When I gaze at the single photograph I have of my grandmother Mary Etta Ames, I feel a connection that transcends the generations between us. The sepia-toned image shows her sitting casually on what appears to be a lawn, wearing what looks like a nurse's uniform. Her hat - not the formal one I'd imagined, but a wide-brimmed one resting on the grass beside her - catches my eye immediately. You see, I've always loved hats too! Looking at her gentle smile and relaxed pose, I notice we share the same deep-set eyes and thin, straight nose. Sometimes I wonder, smiling to myself, if my trim ankles are another gift she passed down through time.
Mary Etta's life unfolded like pages of an American journey, though she left this world long before I could meet her.
Born in the summer of 1880 in Illinois's Fulton County, she was just a little girl of four when her family moved west to Nebraska. The pioneer spirit must have run strong in the Ames family, as they eventually made their way to Washington state, where young May (as she was sometimes called) put down roots and pursued her calling as a nurse.
On her 21st birthday - August 18, 1901 - she married Vernon Lyle Delos Peasley in Olympia, Washington. Together they brought four children into the world: Lyle, Adda Jane, Francis Lynden, and a little boy named George who, sadly, didn't survive infancy.
Census records trace her path like breadcrumbs through time - from Illinois to Nebraska, then Washington Territory, where she transformed from young May Ames to Mrs. Mary Peasley. But these dry facts can't tell me what made her laugh, what dreams she held close, or how she felt about the dramatic changes she witnessed as the frontier West transformed into the modern era.
Yet somehow, that single photograph speaks volumes. When I look at her hat, her posture, those familiar features we share, I feel connected to this grandmother I never knew. Though she rests now in Tumwater's Masonic Cemetery, pieces of her live on - in my face, perhaps in my ankles, and certainly in my love of a good hat.
I'm grateful to my daughter Azure, whose genealogical detective work has helped me piece together the framework of Mary Etta's life. Though the spaces between the facts remain mysterious, I like to think that every time I put on a hat, I'm carrying a small piece of her legacy forward.
