Children:

1. Catherine Hovious, b. 26 Oct 1909.
2. Mary Jane Hovious, born abt 1911, d. 3 Dec 1969.
3. Dorothy Hovious, born abt 1914.
   
   Tom Hovious wrote this poem:
   
   The Old Home
   
   Sometimes in my thoughts and dreams
   I wander back to the old home
   Where as a boy with rifle and dog
   Through the woods I used to roam.
   
   Then I wander through the old box house
   Out into the yard
   Where with my six brothers and three sisters
   We played without getting tired.
   
   Then I wandered down to the old spout spring
   And take up the gourd to drink;
   And thoughts of dad and mother
   Are the sweetest thoughts I think.
   
   Then I wander through the woods
   where I used to hunt for game,
   And even by the old 'tater cave
   Where on a beech I cut my name.
   
   And down to the little brook
   Where we used to swim,
   And out to the little grave
   Where we laid brother Zack and think of him.
   
   Then I wander through the old Knifley field,
   Down to the country store,
   And see the faces I used to see,
   But see no more.
   
   Then back by the old church house
   with o'er the pulpit "God is love";
   And think of those who wept there,
   Years ago, now gone above.
   
   Then I climb the hill to the little schoolhouse
   Where I learned to read and write;
   And where we had spelling bees
   Every Friday night.
   
   Then down the shady path
   And across White Oak Creek
   Where I went to see my first sweetheart,
   Annie Williams, once a week.
   
   Then I call on friends and kin folks
   And make a visit every day
   To find the old ones dead and gone;
   The young ones turning gray.
   
   Forty years has changed things so
   It all seems strange to me;
   Little children I knew then
   Now have families.
   
   All the fields for miles around
   Were growing fields of grain;
   As I clasp the hands of those I loved
   From tears I can't refrain.
   
   The graveled highway down Wilson Hill
   And on to Campbellsville
   Where I used to go with loads of staves
   With my brother Bill.
   
   It was muddy then. We used to stall
   And be midnight getting home;
   But Mother dear would light the lamp,
   saying "Here come Bill and Tom."
   
   Then I remember going with dad
   One bright day to preach.
   I remember well his text
   And the thoughts he tried to teach.
   
   And when I think of all the sorrows
   Since forty years have passed,
   It renews a desire within me
   to hold out to the last.
   
   For Dad and Mother, too, have gone
   to be with Zack and Kate.
   With death, the last enemy, destroyed,
   They for the resurrection wait.
   
   And then I wander to the old room
   With the rag carpet made by mother's hand.
   Over in one corner I see
   The old-time organ stand.
   
   I hear my sister Nannie play it,
   And dear old mother sing,
   "Cover My Defenseless Head
   With the Shadow of Thy Wing."
   
   And, oh, what a sweet thought, with all of us children
   with Dad and Mother there
   then we would all kneel,
   And Dad would offer prayer.
   
   Now we are all scattered,
   But no matter where we roam
   Let us all try to meet in heaven
   Where they wait for us to come.
   
   
   Thanks to John R. Hovious Jr. and Jim Hovious for this research.
   
   8:55 PM 7/16/03