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 imagine his voice loud and clear;
"May God Bless you all for another ten years."
Now picture a time warp ... it's 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

Ocupayshun, Cencus Taker

"I am a cencus takers for the city of Bufflow. Our city has groan very fast in resent yeers & now in 1865, it has become a hard & time consuming job to count all the peephill. There are not many that con do this werk, as it is nesessarie to have a ejucashun, wich a lot of pursons steal don not have. Anuther atribeart needed for this job is god speling, for meny of the peephill to be counted can hardle speek inglish, let alon spel there names!"

The Recording of a Cemetery
by Thelma Greene Reagan

Today we walked where others walked
On a lonely, windswept hill;
Today we talked where other cried
For Loved Ones whose lives are stilled.

Today our hearts were touched
By graves of tiny babies;
Snatched from the arms of loving kin,
In the heartbreak of the ages.

Today we saw where the grandparents lay
In the last sleep of their time;
Lying under the trees and clouds -
Their beds kissed by the sun and wind.

Today we wondered about an unmarked spot;
Who lies beneath this hollowed ground?
Was it a babe, child, young or old?
No indication could be found.

Today we saw where Mom and Dad lay.
We had been here once before
On a day we'd all like to forget,
But will remember forever more.

Today we recorded for kith and kin
The graves of ancestors past;
To be preserved for generations hence,
A record we hope will last.

Cherish it, my friend; preserve it, my friend,
For stones sometimes crumble to dust
And generations of folks yet to come
Will be grateful for your trust.

You Know You're An Addicted Genealogist- -

...when you brake for libraries.
...if you get locked in a library overnight and you never even notice.
...when you hyperventilate at the sight of an old cemetery.
...if you'd rather browse in a cemetery than a shopping mall.
...when you think every home should have a microfilm reader.
...if you'd rather read census schedules than a good book.
...when you know every town clerk in your state by name.
...if town clerks lock the doors when they see you coming.
...when you're more interested in what happened in 1697 than 1997.
...if you store clothes under the bed and your closet is carefully stacked with notebooks and journals.
...when Stewart, Taylor, and Rose are household names, but you can't remember what you call your dog.
...if you can pinpoint Harrietsham, Hawkhurst and Kent on a map of England, but can't locate Topeka, Kansas.
...when all your correspondence begins, "Dear Cousin,"
...if you've traced every one of your ancestral lines back to Adam and Eve, have it fully documented, and still don't want to quit.

A Prayer for Genealogists

Lord, help me dig into the past
and sift the sands of time
That I might find the roots that made
this family of mine
Lord, help me trace the ancient roads
on which my fathers trod,
and led them through so many lands
to find our present sod.
Lord, help me find a ancient book
or dusty manuscript,
That's safely hidden now away
in some forgotten crypt.
Lord, let it bridge the gap that haunts
my soul when I can't find,
the missing link between some name
that ends the same as mine
Whoever said, "Seek and Ye shall find'" was NOT a genealogist!!!

A Genealogists Psalm

Genealogy is my pastime, I shall not stray
It maketh me to lie down and examine half-buried tombstones.
It leadth me into still courthouses; It restoreth my ancestral knowledge.
It leadeth me in paths of census records & ship's passenger lists for my surname's sake.
Yea, though I walk through the shadows of research libraries & microfilm readers, I shall fear no discouragement.
For a strong urge is within me, the curiosity & motivation they comforteth me.
It demandeth preparation of storage space for the acquistion of countless documents.
It annointeth my head with burning mid-night oil; my family group sheets runneth over.
Surely birth, marriage, & death dates shall follow me all the days of my life;
And I shall dwell in the house of a family history seeker forever