Boy from the 1800s

there was a boy from the 1800s, his name was Henry.  he loved frogs and he liked to keep them as pets and he loves to swim a lot and he liked to bug his older sisters with frogs.  one day he went coon hunting, by himself.  He saw a squirrel, and then he saw a bear attacking the squirrel. He was trying to shoot the bear but it kept on moving.  He ran off to tell his mom and dad about it and they were shocked.  Then they wanted to see the bear.  Henry took them to show them where the bear had been.  They saw a cave, went in it, and they saw the bear.  Henry's dad shot the bear and it died.  They had ridden in their wagon to the cave and they took the bear in the wagon back to their house.  They cut the bear up, so they could have meat to eat.  The rest of the family were shocked, and wanted to know who had shot the bear.  The dad said that he had shot the bear.  The skin from the bear was big enough to make Henry a coat. 

The tale of my birth...

I was born in late 1837 in Germany.  I was the oldest out of five children born to Franz and Eliza.  According to census records, our family (my parents and I) immigrated to the United States around 1840.  My siblings were all born in the United States.  My father was a carpenter.  Our sea voyage from Germany took about a month and a half.  There was a large influx of German immigrants in the North Central United States.  My family was merely one of the many that came over to the New World from Germany.  I'm not certain what we left behind in Germany or even why we left, as I was barely three when we made the voyage over.  I may have had a younger sibling that traveled with us that might not have survived the voyage.  Mutter did not like to talk about it much, neither did Vater.

My sister Catharina was born not long after we arrived in Ohio.  First son Heinrich came a couple of years after Catharina.  (This is my niece's great, great-grandfather).  Heinrich was a very strong-willed child from birth.  But alas, this tale is not about him.  It is about me.  Now that I have introduced myself, I will save the rest for another tale.

Who am I?

My name is Theresa.  I am 175 years old.  I was born in Germany in 1837.  I immigrated to the United States with my parents shortly thereafter.  My niece is trying to find out more about me and I thought this would be a good way to get my story across.  There is not much information out there about me.  I was born, I lived, and died.  My name is on a couple of census records.  So I existed.  But who am I?  What made up the dash between the dates on my headstone?  I am sure that much of what will be written about me here will be fiction, a fable with threads of truth woven in.  The tapestry of my life is merely an outline of barely discernible lines, the imagination of my niece will fill in the colors and patterns.   Please join us on our journey as the dash on my tombstone becomes a colorful story for all to see.

Theresa