The Honeycomb by Ginger Truitt
Sun Times (Boone County)
October 2003

A few weeks ago a friend called to tell me she had found two old Granville Wells’ yearbooks, and I was in them. Turns out she and I had been in the same grade, right across the hall from one another. I couldn’t believe it! I attended Wells from 1976-78 for first, second and a portion of third grade.  In October of ’78, after the blizzard, but before Mrs. Routh finished reading Charlotte’s Web, my family moved to Tennessee. My Boone County ties were cut forever. Or so I thought!
  
Between high school and my first year of college, my folks moved us back to Indiana, specifically to Advance, where my father still resides. I went back to Tennessee for college, but that lasted only a semester. I was incredibly homesick, which was sort of strange considering I was attending college in the town I had lived in for 10 years. But even though my memories of Boone County were distant and few that is where my heart longed to be. (It didn’t have a thing to do with that really cute Thorntown guy I got engaged to over Thanksgiving break!)
  
I have always desired to be part of a community. To feel as though I had roots that made me a part of the big picture. To walk down the street and feel a connection with people simply because we lead our lives alongside one another. I wanted to belong.
  
It took a few years to really feel as though I belonged to this community. Even though I married a local guy, we lived out of state for a couple of years. After the birth of our first child we knew we had to come home. This is where we wanted to raise our children.
  
Most of the people I met had strong ties to others they had known for years. They grew up together, graduated from high school together, and had parents and grandparents who knew each other. I made friends, but felt like I would always be somewhat of an outsider. Initially, I blamed it on the fact that I had missed key bonding years by not attending a local high school. (That seems sort of silly now.)
  
Then one day I was driving toward Lebanon. I crested a hill and caught sight of the sun shining on our beautiful courthouse. It took my breath away! I was deeply touched by a sudden sense of pride. Pride that this was the seat of my hometown, my community and my life. It was at this point that the community became mine. I realized I couldn’t depend on others to make me feel like a part of things.  I was already in the picture, I just had to find my niche.
  
A short time later, I began researching my roots. I was surprised to find how deeply they run right here in my own back yard! I knew my dad and his parents had lived in Lebanon years ago, but I thought that was as far as it went.
  
Genealogy became a passion. I started contacting relatives that I hadn’t seen for ages. A great-aunt let me go through lots of old photos. We found a wedding picture of my great-great grandparents, Oscar and Maude (Tout) Lumpkin. I was surprised to see that the photo was taken by a Nickerson in Lebanon around 1892.
  
Then there was a picture of Maude when she was still single. It was taken by Schroy. I recognized the name of the photographer as being the same one who took a photo of the founders of Witham Hospital. I had studied their picture at the hospital one day and the name stuck with me. After finding Grandma Maude’s picture, I was intrigued to think that she had lived in the area during the time the hospital was being built. I can’t help but wonder what she thought of it, or if she ever had an occasion to make use of its services. 
  
I came across my great-great grandpa Oscar’s school autograph book.  He attended the Lumpkin School near Fayette.  I looked at the inscriptions which were penned between 1888 and 1890. I recognized last names like Funkhouser and Pedigo. Seems my great-great grandpa was friends with the ancestors of several people currently residing in Boone County.  I searched out his grave sight at the Howard Cemetery and saw names that I recognized from the autograph book. When they signed that book, they were so young and full of plans for the future, and now they are buried and their descendants are carrying on with nary a thought of the past or how they came to be in this area.
    
I went to the P.H. Sullivan museum in Zionsville and was overwhelmed with information. It was there that I found my great-great-great grandfather, George Washington Lumpkin, had come to this area in 1827, a few years before it was actually established as a county. He and his wife, Sarah (Harrison), had a farm outside of Fayette for 47 years. After he died, she moved to Zionsville to live with her son. 
 
 I went to the courthouse and started poking through old records. Imagine my surprise when I came across Grandma Sarah’s will! I stood there, in the heart of the county, with my own heart in my throat. I tried not to cry but it was pointless. As I walked out of the courthouse that day, I tried to imagine what the town looked like when she was here.
  
I read the historical articles re-printed in this paper and I wonder what my grandparents thought of the news stories when they were first printed a century ago. When I read about the first automobile to come to Boone County, I imagined my great-great grandfather standing on the town square anxiously waiting for a glimpse. The men in my family have always been keenly interested in cars. I figure it had to start somewhere!
  
I go to Pizza Hut and look at the old pictures on the walls and realize that these are the sights my ancestors saw first-hand.  Even at Pizza Hut my sense of belonging deepens.
  
I go to Zionsville and walk on the brick streets and imagine my grandmother’s skirts swishing along as she stops in at her son Perry’s house. I walk into the antique shops and wonder if any of the items once belonged to her.
  
I go to local cemeteries and I am amazed at the names I recognize from my very own family. I had no idea my ties were so deep. It gives me a renewed sense of purpose. My ancestors loved this county enough to help settle it, and it makes me want to see it continue to prosper and flourish.
I walk along the streets of Lebanon and Thorntown and I look into the faces of people I have never met, but whose ancestors could have toiled alongside mine, and I feel a connection.
  
I look at my children and realize they are the seventh generation in my family to live in Boone County. I couldn’t be more thrilled that we made the decision to bring them home to raise them. This is where they belong. This is where I belong….in my beloved Boone County. 

Copyright © 2003
  
October is National Family History month. I challenge you to find out just how deep your Boone County roots run. The Lebanon library has a wonderful genealogy room and is offering classes throughout the month to help you get started. The museum in Zionsville would also be a good starting point.  The Thorntown library also has a number of historical items and a helpful staff to point you in the right direction. And if you have recently moved to the area, I would urge you to make Boone County your own. Check out http://www.bccn.boone.in.us to find out all about Boone County from the beginning to present day.