Following the Path of my Ancestors

I have recently been out of town for a week, travelling and visiting friends as well as family. I also got the privilege of touring two state parks along the way, and to visit the Cahokia Mounds in IL as well as the Wickliffe Mounds in KY. It was very interesting, and a bit spiritual for me, as I have American Indian Ancestry  through  several lines of my family.
As a child, I would often visit Shiloh, TN with my family. I remember being so connected to those mounds there; without even knowing my ancestry, really. Now, that I do know my ancestry, the memories are even more poignant. Walking the old ” Indian Trail” with my Dad used to mean so much to me. I wasn’t really aware of anything “spiritual” except for the complete and utter quietness of the walk; disturbed only by the occasional chatter of the squirrels, and the chirping of gossiping birds.
Were my Ancestors calling me to follow their path?  Is that  even a possiblity, you may ask?  As an adult, I am very aware that there is much to this world that we will never know. I do believe that my ancestors are an integral part of my being. That because of them, I am who I am. Their blood courses through my being, and I do owe them my respect. I may, or may not, agree with their choices; as their descendant, I choose to believe that they did the best that they knew how to. Under any and all extreme circumstances that I have no possible knowledge of.
So, in retrospect, I suppose that I believe my Ancestors have called me to follow them. At least, in the sense that I am the “storyteller” of my generation. To remember them, to acknowledge their existence and to pass along their stories. As much as I can, anyway. Who else will tell their stories? Who else will remember them? To acknowledge them:  to know, that yes, they lived. They had lives, loves, and stories of their own. Someone has to carry thier memories. Someone has to tell their stories. So that all will know that they were here, walking these lands, before us. One day, perhaps, someone else will attempt to tell my story. I hope that the journey  I take  is worth the telling.

Genealogy ~ a treasure of stories & legends

I grew up hearing  stories  from my dad  about his family.  The little  that  he knew of them, he loved telling.   Some of my earliest memories  involved begging him to  tell me of  the grandparents I never  got to meet. Death came way  too soon for them both. My grandmother was only 28 when tuberculosis  claimed her life, my grandfather was  killed in a logging accident  two months before his 53rd  birthday.   I would listen in fascination about family I never  got to meet.

After  becoming an adult, I was determined  to  try and find out  about my dad’s family.  He never  got  to  meet any of his dad’s family. So, I was determined to help him find them. I started  going to the library with what littel information I had. I was ablr to find out quite a bit  about my grandmother’s family in Arkansas. My grandfather’s family, not so much luck. I did  discover the paternal line,but nothing  about  my great grandmother.  Then… along came the internet!!! 

I almost wept when I  FINALLY  found my great grandmother’s family  in Alabama. I have been able to talk to different cousins along the way, hearing their stories.It  has been  so much fun to reconnect with ones I haven’t seen  in years, and to find new ones as well. I spoke to a cousin  a few years ago that still had the spinning wheel  my great great grandfather  bought my great great grandmother. The  story  states he paid  about $5  for it back  in the late 1800’s.

I  have collected over 13,000 names  in my family tree. It  has taken me ove 20 years, and I still am researching  my sources. But, I  finally know where I came  from. I  can leave my children with that knowledege, if they ever  become interested in it. It has truly been a treasure hunt  that  I will probably never completely  end.