My sister always rolls her eyes, and says that her sister (me) not only talks to dead people but some of her best friends have been dead for 200 years or so. Now, I take exception to that description --- I might mutter to and about those departed ones; on occasion, I seemed to get answers to question from them during that place betwixt morning and night. However, the other day, even I felt a bit strange about Mr. Jackman's leaving.
My great-great grandfather met Mr. Jackman shortly after moving into his log cabin in Springdale. Although Jackman was English, his wife was a Scot and so fit in quite nicely with the Scots families of the area. In fact, the road on which J.P. lived was called the Scotch hamlet.
Mr. Jackman visited J.P. and J.P. visited Jackman quite often. Their families visited back and forth. And the men helped one another with hauling wood, hay and straw, as well as other farm chores. The close connection between the two families went on for over three years, right up until May 20, 1854 when Jackman sold his farm for $560.
A week later, on May 28, 1854, James P. McPherson makes the following notation: "Jackman left for the west. Sowed carrots and beets. Finished draging my corn ground."
I felt like my friend had left and I couldna understand why J.P. dinna feel my loss. Well, perhaps, he did and I will never know. My feelings of losing a friend weren't assuaged by the fact that J.P. received a letter from Jackman on June 26th. Strangely, there was no mention that J.P. "posted a letter" to Jackman; strange, in that J.P. always noted receipts and posts of letters in his diary.
Now, I sat for a few days while pondered if Jackman and his Scots wife made it to the "west," and just where was that "west" that drew him away from Springdale. Then I started looking for Jackman and his wife; his life appears to be well researched. I found that they made it to their new "west", St. Croix, Wisconsin, and lived around that vicinity until their deaths, he in 1889 and she in 1896.
Nontheless, I will patiently wait, page by page, to see if J.P. and the Jackman will maintain their friendship of the Springfield days.
T'is madness of a sort, doncha think?