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Hall's, Wilson's, Floyds and Tillmans of Ga., Fl., and S.C.

Updated January 1, 2002

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I started searching for my family about twelve years ago. I have met with many a brick wall just to climb over it and run into another. Many people have told me stories which proved to be just that and it seems that maybe some of my ancestors might have changed their names for they are no where.
Genealogy has given me many hours of fun and solace. It is rewarding to find out just who I am through those that were.
I will be open to any info which other might supply but will have fun proving the truth of it and reading the histories which helped to change the great south of Georgia and north, FL.
I have had the pleasure of reading about far away lands as well as hundreds of years gone by. I only wish I could go see and walk the same roads or on the same land as those men of long ago did. To write their histories so anyone reading could feel what they felt see what they saw.
The memories which stay with me as I go down a road seem so real for many a day my dad was with me telling me how it was, who lived there and how the fields looked when he was a boy.
How he would stop in the lane and write his numbers in the sand.
He showed me where he sat in the little one room school house which was also the Live Oak Methodist church and that his mother had also attended school there. His memories have become my own as I spend time now thinking about those long roads which he and I would drive looking for land marks which would tell him we had found places he had walked or lived.
He had been gone from the area of his youth for more that sixty years when he took me there for my first time and I could feel the sadness he felt for the changes he saw. There were tall Pine trees growing where he had only seen corn, tobacco and other farm gardens growing as a young man. The Grist mill no longer accessible from the road and in the cemeteries where head stone had once been stood no more and the remains of those laying there forgotten. All he said was "all this was in fine farms then, the old timers have died and the young do not care for the hard work it took" he walked to the car and we drove off. My dad understood progress, which I have though of as a way of life. He also said he left because of the hard work of
farming. He was one of those young one who left to make a better life for himself and did but he still loved the memories.

 
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