General Chat

GENEALOGY RELATED POEMS AND FUNNIES
THE CENSUS TAKER
DEAR ANCESTOR
GRANDMA CLIMBED THE FAMILY TREE



CENSUS TAKER

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.

"Fellow citizens, we cannot escape history."

:-D

Found that quite amusing - I bet those who carried the census in years gone bye could tell a few tales :-D

On a UK census one of mine records a child as 6 1/2. I've a vision of a little girl standing in the doorway. Peeping around the folds of mother's skirts she insists that the 'and a half' was very important. :-)

Somewhere, deep in my files & boxes....... I have a story about a man climbing the family tree.......... I think it may be a poem.

He spent years, wandering from place to place, researching church records, trying to read old gravestones.........

When he was about 70, his father ( !! ) who was 95 and on his deathbed, told him he was adopted :-D

If anyone has the original, I'd love to see it again :-)

Adopted or not, it was his family. <3