Adventures in Ancestry: Annie’s Songs


Every family tree has a story – or stories — to tell. That’s probably why I tend to get lost among the leaves and never get to the one leaf I was reaching for when I started my climb among the branches. I just never thought it would happen as soon as page 43 of 300 Years of Louds in America.

That’s when I met Annie Francis Loud.

Annie Frances Loud

Annie and I aren’t directly related. 300 Years is organized according to the 13 children of Francis and Onner Loud. Naturally, the oldest, Jacob Loud – and Annie’s ancestor — is Chapter 1. By comparison, William Brewster Loud, my ancestor, is Chapter 9 – hundreds and hundreds of pages later. I think this makes Annie and I zillionth cousins, uncountable times removed.

 Still, it was clear to me that there was something special about Annie. Although she was female and although she remained unmarried, C. Everett Loud, the man behind the 300 Years research and book, who tended to write very little – if anything at all about unmarried Louds, particularly unmarried women – devoted an entire page to Annie.

And I felt compelled to share her remarkable story.

John White Loud

It could easily be said that everyone in the small town of Weymouth, MA, knew John White Loud and his family. Not only was he a descendant of William Brewster of the Mayflower and a grandson of Jacob Loud, Sr., who fought in the American Revolution alongside his five sons — the only family on record of having this distinction — professionally, he was Weymouth.

John W. Loud began employment as a cashier at Weymouth National Bank and eventually became president of the Weymouth Savings Bank. In his spare time, he was a member and chairman of the Weymouth School Committee, a major in the Weymouth Peacetime Militia, an active member in the Union Congregational Church, and, for two years, a Massachusetts State Senator.

In his personal life, he experienced immense joys and heart-wrenching tragedies. The townspeople still remember his February 1832 wedding – an icy cold day, they said – to Susan Harriet Torrey, a local girl who was the granddaughter of Dr. James Torrey, a surgeon in the War for Independence. In June the following year, the couple was blessed with a daughter, Susan Torrey Loud.

Sadly, two months after this happy event, John White Loud’s wife passed away, leaving him a 24-year-old widower with an infant daughter.

Sarah Humphrey (Blanchard) Loud

At the end of May 1834, John White Loud was married again, this time to Sarah Humphrey Blanchard, another Weymouth resident and a descendant of John Alden of the Mayflower. No one knows if this was a marriage of love or of necessity, but Sarah and John had 8 children – seven daughters, three of whom died in infancy — and one son – plus the one daughter from John W. Loud’s first marriage. Annie Frances was the youngest of the blended brood, 23 years separating her from Susan, her half-sister.

Despite the loss of children, one thing was clear: the Loud house was full of music. John and Sarah were both avid lovers of music, a trait passed down through generations – and this passion was shared with their own children. Their only son, John Jacob Loud, while studying law at Harvard, performed in the university’s Chapel Choir and Glee Club, as well as in Weymouth’s Village Glee Club.

John Jacob Loud

The star of the family, though, was Annie Frances. According to 300 Years, Annie Frances was singing before she could even talk and began to compose music when she was 5 years old. Her preference was the pedal organ. To John and Sarah’s credit, they supported and encouraged her love of music. Because of their social standing, esteemed music educators, like Lowell Mason – famous for composing more than 1,500 hymns and setting the poem “Mary Had A Little Lamb” to music — were often invited to their home and gave young Annie lessons.

Lowell Mason

Then in 1860, when Annie was just 4, her 18-year-old sister, Mary Josephine, died of consumption, now known as tuberculosis. At the time, it was the leading cause of death in Massachusetts. Four years later, Annie’s mother, Sarah, succumbed to the same illness, which was marked by fever, weight loss, fatigue, and a wet, bloody cough. Once again, John White Loud, this time 55-years-old, was a widower.

Eleven months later, in August 1865, John W. Loud married his third wife, Martha Bond (Perkins) Vickery, a widow. They did not have children together, but Martha’s daughter from her previous marriage, Emily Keith Vickery, eventually married John Jacob Loud, Martha’s stepson. Annie was just 9.

