The Family Historian

How can I spend so much time on family history? It’s easy. It’s sooo easy. When I’m not gardening, or maintaining the kitchen and our food supply; when I’m not cleaning, flinging, and keeping our house in order; when I’m not working out to get fit or working at my paying job; when I’m not mending, beading, or needlecrafting while enjoying a Western with my honey—I’m deeply engrossed in the family history, my most favorite hobby.

I’m in the process of writing my third family history book. I write from the facts I have already collected and in doing so, I develop more questions. Then I conduct further research to get the new questions answered.

While writing, I am studying to receive my certification in genealogy. I have a manual of standards and I take online classes in methodology while looking forward to my FamilyTree magazine. I learn professional practices which I put to use in my personal research and in the various other projects I have adopted.

Findings for my own genealogy are documented and uploaded to Rootsweb’s online database. I also maintain a family history website featuring the surnames and individuals I am currently researching. I post to this blog with fascinating tidbits for my immediate family members and other interested cousins.

My website has been hit by researchers googling for the people about whom I have written. Three previously unknown cousins have come forward to introduce themselves to me after discovering my website. Other researchers have found my Rootsweb submission and have contacted me for the purpose of collaboration.

On occasion I have found it necessary to spend some time on a case study. I have published the results of these studies on the internet as well, and one of my articles has been printed in a genealogical society newsletter.

For the past several years, I have taught a family history class during Sunday school. The students and I have covered numerous topics while I share with them the things I have learned in my own trial and error and success.

I recently joined a group of volunteers who help researchers from out of town locate local facts. So far I have had four satisfied “clients.”

Knowing the value of oral history has prompted me to begin recording and transcribing the personal story of Fred Ferguson, a long-time Colorado resident, while still working on the transcription of my own parents’ stories.

Having an interest in the town of Fountain led me to the ongoing project of publishing the research of one of the town’s early residents.

Currently, I belong to the Ostfriesen Genealogical Society of America and am waiting to hear from the newsletter editor how I may get involved as a volunteer. Meanwhile, I’ve got the gears turning in my head as to how I will transcribe and photograph a local cemetery plot that is so tucked out of the way, its existence is doubtful well known.

In this season of my life I am allowed to spend a lot of time on what I love.

To Be American

As my body was arousing this Saturday morning from a restful sleep, I was thinking. Sometimes I get my best thinking done before full reality sets in, when there's still room for imagination in my brain. I was thinking about the term Native American. This is not about Native Americans of indigenous descent. This is about native Americans like me of Heinz 57 descent. To be a native means to be born in a certain place. I was born in America; that makes me a native American, right? I cetainly can't be a native Brit or a native German, or a native Syrian. Even the native Syrians in my family tree were descended from Greeks and quite possibly others. The native Sicilians in my children's family trees were decended from Arabs; they did not call themselves Arab Sicilians. So why do I have to call myself a European American or an Arab American? Why can't I be a native American? After all, it seems pretty much agreed that the indigenious Americans originated somewhere else. Perhaps they should more correctly be called Siberian Americans. No, I guess that won't go over too well. In the meantime, I hope it will be okay for me to call myself an native American, born and raised in America, as were my parents and grandparents and many more before them.

Separating the two Mary Albertsons

Imagine my dismay at finding our Mary A. Albertson combined with another Mary A. Albertson. Our gal had the right parents but was hooked up with the wrong spouse. The other Mary had that other spouse but was linked to our Mary's parents. What a mess!! Read how I straightened that out. In the meantime, the two are combined into one until the owners of those published family trees make the necessary adjustments.