy toting a rifle instead of an unwieldy papoose board.

It didn’t take long to discover the rifle stock was cracked and repaired, and the first time I shot the rifle it split the shell casing from end to end. I never shot it again, but it did look fine on my four-gun rack.

It took many years to realize the cradleboard, incomplete as it was, was likely worth many times the value of a Model 1904 Winchester .22 Rimfire Single-Shot Rifle. When I think about it today the old saying, ‘never give a sucker an even break,’ comes to mind, but then I realize… dang few modern-day youngsters ever got to ride a horse into a National Forest and find a real Native American papoose board in an old, abandoned mountain cabin.

NOTE: Cabin, Cradleboard and Rifle photos are representative, and not the actual items in my story.