I can only assume these events, traumatic at any age, propelled Annie deeper and deeper into her music. As a pre-adolescent, she was already studying piano, organ, and composition at the Boston Conservatory, and then a course of study in harmony and composition under famed music educator, John W. Tufts. By the age of 14, Annie had served as choir singer, church organist, and musical director. Church music was her passion, and at age 25, Annie had her first song published in Boston. According to 300 Years, “She never wrote any music that was not, in her opinion, elevating or inspiring in its character.”

Chicago World’s Fair, Exhibition Hall

In the late winter of 1890, the US House of Representatives announced that they had selected Chicago to be the host city of the World’s Fair of 1893, also known as the Columbian Exposition to honor the 400th anniversary of Columbus’ arrival in America. The fair was scheduled to stretch from May 1 to October 30.

Chicago World’s Fair — The White City, thanks to Westinghouse.

As the Fair’s opening day approached, there was a growing excitement throughout the country. There was the promise of new technologies, like Westinghouse’s alternating current electric system to power the 100,000 incandescent lamps, which would illuminate the Beaux-Arts architecture of the Fair into “The White City”, and a new contraption called the Ferris Wheel.

The Fair also promised entertainment from around the world, including Weymouth’s Annie Frances Loud. After arriving at the Fair, 37-year-old Annie took the stage in one of the music hall venues and performed “An Exhibition of Sacred and Secular Music of Standard Valor and Interest Consisting of Solos and Choruses.” It was a mouthful, indeed, for which she was awarded a certificate and medal.

Throughout Annie’s entry in 300 Years are the words “never married” and “unmarried.” On the one hand, I understand why a genealogist would add this, a sort of period on the quest for descendants. On the other hand, though, it’s a phrase that may or may not identify something else.

There was a time when unmarried individuals were identified as spinsters, old maids, or confirmed bachelors – which was often the case in a time when people were not allowed to express love or to marry their love when that love dare not speak its name.

While Annie Frances may not have married, I have no way of knowing if she had ever been in love with anyone, male or female. Through census records, though, I was able to trace her whereabouts, living with various combinations of the women in her family, but usually with her married sister, Alice, and her family. As far as I can tell, she never lived with her brother, John Jacob Loud, and his family.

In March 1930, her sister Alice passed away and Annie Frances, 74, was alone.

Then, I discovered Annie Frances in the 1930 census. She was listed as “patient” – just one among pages and pages of other patients, all living at the McLean Asylum for the Insane, now known simply as McLean Hospital.

I have no way of knowing how and why she ended up there, no way of knowing who brought her there – a niece, a nephew, herself? In researching this post, I learned that in the 19th and early 20th centuries, women were frequently institutionalized, making them a larger proportion of patients in private and public psychiatric hospitals – and there were many reasons beyond what we consider today to be a true psychiatric diagnosis, from unmarried and pregnant to never married or widowed, from being a financial burden for their families to acting “outside social norms.”

McLean Hospital, formerly known as the McLean Asylum for the Insane.

McLean, though, was a private facility, which held a certain appeal for the affluent. As a result, a broader definition of senility and nervous disorders was used to admit “socially inconvenient, eccentric, or elderly relatives.” There’s no way to know if Annie Frances struggled with mental illness, but based on research, it’s safe to say that she was from a wealthy family and was in need of care as an unmarried elderly woman.

I wonder how she passed the remainder of her days there? Did she walk the grounds, which were designed by Frederick Law Olmsted? Did she sing to herself? Did she perform for the other patients and staff?

I’ll never know these answers.

At the time of her death on August 18, 1934, at 77 years of age, Annie Frances Loud had written nearly 150 compositions, including hymns, songs, carols, processionals, children’s songs, mixed men’s and ladies’ quartets, and adult and children’s choruses, as well as compositions for the pedal organ and piano. Among her best-known songs are “Our Risen King,” “There Is a City Bright,” “The Day is Done,” and “What Shall We Children Bring.” Many of these are housed in libraries in Brookline, MA, and Weymouth, MA.

