It was the first day of census, and all through the land;
The 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 of her 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 up 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'd 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 ... its' 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
It is this sense of history, transcending the stale recitation of dates and facts and alive with meaning, to which Lincoln referred when he wrote in 1862.
Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out
On polished marble stone.
It reaches out to all who care
It is to late to mourn.
You did not know that I exist
You died and I was born
Yet each of us are cells of you
In flesh, in blood, and bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.
Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago
Spreads out among the ones you left
Who would have loved you so.
I wonder if you lived and loved,
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find the spot,
And come to visit you.
There's been a change in Grandma, we've noticed of late She's always reading history, or jotting down some date. She's tracing back the family, we'll all have pedigrees, Grandma's got a hobby, she's Climbing Family Trees....Poor Grandpa does the cooking, and now, or so he states He even has to wash the cups and the dinner plates. Well, Grandma can't be bothered, she's busy as a bee- Compiling genealogy for the Family Tree.
She has no time to baby-sit, the curtains are a fright- No buttons left on Grandpa's shirts, the flower bed's a sight- She's given up her club work, the serials on TV The only thing she does nowadays is climb that Family Tree.
The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far- Last week she got the proof she needs to join the DAR. A monumental project - to that we all agree, A worthwhile avocation - to climb the Family Tree.
She wanders through the graveyard in search of date and name- The rich, the poor, the in between, all sleeping there the same. She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees.
Now some folks came from Scotland, some from Galway Bay- Some were French as pastry, some German all the way. Some went on West to stake their claims, some stayed there by the sea, Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree.
There were pioneers and patriots mixed with our kith and kin- Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin But none more staunch than Grandma - whose eyes light up with glee Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.
Their skills were wide and varied from carpenter to cook- And one - alas- the records show, was hopelessly a crook. Blacksmith, farmer, weaver, judge,- some tutored for a fee, Once lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree.
To some it's just a hobby, to Grandma it's much more- She learns the joys and heartaches of those who went before. They loved, they lost, they laughed, they wept - and now for you and me They live again in spirit around the Family Tree.
At last she's nearly finished, and we are each exposed- Life will be the same again - this we all suppose. Grandma will cook and sew, serve crullers with our tea, We'll have her back, just as before, that wretched Family Tree.
Sad to relate, the Preacher called and visited for a spell - We talked about the Gospel and other things as well. The heathen folk, the poor, and then--'twas fate it had to be Somehow the conversation turned to Grandma - and the Family Tree.
We tried to change the subject we talked of everything- But then in Grandma's voice we heard that old familiar ring. She told him all about the past, and soon 'twas plain to see The preacher, too, was neatly snared by Grandma and the Family Tree.
He never knew his Granddad, his mother's name was --- Clark? He and Grandma talked and talked, outside it grew quite dark. We'd hoped our fears were groundless, but just like some disease. Grandma's become an addict she's hooked - on Family Trees.
Our spirits filled with sorrow, our hearts sank with dismay Our ears could scarcely believe the words we heard our Grandma say, "It surely is a lucky thing that you have come to me, I know exactly how it's done, I'll climb your Family Tree!"
I would like to thank my very distant cousin, Linda Harding Thompson, for sending me "THE CENSUS TAKER" and "DEAR ANCESTOR". Thanks Linda!!
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