Genealogy, inspired!
I recently took a few extra minutes while closing out the final farm chores to watch the heat lightening on the horizon and the full moon rise over the trees while the cool breeze blew around me and rustled through the cottonwood leaves.
The liminal space between Summer’s last breathe and Autumn’s golden beginnings always call me to slow down and pull into myself, to find gratitude in the abundance of the growing season and to wrap myself up in the quieter, coldest months.
My Grandma, Eve Stanton, was (as so many of us are) wild & complicated, accomplished & haunted.
So, I knew that when I first sat down to work on her Heritage Journal spread, limiting myself to two pages would be a challenge. Truly, how do you boil 80 years into two pages when it’s supposed to represent the only Grandparent you really knew as a child and spent so much time with?
Despite my years of researching and documenting my family, I’m continually humbled by how much I don’t know and how much is available to us if we simply know where to look or who to ask. Case in point: I recently learned in a Civil War Facebook group that I could request my 2x great grandpa’s Civil War Pension File using the information provided on the Pension Index Card I found on Ancestry.com a few years ago.
I knew when I started this Heritage Journal project that my paternal side would present my biggest challenges because this side of my lineage didn’t even truly exist my periphery until 2019.
There were no stories told to me as a small child about them.
No vacations filled with cousins or grandparents. No sights, smells, tastes, or memories to guide my way in the creation of each journal spread.
Inaccuracies are caused by faulty recall; there is no factual research to discover heights of buildings, dates of demolition, blood types
I know I’m not alone when I say that I had a difficult relationship with my mom.
With so many individual, familial, and societal forces at play, I’m honestly not sure our culture is set up to nurture and support our mother/daughter relationships in a very positive way, especially through the individuation years, try as we might.
And so, as I’ve sat with the Heritage Journal spread for my mom, my emotions have ebbed and flowed…
We all grieve the 1890 Census, but have you given any thought to what happened with the 2020 Census?
Let’s talk about it.
2020 was… whew! It was quite a year, wasn’t it? So much worry, uncertainty, and general confusion. The world had flipped upside down and all that we thought we knew was being questioned from inside our respective homes.
Thanks to my maternal Grandma’s writing, I know that Nancy was a Quaker and very much a “woman of her time”. She was expected to do things a certain way and expected the same of her 13 children. Which is why, when Hannah came along and didn’t exactly fall in line, she began telling her how “bold and queer” she was.
I live in a room that is straight and bare,
With rings on my fingers and thorns in my hair
And I hear all night against my door
The pounding hands of the days before.