When I was a child, I read somewhere about treasured letters, tied with a red ribbon and kept forever. This romantic notion so entranced me that ever after, I kept every card, letter or childish note ever passed surreptitiously in class. I have lived in the same house since I married almost 39 years ago. You can probably imagine my attic!For a variety of reasons, I have been sorting out almost 60 years of these keepsakes. Some of the things my grandchildren and I have found have had us nearly rolling on the floor in laughter at childhood antics. Some are more poignant; I see the wonder in their eyes as they tried to comprehend their father wearing a T-shirt smaller than my spread fingers. Certainly much of what I have saved could, perhaps should, have been tossed years ago, but I am so glad I didn’t.
My family and I have very little that was passed down to us from ancestors. I am not talking about a cherished Chippendale chest, or Thomas clock. I am talking about a sense of their lives. As a genealogist, it has been very frustrating to try to piece together a mental picture of who they were and how they lived, what they cared about. That is what I wish I had from my ancestors, and to me, it is what genealogy is all about; making up for the missing stories.
I knew one grandparent, but I lost him when I was in eighth grade, and I don’t recall ever being dandled on his knee while he regaled me with “when I was a kid …” I have a little folklore from my “Irish side,” and that’s it.
So, even with a sinus infection from 50-year-old dust, I am saving about 20 boxes to go through and somehow archive, this winter when things are calmer. I know that buried in those boxes is the baby blanket and hospital bill from when my son was born. I have a tiny notebook where my grandfather meticulously noted his groceries and what he paid for them, for example “bread 2 cents.” I also have a grocery list from my early days as a young housewife, back when I used cash, and very little of it. I would write down what I expected to pay for my groceries to be sure I was going to have enough money; for example “bread 59 cents”. (Now I would have to write “bread $1.99”.) None of this is earth shattering, but seeing my own lists, knowing what my life was like at the time, and comparing with my grandfather’s list helps me to get a feel for how he thought, how many people were eating with him, a little taste of his life.
Perhaps I will end up archiving pieces of my life that no one but me will be interested in, but that’s OK with me. Even if they are not interested in what I save, they will at least know what was important to me in my lifetime. And it’s a “lifetime” that genealogy is all about, even mine.
Editor’s note: Columnist Nina Brawn of Dover-Foxcroft, who has been doing genealogy for over 30 years, is a freelance genealogy researcher, speaker and teacher. Reader e-mails are welcome at ninabrawn@gmail.com. The Aroostook County Genealogical Society meets the fourth Monday of the month except in July and December at the Cary Medical Center’s Chan Education Center, 163 Van Buren Road, Caribou, at 6:30 p.m. Guests and prospective members are always welcome. FMI contact Edwin “J” Bullard at 492-5501.
