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Originally posted by Seamus:
It was late in the day as they approached the homestead of Andreas Hagenbuch, his wife Maggie, and their four children. The German immigrant had worked hard over the years to carve out this farm from the forests and hillsides of the Allemaengel. This was a difficult terrain to farm, but quite reminiscent of his native Germany, and he had done well.

Their cabin was of log, about 18’ x 24’ in size, and was a story and a half in height. Several small log outbuildings stood nearby as did a modest barn for their meager collection of livestock: horses to pull the wooden plow, wagons and stone sleds and for transportation, as well as a milk cow and a few hogs. Some chickens strode around, pecking at the ground as they gathered grit and chased grasshoppers.

A large pile of hay, recently cut, was resting comfortably under an arbor, protected from the rains, and its sweet, fresh odor invaded the nostrils on a gentle breeze. The corn was nearly ready for the harvest; about halfway from green to the golden brown of autumn, and in amongst the stalks were the withering vines of squash and pumpkins, now showing their brilliant oranges and yellows. Nearby, were the drying stalks of the pole beans, their fruits drying on the vine so they could be used later in the winter months or kept for next year’s seed. An orchard of apple trees, hanging heavy with crimson fruit,
stood behind and to the right of the homestead on a slight rise which gave way to a higher knob beyond it. The potatoes had been dug earlier, and only the small mounds of earth laid out in rows along the creek gave evidence that they had been there.

Seamus gathered it all in, wide-eyed and very excited, as he and Conrad Weiser came around the bend in the road and the homestead came into view. Never in his wildest imagination had he ever dreamt this place would be so beautiful and peaceful! He was going to like it here, he thought. And he hoped that his new-found family would like him as much.

On the right was a high hill, tight against the road, and as it approached the house, the road split, making a “Y” with the house and sheds in the crotch of the “Y”; the barn and barnyard across the road. Opposite the house and across the left fork of the road, the hill loomed high and bare most of the way up to the top. Here is where Andreas had cut the trees to make the logs for his house and outbuildings.

The steady, plodding clop-clop of their horses’ hooves was muffled in the deep dust of the road, and caused a dirty cloud to rise around them and cover them with the fine powder as they steadily approached the place. Their horses caught wind of the horses in the Hagenbuch’s stable and whinnied a greeting.

Young Seamus’s heart leaped as he saw the German immigrant, Andreas, followed by his wife, Maggie and her four children: Michael, Christian, Robert, and Barbara; his uncle, his aunt, and his four cousins. The cousins were all about his own age, particularly the younger two boys, which thrilled him immensely, but yet he was a bit apprehensive. He had no idea what they might be like.

Conrad Weiser and Andreas Hagenbuch greeted each other in their native German and shook hands.

“Velcome, Herr Veisor! Vass ist ze occazion zat bringss you out here?”

“Guten aben, Herr Hagenbuch! Vee hass come here to bring ziss lad to you. He iss ze son off your Maggie’s bruzzer from Ireland. He hass chust arrived in Philadelphia mitt no place to go, und hass asked zat I bring him here. Hiss mother hass died und he iss all alone. I must add zat he iss quite a lad, too! He hass come all ze way from Belfast alone to find you, and vass nearly starved ven ve met. Hiss story is wery sad, yet wery fascinating, too. I do not know many lads who could make ze trip he did und zurvive it. He vill certainly grow up to be a fine man!”

As He