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Tuesday, April 26, 2016

Why Are My Blogs Copyrighted??



         I get questions and asked (and even “challenged”) on the fact that my blog is copyrighted.   
         It’s not only copyrighted but it’s watermarked.  I am about to explain why.

 It’s PUBLIC information: 

Yes I’ve put it out there, and yes it’s pubic for anyone to see and in some ways this is my way to control, who gets what information.  I understand many distant and far distant connections are made here and I love that, but to have no comment, no asking permission and then to have people cut, copy and take my info without permission, share it on multiple websites and claim it as their own is just not cool.  Not cool at all.

It’s RESPECTFUL TO ASK:

I’ve put it out there for peopleto simply ask permission and I would gladly give it to them.  I’ve watermarked stuff and so on.  It didn’t work.  Stealing copyrighted/watermarked info is well, stealing.  It’s also respecting the fact that, I and NO ONE ELSE has copied, scanned, typed until my hands hurt, paid for, researched until I am exhausted, gotten permission, and put this information out there.  This is my baby and my baby alone. 

I see this as my art and I am painting the picture of an artist.  I work very hard.  VERY hard at painting this painting and then when I get done, people come in like a thief and steal it………

It’s stealing and cheating:

Yes I said it.  I own the negatives and the photos.  I also own most of the originals to the stories.  IF I don’t, I have permission and have given credit to those whose library it came from.  Even though, I may not own ALL of the stories etc, I own the blog and I own the post. I can say what does and does NOT get put on my blog.

One of the reasons I did it was because I got tired of people that never asked or I don’t know, not only coping my stuff and photos, but not asking permission.  NOT JUST THAT, some of them took credit for it! 

I don’t make money off of this blog, but if I did, I would’ve have sadly lost hundreds of dollars.  Even thousands.

You may think, well it's MY/OUR family, so it's mine and I can take it.  Um........NO.  Not by copyright law.  I own the photos and the originals (unless I have permission to copy), so it's mine and I can say who get's what and how.

If you are a direct descendant, you know where to find me:

I’m talking about Aunts, uncles, 1st & 2nd cousins.  If you are reading this and you are blood and close to me, you know about our secret groups.  ALL the photos are there, unwatermarked and uncopyrighted and ARE IN THE GROUPS PHOTO ALBUMS.  I will soon (when I have time), start uploading the stories that are here.  The videos are also linked in the groups and are online.  For those that think I am “hoarding” this stuff, think again.  I have, in my possession, Cousin Dottie’s collection (which was given to me by her) plus my own from family (and others).  I totally believe it should go and be shared with my direct lineage.  But please PLEASE LOOK on the groups for the photos and videos before you point your fingers at me and make false accusations.


It’s the LAW!  

Meet Judy Russell.  Judy is a lawyer.  She’s an avid genealogist AND an expert in copyright law.  The one  that OWNS the products and IS THE FIRST TO PUBLISH IT, OWNS THE COPYRIGHT.  They have the right to say what is done with the said product.  If a relative passes away, it goes to their spouse and children.  You can read to your heart’s content about copyrights, genealogy and etc here!

So what do you do if your family wants to read it or you are passing things along???

Well it's simple.   

You send them a link to my blog!  
You ask permission and you comment!  

Yes it's that simple.  


Friday, March 18, 2016

My biography: Alfred Tennyson Vaughn

Looking Towards Heaven (Pictured above is a well-loved man, named Dad and Grandpa.)


**Note** My Grandpa, Alfred Tennyson Vaughn, wrote several articles that were published  before his death July 25, 1999. We didn't know they existed, until I did some family searching on the net and they came up. They were published in 2000 after his death and are no longer available/searchable.  Recently, My mom gave me a stack of Grandpa's poems.  There are literally hundreds of them.  In that stack are several continuing stories about his growing up in Entiat and his family

Needless to say, since I didn't know these were out there, I was in tears when I saw them. They are a cherished gift from Grandpa, who was a wonderful writer and poet! We love and miss you Grandpa!

