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Genealogy Happy Dance
Filed Under: Family History · Family Records
Filed Under: Family History · Family Records
It is hard to describe the joy and satisfaction we feel when we finally find an elusive ancestor. It’s what some of us call the genealogy happy dance. We squeal with delight and jump around trying to contain ourselves. But beware - family history can be very addictive. You just might become like me or the Grandma in the following poem:Grandma and the Family Tree
There’s been a change in Grandma; we’ve noticed her of late,
She’s always reading history or jotting down some date.
She’s tracking back the family; we’ll all have pedigrees.
Oh, Grandma’s got a hobby; she’s climbing Family Trees.
Poor Grandpa does the cooking now, or so he states,
The worst of all, he has to wash the cups and dinner plates.
Grandma can’t be bothered; she’s busy as a bee
Compiling genealogy - for the Family Tree.
She has no time to baby-sit; the curtains are a fright,
No buttons left on Granddad’s shirt, the flowerbed’s a sight.
She’s given up her club work, the serials on TV,
The only thing she does nowadays is climb the Family Tree.
She goes down to the court house and studies ancient lore,
We know more about our forebears than we ever knew before.
The books are old and dusty; they make poor Grandma sneeze,
A minor irritation when you’re climbing Family trees.
The mail is all for Grandma, it comes from near and far,
Last week she got proof she needs to join the DAR.
A worthwhile avocation, to that we all agree,
A monumental project, to climb the Family Tree.
Now some folks came from Scotland and some from Galway Bay,
Some were French as pastry, some German, all the way.
Some went out west to stake their claim, some stayed nearby the sea,
Grandma hopes to find them all as she climbs the Family Tree.
She wanders through the graveyard in search of date or name,
The rich, the poor, the in-between, all sleeping there the same.
She pauses now and then to rest, fanned by a gentle breeze
That blows above the Fathers of all our Family Trees.
There were pioneers and patriots mixed in our kith and kin
Who blazed the paths of wilderness and fought through thick and thin
But non more staunch than Grandma, whose eyes light up with glee
Each time she finds a missing branch for the Family Tree.
Their skills were wide and varied, from carpenter to cook
And one (Alas!) the record shows was hopelessly a crook.
Blacksmith, weaver, farmer, judge, some tutored for a fee,
Long lost in time, now all recorded on the Family Tree.
To some it’s just a hobby; to Grandma it’s much more,
She knows the joys and heartaches of those who went before.
They loved, they lost, they laughed, and they wept, and now lay forever still,
But they will not be forgotten , as long as Grandma climbs the Family Tree.
Author Unknown
