Guest Book

We’d like to know what you think about our site.  Your comments will be added to our Guestbook log.


Sign our Guestbook!

Click here to Read our Guestbook!




If you have any GENEALOGY INFORMATION that links to my site,

please e-mail me.

  [email protected] 




Just for Fun – Some Genealogy Poetry


~~~ Ancestors ~~~


If you could see your ancestors all standing in a row,
Would you be proud of them, or don’t you really know?
Strange discoveries are sometimes made, in climbing the family tree.
Occasionally one is found in line who shocks his progeny.
If you could see your ancestors all standing in a row,
Perhaps there might be one or two you wouldn’t care to know.
Now turn the question right about and take another view.
When you shall meet your ancestors — will they be proud of you?
 Author unknown [from The Rowan County Register, Apr 1987]



~~~ Grandma’s Disease ~~~


There’s been a change in Grandma, we’ve noticed her of late.
She’s always reading history or jotting down some date.
She’s tracking back the family, we’ll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma’s got a hobby – she’s climbing FAMILY TREES.
Poor Grandpa does the cooking, and now, or so he states,
That worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.
Grandma can’t be bothered, cuz she’s busy as a bee,
Compiling genealogy for our FAMILY TREE.
She has no time to babysit, the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Grandpa’s shirt, the flower bed’s a sight.
She’s given up her club work and the soaps on the TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the FAMILY TREE.
She goes down to the courthouse and studies ancient lore,
We know more of our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty, and they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you’re climbing FAMILY TREES.




~~~ The Census ~~~


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 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 affect 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 voices in our hearts.

Author unknown


Dear Ancestor..

Your tombstone stands among the rest;
Neglected and alone.
The name and date are chiseled out..
On old gray granite stone.
It reaches out to all who care..
It is too 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, in 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 when you lived and loved,.
I wonder if you knew
That someday I would find this spot.
And come and visit you.

Author: Unknown