You can find the first parts of these series here:
Entiat #1
Entiat #2
Entiat #3
Entiat #4
Entiat #5
Entiat #6 
That Old House 
Entiat Pioneers 
The Newcomer 
Neighbors of the Valley

My biography: 
Alfred Vaughn

It was 1914, in the middle of fall;
Dad got on the phone to make a call;
Time for the nurse! Time for the stork!
T'was middle of harvest, lots of work.

Nurse came quickly with buggy and horse,
Dad boiled water and was kinda terse.
He chased the children outdoors to play,
Then they heard a noise like a big Bluejay.

They cried, "It's a bird! It's a Crow!"
"Aw it's a Bluejay; or don't you know!"
Little did they guess, it was the stork
'Til the nurse left, done with her work.

Little baby brother was number thirteen.
Another mouth to feed and then to wean.
Big brothers ran fast to spread the news 
To Uncle Dan next door, who terbaccy chews.

"Uncle Dan! Guess what Uncle Dan!"
"We have a baby brother, a little man!"
Well, Uncle Dan chewed terbaccy as he thot.
Then in Kentucky drawl the words came out.

He beckoned them up close, and they came.
Uncle Dan had just thought of a new name.
"You-uns tell yore Pa" (again he spits)
"It's time fer you-uns to call him 'Quits'"

How the boys laughed!  Their feet did fly,
They ran to give Uncle Dan's latest reply
To Dad, who was busy with household chores.
He turned deep red and muttered, "No More!"

Well, the next day Uncle Dan beckoned his head,
"Did you-uns tell yore Pa jest what ah said?"
They allowed they did.  He spit on the fence.
"Humph!  Ah thought you-all had bettah sense!"

That's how it happened long, long ago.
I know cause my brothers told me 'twas so.
And that is just how that I came to be
The thirteenth and last child of my family.

                               ~1994~









Neighbors of the Valley

Looking Towards Heaven (Pictured above is a well-loved man, named Dad and Grandpa.)


**Note** My Grandpa, Alfred Tennyson Vaughn, wrote several articles that were published  before his death July 25, 1999. We didn't know they existed, until I did some family searching on the net and they came up. They were published in 2000 after his death and are no longer available/searchable.  Recently, My mom gave me a stack of Grandpa's poems.  There are literally hundreds of them.  In that stack are several continuing stories about his growing up in Entiat and his family

Needless to say, since I didn't know these were out there, I was in tears when I saw them. They are a cherished gift from Grandpa, who was a wonderful writer and poet! We love and miss you Grandpa!

You can find the first parts of these series here:
Entiat #1
Entiat #2
Entiat #3
Entiat #4
Entiat #5
Entiat #6 
That Old House 
Entiat Pioneers 
The Newcomer

