When I started my family history project, it was a pretty haphazard enterprise. I talked to my family and looked here and there for bits of information that might answer specific questions. About some people, I already knew a great deal. About others, not so much. Mostly I was interested in learning a bit more about the specific individuals who migrated here.
However, the more I learned, the more I wanted to know, and the project blossomed into an ongoing and rewarding pastime. I get to learn about my family, often put their stories into a broader historical context … then write about it. For me, that’s a privilege. I sometimes wonder what could be left to discover, whether there’s anything left to share. I guess I’ll find out.
Names are only the first step, and for the most part, the easiest one. It’s the discoveries along the way that give texture to the adventure — reading an ancestor’s letters, discovering the item built by hand, or finally locating elusive gravestones under the shade of a tree. So much happening then, as now. Only wish I’d started earlier.