I think this is one of the reasons I wanted to share Annie’s story… there was so much more to her — and anyone, for that matter — than just “unmarried.” Bringing the lives of the unmarried is one of the reasons I embarked on ancestry research in the first place.

It’s fortunate that C. Everett Loud wrote so much about Annie Frances… especially because as I’ve searched the pages, so many unmarried Louds were mere blips, lives discounted because there weren’t descendants — or perhaps it was a sign of C. Everett Loud’s time and prejudices.

Again, I’ll never know… but these are the moments I wish I could time travel… or sit on a park bench and conjure up a visitor from the past, so we could have a chat.

Bloomin’ Update 66: The Discontent Of Our Winter


Nothing burns like the cold.

George RR Martin wrote those words as part of the prologue in one of his Game of Thrones books – and all I could think about were my plants wailing these same words, as a record-breaking cold front moved down the Florida peninsula and into the Caribbean.

Overnight temperatures hovered just above the freezing mark and wind chills dipped into the mid-20s, making South Florida feel colder than an air-conditioned Publix on a summer’s day.

Many of my northern friends scoffed at me each time I mentioned how cold it was in South Florida. I get it, I really do. I remember, not so fondly, those frigid January and February days. It’s one of the reasons February was always my least favorite month. The icy cold made the shortest month feel like the longest.

By Florida standards, though, this was cold – especially for plants. In northern gardens, plants have three seasons to prep for winter’s icy return. In southern portions of Florida, however, there’s a 12-month growing cycle – and there’s no season for bracing. It’s always warm until it’s not.

Prior to the front’s arrival, I moved all of the delicate and tender potted plants –orchids, succulents…

and newly rooted propagations, like dwarf jatropha trees and angel wing begonias —

into the garage.

Orchids tied to trees or anything planted in the ground were on their own. Yes, I could have covered them, as I did a few years ago, but this was then…

Prepping for a cold front two years ago.

… and this is now. The gardener that I am today is tired and still cares, but not as strongly as I used to. As far as I was concerned, it was time for the plants to put on their big girl leaves and to shiver their timbers. If they didn’t make it, it was a sign to redo some landscaping and to shop for replacements.

After several days and nights – yes, iguanas fell from the trees, some killed by the cold – temperatures warmed enough for me to bring everything outside again. As I walked around the yard, I noticed that the leaves on some of the plants showed signs of cold burn.

The tips of several palm fronds were tinged with brown. In time, these fronds will fade from green to yellow to crispy brown, and then fall. It’s all a bit sacrificial… they did their job in keeping the heart of the palm warm and alive.

The green and white variegated patterns of Java White copperleaf had dulled and browned.

By far, the plant that took the hardest hit was the chenille shrub. Leaves that had once been lush and green just days before had withered and curled.

Then, they browned.

Ultimately, the leaves littered the ground, like trampled confetti.

I shouldn’t be able to see the white fence through the chenille shrub.

I wrestled with what I should do. Should I prune the plant back to stimulate new growth… or should I just hope that new leaves will appear along the branches? Ultimately, I decided to keep it well-watered and to take a wait-and-see approach.

While waiting to see, though, I was struck by the plants that seemed to weather the weather. While I can’t tell if unopened orchid buds on the plants tied to palm trees aren’t damaged, this one managed to hold onto its flowers.

Meanwhile, this newly emerging bromeliad appeared to have laughed at the cold.

Florida natives, like blue porterweed (foreground) and American beautyberry (just behind the porterweed), did remarkably well.

The delicate American beautyberry flowers didn’t even flinch — and will eventually transform into clusters of purple berries.

Nevertheless, I was worried about the chenille plant. Each day, I’d walk by it, examining it for new growth and dumping buckets of water around its base. Then, this appeared at the tip of one of the upward growing stems.

Just before posting this, I did another inspection of the chenille plant and spotted this speck of green on one of the lower branches.

As I stepped away and adjusted my eyes, I couldn’t help but notice small specks of green on many of the lower branches — leaves that would eventually fill in and prevent me from seeing the white fence behind it.