     After fifty years away from the Entiat Valley, it is hard to recall exactly the names of those who called it home up to that time.  The homes were about a quarter to one mile apart.
      The road progressively extended from the old townsite on the river bank about one half mile upstream from the mouth of the Entiat. Bult by the settlers, the roads were barely adequate for the small wagons used to bring supplies from the nearest store.  Some settlers set up small stores along the way to tide them and neighbors over times of bad storms.
     Few Bridges were built across the river, so places the road hugged the hillsides past the river bends.  Most of the early homes were log cabins built from the abundant supply of pines, firs and cedars on the flats that alternated from one river bend to the next.  our home was ten miles from Entiat.
     I recall the names of some of those who lived beyond us. I believe the Burns family were near the upper end.  I also remember the Deckers, whose homestead was up there.  Split rail fences lined their property for miles.  Then there was Johnny Mott and wife who not only farmed but also were known as the "purveyor of exotic beverages" during the prohibition years.
      Another family were the Bill Roundy's.  Bill carried mail from the Entiat Post office to the end of the rod until the 1920's, when Riley Albin took over.  I remember folks saying that when Bill's horse stopped at each mail box, Bill woke up, tossed the mail into the box, then went on to the next.  The Brief post office was located not far from Roundy's.  There was also a small one room school there.  Several other families lived near Brief.
     I believe William McKenzie homesteaded that location.  The McKenzies, a Scottish family, were from Canada.  My folks enjoyed visiting with them; especially my mother, who was descended from a Scottish family in Ohio.  It was said that Mother spoke with the Scottish Burr when there.
     Will McKenzie's son, Jim became a ranger for the Forest Service at Stelico Ranger Station near our home.  Another son, William, was known as Billy.  The family told about Billy's first deer hunt with his father.  When they saw a large buck nearby, Billy was given the first shot.  Billy just stood there shaking all over saying "If I only had an, old rope!"  Then his father said "What's the matter with your gun, Billy?"  Then the buck slowly walked out of sight.
     Billy's sister, Elizabeth married Bert Bonar, who also had a homestead near us (nfrom whom my father bought his place nearby.)  They had four boys, Ralph, Lynn, Gordon & Bert, known as Brick because of his red hair.
     Below Brief, a large canyon called Muddy Creek, merged with the Entiat.  Charlie Harris, built a sawmill about three miles up the Muddy Creek.  A one lane roadway clung to the hillsides down to the Entiat Valley Road.  There were a few wide spots, called turnouts, along the way for those brave enough to venture their way to the mill.  I remember some of the earliest logging trucks, Old Macks with hard tires that rolled down the road without stopping, because brakes were not capable of stopping with heavy loads.  Most of the mill workers came from the families that lived on the Entiat. 

Thursday, March 17, 2016

The Newcomer



Looking Towards Heaven (Pictured above is a well-loved man, named Dad and Grandpa.)


**Note** My Grandpa, Alfred Tennyson Vaughn, wrote several articles that were published  before his death July 25, 1999. We didn't know they existed, until I did some family searching on the net and they came up. They were published in 2000 after his death and are no longer available/searchable.  Recently, My mom gave me a stack of Grandpa's poems.  There are literally hundreds of them.  In that stack are several continuing stories about his growing up in Entiat and his family

Needless to say, since I didn't know these were out there, I was in tears when I saw them. They are a cherished gift from Grandpa, who was a wonderful writer and poet! We love and miss you Grandpa!

You can find the first parts of these series here:
Entiat #1
Entiat #2
Entiat #3
Entiat #4
Entiat #5
Entiat #6 
That Old House 
Entiat Pioneers

      Being the youngest of a family of nine, may have it's advantages, but it was many years later before I would know it.  So I grew up in the blissful innocence of childhood (so the older ones said).  Sibling rivalry taught us a lot more.
      What can a baby remember of that first year?  Only a few hazy images come to mind-the pinkish glow of my mother's presence in the dimly lighted room, the pleasure of nursing and being loved and cared for by both parents.
      Learning to feed myself was a slow mixed up process with the help of my older brothers.  Playing inside an area fenced by chairs sat on their side limited my choices.  It seemed forever before I could sit at the table.
      I will remember one morning, I woke up between father and mother in the bed in the living room.  The house still cold before a fire was started.  My folks teased me to choose who to push out of bed to start the fires.
      Near the end of WW1, several of our family were sick with the flu.  Most of us were in beds in the living room.  The older boys took turns with the outside chores, even while still sick.   My mother nursed us the best she could.
      For years, our main mode of transportation was by horse and buggy or wagon.  In winter, we used sleds for both.  It was ten miles to Entiat and another twenty miles to Wenatchee to buy basic grocery items like flour and sugar.
      Each Christmas, Dad put sleighbells on the harnesses and hitched up the sled, filled with straw, and too up the young folks of our neighborhood for a sleigh ride.  Often other neighbors joined us, stopping at homes for fun and games.
      Silver coins and rare copper pennies were "coin of the realm" in use in the early twenties until WW2.  We boys collected some coins, minted in the 1800's.  Indian head pennies and buffalo nickles were quite common.

ENTIAT PIONEERS

Looking Towards Heaven (Pictured above is a well-loved man, named Dad and Grandpa.)


