Genealogy Gems I

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Census Poem
It was the first day of census and all through the land
each pollster was ready... a black book in hand.
He mounted his horse for a long dusty ride,
his book and some quills were tucked close by his side.
A long winding ride down a road barely there,
toward the smell of fresh bread wafting, up through the air.

The woman was tired, with lines on her face
and wisps of brown hair she tucked back into place.
She gave him some water ... as they sat at the table
and she answered his questions ... the best she was able.
He asked her of children. Yes, she had quite a few --
the oldest was twenty, the youngest not two.

She held up a toddler with cheeks round and red;
his sister, she whispered, was napping in bed.
She noted each person who lived there with pride,
and she felt the faint stirrings of the wee one inside.
He noted the sex, the color, the age ...
the marks from the quill soon filled uup the page.

At the number of children, she nodded her head
and saw her lips quiver for the three that were dead.
The places of birth she "never forgot"
was it Kansas? or Utah? or Oregon ... or not?
They came from Scotland, of that she was clear,
but she wasn't quite sure just how long they's been here.

They spoke of employment, of schooling and such,
they could read some ... and write some ... though really not much.
When the questions were answered, his job there was done
so he mounted his horse and he rode toward the sun.
We can almost imagine his voice loud and clear,
"May God bless you all for another ten years."

Now picture a time warp ... it's now you and me
as we search for the people on our family tree.
We squint at the census and scroll down so slow
as we search for that entry from long, long ago.
Could they only imagine on that long ago day
that the entries they made would effect us this way?

If they knew would they wonder at the yearning we feel
and the searching that makes them so increasingly real.
We can hear if we listen the words they impart
through their blood in our veins and their voice in our heart.

Author unknown.




TRACING ROOTS HAS ITS SHARE OF LAUGHS
from Golden State New, publication of the California Sons of the American Revolution
Contributed by James Taliaferro Goodbread

 

• "Would it be possible to send copies of my ancestors?"
• "I've looked for grandpa for over 20 years.  Do you have him in your library?"
• "Please help me.  I have tried unsuccessfully to trace my backward family."
• "We're having a hard time finding the records that haven't been kept."
• "I am mailing you my aunt and uncle and three of their children."
• "We are sending you the five children in a separate envelope."
• "I am very much annoyed to find you have branded my son illiterate...this is a dirty lie as I was married a week before he was born."  [Apparently sent to a census taker.]
• "The critical link in my family tree is named Smith."




Beatitudes of a Family Genealogist

Blessed are the great-grandmothers who hoarded newspaper clippings and old letters, for they tell the story of their time.

Blessed are all the grandfathers who filed every legal document, for this provided proof.

Blessed are grandmothers who preserved family Bibles and diaries, for this is our heritage.

Blessed are fathers who elect officials that answer letters of inquiry, for some they are the only link to the past.

Blessed are mothers who relate family traditions and legends to the family, for one of her children will surely remember.

Blessed are the relatives who fill in family sheets with extra data, for them we owe the family history.

Blessed is any family whose members strive for the preservation of records, for theirs is a labor of love.

Blessed are the children who will never say, "Grandma, you have told that old story twice today."

Blessed are the Indexers, for Others reap the rewards.



I'M MY OWN GRANDPA!

Now many years ago, when I was 23
I married to a widow who was pretty as could be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red
My father fell in love with her, and soon they were wed.
This made my Dad, my son-in-law, and changed my very life.
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
To complicate the matter, even though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.
Our little boy then became a brother-in-law to Dad
And so became my Uncle though it made me sad.
For if he was my Uncle then that also made him brother.
For the widow's grown-up-daughter, who is now my Grandmother.
My father's wife then had a son who kept him on the run
And he became my grandson 'cause he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother and it makes me blue,
Because, although she is my wife, she is my grandma, too.
Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild,
For now I've become the strangest case you ever saw,
That as husband of my grandmother, I'm my own Grandpa.




YOU MIGHT BE ADDICTED TO GENEALOGY IF.........

• you brake for libraries...
• you begin all your correspondence with "Dear Cousin"...
• you would rather browse a cemetery than a shopping mall...
• you hyperventilate at the sight of an old cemetery...
• you would rather read a census schedule than a best seller...
• you think every home should have a microfilm reader...
• you know every courthouse clerk in your state by name...
• courthouse clerks lock the doors when they see you coming...
• you remember your ancestors' surnames for 15 generations, but forgot what you call your dog, spouse, or neighbor...
• you're more interested in what happened in 1697 than what is going on now...
• you store your clothes under the bed to make room in the closet for your genealogical files...
• you can pinpoint Harrietsham, Hawkhurst, and Kent on a map of England, but can't locate Topeka, Kansas on a U. S. map...
• you get locked in a library overnight and don't know even notice...
• you have traced every one of your ancestral lines back to Adam and Eve, have it fully documented, and still don't want to quit...

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