I never knew my Great-Grandpa Martin. He died when my dad was a little boy. He was the first dead person my dad ever saw. He was in a coffin in the parlor at home. My dad remembers him having a large white handlebar mustache, that had yellowed from using tobacco. He was a blacksmith, and owned his own shop. This picture is of him in his shop. Not the best quality, but I love it. My dad also told me that Great Grandpa was a bootlegger. I don’t know any more about that, but I bet he was one of many. He also drove a stage coach from Ponsford to Calloway, Minnesota. He hauled trees to the lumber mill during the winter months, putting the logs on a big old sled, and crossing a frozen lake. He lost a toe from frost bite, doing that job.

It sounds to me like he was a colorful character. I admire him for taking different jobs. I’ve had to do the same myself. I’m sure he must have had a lot of stamina to do some of the jobs he did, pounding iron sounds like it would be exhausting. I have loved hearing about him. I bet he was a great guy.

Happy Family History Friday! Love, Joy