**Note** My Grandpa, Alfred Tennyson Vaughn, wrote several articles that were published  before his death July 25, 1999. We didn't know they existed, until I did some family searching on the net and they came up. They were published in 2000 after his death and are no longer available/searchable.  Recently, My mom gave me a stack of Grandpa's poems.  There are literally hundreds of them.  In that stack are several continuing stories about his growing up in Entiat and his family

Needless to say, since I didn't know these were out there, I was in tears when I saw them. They are a cherished gift from Grandpa, who was a wonderful writer and poet! We love and miss you Grandpa!

You can find the first parts of these series here:
Entiat #1
Entiat #2
Entiat #3
Entiat #4
Entiat #5
Entiat #6 
That Old House

     Not all of the acts of the pioneers find their way into historical books or records.  Nor is it all in the retained in the memories of those who grew up and lived in the Entiat Valley.  Bits of it are lost with the passing of each generation.
     Hettie Bonar Martin, who taught school in the early years, appreciated their value and spent much time to gather records and legends for posterity.  Those records are preserved in the Historical museum, now located in Cashmere, Washington.
     I am glad that I had the privilege of meeting many of those early pioneers because my parents came to the valley at the start of the century.  While I was still young, my parents visited in the homes of those that helped build Entiat from the beginning.
     Hettie Bonar Martin was active in the 1920's and in 1930's in organizing and holding annual meetings of the pioneers.  She wrote many poems and songs commemorating the early days.  She and others shared personal experiences with the gathering.  Among her personal collector items were letters she received from President Abraham Lincoln during her first years of teaching.
     Because I have been away from the valley since late 1939, when I went into the Alaska Communication Ssytem, I do not have a full recollection of it's history.  However, I do want to relate some of those memories for my children and their families that maybe of interest to them.
     Father sometimes related "happenings" that occurred before my arrival on the scene.  During the developing years of the Northwest, lands were sold by "developers".  They took prospective buyers on tours of lands available for home-steading.  Sometimes, the same piece of land was shown and sold to more than one person by approaching it from different routes.  Then same was true of potential mining claims.  Sometimes the gullibler buyers bought property "sight unseen" because of the imaginable descriptions of the salesman.
     Father bought our place from a homesteader named Bonar.  It was located next to property owned by his uncle Dan and it lay along the Entiat River about ten country miles from the town of Entiat at the mouth of the river.
     In those early days, the settlers depended partly on the supply of fish and wild game to supplement they could grow on their land.  The Indian Tribes also hunted the same areas.  One year, dad was badly injured and was unable to till the land, and barely able to care for our livestock.  When Indians he had befriended heard of it, they came to our place bringing fish, bear and venison.  Mother had not prepared bear meat before.  The fat and gamey smell of the meat was repulsive to her; but because of the need, she used it as best she could.   The venison and fish was much more enjoyed.  Sometimes there were hunting accidents.  Dad told of a man named Bonner, who accidentally shot and killed another hunter.  He brooded over the accident so much that he lost his mind within a year.
     When we boys were teens, Dad taught us how to handle rifles for target practice and for hunting. 

THAT OLD HOUSE

Looking Towards Heaven (Pictured above is a well-loved man, named Dad and Grandpa.)


**Note** My Grandpa, Alfred Tennyson Vaughn, wrote several articles that were published  before his death July 25, 1999. We didn't know they existed, until I did some family searching on the net and they came up. They were published in 2000 after his death and are no longer available/searchable.  Recently, My mom gave me a stack of Grandpa's poems.  There are literally hundreds of them.  In that stack are several continuing stories about his growing up in Entiat and his family

Needless to say, since I didn't know these were out there, I was in tears when I saw them. They are a cherished gift from Grandpa, who was a wonderful writer and poet! We love and miss you Grandpa!

