03/22/2025
The dawn of their new life in New Windsor, New York, unfolds like a tender promise beneath a boundless sky. William and Margaret, just married, stand hand in hand on the fertile soil they’ve claimed as their own, its dark richness clinging to their fingers as they work it with quiet devotion. The Hudson River flows through their land, a shimmering vein of life, catching the sunlight and tossing it back in playful sparkles. Fish leap in silver arcs, breaking the surface with joyous splashes, while majestic birds—eagles and herons—wheel overhead, their wings slicing through the warm, sunny air. A mighty oak tree, ancient and steadfast, stretches its branches over their new home, a log cabin William built with sweat and love, its timbers hewn from the surrounding woods. The sunshine pours down, so bright they squint against it, their faces glowing with the heat of the day and the deeper warmth of their shared vows.
Inside the cabin, the laughter of Presbyterian friends still lingers from the wedding, a simple ceremony woven with faith and the echoes of Scotland in their hearts—visions of rugged Highlands, misty glens, and the songs of their kin carried across the sea. Now, here, they’re planting roots in this peaceful corner of the New World, the land alive with the rustle of animals—deer stepping lightly through the underbrush, rabbits darting among the grasses. Margaret’s eyes meet William’s, and their smiles bloom, unguarded and full of love, as they imagine a family filling this home: little feet pattering across the wooden floor, laughter rising like the birds above. They dream of a settled life, serene and steady, where the days stretch long and gentle, each moment a gift to savor. The eagerness to embrace it all thrums in their chests—every sunlit glance, every ripple in the river, every whisper of the wind through the oak’s leaves. This is their beginning, a canvas of hope painted in earth and water and sky.
William & Margaret Southerland my 8 Great Grandparents.