While growing up in Madera, CA I always knew my grandparents on my
dad's side were from the South, from Mississippi. Being at Grandma and Grandpa’s
house meant we would always have delicious food! We had wonderfully golden fried
foods, greens from Grandpa's huge gardens, ham and eggs and biscuits, roasted
chicken smothered in cornbread dressing with cornbread gravy, and of course the
huge family gatherings at their house in the country. All my cousins would be
there, so many of them! My dad was the youngest of seven and each of his older
brothers and sisters had children, most of them a bit older than my brother and I. The house was always noisy and filled with cousins and with the
delicious smells from Grandma's kitchen... you could almost always smell
something like bacon frying!!
My mother's
parents lived in town. My mother had 3 much older half brothers so my cousins on
that side were quite a bit older too. We didn't see them as often as my cousins
on my dad's side of the family. Mom's brothers lived in other towns and didn't
seem to visit all that often but we sometimes saw them while visiting our great
aunts in Watsonville.
For the first five years of my life we lived in the same house
with my mom's parents, my Nana and Papa. Nana's kitchen had a delicious smell
with the warmth to it that slowly just wound itself around you.
One of my earliest memories in Nana's kitchen is of holding onto the edge of her kitchen table with my finger tips, stretching up as high as I could on my
tippy-toes and looking across that table at a whole bunch of little round white
things dusted with flour and sitting on a dish towel. I knew I couldn't touch but
in a short time Nana would transform each of these little white round things
into one of the most wonderful thing in the world… a handmade tortilla, fresh
off the stove to be slathered in butter. NOTHING compares to that taste, or
that smell… that feeling of being hugged in a huge warm blanket!
My Nana and Papa were not from the South, not from Mississippi.
They spoke Spanish when they didn't want my brother or me to understand what
they were saying… and Nana’s kitchen always smelled like warm tortillas, and
beans, and enchiladas, and fat round tamales tied on the ends… and of those
special spices that now instantly take me back every time I smell them!
Nana and Papa were Californios… a term I’ve learned over the past
couple of decades. Nana and Papa were both descendants of the first families
who arrived in California as early as 1769.
Nana's kitchen was always the best place in the house. After we
moved away to another town my brother and I so looked forward to our visits with Nana and
Papa! Every time we were there it was like being a very small child again. Not
long ago some of my cousins from my dad’s side said they loved to see my Nana
arriving at a family gathering because she always had a huge tray of her
enchiladas to add to all that southern fried food…and Nana always took home an
empty tray!
Sadly, in 1961 when I was just 13, my Nana died. I was heartbroken.
Several days after her funeral service while my mother and I were going through
some of Nana’s things we came across a little red address book. As I sat on the
floor looking through the names of people my Nana knew, I wondered about her
life, where she met them, and what their conversations might have been. I
wished I had known more about Nana.
On one of the pages Nana had written something I think was just
for me… not that she said so, but over the years I've just known that page was written for me.
Nana wrote the names of her siblings along with their birth and
death dates. She wrote the names of her parents and their birth and death
dates. She wrote the names of her grandparents… but she hadn't written all of their
dates.
One of the names written in Nana’s little red book was Juana
Bojorques.
From the instant I read that name my entire being was captured. I
can’t explain the feeling at that moment, other than it was such a strong
feeling of urgency. I knew I had to find this person. I had to know everything
about this Juana Bojorques.
Why didn't Nana write down the birth and death info for her own
grandmother?
This was a mystery I just had to solve!
Through the years since that February day in 1961… nearly 52 years
now… I've been trying to solve the mystery of Juana Bojorques. During the past
20 or so years it’s been like living in my own mystery novel… each new
character I find brings a whole new chapter to the novel… each with even more
questions to add to the mystery!
Without Juana’s birth and death dates I've had to do some very interesting
sleuthing along the way and I've become a pretty good detective, too. In my
search for one great, great-grandmother I've found generations of California
born ancestors, and well over one hundred living cousins!
… are you ready to meet some of my ancestors?
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