You can find the first parts of these series here:
Entiat #1
Entiat #2
Entiat #3
Entiat #4
Entiat #5
Entiat #6




              The drawings above were in a book from Grandpa and given to his oldest child/son, Wesley



     "That old house" that I called home for fifteen of my beginning years, implanted formative, lasting memories of a loving family, of laughter and tears.
      Discoveries of loving, caring parents, providing necessities of life each day protecting, teaching, showing the way; learning to deal with sibling rivalry.
      A wood "T" frame house my father built to accomodate a growing family and farm;
single level with attic too; outside cellar, wood-shed, icehouse, shop and barn.
      Drop board siding, browned with years; shingles layered in rows from eaves to peak, trimmed on corners up to the eaves.  Smoke puffs from chimney to the humble life speak.
      Wainscoat paneling lined one side and back; a strip with hooks for coats and hats; a party line phone, deerhead and clock were on the wall near the living room at back.
      One bedroom, then two, living room, family and dining room, porch on back, kitchen and pantry with table, shelves, sifter, bins, room for flour and sugar no lack.
     One big table for family, with leaves to add for company meals, quite sound used for study, for business or games and whenever needed to gather around.
     Kerosene lamps and lanterns provided light for reading and study, fun and games.  For feeding livestock and milking the cows after dark and carrying water too, it seems.
The old Monarch woodstove, warming oven above, baking oven below, water tank on side, It cooked many big meals, popped corn, heated water for laundry and baths besides.
The Seth Thomas clock had a pendulum, and had to be wound and set each week.  Party wall phone with receiver on hook.  Bells and hand crank to ring, then to speak.
Row of fruit trees tween the garden and lawn.  Bing, Lambert, Royal Anne, Crabapple tree; 20 oz Pippen at the end by the house; all shading the lawn with the Silver Maple tree.
      Large yard out back, crossroad center, house to woodshed, garage, clothesline full, chickenhouse with fenced yard, and path running around for outside patrol.
Our house was a home in every way, where nine children grew up learning to pray.
We were taught the value of honest heart and mind; of doing our best every day.

Joseph Harmon Vaughn

                                                   Joe Vaughn with first wife, Betty and children,
                                                                      David and Rebecca

                                                          Brothers, Ed & Joe Vaughn
                                           Taken in Seattle, WA, 2009, Vaughn family Reunion

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/yumasun/obituary.aspx?n=Joe-Vaughn&pid=178053999

Joe Vaughn, 89, of Yuma, died March 8, 2016 at home.  A retired contractor, he was born Nov 18, 1927 in Garibaldi, Oregon.  A memorial service will be at 1 pm Wednesday at First Christian Church in Yuma.

Published in the Yuma sun, March 15, 2016
Joe Vaughn, 89, of Yuma, died March 8, 2016, at home.
A retired contractor, he was born Nov. 18, 1927, in Garibaldi, Ore.
A memorial service will be at 1 p.m. Wednesday at First Christian Church in Yuma.
Published in The Yuma Sun on Mar. 15, 2016 - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/yumasun/obituary.aspx?n=joe-vaughn&pid=178053999#sthash.A0siLjG4.dpuf
Joe Vaughn, 89, of Yuma, died March 8, 2016, at home.
A retired contractor, he was born Nov. 18, 1927, in Garibaldi, Ore.
A memorial service will be at 1 p.m. Wednesday at First Christian Church in Yuma.
Published in The Yuma Sun on Mar. 15, 2016 - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/yumasun/obituary.aspx?n=joe-vaughn&pid=178053999#sthash.A0siLjG4.dpuf
Joe Vaughn, 89, of Yuma, died March 8, 2016, at home.
A retired contractor, he was born Nov. 18, 1927, in Garibaldi, Ore.
A memorial service will be at 1 p.m. Wednesday at First Christian Church in Yuma.
Published in The Yuma Sun on Mar. 15, 2016 - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/yumasun/obituary.aspx?n=joe-vaughn&pid=178053999#sthash.A0siLjG4.dpuf
Joe Vaughn, 89, of Yuma, died March 8, 2016, at home.
A retired contractor, he was born Nov. 18, 1927, in Garibaldi, Ore.
A memorial service will be at 1 p.m. Wednesday at First Christian Church in Yuma.
Published in The Yuma Sun on Mar. 15, 2016 - See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/yumasun/obituary.aspx?n=joe-vaughn&pid=178053999#sthash.A0siLjG4.dpuf