STONE LADY

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Genealogist, Researcher
"we are all just walking each other home" leave no stone unturned ...

"To forget one's ancestors is to be a brook without a source, a tree without a root." - Chinese Proverb

Dear Ancestor,
Your Tombstone stands among the rest,
Neglected and alone.
The name and dates are chiseled here,
On polished marbled stone.
It reaches out to all who care,
Though it is too late to mourn.

You did not know that I exist,
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you,
In flesh and blood and bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.

Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago,
I wonder if you could have known,
Would spread among the ones you left
In all the seeds you've sown.
I wonder how you lived and loved?
I wonder if you ever knew?
That someday I would find you in this spot,
And come to visit you?

Walter Butler Palmer

THE STORYTELLERS-- WE ARE THE CHOSEN
In each family there is one who seems to be called to find the Ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them Live again, to tell the Family Story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone on before. We are the Storytellers of the Tribe. All tribes have one. We have been called, as it were by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us "Tell our Story" ! So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves.****first part of said poem, Author Unknown

Genealogist, Researcher
"we are all just walking each other home" leave no stone unturned ...

"To forget one's ancestors is to be a brook without a source, a tree without a root." - Chinese Proverb

Dear Ancestor,
Your Tombstone stands among the rest,
Neglected and alone.
The name and dates are chiseled here,
On polished marbled stone.
It reaches out to all who care,
Though it is too late to mourn.

You did not know that I exist,
You died and I was born.
Yet each of us are cells of you,
In flesh and blood and bone.
Our blood contracts and beats a pulse
Entirely not our own.

Dear Ancestor, the place you filled
One hundred years ago,
I wonder if you could have known,
Would spread among the ones you left
In all the seeds you've sown.
I wonder how you lived and loved?
I wonder if you ever knew?
That someday I would find you in this spot,
And come to visit you?

Walter Butler Palmer

THE STORYTELLERS-- WE ARE THE CHOSEN
In each family there is one who seems to be called to find the Ancestors. To put flesh on their bones and make them Live again, to tell the Family Story and to feel that somehow they know and approve. Doing genealogy is not a cold gathering of facts but, instead, breathing life into all who have gone on before. We are the Storytellers of the Tribe. All tribes have one. We have been called, as it were by our genes. Those who have gone before cry out to us "Tell our Story" ! So, we do. In finding them, we somehow find ourselves.****first part of said poem, Author Unknown

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