The Teemleys, circa 1800s, Westfield, New York
Song of My Family
Five years ago this month, my wife and I travelled to the town of Westfield, New York, on the edge of Lake Erie, the heart of the America’s oldest wine-producing region. Here, I’d expected to learn more about my ancestors. Instead, after seeing the village where they lived, hoped, and dreamed, my understanding changed. These weren’t my “ancestors.” They were, are, my family. Real people whose dreams created the roots from which my dreams have grown.
Here, with its climate nearly identical to their birthplace in Baden-Württemberg, Germany’s principal wine-growing region, my great-great grandparents Conrad Dimler and Eva Hoffmann, came to farm and grow grapes.
Like Eva, Conrad had been born out-of-wedlock. Consequently, each had their mother’s rather than their birth-father’s names. Their mothers were peasants, possibly gypsies; the name Dimler means “tumbler or traveling entertainer,” and was often used to describe a “noisy, unruly,” undesirable person.
They were rootless, homeless.
Until they planted roots in Westfield. They soon changed their surname to “Teemley,” perhaps because that was what their pronunciation of Dimler sounded like to American ears. Or perhaps to distance themselves from their background. Like vine-cuttings used to create a new vineyard, they created a new identity.
Here, with the help of their many children, the Teemleys built a home on a tree-lined path called Parker Lane. Most of the children eventually married and moved away. Only Maria, named for her grandmother in Germany, remained unmarried (she died at 17 and was buried beside her parents).
Conrad’s beloved Eva passed away in 1888, and soon his grip on reality began to slip. Ironically, it was the youngest child, Albert-the-dreamer, never much of a farmer, who became the head of the household. The problem was he’d gotten his girl Amy, the daughter of Westfield’s esteemed Dr. Bowen, pregnant. So, just four months after his mother’s death they quietly married and took over the house on Parker Lane. Five months later, their first child, my grandfather Warren, was born. And two years after that, Conrad passed away.
Suddenly, the two dreamers, my great-grandparents Albert and Amy Amanda — a poet, writer, and artist who’d considered a life on the stage — were parents and homeowners. Amy eventually became a journalist, writing a long-running social column for the Westfield Republican.
And Albert? Around this time, a teetotaling Methodist name Thomas Welch figured out how to make “unfermented wine,” and began hiring nearly everyone in Westfield to either grow or process concord grapes. It’s likely the Teemley farm became a provider for the Welch’s juice company that now dominated the town.
Most of Albert and Amy’s kids grew up and moved away. Only two are buried beside their parents: Marshall, who died as a baby; and Myron, who suffered, I suspect, from “shell shock” (PTSD) incurred as a teenage doughboy on the fields in France; he shot himself, leaving a newlywed widow and one-year-old child behind. Amy died too young, after which Albert lived on alone in town. He passed away just five years before I was born.
The farmhouse on Parker Lane is now a stone foundation in a field. But Teemley cuttings cropped up in new places.
My grandfather Warren married a petite English girl name Arline, and relocated with several brothers to another wine-growing region in Watkins Glen at the foot of beautiful Seneca Lake. But after his kid brother Myron’s death, Warren packed up his little family and started over in California.
A short time later, their youngest, William (“Wee Willy”) Teemley, my father was born. A dreamer if there ever was one. Tumblers. Travelers. Cuttings. Dreamers.
Teemleys.
What a beautiful reflection. I especially appreciated your insight that ancestors are not merely figures in a family tree, but family in the truest sense, people whose hopes, struggles, sacrifices, and dreams continue to shape our lives today. That perspective transforms genealogy from a collection of names and dates into a living story of connection and gratitude.
I also found the way you traced your family’s journey, from hardship and rootlessness to building a home and legacy, both moving and inspiring. Your vineyard imagery and emphasis on putting down roots painted a vivid picture of how faith, perseverance, and courage can echo through generations.
Thank you for sharing such a heartfelt and thoughtful piece. Congratulations on the insight and the way you brought your family’s story to life. It reminds us that we are all, in some way, living extensions of the dreams of those who came before us.
Thank you, Michael, and right you are.
Totally agree. What a story!
Goosebumps
A few years ago I took over researching the genealogy of my male ancestors from one of my sisters and found out that we came to America from Schiltach in the Black Mountains of the former Duchy of Baden (now the state of Baden-Württemberg in southwest Germany) in the 1850s. Also learned that my great×6 grandfather lived and worked on the Hinterholz farm in that area, which still exists as a restaurant (https://hinterholzstube.com).
How cool to have discovered that connection, Steven.
My mother (God rest her soul) was a strict teetotaler who inadvertently made a brief foray into winemaking. When I was a little kid, we had Concord grape vines growing in our yard, and Mom decided to try making grape juice. Alas, she had no idea how quickly that stuff ferments. Horrified to learn that she had produced (gasp!) wine, she promptly dumped the entire batch down the kitchen drain.
Haha! Apparently, your mother was not Italian. 🤣🍷
Not even a little bit.
;>) All that good communion wine, wasted!
I know. Sad.
Looking back at our ancestors is always interesting. It’s even fun to dig up some skeletons in the closet. Great story of where you came from.
Thanks, Kathy. 🧡
Mitch, you are definitely part of your family. Dreamers and travelers. Enjoyed your description of your extended family.
Thank you, Hazel. 🧡
My pleasure, Mitch!
What great information you know!
That trip revealed so much I hadn’t known before!
The immigrant story; the story of America (much like that of Canada; but I’ll spare you my details). As always, so well told and without glamorizing or glossing over life’s ups and downs. Thanks so much.
My privilege, and thank you, Christopher.
In the image with two older men and a boy, you strongly resemble the boy. Your research unearthed an intriguing trove of your family’s background. Very interesting historical connections! 😁
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I liked reading your post.
A very fascinating post, Mitch.
I agree with Mr Wilson, it’s a beautiful reflection. To know so much about your family and heritage is wonderful.
Thank you so much for sharing, that was very nice I could see it in the background playing on an old video player in black and white film 😉
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You’ve done a fantastic job with paying tribute to the family that came before you.
Great to read of your family and the interesting branches. Thank you for sharing their/your story.
I find it very interesting that you can trace back your family so back and with formal and informal names and other details. I enjoyed reading about your family.
Very interesting!
The fruit didn’t fall far from the tree with your artistic, creative, writers and dreamers as ancestors Mitch. 😊It’s always intriguing to find our roots. I love genealogy and discovering where my ancestors came from. I’m stumped at the moment on the small channel island of Jersey and suspect my family originally came there from France but that might be wishful thinking on the basis I love France and particularly French food. I would love to have French ancestry.
This was a wonderful read, Mitch..it is such a blessing to be able to travel genealogy. Getting to know the lives that paved the path for ours tends to put things in perspective and adds a new dimension to our identity.
Wow. Interessting. Once I had a pupil in my class named Dimler. But East-Germany. Not Ba-Wü.
The name changing thing from german Expats in the US was often dicussed by politicians and historians here around, till 1945. As a kind of shame, not to stay in his shoes between lots of Englishmen and Irish…
That was before the culture-revolution of the 50s. The Elvis Years. Westgermany was on the way to transform to a small-US. Fassion, Music, Cars, Movies, Meals…
So this name-changing thing was not a problem anymore. But the new Problem is: More and more germans don’t know their own cultural roots. Schiller? Is a DJ. Goethe? A famous General in World WarII.? Johann Sebastian Bach? The Founder of Cinderella. A Metal-Musician. Beethoven? Stepfather of Jeff Lynne or a member of the ELO and so on.
That’s quite a family history.
Mitch, thanks for sharing your ancestor’s history. Enjoyable read.