It’s a wonder what a little bit of green can do to a gardener’s soul.

It was hope.

My intention was to keep this post strictly about plants, but as I wrote about the cold weather in Florida, I couldn’t help but think of winter… really think about this winter.

While meteorologically this winter has been one of the coldest, it has also been just as cold politically. Not a day has gone by when ice or ICE hasn’t controlled the daily headlines.

When that thought ran through my mind, I reflected on the events in Minnesota, specifically the murders/executions of Renee Good and Alex Pretti at the hands of ICE agents, who were just following the orders of this regime, which then turned to lies and smears to coverup the crimes. Like many of you, I was horrified and sickened and angry. God, was I angry.

And then I thought of the Minnesotans… tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands… bundled up in winter gear, taking a stand in bitter temperatures… their message of resistance filtered through a frosty fog of breath and spreading across the country.

It occurred to me that hope isn’t always green, as I wrote in this post. This winter — the winter of our discontent — hope was wrapped in layers of wool and down coats, scarves and hats and ear muffs, gloves and mittens and boots.

I just want to thank you for giving me that hope… and may that hope continue to grow throughout our seasons, no matter where we live.

Adventures in Ancestry: Ebenezer & the Captain


My paternal grandmother, Charlotte, had a repertoire of stories that she would often tell and re-tell at family gatherings. Some of these were about the memories she had of her children and grandchildren, even of her own childhood – and the stories were always told, word-for-word, in exactly the same way. Each family member could recite them by rote.

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Fireside Chat with Franklin: How Did A New Year Age So Quickly?


Leading up to the holidays, I had hoped to share a post about my 4x-great grandfather, Ebenezer Loud, because who doesn’t love a good Ebenezer story just before Christmas?

That, at least was the plan.

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Joy!


Wishing all of you a calm and peaceful holiday season — and a 2026 that’s full of health & happiness. Thank you for sticking with this blog.

See you next year!

Adventures in Ancestry: The Acadian Connection


On a mid-summer day in 1755, Jean-Baptiste Guillot, my 7th great-grandfather, looked around him, at the land he farmed and the home he built. He was a proud and content Acadian, living in Ile Saint-Jean, a small Canadian maritime community.

This was the only life he had ever known, since he had been born in Cobequid on nearby Acadia, a French colony first settled in the early 1600s by people eager to escape the religious wars of Europe and the hardships of feudal life and the poverty they brought. Jean-Baptiste still had a difficult time calling it Nova Scotia, the name the English gave to it when they gained control in 1713, as part of the Treaty of Utrecht.

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Bloomin’ Update 65: An Orchid’s Life


Just as summer was flowing into autumn — which in south Florida means summer heat becomes autumn heat — I couldn’t believe what I saw on one of my orchids. It was a large bud, swollen and green with a collection of tiny ruffles at the tip. The timing of this blossom may have been a coincidence, but I jumped on it as one of the hints that fall was actually happening in my part of the world. Continue reading

Adventures in Ancestry: A Revolutionary Tale


Only 15 miles separated Weymouth, MA, from Boston, but very often it felt as if the small village was a world away. Where Boston was a large and bustling seaport, the jewel of the Massachusetts colony, Weymouth, officially founded in 1622, remained rural and agricultural. Residents held fast to the traditions of New England, including town meetings and strong community ties.

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Adventures In Ancestry: The Mystery of Crocifissa, Parte Seconda


After solving the mystery of how my great-grandparents, Giuseppe and Crocifissa, had met and married in Independence, LA, I was energized to learn more. I already had proof of Giuseppe’s arrival in the United States, but I knew nothing of Crocifissa’s arrival.

So much of her life remained a mystery – and I wondered how far back in time could I travel without ever leaving my house?

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Adventures in Ancestry: The Mystery of Crocifissa, Parte Uno


Part of what I truly enjoy about genealogy is the detective work, finding clues and fitting the puzzle pieces together to create a more complete picture of my ancestors. Such was the case as I worked on my great-grandfather Giuseppe’s history. As the picture of his life came into focus, there was one, very large, missing detail:

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